Tell Me Your Secrets
Butterfly Kisses
Every day, at 10:45 exactly. Every day, on the second floor hallway, right between the art and biology rooms. Right in the middle, a few classrooms away from the stairs. Right underneath the clock, stepping on the crack in the floor, I would see him.
It was every day except Thursday. His tie was always thrown over his shoulder, his shirt half-tucked in, his left shoelace untied and flopping around on the floor as he walked. His belt was always connected in the third loop, his collar was always flipped up, and he would always step right on the 4-foot crack protruding from under locker 694C. And 7 seconds after he passes me, he’s shoved into locker 712B by the guys on the wrestling team.
I wish I could do something about it. Honestly, I’ve never been shoved into a locker, but I’ve hidden in a cupboard once, and the sinking feeling of a limit of air and being squeezed into something designed to fit things much smaller than you is like swallowing bricks.
I wish I could stand up for him. I wish I could go and punch each and every one of those pea-brained wrestler shits. But seeing as I am small and nobody has ever thought to fight with me, I am incapable. So all I can do is ignore their laughing, ignore his cries of “Let me go”, and walk away.
On Thursdays, I was lucky. I had double math.
On Thursdays, I didn’t have to listen to their laughing, or his cries, or the dreadful sound of a locker slamming shut. I didn’t have to hear his fists pounding against the door, and I didn’t have to think about him having to wait until the owner of that locker needed something to be let out. Of course I knew it was still happening, but at least I didn’t have to see it. For the moment, that was good enough for me.
But this chapter doesn’t take place on a Thursday. It takes place on a Friday. I was supposed to be in American History, but my stomach was fighting with me and required a Fig Newton. So I was wandering the halls, playing with a loose thread on my shirt as I trotted past the lockers.
I didn’t hear the occasional pound on 712B, being too preoccupied with the bright and bland Christmas decorations lining the upper walls. I stopped to play with the tissue garland hanging down from the clock like a cat, kind of smacking it back and forth. It provided me amusement for the time being.
I walked up to the crack in the floor, deliberately stomping on it and wondering how it formed and how I could make it bigger. But a groundshaking rumble from my stomach kept me on my voyage.
It took 7 ½ seconds to happen. In a split second. I didn’t expect it in the slightest. But there he was, tumbling out of the locker, a few inches from my feet.
I froze. We were the only ones in the hallway. This kid had just fallen out of a locker after being trapped for an hour and was obviously in pain from the fall, and here I stood, staring at him like an idiot.
He groaned in pain as he hoisted himself up, clutching his leg. His dark-chocolate colored hair was sticking up in every single direction known to man. And then he looked at me.
It was the first time I’d had pure, real eye contact since before mom died. I looked into his eyes, he looked into mine, and I felt it.
His hazel eyes held so many secrets and so much pain. Shoved into the same tiny locker day after day after day. I finally found someone who was as lonely as I was.
After I snapped out of my bout of empathy, I realized how close we were. I mean, kissing distance close. But I didn’t mind, and I hoped he didn’t either.
And right then, only then, my legs decided to carry me away.
I walked away, just like I did at 10:45 every morning. I walked away from the one person who knew how I felt. And we went back to being as lonely as before.
Before long, I found myself in front of the vending machine, staring at the sad-looking, yellow-wrapped bar of figgy, bready goodness. I looked at its number.
G6: 60¢
I really didn’t want anything so healthy, so I opted for Oreos to calm me down.
My fingers were shaking as I reached for the F button, then the 3. I watched as the screw-like coil turned back, and let me cookie salvation fall to the slot. My hand found its way under the flap and that cookie was in my mouth before you could blink. After the rejuvenation, I took a deep breath and returned to ennui.
-------
I lifted my hand and looked down at my paper. Unicorns and candy canes, evil German snowmen and shoe diagrams, some crappy, crossed-out scribbles of the witch’s monkey helpers from the Wizard of Oz. Of course, I always knew how to entertain myself.
A long, high ring interrupted Mr. Sharp’s droning. I silently closed my notebook, putting a lid on my creativity for the day.
I shuffled into the hallway, hundreds of kids rushing around me, eager to go back to the comfort of their happy homes, with parents to help them with their homework and a little brother or sister to put frogs in their hair or steal their makeup or play basketball with them. Or maybe they had an after-school club to go to, where they would meet with their friends and discuss physics, shoot some hoops, or practice Act Two. But here I was, with none of those things, walking to my locker without a sound.
I spun the dial on my locker; 12, 27, 5, 16, 31. I pulled my coat and bookbag from the locker, the kids still rushing around and bumping into me every few seconds.
I had hung a mirror inside my locker, just in case somebody did notice me for once. My brown hair lay limp and stiff down my back, with a few stray hairs poking out at the top. I stared blankly at myself, analyzing each and every freckle on my face.
I didn’t think I was ugly. I had no reason to worry about what my flaws were. I usually try to look at the good in things. Whether it be a new zit or moving across the country, I always tried to find something good. There were always topicals at the drugstore, and maybe moving far away meant a clean slate and a new life. It was a good trait; being able to fool myself into thinking there was good in everyone and everything.
I snapped out of it with a violent shove from a sprinting sophomore, ramming me straight into my locker and knocking the breath from me. I mumbled a couple of choice words, holding my stomach as I slammed the locker door shut and joining the pandemonium once more.
The cold winter air of New Jersey whipped across my face as I stepped past the doors and descended past the stairs. I pulled my coat tighter against my body and shoved my gloved fingers into my warm pockets. The wind blew my hair in my face, sweeping my choppy bangs to the side. Gravelly stones scrunched under my feet here and there as I walked across the parking lot. I guess you could say I was trapped in my own little world, because I barely heard his shouting.
“Hey!” he shouted across the parking lot. I looked around; it could have been directed to anyone, let alone me. I kept walking.
I heard it again. It was slightly louder this time, and I looked to my right and left once more. Other people were beginning to turn their heads as well. I thought whomever that hey was directed to must be either pretty deaf or pretty preoccupied.
I never expected it. I never thought it would happen. I never expected the sound of crunching stones coming closer and closer, I never expected the third “hey” right behind me, and I never expected the cold, soft hand on my shoulder, trying to get my attention.
I hadn’t been purposely touched for who knows how long. It sent shivers down my spine, feeling the rough yet soft hand ever-so-lightly resting on my shoulder. It was like a butterfly kiss. There for a split second, then gone.
It might have been there longer, except for the fact that with a single touch I turned around at warp speed.
I saw his eyes. The ones that held more pain than I could bear. The ones who could stare right through me, rip down the cold barrier I grew over the years, look past the girl that shivered at any touch. He could see who I really was, what I would be like if I had friends. He could see what I was like when I was by myself.
It wasn’t his eyes that spoke. It were the soft pink lips that opened to ask me a question I had never been asked before.
“What’s your name?”
It was every day except Thursday. His tie was always thrown over his shoulder, his shirt half-tucked in, his left shoelace untied and flopping around on the floor as he walked. His belt was always connected in the third loop, his collar was always flipped up, and he would always step right on the 4-foot crack protruding from under locker 694C. And 7 seconds after he passes me, he’s shoved into locker 712B by the guys on the wrestling team.
I wish I could do something about it. Honestly, I’ve never been shoved into a locker, but I’ve hidden in a cupboard once, and the sinking feeling of a limit of air and being squeezed into something designed to fit things much smaller than you is like swallowing bricks.
I wish I could stand up for him. I wish I could go and punch each and every one of those pea-brained wrestler shits. But seeing as I am small and nobody has ever thought to fight with me, I am incapable. So all I can do is ignore their laughing, ignore his cries of “Let me go”, and walk away.
On Thursdays, I was lucky. I had double math.
On Thursdays, I didn’t have to listen to their laughing, or his cries, or the dreadful sound of a locker slamming shut. I didn’t have to hear his fists pounding against the door, and I didn’t have to think about him having to wait until the owner of that locker needed something to be let out. Of course I knew it was still happening, but at least I didn’t have to see it. For the moment, that was good enough for me.
But this chapter doesn’t take place on a Thursday. It takes place on a Friday. I was supposed to be in American History, but my stomach was fighting with me and required a Fig Newton. So I was wandering the halls, playing with a loose thread on my shirt as I trotted past the lockers.
I didn’t hear the occasional pound on 712B, being too preoccupied with the bright and bland Christmas decorations lining the upper walls. I stopped to play with the tissue garland hanging down from the clock like a cat, kind of smacking it back and forth. It provided me amusement for the time being.
I walked up to the crack in the floor, deliberately stomping on it and wondering how it formed and how I could make it bigger. But a groundshaking rumble from my stomach kept me on my voyage.
It took 7 ½ seconds to happen. In a split second. I didn’t expect it in the slightest. But there he was, tumbling out of the locker, a few inches from my feet.
I froze. We were the only ones in the hallway. This kid had just fallen out of a locker after being trapped for an hour and was obviously in pain from the fall, and here I stood, staring at him like an idiot.
He groaned in pain as he hoisted himself up, clutching his leg. His dark-chocolate colored hair was sticking up in every single direction known to man. And then he looked at me.
It was the first time I’d had pure, real eye contact since before mom died. I looked into his eyes, he looked into mine, and I felt it.
His hazel eyes held so many secrets and so much pain. Shoved into the same tiny locker day after day after day. I finally found someone who was as lonely as I was.
After I snapped out of my bout of empathy, I realized how close we were. I mean, kissing distance close. But I didn’t mind, and I hoped he didn’t either.
And right then, only then, my legs decided to carry me away.
I walked away, just like I did at 10:45 every morning. I walked away from the one person who knew how I felt. And we went back to being as lonely as before.
Before long, I found myself in front of the vending machine, staring at the sad-looking, yellow-wrapped bar of figgy, bready goodness. I looked at its number.
G6: 60¢
I really didn’t want anything so healthy, so I opted for Oreos to calm me down.
My fingers were shaking as I reached for the F button, then the 3. I watched as the screw-like coil turned back, and let me cookie salvation fall to the slot. My hand found its way under the flap and that cookie was in my mouth before you could blink. After the rejuvenation, I took a deep breath and returned to ennui.
-------
I lifted my hand and looked down at my paper. Unicorns and candy canes, evil German snowmen and shoe diagrams, some crappy, crossed-out scribbles of the witch’s monkey helpers from the Wizard of Oz. Of course, I always knew how to entertain myself.
A long, high ring interrupted Mr. Sharp’s droning. I silently closed my notebook, putting a lid on my creativity for the day.
I shuffled into the hallway, hundreds of kids rushing around me, eager to go back to the comfort of their happy homes, with parents to help them with their homework and a little brother or sister to put frogs in their hair or steal their makeup or play basketball with them. Or maybe they had an after-school club to go to, where they would meet with their friends and discuss physics, shoot some hoops, or practice Act Two. But here I was, with none of those things, walking to my locker without a sound.
I spun the dial on my locker; 12, 27, 5, 16, 31. I pulled my coat and bookbag from the locker, the kids still rushing around and bumping into me every few seconds.
I had hung a mirror inside my locker, just in case somebody did notice me for once. My brown hair lay limp and stiff down my back, with a few stray hairs poking out at the top. I stared blankly at myself, analyzing each and every freckle on my face.
I didn’t think I was ugly. I had no reason to worry about what my flaws were. I usually try to look at the good in things. Whether it be a new zit or moving across the country, I always tried to find something good. There were always topicals at the drugstore, and maybe moving far away meant a clean slate and a new life. It was a good trait; being able to fool myself into thinking there was good in everyone and everything.
I snapped out of it with a violent shove from a sprinting sophomore, ramming me straight into my locker and knocking the breath from me. I mumbled a couple of choice words, holding my stomach as I slammed the locker door shut and joining the pandemonium once more.
The cold winter air of New Jersey whipped across my face as I stepped past the doors and descended past the stairs. I pulled my coat tighter against my body and shoved my gloved fingers into my warm pockets. The wind blew my hair in my face, sweeping my choppy bangs to the side. Gravelly stones scrunched under my feet here and there as I walked across the parking lot. I guess you could say I was trapped in my own little world, because I barely heard his shouting.
“Hey!” he shouted across the parking lot. I looked around; it could have been directed to anyone, let alone me. I kept walking.
I heard it again. It was slightly louder this time, and I looked to my right and left once more. Other people were beginning to turn their heads as well. I thought whomever that hey was directed to must be either pretty deaf or pretty preoccupied.
I never expected it. I never thought it would happen. I never expected the sound of crunching stones coming closer and closer, I never expected the third “hey” right behind me, and I never expected the cold, soft hand on my shoulder, trying to get my attention.
I hadn’t been purposely touched for who knows how long. It sent shivers down my spine, feeling the rough yet soft hand ever-so-lightly resting on my shoulder. It was like a butterfly kiss. There for a split second, then gone.
It might have been there longer, except for the fact that with a single touch I turned around at warp speed.
I saw his eyes. The ones that held more pain than I could bear. The ones who could stare right through me, rip down the cold barrier I grew over the years, look past the girl that shivered at any touch. He could see who I really was, what I would be like if I had friends. He could see what I was like when I was by myself.
It wasn’t his eyes that spoke. It were the soft pink lips that opened to ask me a question I had never been asked before.
“What’s your name?”