The 13th Friday

Thursdays are wonderful.
So are Tuesdays and Saturdays and Wednesdays and Sundays. Even Mondays are wonderful.
Fridays.
I wish they never existed, I wish I never existed. Reliving the same moments over and over and over again, never experiencing the other days of the week. Always stuck in a never ending time loop, over and over and over again; all the spinning was starting to make me sick. Never have I ever been so hopeful, never have I wished so hard in my entire life, for a Monday. All I wanted was a chance to start the week over, to change what happens every time I wake up.
My alarm clock rings; heavy raindrops bouncing off my roof makes it impossible to hear it. I’ve been awake all night, staring at the ceiling, willing the day to turn over. Waiting for Saturday; the Saturday that everyone’s been waiting for, for nearly three months now.
I hear my father call my name through the watery din and I will myself to get up. There was no reason to pretend to be sick, it didn’t work. Somehow I always wound up back in school, sitting through the same classes, sitting through the same lessons that I’ve listened to about a thousand times now. I keep track of the days by the marks on my arms. They never seemed to go away, and no one really seemed to see them. The marks I made on the calendar disappear when I wake up the next morning, and the notches in the wall are somehow painted over.
When I open my closet the same clothes are always there, staring back at me. I pick a shirt and jeans out mechanically, willing my self into awareness. It was so easy to loose track of reality here, doing the same thing, over and over again. There were few things that I could change, and because of that I’ve been living off of Macaroni and Cheese forever.
I never seem to gain any weight.
Not that I can’t, but I just won’t. For some reason it’s impossible. I could eat an entire pie one day and never gain an ounce. And yes, I checked. (Don’t ask me how). It started when this started.
On Monday morning in what seemed like an eternity ago.

Monday: Three Months Ago

I had never been mugged before until then.
They jumped on me from behind, throwing me to the ground and taking, not only my wallet but my locket as well. My mother’s locket; the one she gave me a year before she passed away.
That night I had ran home, willing myself to keep it together until then. Once I reached my room I cried, I cried so hard it made me sick. All I wanted was the locket back, all I wanted was the twenty dollars my father had given me for lunch that week. He wasn’t home, at least not then. He worked until 11 at least, sometimes later if the mood struck him.
I lay in the bathroom, waiting for the dizziness to subside and then I made my way back towards my bedroom. I spent a few hours in front of the television, watching mindless shows that had no point other than to numb the minds of the youth and then made my way back upstairs for bed. I think I spent maybe an entire minute lying awake on my covers before falling asleep.

Running downstairs I found my father, eating toast with Smucker’s Blueberry jam. That was all he had gotten the night before so like always, I went hungry this morning. I sat down any way and poured myself a cup of orange juice. “That’s all you’re having?” He asked with concern.
“Yeah, I don’t like blueberry jam remember?”
My father looked at me confused, “I though you loved Blueberry jam!”
I shook my head and looked at the lines in the table. My father put my hand in his, “I’m sorry. I’m trying, I really am. Just give me some time to adjust.” I didn’t look up, there was no point. He would say the same thing tomorrow to, and the day after that, and the day after that.
“Is there anything else you want me to get at the store?” I saw him getting out a pad of paper and a pen out of the corner of my eye. Again, I shook my head. “Okay, but remember, you have to go to the funeral today so make sure your ready by six.” I nodded and with that, my father left, the same way he left the day before. Carrying his briefcase, which sad to say had a broken zipper.
After throwing out the rest of my father’s toast and dumping out my full glass of orange juice, I grabbed my backpack and headed out the door. The bus stop was practically empty, as always. Some people took the time off, to spend some time for ‘grieving’ but my father insisted I go, I always go to school.
“Hey. Are you okay?” Several people asked, I nodded, sick of hearing their voices.

Tuesday Three Months Ago:

“Hey where’s your locket?” Daniel had asked.
“I just, I just left it at home that’s all.” I tried to hide my face by burying it in my book. But he seemed to see through it, like always.
“Tell me the truth. You know I can always tell when your lying.”
I pretended to be busy searching for my pen as I told him about the men that mugged me. I even showed him the bruise I had gotten from where they had pushed me onto the ground. “It’s no big deal, really.”
“No big deal! They stole your locket! Where did you say this happened?” I knew that voice.
“Please, please Daniel don’t do anything. Don’t do anything I swear its okay! I’ll get over it I swear!” But there was sadness in my voice, unwilling to let the only piece of my mother I had left go. Daniel saw what I felt and looked at me with concern and empathy.
He nodded. “Okay, I swear to you, I will not do anything.”
At that I nodded, and thanked the lord that he didn’t press the issue. Oh how I wish I had asked my father to pick me up, I wish I could take back so many things from that week.
The bell rang and I was in my seat.
No one spoke to me, no one sat next to me. It was like I somehow became a leper and now no one could stand the sight of me, let alone speak to me. The teacher tried not to look at me, tried not to show how concerned she really was. It was always the same, and everyday I ignored it. I would spend the day alone, just like everyday, and after a while I didn’t really care, because my whole body had gone numb.
I walked to each of my classes in a daze, filling out the same worksheets that I had gotten the day before, and the day before that. It had gotten boring, never seeing something different, always doing the same thing. The only thing that seemed to vary were my thoughts and my feelings.
Soon it was lunch time and I sat alone, willing myself not to cry the empty tears that were always stuck in my throat. No one would blame me of course, for crying. But I had my own dignity to keep and I swallowed them anyway. I swear several people looked at me, they always did through their own misguided minds. She looks like shit, They probably thought, and it was true, living the same day over and over again. The scars on my wrists burned like fire and I had to buy a drink from the vending machine to sooth them.

Wednesday, Three Months Ago:

I was walking home from school again, a bottle of pepper spray my only protection against anyone who dare get in my way.
But they found me again, and instead of taking my things they beat the crap out of me. They kicked me over and over and over again. I took it, I took it all and laid on the sidewalk bleeding. I stayed in the alley they threw me in for hours until someone found me and called an ambulance.
My father had to come get me and when the police had asked me who had done it I said a couple of thugs who I had never seen before. They took the lie and said they would get the men who did this. It was highly unlikely, she didn’t recognize them and even in a big city like hers everyone seemed to know everyone by face or by house. The point was, was that there was always a way to identify someone.
Daniel came over that night, and my father let him stay. As he lay on the floor and I lay on my bed in the dark he told me something I will never forget, ever. “I think of you as a sister.”
It was the weirdest thing to say. But then he continued, “I’m going to find them, and when I do I will beat the shit out of them. No one messes with my sister.”
I didn’t say anything.

The last class of the day I fell asleep. Which was strange, because I never fall asleep, ever. It never happened because I was never tired. But indeed that class I slept and I only woke up when I heard the bell ring. It tore me away from my dream, the dream of Daniel, smiling at me, telling me that it was going to be okay.
But no matter how much I wanted to believe him I knew that that would never be true. I felt my heart begin to ache with longing; I wanted to see him again, I wanted to spend one more night with him, laughing and talking about stupid things like Natasha’s fake boobs or Nick’s new girl friend. I ran through several conversations that we could have had, and in the end I found myself sobbing on the way home from school.

Thursday: Three Months Ago:

Daniel had insisted on walking me home. ‘For protection’ He had said.
They came again.
“Stay back.” Daniel warned, pushing me behind his back. I clung to his shirt like a little girl, unwilling to let him go. The thugs smiled and one reached for his pocket. “I mean it, stay back.” There was a note of fear in his voice and I pulled on his shirt, trying to get him to leave.
That’s when they pulled out the gun. Daniel didn’t know what happened, and I thank the lord for that. He was just on the ground, bleeding. I held him in my arms, begging him not to go, that I needed my brother, that I needed him. That’s when he looked into my eyes and told me something he had never told me before. At that moment I knew it was over, “Isabelle.” He murmured, holding on to my hand like it was the last thing in the world. “I love you.”
He closed his eyes to sleep for the last time.
They had to pry me off of him, I was unable to let go. I wanted to stay with him, I told the medics they had to do something, I told them they couldn’t just let him die. Everyone was really quiet, and they watched me with pity. But I didn’t care, all I wanted was Daniel back, it was my fault, it was my fault he was dead.

I got ready for the funeral, my black dress was my mother’s and didn’t fit me very well but I wore it anyway. As I brushed my hair I swallowed my tears, a giant lump accumulating in my throat. I threw on a jacket over it, hiding my scars and scabs.
In the kitchen I ate macaroni and cheese, swallowing hard. Finally I couldn’t take it anymore, and I broke down. He was gone, he was gone and it was all my fault. The tears mixed with the cheese but I wasn’t hungry to begin with. Everyday I had to watch him be lowered into the ground day after day. Every Friday I had to relive the same grief, over and over again.
This had to end, this had to end.
My father came and we rode together to the cemetery. Everyone gathered around the coffin and the priest began saying the words I knew by heart now. I didn’t want to listen, instead I buried my face into my father’s chest, unwilling to watch as everyone put a rose on his grave.
Soon it was my turn, but I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t. The rose fell out of my hand, and I fell to the ground. Purposely cutting myself on one of the stone on the ground. I laid there, not wanting to move. My father carried me away.
He put me in my bed and I didn’t make a move to stop his tears.
That was when I fell asleep. Knowing that I was going to have to do the same thing all over again tomorrow.