That Awkward Moment Between Your Birth And Your Death
Staring and Being Stared At
August 20
Jeans, a t-shirt, and black tennis shoes. I snap my fingers then point at myself in the mirror. I pay little attention to my hair. If I brush my fingers through it real quick and put on a hat, then it’s ready for the public. And that’s exactly what I did this morning and also every other morning of my high school existence. Today I chose a black beanie.
They say these are the best years of your life but I heartily disagree.
I try to get to the kitchen before the rest of my family so I don’t have to engage anyone in battle for the use of the toaster. Then I like to take a seat at the counter and watch as a state of entropy unfolds while I enjoy my grape jelly on toast with orange juice.
There are few things in this world that I enjoy more than grape jelly on toast. It’s one of the reasons I get up from bed only half-miserable. The other half of my misery arrives when I’ve finished my toast and realize that I’ll be at school in less than 30 minutes.
I finish my breakfast, run back upstairs to grab my bag, then go into the garage and wait in the car for everyone else to be ready. I put my headphones on so I can play some really dramatic music to emphasize all of the first world pains that I was feeling. I closed my eyes and let the latter half of my morning misery take over.
The first day of junior year hasn’t officially begun and I’m already ready to check out. That’s sad.
This is probably presumptuous to say because the first day of school is supposed to be really exciting. But I’ve come to realize that it just a day of lies. Seven teachers tell you how their class is going to be while you sit there twiddling your thumbs and thinking ‘In three weeks, you’re not going to be following any lesson plans, please shut up.’
I hate school. I’m frustrated with the entire institution and I’m always surprised when I find myself back at that torturous place for another day. It’s only seven hours but it is a soul crushing seven hours and I hate it.
The rocking of the car announces my three high-school aged siblings’ entrance into the vehicle. My older brother, Simon, was driving; therefore he has control of the radio. This is a terrible thing because he loves Lil Wayne. I turned up the volume on my iPod to the max.
It’s a twenty minute drive from my house to school. Twenty minutes left of semi-freedom.
I really mean it when I say that I fucking hate my fucking school.
I folded my arms on the edge of the window and looked at the blurs of trees and houses that we passed. I could tell when we were getting closer to the school by how the houses we passed became more and more rundown. We had to pass through the, and I hate to put it this way, poor and drug infested part of town to get to school.
Chamberlain High School was the best school in our county…or so they said. Sure, the standardized test scores are lovely but the people are shit. This supposed superiority is the only reason our parents let us go to school in this part of town. My siblings absolutely adore Chamberlain. We went to a prep school for grades K through 8 and they hated it there so they find this sordid change in atmosphere to be pleasantly diverting. But I know that this school is awful and the students are a reflection of that.
Another tell-tale sign of our nearness to Chamberlain was the increase in people walking to school. Kids from this part of town always walk to school.
Being that I am so consumed in my own loathing of life, almost nothing ever catches my eye on this commute to hell. Today was the exception to this rule.
There was a brooding boy walking down the sidewalk that I stared at from my seat in the car. He seemed to be enjoying his day about as much as I was which is not at all. I kept him in my line of sight as our car passed by and he must have sensed my staring because he looked up and met my eyes. He held my gaze until the distance between us broke our contact. When I finally look away I found myself taking in an involuntary gasp and pulling away from the window. I stared at the passenger’s seat headrest for the rest of the car ride.
--
My former best friend, Nina, is in my homeroom. The reason we met was because our last names were close to each other’s in spelling, Whitmaker and Whittaker. Whenever we ended up in a class together we had to sit next to each other because of alphabetical seating charts. This happened often so we became friends.
But when freshman year began, she decided to pursue popularity instead of continue our friendship. Either that or she forgot I existed.
But she couldn’t escape my presence in homeroom, oh no. She was going to have to at least look at me once. And she did, for a second, before assuming a pouty-lipped expression and looking away. That was good enough for me. I can go through the day satisfied that she's aware I’m not dead.
My first three classes were a terrible bore. English, Marine Biology, and Pre-Calculus. That’ll be something to dread in the morning.
Fourth period was graphic design, which is a fancy name for art. The art teacher was a young guy named Mr. Avon. He had crazy hair and paint-splattered jeans. I haven’t come to a conclusion on that class yet but I experienced my first inkling of hope for this school year. He told us that he would give assignments as project ideas came to him and that we would have to just go with it. I was pleased with this confession.
Fifth period was PE. The coach told us we would be hanging out in the gym for the first couple of weeks so they could get uniforms distributed and all of that. While I was taking my seat on the bleachers I saw that brooding kid was sitting on the bleachers as well. I pulled The Catcher in the Rye out from my bag and read for the entire period, urging myself not to glance in his direction.
Sixth period was lunch.
The real kicker about lunch is that I used to have people to sit with but they turned out to be shitheads and now I sit alone. I eat lunch sitting against the brick wall that separates the courtyard from the parking lot. The lame and the lifeless like to refer to this wall as Loner Wall. Considering I have no friends, you could call me a loner. But then I’d have to call you an idiot and it’s probably best if we kept the name-calling to a minimum of 0.
There’s an upside to eating alone though. I don’t have to pretend to care about whatever mindless things my “friends” are talking about. I can read and eat my grapes in peace. Or at least I thought I could read and eat my grapes in peace.
I was under this notion until brooding boy from before went and sat 15 feet to the left of me on Loner Wall. I was instantly uncomfortable and overcome with the desire to stare at him.
He pulled out an iPod, a book, and a banana from his bag.
Call me unnecessarily interested but this kid who looked so malcontent was a breath of fresh air from the too-content dunderheads that infest Chamberlain.
I peeled my eyes away from him and went back to reading The Catcher in the Rye.
27 pages later the bell rang.
I glanced to the left to inspect brooding boy one last time, but he was already fucking staring at me. And he was not playing around with this stare. His eyes literally dug into me. I felt that shit way down to my core.
I got all of my stuff together really quick and left the courtyard.
On the drive home I didn’t look out the window once. I only needed to see that look on that kid’s face once to know that he was not someone I wanted to get to know.
Jeans, a t-shirt, and black tennis shoes. I snap my fingers then point at myself in the mirror. I pay little attention to my hair. If I brush my fingers through it real quick and put on a hat, then it’s ready for the public. And that’s exactly what I did this morning and also every other morning of my high school existence. Today I chose a black beanie.
They say these are the best years of your life but I heartily disagree.
I try to get to the kitchen before the rest of my family so I don’t have to engage anyone in battle for the use of the toaster. Then I like to take a seat at the counter and watch as a state of entropy unfolds while I enjoy my grape jelly on toast with orange juice.
There are few things in this world that I enjoy more than grape jelly on toast. It’s one of the reasons I get up from bed only half-miserable. The other half of my misery arrives when I’ve finished my toast and realize that I’ll be at school in less than 30 minutes.
I finish my breakfast, run back upstairs to grab my bag, then go into the garage and wait in the car for everyone else to be ready. I put my headphones on so I can play some really dramatic music to emphasize all of the first world pains that I was feeling. I closed my eyes and let the latter half of my morning misery take over.
The first day of junior year hasn’t officially begun and I’m already ready to check out. That’s sad.
This is probably presumptuous to say because the first day of school is supposed to be really exciting. But I’ve come to realize that it just a day of lies. Seven teachers tell you how their class is going to be while you sit there twiddling your thumbs and thinking ‘In three weeks, you’re not going to be following any lesson plans, please shut up.’
I hate school. I’m frustrated with the entire institution and I’m always surprised when I find myself back at that torturous place for another day. It’s only seven hours but it is a soul crushing seven hours and I hate it.
The rocking of the car announces my three high-school aged siblings’ entrance into the vehicle. My older brother, Simon, was driving; therefore he has control of the radio. This is a terrible thing because he loves Lil Wayne. I turned up the volume on my iPod to the max.
It’s a twenty minute drive from my house to school. Twenty minutes left of semi-freedom.
I really mean it when I say that I fucking hate my fucking school.
I folded my arms on the edge of the window and looked at the blurs of trees and houses that we passed. I could tell when we were getting closer to the school by how the houses we passed became more and more rundown. We had to pass through the, and I hate to put it this way, poor and drug infested part of town to get to school.
Chamberlain High School was the best school in our county…or so they said. Sure, the standardized test scores are lovely but the people are shit. This supposed superiority is the only reason our parents let us go to school in this part of town. My siblings absolutely adore Chamberlain. We went to a prep school for grades K through 8 and they hated it there so they find this sordid change in atmosphere to be pleasantly diverting. But I know that this school is awful and the students are a reflection of that.
Another tell-tale sign of our nearness to Chamberlain was the increase in people walking to school. Kids from this part of town always walk to school.
Being that I am so consumed in my own loathing of life, almost nothing ever catches my eye on this commute to hell. Today was the exception to this rule.
There was a brooding boy walking down the sidewalk that I stared at from my seat in the car. He seemed to be enjoying his day about as much as I was which is not at all. I kept him in my line of sight as our car passed by and he must have sensed my staring because he looked up and met my eyes. He held my gaze until the distance between us broke our contact. When I finally look away I found myself taking in an involuntary gasp and pulling away from the window. I stared at the passenger’s seat headrest for the rest of the car ride.
--
My former best friend, Nina, is in my homeroom. The reason we met was because our last names were close to each other’s in spelling, Whitmaker and Whittaker. Whenever we ended up in a class together we had to sit next to each other because of alphabetical seating charts. This happened often so we became friends.
But when freshman year began, she decided to pursue popularity instead of continue our friendship. Either that or she forgot I existed.
But she couldn’t escape my presence in homeroom, oh no. She was going to have to at least look at me once. And she did, for a second, before assuming a pouty-lipped expression and looking away. That was good enough for me. I can go through the day satisfied that she's aware I’m not dead.
My first three classes were a terrible bore. English, Marine Biology, and Pre-Calculus. That’ll be something to dread in the morning.
Fourth period was graphic design, which is a fancy name for art. The art teacher was a young guy named Mr. Avon. He had crazy hair and paint-splattered jeans. I haven’t come to a conclusion on that class yet but I experienced my first inkling of hope for this school year. He told us that he would give assignments as project ideas came to him and that we would have to just go with it. I was pleased with this confession.
Fifth period was PE. The coach told us we would be hanging out in the gym for the first couple of weeks so they could get uniforms distributed and all of that. While I was taking my seat on the bleachers I saw that brooding kid was sitting on the bleachers as well. I pulled The Catcher in the Rye out from my bag and read for the entire period, urging myself not to glance in his direction.
Sixth period was lunch.
The real kicker about lunch is that I used to have people to sit with but they turned out to be shitheads and now I sit alone. I eat lunch sitting against the brick wall that separates the courtyard from the parking lot. The lame and the lifeless like to refer to this wall as Loner Wall. Considering I have no friends, you could call me a loner. But then I’d have to call you an idiot and it’s probably best if we kept the name-calling to a minimum of 0.
There’s an upside to eating alone though. I don’t have to pretend to care about whatever mindless things my “friends” are talking about. I can read and eat my grapes in peace. Or at least I thought I could read and eat my grapes in peace.
I was under this notion until brooding boy from before went and sat 15 feet to the left of me on Loner Wall. I was instantly uncomfortable and overcome with the desire to stare at him.
He pulled out an iPod, a book, and a banana from his bag.
Call me unnecessarily interested but this kid who looked so malcontent was a breath of fresh air from the too-content dunderheads that infest Chamberlain.
I peeled my eyes away from him and went back to reading The Catcher in the Rye.
27 pages later the bell rang.
I glanced to the left to inspect brooding boy one last time, but he was already fucking staring at me. And he was not playing around with this stare. His eyes literally dug into me. I felt that shit way down to my core.
I got all of my stuff together really quick and left the courtyard.
On the drive home I didn’t look out the window once. I only needed to see that look on that kid’s face once to know that he was not someone I wanted to get to know.