Better than you can imagine

Walking to class, I keep on feeling eyes on me. Which is a large contrast to what I'm used to: a ghost like feeling. Like I don't exist. I could hold a gun to someone's head and they wouldn't pass a glance at me. I could scream and no one would even hear it as a whisper. It would just blend in to the happiness of the other people walking down the halls. They have no idea what loneliness really feels like.

Yet this feeling of watching. It won't go away. I turn in anxiety and I see them.

Eyes.

They watch from a distance. A pale face. Black, short, messy hair. Pink lips. And those eyes.

I've never seen him before, so it must be a new student. Whatever. It's probably just someone who was just told about me and how much of a loserish freak I am.

I walk away to avoid their stares, though the feeling never leaves.
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Ms. Kovaks writes on the board a bunch of musical terms, and follows with saying, "There are seven different elements of music: melody, rhythm, harmony, timbre, musical texture, dynamics and form."

I'm in Music History 2. I love this class. We listen to all sorts of instruments, and analyse their composition. I never had much of an appreciation for the oboe until I took this course. Before this class, I thought it sounded like a dying duck. But now, I listen, and I can hear it singing. Sometimes happily, other times with meloncholic nature. And that's when I feel like someone understands me. The oboe can understand my loneliness. The oboe can understand being singled out, having no one want anything to do with him.

I'm such a freak that I'm comparing myself to a frickin oboe.

"Rhythm is the only element of music which can be independent. It can stand alone, and form it's own compositions. Examples of such include River dance, The Blue Man Group, or our very own Drum line."

I feel the rhythm. It runs through my veins. It tells me when to strum my fingers. It tells me when to put my next foot forward. It tells me when to speak. And how to listen to my heart. Even if there are stiches sewn in it to heal my emotional scars.

And then, just like my alarm clock, my senses interrupt my thoughts. Something tells me to look to my left.

Eyes.

It's him again. He's in my class? Great. Now he's going to know my name for sure.

Maybe if I look forward and ignore his existance, he will join Cory and his friends in the abyss of my mind. I suppose I don't have much reason to send this kid into the abyss though... yet. But just because he hasn't tormented me doesn't mean that he won't.

"Form can be defined as the balance between the familiar and the nonfamiliar."

Familiar: Loneliness. Hate. Betrayal. Isolation. Depression. Insecurity. Anxiety. Ignorance. Bullies. Names. Ignored. Blamed. Fear.

Nonfamiliar: Trust. Beauty. Smiles. Loyalty. Caring. Motivation. Love. Friendship.

I can only imagine...

Someone, anyone, who could have all of those nonfamiliar things combined into one entity. It hardly seems possible. The only things that I have seen are ugliness, evil, torment. The names get stuck on during the day, and at night you can only wash off so many. They stab at your skin like a razor and make your soul bleed out, leaving you numb. They start to scar you. You can cover them up all you like, but in your heart, bruised or not, you know they're there. And they'll always eat at you.

"Now, the tune of a song is defined as an organized succession of single pitches."

The story of my life is defined as an organized succession of terrible events.

Ms. Kovaks pauses. She looks at the clock and sees that the bell is about to ring.

"Oh, well, since class is pretty much over, I'll give you your homework assignment." The class responded with a large sigh, Homework on the first day? I love music though, so I don't mind homework involving something that I love.

"I want you to find something that you really care about, love, hate, or have a strong emotion of some sort for, and compare it to a classical composition. I want you to write a page comparison between this element which you choose and the composition. Include details on the intruments, tempo, and mood of the piece. It's due on Friday, so you have 2 days."

And with that, the bell rang. But it didn't feel over. Something didn't feel right. I reach to grab my bookbag off of the floor, and as I stand back up, he approaches me.

"Hey, I'm Gerard. What's your name?"

"What do you want?"

"I saw your shirt and figured that if you have a good taste in music, you must be a decent person to hang out with. I've never seen you before though. So what's your name?"

"My name is I don't talk to people that just walk up to me and probably want to start things like everyone else. Trust me, you wouldn't like hanging out with me even if you did."

As I walked away, Ms. Kovaks gave me a weird look as I passed her. I just brushed it off. Maybe she thought that I'd have handled it a little nicer. But I refuse.