Get Me Out of My Mind

My jeans feel a thousand years old as they wrap around my legs. My shirt burns me cold. My hair is frayed, and my eyes feel shot with blood. I then realize how badly I’m shaking. The sun warms me, but my skin is trying to shake itself from me. It wrestles with my flesh.
“Dude, you okay?” The one called Spencer asked, sounding truly concerned. I zoned off, almost forgetting that he asked me a question at all. My mind was elsewhere. It was at home, reading a book in a nice comfortable spot.
For a second or two I’m lost.
Inside those thoughts.
When I finally climb back into reality and register my thoughts again and find myself still sitting next to him, I answer his question.
“As good as I ever could be at the situation I’m stuck in.”
“We’re all stuck there. I know it’s hard to fathom the thought, but give it time. There’s no use in making yourself more miserable,” words of wisdom from the most unlikely of all, a kid in this camp.
We both stop momentarily.
His eyes land on me for a brief second before shooting back down to the ground.
He has light brown messy hair and clear eyes, like water. The mildest blue I’ve ever seen. We were sitting on the grass, just me and him. I haven’t been here even a day and I already meet someone with some kindness to show. Even if that’s true, I’d like to distance myself away. There’s no use in getting to know someone and becoming close if you’re not going to know each other for long anyhow. My other two cabin mater was off in the search of water. It was funny, we were grass and under a tree in the middle of a desert. It reminded me of a small oasis. The grass and tree was always kept damp, and how they managed to get it to grow out here was beyond me. I expected it to be at least golden, and crusty. It made me feel uneasy and a bit out of place. The tree reminded me of the one at my home town park I went to, a weeping willow.
“So,” Spencer began, leaning from one side to the other in a attempt to stretch, “What did you get in here for?” He ever so calmly asked, but it seemed like he honest-to-god meant it. I could tell this boy is the type of person who evens their figure tips are made of love.
I didn’t want to tell him. It wasn’t like I felt comfortable telling everything to a complete stranger who I had only met today, and he sensed that and moved on.
“Okay- I guess I’ll tell you why I’m in here first.” My attention was caught, and I couldn’t fight my eyes away from him. I would like to know what a nice person like himself is in here for. “It started when I was five; a bully pushed me down a flight of stairs. I broke my leg and shattered one of my ribs. My parents being as concerned as they possibly could be, called the school to see what had happened to the kid. The school did nothing. My parents did nothing but take me to the doctor for it annually. Something like that you don’t forget. I still had to go to school with the kid.” He took a breath of air as if to prepare himself of what he was about to say next. “He called me names- horrible names no kid should hear. I often came home with black eyes and bloody noses,” I could find myself relating with him already. “Actually, his friends ganged up on me too. My hometown was small, and by small I mean one high school small. I had to go to the same high school as him, I had no choice. I figured he might leave me alone, so I gave it a shot. About a month after school had started my freshmen year, it began happening again.
I tried staying under the radar the best I could but the harassment still found me. The same boy who broke my leg had started it. Everyone was shoving me, pulling my hair, calling me fat and ugly and other names. One day, this girl I liked had told me to go kill myself. I thought about it long and hard too. I decided I was going to. Later that week, I sat in my father’s basement with his hand gun up to my head, then something came to me; if those people are the ones harassing me, they deserve to die, not me. I came to school the next day with that gun under my shirt. When the time came, I pulled the gun up to the boy. And for some reason I’ll never understand, the gun fell to the ground and I collapsed. The next two days went by, and I was in here. I’ve been in here since then and that was three years ago.”
His words attacked me faintly. My eyes winded, and I’m pretty sure I was either white as a ghost or purple, either one.
There was something caught in my throat refusing to come out- the words.
Finally, I recognize them then say, “I’m so sorry. Sounds like my school experience, minus the gun part.”
I fake it,
composure.
He laughed showing a bright and cheerful silence that didn’t make any of this better, only made is seem more sinister.

An awkward silence the floated in the air like toxic gas finally came to an end when the other two sat down with us, with milk cartons filled with warm water that has a tint of green. Everyone opened theirs, and poured it down their throat like it was the best thing in the universe. I pushed mine to my side and no one seemed to notice or care.
“Well,” Spencer broke the silence, “I’ve told him my story now it’s your turn Jon.” Jon turned towards me then scratched his chin. He let a nervous chuckle leave his throat. He seemed like a calm and casual man who didn’t need nice things. His clothes proved that to me, and I was fine with it because that’s how I felt as long as I had my books.
“I-um. My parents were monsters and tried to drown me one night when I was about eight. I pulled a knife on them to hold ‘em back. I was NEVER ever going to use it, but it was just to frighten them. They called the police on me and told them I was going crazy when in reality, I should have been the one using the word ‘crazy’” He cleared his throat. “I ran away before the police caught me. I was little, scared, and don’t know what o do or where to go. I ran, and slipped. I hit my head on the concrete and woke up in the jail cell. The next thing I knew, I was taken here.” I felt sorry for him, honestly, coming into a place like this when he was only a little kid. Spencer and Jon joked for the rest of the time we sat there. Brendon smiled and laughed a soundless laugh. I was just taking in the moment. I felt the sting of his eyes though. He was silent, as expected. He had a piece of long grass tangled with his fingers, and his hair was long and ruffled back. He had to be the most beautiful, and interesting person I have ever seen.

There was something a little odd about him, and he seemed like his head could be almost chaotic. The way he wore his clothes was unlike anyone I’ve ever meet. He had on a light green shirt with “Ohio” simply written on it, and his pants were black and cargo; almost falling off of him. It must have been magic keeping them on. I studied him through the corner of my eye. The words ‘silent type’ came up in my head, but this boy took it to a whole different level. I tuned out the others and wondered what a sweet guy like him could have done. A part of me said it was probably something like me, or maybe something way more complicated.