Today I Am Alive

I remember in my senior English class, in high school, we were told to write a short story. I had never really written anything in my life before; I hated writing. So the night before the story was due, I threw together this story about a girl with an eating disorder.

I remember walking into class the day after I turned my story in. Before I could even sit in my desk, Mr. Ruebarr asked to speak to me out in the hallway.

“Silver, I read your story last night, and it was magnificent. I never knew you could write like that.”

“Thanks Mr. Ruebarr,” I replied.

“From now on, I don’t want to see you slacking off in my class, because I know that you can do the work”

A few awkward seconds passed by, until he spoke again.

“Hey, I was wondering, is there anything going on in your life? Something you’d maybe want to talk about, like to the school counselor or anything?”

At that point, I realized he had gotten the wrong idea about my story, and I didn’t know what to say really. All that came out of my mouth was, “Nope. The story was just part of my imagination.” Then I walked back into class and took my seat.

So Mr. Ruebarr got in front of the class a few minutes later, and told us that we were going to peer edit each other’s short stories. I started to get a bit nervous, because I didn’t want anyone else reading mine, but I knew it was going to happen.

So he passed out the stories, and we got to work. By the end of class, everyone was whispering. I looked up from my desk only to realize that everyone was staring at me. The bell rang, and my best friend, Allie, slid a note onto my desk rather abruptly. As I was walking out of class, I unfolded the little pink piece of paper, only to find the words, “I’m worried about you.”

I was only 17 then. At that time, I didn’t know that in just a few short months, I’d be living a nightmare.