I've made some additions and edits since the last post so if anyone is willing to comment that would be great! I'm working with the idea that i'm not going to name the important people but the more insignificant character's will be not much more than a name- what do you guys think?
Can the weekends really be considered as part of the week? To me they have always been more of a transition period between two weeks. Sometimes they can be a new start, sometimes an ending, but they are always defining. They are the turning point, the climax of the story. I’d spent all Saturday cleaning and dusting my room but the greatest reward I’d got for this apparent waste of time was a clean head. I felt free of my shackles, I’d always held the key to my hand-cuff’s and now I gained the courage to use it. Sunday night the thrilling thought coursed through me: “I’m over him.”
I finally felt secure. I revelled in this new feeling of freedom and aspiration. My life was ahead of me and it was important. All the parts that I’d regrettably and inevitably tossed to the side were back in my fore-mind where I could actually pay attention to them. The sun. Beautifully warming both exemplifying and amplifying my inner well-being. I felt myself again- happy, laughing at nothing and smiling because I could. In one double-beat of my heart my happiness was shattered. Broken right in front of me. I’d built thick glass around my heart- so thick that I foolishly thought I’d gotten over him. It had worked so far, everything that had hit it had slid off its surface. I’d polished it clean and was shining with confidence. As the glass shivered into splinters the poisonous contents of the jar spilled out through me. It burned my cheeks red. It ravaged under my skin, my muscles were no longer under my control as my hands started to tremble.
How innocent I’d been to the fate that awaited me. I sat comfortable and slightly sprawled attaining correct answers to my maths homework. I saw a friend walk in and lifting my head to smile or confirm that it was in fact my friend. Walking behind him was him. Crash. The fragments of me lay on the table as I fervently tried to regain composure. My heart had double-bounced and was now playing catch up. I tried to continue my homework, my hand shook as I held the ruler and I had to stop and put my hand behind my head- feigning a resting pose. I kept on trying to do the question but had to stop and catch my breath, how was I to calm my heart beat when the cause of its irregularity hadn’t left- he was sitting at my table! For a second I thought, how dare he sit at my table and disrupt the peace of my day-to-day life! I realised of course that I’d overreacted. Now I just had to act normal. In an attempt to hide I buried myself in my books. But I got every question wrong. How was it that one person’s presence could turn perfection into ruin? I almost wasn’t sure if he sat there at all. This stranger sat slightly backward, hiding behind my friend and barely spoke remaining naturally taciturn. And that’s how I knew it was him. A shard of glass dug into me as I realised the similarity- I was the supposed to be the taciturn one! As much as I didn’t want my friends to see my seemingly random new sense of brokenness I did want him to see. That was the worst bit- a side affect of the poison, yet another fragment of glass stabbing me as I realised, I want him to care. He walked out early; my peripheral vision confirming what I’d hoped was a nightmare. He is perhaps the one person in this world who I can recognise without looking at them.
I sped-walked to lunch, hoping to shake off my fear and leave it behind in the dust. I found my friends and my eyes clung to them, I managed to re-create the world so that only they existed oh and of course him, who was somewhere behind me. Everyone sat around, enjoying the sunshine, which falsely promised a premature spring. Rihannon, a really nice girl, a bit of a fitness freak, but why would you sit like that, wearing shorts like that, with legs like that, around boys? I found another hidden splinter- this time one of jealousy as I realised that despite my earlier thoughts he was no longer behind me but sitting right where my eyes rested.
I wonder if my friends could see the crumbled, deformed and empty volcano pit inside of me. Somewhere in the process of growing up I’d acquired the ability to smile genuinely at almost anything. As much as it seemed to work to my advantage, a small child within could see that it left me forgotten. I needed to get my head around this. I told my friends I needed water from my locker and walked away. Away from a field of vision where he stood fenced in. An immature part of me hoped that his eyes were drilling into me.
I was ok. By the time I came back, my friends had migrated over to the same area where he sat. I wanted to be fearless so, despite other options, I sat next to them. Part of me found it imperative to show him that I was ok, it was habitual- something drilled into me since birth, to hide my feelings from people. The other part wanted me to crumble in front of him just to show him the pain he was causing. My friend’s boyfriend came up to kiss her, I sat next to them, awkward and trying not to note the irony. They weren’t intending to rub it in. As they kissed their bodies joined at the lips to form a kind of archway, it was in this archway that I caught his eye. He looked away swiftly. A whole seconds eye contact. I’d sought after that one second, longed for it for weeks and now it felt so insignificant. As careless as if it had been blown away in this perfectly windless day, as careless as his glance in the other direction.
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