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School
Hiss...
It’s the sound of the ocean pulling on the beach, the knife drawn across the skin, and the warning sound of a snake, but for now it’s the sound of seventh period’s bell.
The new bell system is the worse we’ve ever had, even though the other one was so loud it shook our school and two kids screamed and ran out. You’d think a school who spent thousands of dollars on its sports programs could afford a working bell system. If you would, you’re wrong.
Just like you’d be wrong if you believed all the crap that the teachers really care about the kids, Amy did and when she told them about her dad they put her on medicine saying no one would reasonably do that so she must have made it up.
Since then, no one has gone near the teachers with a problem and they keep those plastic grins on their faces and those posters saying, “Have a fear? Ask a teacher!” It has a picture of a little five-year-old crying on it. I suspect that’s because someone stole her candy. The kid who stole her candy probably got detention. I wonder if he spit gum at the teacher’s head, that’s what I’d do except I don’t get detention.
When I’m bad the teachers just smile at me and whisper, “Oh Miranda...” I know what they’re thinking, but I don’t talk because I just don’t want to. Otherwise I’d talk all the time and they could give me detention but I like it this way. For now...they don’t owe me anything and I make all B’s. It’s a secret pact, I think they signed it and hid it in my portfolio as an explanation. In fact I know they did. I snuck in and saw it, no I didn’t but the way they look at me and smile and nod let’s me know they’re still keeping up the pact. If it wasn’t for this pact I’d be sunk chin level in F’s.
For all you know, this could be all lies, but they aren’t. In fact for all you know I’m a wart laden eighty year old lady wishing she was sixteen...and for all you know you could be one of us the faceless who wander around, but you aren’t.
You never were.
Park and Brian
The park is conveniently located a block from my house. If you haven’t figured that out, it’s where I am now. The swaying trees with boughs of the willow trees touching the water is beautiful, sometimes I pick flowers and put them in the stream. Just like in a storybook or a picture. It makes me sad sometimes because no one ever really takes the time to look at this place, they just rush by it. Maybe if someone did that to them they’d appreciate it more.
I don’t like them, those people that rush by this place. Lots of them are at school at least I think they are, sometimes it is hard because everyone looks so similar. I know one person though. Brian. He’s nice to be and gives me candy, I don’t mind it hits me at least I get candy. Brian has short spiky black hair and purple eyes from contacts he is nice once he’s not around his friends or at least I suppose smiling and laughing at my stupid jokes and junk is nice. If so he’s the nicest person I’ve met in years.
I can talk, I promise. Surprised aren’t you? You should have picked up on it when I said Brian laughed at my jokes. I talk just not at that place. I guess I should have told you that I am waiting for Brian but I didn’t, maybe that qualifies me as irresponsible. He should be here any moment now. I can hear the gunning of the motors of cars and the chatter of animals, I clutch my bag of cookies to myself. Those squirrels look hungry.
“Hey kiddie,” I didn’t hear him walk up but now he’s here. Brian is dressed okay I guess his loose fitting cargo pants are grey, his shirt is an old Nine Inch Nails t-shirt, and he has a rainbow belt sliding through his pants. I love rainbows, they are so beautiful and colourful.
“Hey Brian,” I look up at him and smile I know my green eyes are stupidly large and my dark brown hair is down to my belly-button and is too long, but he never seems to care. I take a cookie out of my bag and hand it to him and he is already walking around and sitting on the bench before I can make my throat squeeze out more words. Brian moves his left purple contact back over his brown eye because it is showing, I don’t care I think it gives a nice eclipsed look. Whatever.
“School sucked today,” he comments eating from my cookie bag. The sacred cookie bag that no one except he can touch, but I don’t think I’m looking. My heartbeat has sort of quickened and my stomach is a bit in knots, talking gets me nervous. In a bit I’ll be calmer...maybe.
“Yeah I know, Mr. Guilvery really pummelled me at p.e. Nothing is better than watching high schoolers do anything he wants. My muscles are still sore, wait I don’t have muscles must be my skin,” I say this all uber fast as if I have to say it before my throat closes and I can’t speak.
“You think that’s bad? Well that frog lady made us dissect something it was disgusting I let my partner do it and this one girl goes crazy and tries to feed them. I mean, dude they’re dead!” Brian laughs a bit at my joke and we eat some more cookies. It takes me a while to think of what I’m going to say.
“I think...” I leave off it’s like my brain has shut down, and I can’t carry it on but somehow I must so I make something lame and say, “I think I have to go home. Mom will be really pissed, I didn’t tell her where I was going and besides I haven’t eaten since lunch.”
Brian looks at me in a funny kind of way and says simply, “Kay I’ll drive you home, it’s not too far and besides we can pick up some McDonald’s.”
I breathe a mental sigh of relief, I’m starting to feel panicky. I need to go to my room.
Home
The salt of the French fries is almost sweet on my tongue like my taste buds got messed up and misdirected the tasting of French fries. The soda, a miscreant Dr. Pepper in the land of root beer, is on my bedside table.
My room is small with wooden floors and white walls, well they’d be white if they weren’t covered in pictures and posters. My bed is too big and takes up most of the room in this room, my wardrobe is a dark green and is beside it, squished tightly against the wall. I think it indented it, my bookshelves are crammed full of books I’ve read millions of times. I should read more, but I’ve read them all.
I stretch out on my bed, my toes gripping the quilted cover and tugging at it roughly, I sip on my Dr. Pepper and nibble on some of my food. It tastes even better than if I had bought it myself. I think Mom is pounding on the wall or maybe it’s a giant monster. I want to tell her I’m okay but I can’t think about speaking.
I twine my fingers in the blanket and curl up eating my food and drinking my drink. My Mom and I don’t have a pact, we need one. A peace treaty maybe. I think I’ll write it up and give to her, I hope she’ll sign it. I’m lying, she would never sign it and I wouldn’t write a peace treaty. For all I know she’d burn it up.
I don’t think it matters though, I think that treaties are all lies. Look at the Indians lots of treaties and none of them were upheld. No, I wouldn’t write something and have it being broken.
“Miranda!” her voice is a high pitched wail and it makes my ears want to shriek in pain.
“I’m okay Mom,” I whisper, curling up closer on the bed.
I’m okay...
If we say something enough maybe it’ll come true. I think that’s wrong.
My fingers lock on an old poster and pull, hard but it won’t come off. I scrounge around for my headphones for a few minutes and pop in some Bach, in the midst of all that music I can probably lose my thoughts. Mom has let off, finally and I look out my windows and it’s dark. I think I’ll go outside soon and scribble a note for Mom, I might go over to Brian’s. Yeah, that’d be perfect especially since he’s my only friend I guess.
I grab some paper and a pen and write down: Hey Mom going to a friend’s house love you lots. I’m sorry, Miranda.
There, I think it’ll work I open my door and take off my headphones, leaving the music still playing on my bed. I slip down the stairs and lay the note on the kitchen table. I feel like a secret agent. They should start playing some James Bond music any moment now.
I roll and hold my hands together like a gun and blow imaginary smoke off the muzzle.
I am Miranda, 007 they took away my name and are giving me a number. I pull myself up the stairs and look down from my window, the trellis is stable and I’ve done this before. The warm night air brushes my cheeks and my cold skin is warmed slightly.
As I climb down the trellis and then on the streets I tug at my blue jeans as if to make them fit better. My bare feet slap against the pavement as I jog down the street.
The cars zoom past me and the pieces of rock shoot out and smack my legs. I don’t mind though. Brian’s house is a few down past mine. A scrunchie grips my wrist and I snap it around my hair and pull it into some sort of low ponytail. My hair now just brushes my elbows. My arms ache from p.e. and I troop along rigorously cursing my stupidity.
I see Brian. Right outside his house taking a long drag on a cigarette and he waves at me, I tug at my own red t-shirt feeling and I, Miranda the slug jog up to him. A smile forms on his lips and I try to feel if my heart is going crazy again. Nope, not now. I talked too much today or something, I’m getting used to it.
“Hey kiddo, what did you come over for?” Brian grins at me and I notice he took out his contacts and he leans against his old Volkswagen the green paint shows some rust on the old time bus.
“Just needed to get out,” I pant my chest heaving from the jog, I’m not the best runner in the world. In fact evidence shows I may be the worse. I have been known to only complete a half a lap and faint from exertion, the teacher calls this, “Potential for becoming a sprinter” I don’t think so. Sorry Mr. Guilvery I have no more talent than you have for seeing what is clear. I hate running, I hate sports, and I hate academics.
I need an agreement with Mr. Guilvery, something along the lines of, “Don’t pretend I’m good and I’ll do whatever you want so long as I get good grades.”
Somehow, I know he wouldn’t agree or at least not without force. Maybe I could become a pirate and then I could-
“Miranda?” Brian’s voice penetrated me and I shook my head and looked at him. What had he said? I bit my lower lip, the skin giving a bit to taste the blood. Was I unable to speak? Was I unable to think? No...not yet.
“Yeah Brian exactly,” I said grinning with my best smile and he nodded as if happy. Once again Super Miranda is at the rescue! Saving millions including herself from the dangers of being themselves. A laugh escapes me but I don’t really care, Brian isn’t even paying attention.
“Well come on Miranda and come inside, you look fit to burst. Let me guess, you’ll be staying over? Nah, don’t even say it, come on,” Brian flicks the cigarette butt and it sails over my head and fizzes out on his drive way. His hand shoots forward and locks over mine and he pulls me inside. I’m surprised I’ve only been over a few times but it never changes. A poem I wrote once dances in my head but telling you about it now would be stupid because I’ll get distracted again. The house is messy, really messy and smells of plants and flowers. His mom is a big nature freak and the plants practically burst in at you, as if trying to reach for you to pull you inside. I love this house, it seems sweet and welcoming. The walls are all white but seem to be green because of the plants. I am smiling and he tugs me down the hallway, oh yes still bursting with plants, into his room. He only has a few plants, one bonsai tree, one African violet, and two orchids. They’re all really big though and his walls have records glued to them and c.d. stacks against the walls. I plop on his huge bed, which is a mattress against carpet, and I grin stupidly at him.
“So, why don’t we listen to some Against Me? It’ll be better than you think I promise,” Brian held up his left hand like he was being sworn in.
“Shut up,” I stand and playfully shove him, sometimes around him I feel like I can be myself...except I’d never tell him what I really think because he might leave and that’d be sad. Who would want to push Brian away? No one that’s for sure, sure he can be a real jerk but he’s also really nice sometimes. I know that he’s looking at me weirdly and is wondering what’s up but suddenly it’s like I can’t talk to him and fear is pulling at my heart and all I want to do is curl up.
Talk about mood swings.
I fall onto his bed again and push a pillow over my face maybe so that I can shove those tears back in my eyes. I don’t want him to see me, the real me but maybe I do. I’m not sure there should be some law against this that specifically says: Miranda Johnson will never show her real face to anyone under penalty of death, anyone who tries to make her show her real self will be terminated.
Brian’s a rule breaker though, he wouldn’t follow my law. I could always try.
I can feel him near me and smell him in the pillow and beside me, his hands are on my shoulders gently shaking me as if to waken me.
I don’t want to wake up.
Everyone is someone else. You are, I am everyone is. No one is as happy or as angry as they seem, if they were themselves and raw as possible it’d be chaos. So for now, everyone pretends to be something else. I will be myself in my head, and not even around my “friends” will I be myself. Don’t lie you know you aren’t as happy as you act. You’re miserable, and you know it.
I’m ignoring Brian’s hugs and how he’s talking to me I’m ignoring the throbbing in my chest for chair, and most of all I’m ignoring everything around me. I know I’ll have to breathe though so I take the pillow off my face and hug it to my chest and look at Brian, his brown eyes are worried and his black hair is all mussed up.
“I thought you passed out,” he says and I know in his head he’s thinking, ‘What’s up with this girl?’ I don’t think I care, or at least I’m not sure. I want to make treaties with the world so everyone can be happy and not upset about me, but I don’t think it’ll work.
“Nah I’m okay,” I twitch a piece of hair from my eyes and knot it up behind my head, my eyes half closed with tiredness. Brian looks at me as if I just said the most idiotic thing ever and he half punches my arm and I sink lower in the bed.
“You lie horribly, look I’m gonna get us some sodas and then you can tell me what’s wrong okay? I won’t tell anyone I promise,” he now talks like a little kid and I know he’s trying to make me laugh but...well it’s not working.
I have now declared myself the worst liar in the universe but in an instant I’ll have to change that declaration as I lie to Brian or maybe I can sneak out. I look at the windows but they’re locked and before I know it I’m sighing and changing the c.d. to play a better more earthy one.
Any moment now Brian will come in here and ask me what is wrong, and my heart is starting to thump in my chest for like a record time and I want to scream and hide. This is ridiculous but no one said it had to be sane. I, Miranda Johnson have now gone psycho. I look out the windows into the tar-black sky and hum to myself along with the music, this really sucks.
Brian is back and he’s sitting beside me hanging me a Sprite thinking it’ll chill down my nerves, and well I guess it does because I gulp it down like it’s medicine and I feel light almost. The bubbles are rising to my head, I should have a crown of bubbles. I think that’d be awesome, in fact maybe I do have a crown of bubbles and it’s only other people who can’t see it. Definitely. I am the bubble queen. Brian why are you looking at me like that like I’ve said the best thing ever, and why are you reaching over to hug me?
“Thanks I was you know....kind of anxious about it and all, thanks it’s at six o’clock on next Friday at Julia’s house. I’ll pick you up okay?” I am faltering in my mind, but I’m still bubble from my drink and I hiccup out an “okay” before looking out the window. Not even a bubble queen could get out of this.
Brian you should stay away, because you might see the real me, and then....it’ll all be over, on punishment of death.
Morning
know it’s morning by the way the sun selfishly creeps through the blinds, I’m still at Brian’s house. I smell like him now and I’m curled on his bed and I don’t see him.
I stagger to the doorway and troop down the hallway, the house is even greener by daylight, into the kitchen. Brian is there looking oddly messed up his jeans and shirts the same from yesterday and his hair greasy and his eyes drooping tiredly. As soon as he glances at me he brightens up and holds a piece of omelette on a pretty green plate out to me.
“Dude you have to eat,” he pushes it into my hands and I slouch shapelessly into a chair that lets me sink into it. He seems completely unaware of the glares I’m giving at his general direction, I don’t think he even cares to tell the truth. I nibble at the omelette, bursts of flavour erupt in my mouth and before soon my omelette is gone. I pat my full stomach contentedly and feel as if I could take a nap again.
Brian pulls me after him once we are out of the house, when did I leave?, and the smells of the fresh air make me dizzy. I would put a hand to my head to keep it from spinning off but he has both of my hands and is pulling me by them to only-God-knows-where. My feet are squelching in the mud and I still have no idea where we are except it looks like his neighbourhood but it has a lot more trees and mud than it used too. There is a stream burbling in front of us and I hop over it after Brian, not wanting to fall into it.
I shake my head free of water droplets from his splashing steps in the water.
“Where are we going?” I demand and I know my voice is all tired sounding and exhausted from our walk.
“Just over to your house, this is a different pathway,” he replies and I shrug simply not caring to think anymore about it. Finally he lets go of my hands and we’re in my backyard, he points at the lattice-work near my window.
“There yah go, have fun and come over anytime,” I blink, even more confused than I was, which I thought was impossible, and just climb up the lattice work. The wood pricks at my fingers and the wines clutch at my clothes but somehow I make it up to my window and slip through it, it’s still open from last night. When I look around to see Brian though, he’s gone. I shrug boredly and collapse on my bed wishing life was easier.
Simple wish, left ungranted.
Normal
If it’s normal to feel this way then I am the most normal kid of them all. I push myself under my bed covers, while the light from my lamp makes a blue haze from my view, and I know I’m smiling. You know what? I think I should call Amy, and ask her what is wrong but if I did that I’d be breaking the rules of conduct for all people named Miranda. You see, if your name is Miranda you of course are expected to be quiet, weird, and just unfriendly to people who don’t know you very well. None of the Miranda’s though are like that inside, because that’d be hard to be you see.
The neighbours are being noisy again. I can hear them yelling and I want to yell back but my throat is all closed up for now so I know I couldn’t do that even if I would.
I think everyone is partly normal but they cover it up by trying to be different, maybe not.
My throat is locked up and I curl up further in my covers. My mouth is still smiling and my eyes are almost closed to that through everything is darker through my dark eyelashes. My muscles are all locked up and I stretch languidly to get them to unkink. My hand slides from the covers and steals my c.d. player and c.d. holders. I am looking at them the flitting c.d.s rushing by and I pick one of Orgy’s c.d.s.
I know I am swaying, a bundle of hair, skin, and clothes underneath the covers to the rhythm of the music. My teeth press on my lower lip and I know what I need to do...
Make art.
My hand dances over the page, drawing little lines that all connect to form one large picture. I look at it curiously to see the outcome, in the large white space I will write a poem but for now it’s a dragon, snarling with a wing outstretched...and on that wing I will write a poem.
Little Dragon,
Stretch thy head,
Arcing along the graces,
Of the star lined skies.
Little Dragon,
Thou passion burning,
A swiftly devouring flame,
Come again.
My head is throbbing from this output as if it took too much of a toll out of me but I know I’ll have to continue. I grab out my coloured pencils and add hints of green to dazzling red scales with a bright orange crest glaring at the sun. I shiver, it looks realistic and my scrawling handwriting on the page is just a bare faced shimmer of how I feel. I tuck this drawing under my pillow, I’ll turn it in for art for an A. Maybe I can break the pact...this once.
Music
Missed me missed me now you’ve got to kiss me. If you kiss me mister I might tell my sister, if I tell her mister she might tell my mother, and my mother, mister, might just tell my father and my father mister he won’t be too happy and he’ll have his lawyer come up from the city and arrest you mister. So I wouldn’t miss me if you get me mister, see?
I am swaying to the music screaming the lyrics along with my c.d. of the Dresden Dolls, Amy Palmer’s deep throated voice warbling softly on the notes.
I know what you are thinking, that I’m carefree and not thinking of anything at all...you’re wrong. I’m thinking of everything I possibly can think of: school, music, art, Brian, and you. Yes you, I have seen you looking at me now and again through the blinds of my room and every time you do my heart gets up in my throat and I can’t breathe. You make me want to rip my heart out of chest and/or cry on the floor and not get up.
Why do you do this?
Now you’ve gone and distracted me from my music but I know you are here watching me...and your eyes are boring little holes into the back of my neck. What is this sudden urge to scream at you? I know I can’t do that, my throat is all closed up now from wanting to cry. I change the music to some ska and sway to the rhythms of the guttural pulses of the music underlined with various instruments. I bet you didn’t think I thought like this did you? You’d be wrong as you always are...unable to comprehend that I do have a brain, and I think these wretched thoughts to keep you from touching my mind. I decided long ago it’s the one thing you could never have.
Take my soul, heart, hopes, dreams, fears, angers, and loves...but you will never take my mind.
I am still free.
I am shaking and shivering and the last thing I remember hearing is Mom’s fist pounding on the door and your words in my ear. I shiver at the thought of you and curl up closer on my bed, I realize somewhat belatedly that Mom got in and tucked me into bed. There’s a cup of hot chocolate near my head and I sip at it, letting the hot liquid burn me from the inside out until I am all tingly. My lips slip away from the rim and I grin stupidly at the feeling it gives me. I know I’m scared, I can still feel it deep down inside of me...but right now I want to be okay so I shove it away. I smile because you can’t touch me now, my window is locked you must have opened it. You don’t know anything and sometimes I wish you did so that you could know I’m not fit for you...so that you’d just go away. On my hand I see someone wrote me a note and it’s in -your- handwriting it says, “I’ll see you tomorrow at school.” My heart thumps wildly and I clutch the cup ignoring the wicked burns melding into my hands.
I cry, just to feel the wet, hot stickiness on my cheeks and to know that I can still feel. It seems you haven’t taken that away form me yet, I tug at my covers and my sobs are muffled just as if you were here. The covers smell of you and it makes me cry even harder, it’s just like you to invade where you aren’t welcome...and to not come when you are. The thought of this makes my throat close in on itself and I quiver knowing Brian is probably worried but I don’t want to think about him.
School: The Secondary Version
My fingers are digging into my forehead, not from anger but too keep myself awake. I can almost hear the teacher’s thoughts, That Miranda Johnson...falling asleep in class again I’ll surprise her! He does this attempt by asking me a question.
“Who was Nathan Hale, Miranda?” just one time, but maybe a second or two off. I give him my best puppy-dog eyed look so that my eyes feel ready to pop out of my skull and my lip is trembling way too much. After a minute of this I know I’ve won and he admits defeat by calling on someone else. You’re here, right behind me and I can feel your breath slick on my neck and I shiver to convince myself I’m imagining things.
My fingers disobey me by flicking open my textbook, I’m in the middle of the classroom you see so obviously the teacher can look at me quite clearly, and the teacher’s head snaps around at me. A great gargantuan smile fills his face and it fills me with terror. No, no sir...do not call on me I don’t know the answer! I was just looking for pictures to amuse myself.
I sink lower in my chair than is humanly possible to let myself melt away. If I melted away I think I’d let you drink me so I could make you choke, but I’m not melting. I’m just trying to get away from the teacher. My fingers skim the pages like dancers on a stage and finally alight on their final destination: Nazis.
I know this sounds terrible but Nazis, Communists, and everything else like that really does make me interested. It will make me arched my back and shake in terror but nonetheless I still love it, in some demented way. Maybe in a past life I was a Nazi or a Jewish person. I’m not sure but I think I’d like to be on the Jews that died because if I survived I’d be depressed. I remember once meeting this lady who survived it. She cried at me and was angry because of my questions. I probably should have kept my mouth shut, and I have. Today is full of surprises, I’m breaking the pacts because...in my fear I’ve lost my sanity, but it was lost so maybe I found it. Ever think of that? I bet you did not.
“Miranda please close your textbook until I ask you to open it,” the smile is forgotten and in its place is something ugly...a scowl I think. I am awake for now at least and my eyes wander everywhere. The Goths sit in their corners, the punks sit in the back, the popular people in the front, and the nothings everywhere else that isn’t occupied. I want to make something beautiful, to have it spring from my fingertips and uncoil like a cat in motion, if only to have it cover up my imperfections.
I think I should be doing something in class, so I get out my notebook and take “notes” but what I’m really doing is copying poems from the book I have opened on my lap in an area between the desk and myself. I really like this one so I think I’ll tell it to you.
“My November Guest” by Robert Frost:
My Sorrow, when she's here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
She walks the sodden pasture lane.
Her pleasure will not let me stay.
She talks and I am fain to list:
She's glad the birds are gone away,
She's glad her simple worsted gray
Is silver now with clinging mist.
The desolate, deserted trees,
The faded earth, the heavy sky,
The beauties she so ryly sees,
She thinks I have no eye for these,
And vexes me for reason why.
Not yesterday I learned to know
The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow,
But it were vain to tell he so,
And they are better for her praise.
I think I’d be his November guest if I could be. I’d have leaves in my hair with ragged clothing and sing in the cold...and I’d dance with sleeping trees. Reading poems always makes me poetic, but don’t fear I’m still Miranda retard extraordinaire. In my mind you should know I’m singing “secret agent man” because that is my favourite song to mimic when I’m acting like this, but you don’t understand that. None of you do. I feel angry all of a sudden I think it’s because of that law, you know the no one should know me law. I don’t know I feel sick and my fingers slide over my t-shirt and grip my belly, I think I’m going to be sick. My close flick open and closed repeatedly as if I can abate this pain by not concentrating on it. A stifled groan ripples through my body.
“Something wrong Miranda,” the teacher swivels around from the chalkboard to glare at me, I nod stiffly, “Well go to the bathroom or the nurse then and grab a hall pass on your exit.” I stumbled up gratefully and grip a hall pass so hard it imprints my hand and leaves it white.
I know how I look in my crumpled blue jeans and fairy t-shirt, it’s purple with a green fairy on it glaring and saying “Got Fairy?”, I look hideous and even more so now that I’m sick. I slam into the bathroom and just have enough time to puke in the toilet before I can stand. I hover uncertainly aching with pain and any moment now I know I’ll cry. Cry about what I can’t hope to change, and never will be able to. Maybe there is something to cure this, I’d like to know what it is.
I think despite everything, this weekend has changed me. I won’t be the same. You know what is stupid? All I can think of right now is a line to a poem, “Be sweet! Be still! My heart and soul despise.”
I think that Charles Baudelaire was angry at his wife or lover or something. I don’t know but that poem, “Sonnet of Autumn”, sure isn’t rainbows and sunshine. Yeah, he was definitely pissed. Just like me. I should probably calm down. So I will.
I slip out of the school building’s doors and wander to the track. A fine drizzle of rain coats the earth in silver, and all I can hear is the slap of my converse on the pavement...and my breathing. My eyes blink back tears and I feel better soon, the running winds me down. Using my energy like this, well it’s better than screaming. Maybe. I promise, I’ll do anything for you please. Sometimes I think we’d be better off alone, but I still hate you and you still have I-have-no-idea-what feelings for me. Won’t you just go away? I see you now, slamming the door shut and running after me. I can beat you, I’m not even panting so I run as fast as I can until my legs are screaming. I collapse weakly on the pavement and lay there, letting the rain soak my shirt. The cool feeling is pleasant and I feel heavy and weight, I think I could sink into the earth at this point.
You are coming though, I can smell your musk and of course that horrible scent you always have that I can’t describe. You bend over me, blonde hair falling over grey eyes.
“Good, you’re okay,” your voice is husky and you drag me up. I can see you clearly now with that dark blue shirt saying nothing at all and with nonchalant jeans. I pull myself away from your touch and walk away, my head hanging low almost in defeat. Hello? Can you hear me? Go away. This isn’t allowed, it’s not in our subliminal agreement. I’m supposed to kiss you and you’re not supposed to talk to me. Ever. Why won’t you go away? I fight back tears, I won’t let you see me cry. Soon though, almost too soon for my comfort we’re back at school. The bell rings, and now it is barely audible...that low hissing sound but it seeps from the school like poison fumes. You pat me on the back and my back arches from shock and I shrink away, into the school.
I don’t think you can see me anymore because the shadows are hiding me, but I do wish you’d stop grinning at me. Please don’t talk to me, I know my cheeks are still wet and I’m grimy and nasty. Brian steers clear of me like he would the plague.
This isn’t fun anymore. I want the game to end.
No Beginning To This Ending
I’m pretty sure that beyond the hills of home there is something out there. I think I’d go out there if I wasn’t scared. I still haven’t figured out what I’m scared of so far I’ve made a list of what I might be scared of:
Change
You
Mom
Druggies
Everything.
Maybe it’s not exactly fair, but we can’t do a thing about it anyway...if we could maybe everything would be better. Except maybe we don’t want it to be better? It sounds stupid I know and I feel like I’m thinking clearly; however, I know that in a little while it’ll be gone and everything will return. It makes me scared to think that the world is such a terrible place, maybe that’s why I make these “fantasies” as the school counsellor calls them...if they were they would be nicer, right? I hope they’d be or maybe it’s like an acid trip and I got a bummer instead of an upper. This is depressing, I wish this clarity would leave and it could see it all through a fine grey mist...
This is why kids do drugs.
I am not proud I’m just taking orders, I fall to the ground within moments of impact. I hit back if hit and attack if attacked.
Why am I crying? Is it that I want so much to be a part of anything, or is it that I’m really as weak as everyone else? Why aren’t you here the one time I need you to be, to feel your arms around me...I wouldn’t even mind to kiss you. I should call a truce with everyone and make them all happy, I think that is what really matters that everyone be happy...because I can never be happy. It sounds morbid but it’s true, you won’t get it you are so beautiful my golden angel unspoiled by such thoughts. I think I should go away to make you really pure. My angel...
Lyrics
I wasn’t sure what to tell you today except that I feel better than yesterday and here are some lyrics from the Dresden Dolls, I think they could be possibly the best band ever, please enjoy them if you don’t I might cry again:
So you don’t want to hear about my good song?
and you don’t want to hear about how i am getting on
with all the things that i can get done
the sun is in the sky & i am by my lonesome
so you don't want to hear about my good day?
you have better things to do than to hear me say
God its been a lovely day! everything is going my way
I took out the trash today and I'm on fire...
so you don't want to hear about my good friends?
you don’t have the guts to take the truth or consequence
success is in the eye of the beholder
and its looking even better over your cold shoulder
I'm not suggesting you up and line me up for questioning
but Jesus think about the bridges you are burning
and I'm betting
that even though you knew it from the start
you'd rather be a bitch than be an ordinary broken heart
so go ahead and talk about your bad day...
I want all the details of the pain and misery
that you are inflicting on the others
I consider them my sisters and I'd like their numbers
God its been a lovely day! everything is going my way
I took up croquet today and I'm on fire
I picked up the pieces of my broken ego
I have finally made my peace as far as you and me go
but I'd love to have you up to see the place
& I'd like to do more than survive I'd like to rub it in your face.....
hey! its been a lovely day! everything is going my way
I had so much fun today and I'm on fire
God it's been a lovely day everything's been going my way
ever since you went away hey I'm on fire.....
I'm on fire...
I'm on fire...
so you don’t want to hear about my good day?
click here for jive version.
I don’t get how some people don’t like music...when I play it it’s as if each note is stroking me, healing me, running over my skin with the lightest of touches...I sound crazy. Maybe I really am, or are you playing head games with me? I think you’ve sunken me low enough.
By the way...I was wrong, I’m still seeing clear.
Oh my Darling!
Today was the best day ever, that I can ever think of. None of the usual jibes came at me and instead Brian hugged me, he hugged me! This might just possibly be a miracle. Is God watching me, I wonder if He’s happy and laughing too or if He’s being serious? I hope it’s the first one, I know I couldn’t be serious. Oh I’m bubbling over! No one can be as happy as I am. My mist has come down, wrapping around my head like a healing band and it is glorious!
Everything is going my way, I would swear to that but something might mess it up. You even came up to me and swung me into a closet and kissed me, maybe that helped but after it I felt nasty...until Brian of course. I’d love Brian, but I already know he is in love with Ashley. No reason to set myself up for disappointment, oh my gosh I just...love life. I think I love it enough to want to scream my head off with joy, dance on the street, and just rejoice. I wonder why not everyone can feel like this? Everyone should, that should be a new law. I think that one about no one knowing the real me is still in effect but not...it makes me happy! I can be anyone, anything and no one will question me.
Did you know that I even made an A+ on my English quiz? I always get B’s, I think God really must be playing a joke on me...but it’s lovely while it lasts. I bet you didn’t hear about Emily though. It makes me shudder to think of where she’ll end up, but it’s true. Emily is a druggie you can so obviously tell! No one challenged her and she O.D.ed in the school bathroom, and I would have found her if some twit hadn’t pushed in front of me. It’s all so frightening! Isn’t that stupid being scared of drugs, it’s true. Everyone is so sweet but things like that ruin it all. Now I’m almost sad but not really, nothing can bring me down! Oh I want to dance. I think I will to feel my hips swaying to the beat, my feet thumping and my arms swaying...everything is so glorious.
I think I should go to sleep; I can’t. My feet carry me down the stairway and I grab the coffee pot and start making some. I burn myself twice in the process, I don’t think I ever really saw my house. Now though I see how dreary it is. Not even the paintings and the cheerfulness can cover up the aura of pain that emanates from everything. Is it because of me?? I hope not, oh God I hope not! If that is true then geese I’d have done better to run away! I shake my head trying to rid it of such thoughts but all I feel is a fog closing in on my throat and I can’t breathe...No, no that’s stupid. I shake my head again and I hiss between my teeth, I know now I’m swaying silently...I wish you could be with me, but it’s 2 a.m. so that’s not possible.
The coffee pot burbles and splutters all over the counter-top. I frown closely, I don’t know how it came to we but suddenly I am wiping up the mess and pouring myself a cup of coffee. My hands shake and it leaks on the sides of the mug. I’d cuss but I don’t think I should. If I do anything I’m afraid I’ll do it loudly or mess it up. I open the fridge and grab some jelly and spread it on some toast. I nibble on it before finding out that my stomach revolts as it would against something disgusting...how long has it been since I ate? One, two, four, six days? Time isn’t even relevant anymore. I think with all these feelings inside of me it’d be better to just sink down into oblivion. If you were here I’d just settle on you and lay there and accept your kisses for all they are worth, and that isn’t much.
Later...
I think I feel good; I’m not sure. It’s as if everything is great and I just can sit back and relax. I thought about you a lot...when I was in the car and staring out the dewy window I thought of you and how the clear tracks were like when I was staring into you. Is that possible? I think it must be if so many other things are possible. I didn’t skip school today I think you’d be proud but I am not sure. Relaxing into this janitor closet I wait, the smell of cleaners piercing my nose. You told me to wait here and suddenly I am nervous.
Why haven’t you come? Are you okay? Oh God...but the door is opening now a little the light burning my eyes and I cough slightly.
“Hey Mir,” the old nickname falls on my ears quietly and without a pause you place your hands on my waist and lean on me. I recoil only slightly but enough to make you frown coarsely. Is this happening? No...I jerk; instead of letting go I’m pushed into a chair. I know the bruises will stay on my mouth, chest, stomach, and arms for a long time.
Have you ever just floated away? It’s like I’m hovering over you. That can’t be me. Are you muffling me, is that why your hand is on my mouth? With all the strength in my closed throat I want to scream.
“No,” tears streak my face, I know I’m back now, and I pummel your body and cry...just cry. The red marks are turning purple by now and I pull away from you. The door opens, and all I remember is seeing Brian’s face.
Was this a Dream?
It must have been, but I don’t think it could have been. My skin crawls when I think of you and I will start to cry if I think on you too much. Brian is with me now, hugging me in the principal’s office. I can’t speak and just sit there crying like a huge boob. I don’t think I’d wish on that on my worst enemy...no.
I pull my knees close to my chest and look angrily at the principal. HOW COULD HE HAVE LET THIS HAPPEN? I knew the rumours...and I shudder.
“Well you should have told us. Miranda? Miranda? Can you hear me?” the principal places a gnarled hand on my shoulder and I shrink away. The only person I want to be with, is Brian. His hand tightens on me and he frowns sharply at the old man.
“Thank you for your time, sir. I’ll be sure to tell everyone how much of a help you’ve been. Good bye,” Brian tows me after him and my legs shake and wobble. We wander to the parking lot and hop into his ride. It’s only then that I can see Brian past the fog.
“You never told me?” he sighs softly to himself and looks like he shrugs it off, I know he’s hurt, and turns the car on. The revving of the engine thrums through the seat and shakes me even harder than before. Am I Miranda, Miss Slut Supreme or am I Miranda Victim and Child? Maybe a mix of both.
I can only blame myself. You can’t see that though...none of you can.
Home
Mom is wicked tired and I know from the bags under her eyes. I notice, for like the first time ever, that her beautiful brown hair is greying and her blue eyes are tired and weak...she hugs me softly. I’m not sure if she’s asking questions or if a fly is buzzing around my head sounding like her.
“Miranda? Miranda?” Mom gets out of her chair and walks away like a defeated dog. I feel bad...but I know I couldn’t talk if I wanted too and that ruins me. I cry harder than ever, falling backwards in my chair, ignoring the jolting pain...the pain in my heart is even harder to bear.
I messed this up...I guess I did. My fingers grip the phone and I grab the yellow pages, I circle the Saint Mary’s Institution for the Mentally Disabled and leave it on the table. I cry even worse than before and before soon I’m in my room, tugging and pulling at my skin...the same skin that he touched. My bruises are tender and ache, I probe them angrily wishing they would stay...a reminder of my terribleness.
Somehow I wasn’t surprised that Mom called the Institution, and I went pliantly like a lamb to the slaughterhouse when they picked me up.
Epilogue
The white walls are pleasant, and I’m dazed. Brian comes to see me sometimes, my Mom tells them he’s my brother. He got me some books that I am sometimes allowed to read. It passes the time...I feel better I guess. They only let female nurses come to me because with male ones I scream and claw them and myself. I see you everywhere I turn.
I looked in the mirror today and was surprised at what I saw...my green eyes are faded like my Mom’s from crying so much and my whole face seems sad. Not even my hair waves properly, it just looks sick and unhealthy.
Despite those things, this is the best place ever. I can forget sometimes, after my medicine...but you’ll never truly leave me.
Can you hear me, my angel?
Why haven’t you saved me?
Why didn’t you save me?
It was all...a Nightmare.
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