CHAPTER ONE: TRASH PANDA
November 09, 2012
My teacher says in a deceivingly sweet voice, “The topic of today is forgiving.” The cold stare of her eyes reminds me not to move a muscle.
A shadow grows under me, that ruthless predator has finally caught up. My spine shivers to that inescapable stalker. My stomach turns and twists to the imaginary smell of blood. I pull out a notebook filled with unreal events, ways to escape into the wilderness. Ways a prey like me could never get caught. My notebook open and my pencil flowing, in a rhyme and rhythm that could never compete to a beluga’s sonata. Sorrow, regret, sadness, but most importantly fear.
Please don’t let me go back to that, not to that.
A paper lands on my desk. The instructions spell my demise,
Write a forgiveness letter to someone who wronged you. I’m ready to lie. I have to do like other people, just roll with it. To pretend I’m fine. As I’m about to place my pen on the page, it trembles. The object flounders colliding with the marble floors. One hand rubs my eyes tempering the tears from falling. My other hand searches in my backpack for anything to hide me from the judgmental comments of my classmates. Empty! They won’t see me like this, it won’t be a repeat of the last high school. I grab my bag and leave, hoping that no one notices. The quiet door betrays me, it stays open letting everyone know their thoughts on my personal matters. Their voices chase me until I’m finally out of the hallways. Their laughter and gossip, nothing more than fluttering feathers in the wind. I wish… I brought a hoodie once again. My feet move on their own through the school grounds, leaving the artificial walkways, the wandering rebellious students skipping class and most of the buildings in favor of the natural greenery at the margins of school.
The untamed creek with its inhabitants keeps me company in my loneliness. It’s been almost three years and I still haven’t been able to overcome it. I can’t even run away from it. No one cares, no one can help me. Everyone tries to hide it under the rug. Like it doesn’t matter, like I don’t matter. They see the scar on my eyebrow and pretend it was there all the time. Like I was born with it.
Once more this becomes a solitary hibernation, with the only ones who get me, animals. The nightingales land on my shoulders and sing their cheerful songs. The fugitive dogs sit on my sides, kissing me until the tears die down. Even the frogs and lizards join resting on my arms and chest, showing their unconditional support.
It’s not until mom comes to pick me up that I force myself to return. My pretend seriousness. Nobody wants the sad me. No one likes to see the part of me that constantly struggles to keep going.