“Elijah!”
The sound vibrated through my skull and into my brain, splitting it open and letting it fall into shards of broken glass, missing with my shattered heart and soul.
“What?!” I shouted back in my mind, but still trying my best to block the irritating sound of her voice out of my mind.
“You’re going to be late!” The irritating voice shrieked back, and I could not help to cringe and pull the covers up higher, hoping that they would offer some more protection against the terrible noise that was my mother’s voice.
“I’m coming!” my mind repeated but still not a single sound escaped my mouth.
“I’m serious Elijah! Get up! We are going to be late! Do not make me come in there and get you!”
“Urgh,” I groaned. She wouldn’t leave. Experience has taught me that many times before.
“Hurry!” she shouted once more.
Getting out of bed is probably the most difficult challenge of my day. I love sleeping. It’s like they say; sleep is just like death, but without the commitment. I’ve never been big on commitment, but death seems more than right to me at this moment in time. This is part of the reason why I fall out of bed and don’t climb out.
Getting dressed is challenge number two for the day. What do you wear when you have a closet full of clothing and nothing to wear? Surely not the blue sweater I got for Christmas, or the green hoodie that made its way over to me on my birthday. In the end I pick the same I wear every day. The outfit that has become my uniform and disguise so that the world would not recognize me. A black skinny jean, a grey shirt, and a band hoodie sporting the words “the Black Parade is Dead!” on it.
I look at myself in the mirror, drawing my fingers through my hair, which is also challenge number three for the day. The regrowth is getting too much, probably an inch already. Some children get snow days. Why can I not get a dye day and stay home from school to dye my hair? But then again, why would I be so lucky? It’s not like I have been lucky before in my life. Maybe this is just the way things work.
Straightening my hair doesn’t take that long anymore. I can actually attempt to do my fringe until it covers my eyes without even actually looking in the mirror. But I still look. I like seeing how I disappear and become invisible with every stroke of hair falling in front of my eyes. Covering up the green until only a slight grey tinge comes through, making them all see that I have eyes, but that I do not really see with them. I like it this way. Nobody notices somebody if they do not have a soul, and this is the only way I know to hide my soul from the rest of the world.
Just before I head out of the room, I look back to the mirror. Picking up the black liner from the floor where I dropped it last night, I put the finishing touches on the look I have had since when I care to remember. A black cross covering my lips, showing the fact that I will not speak. I will not talk about what happened, and I will never say what I feel. Because that just fucks everything up in the end. To listen is just a way better approach.
The drive to school is the same as always. I hide in the back seat of the car, slowly nibbling on my toasted waffle, hoping that ‘she’ won’t notice that I’m still there, somewhere in the back, but sometimes every single time that I think this particular thought she seems to sense me on the back seat.
“Did you have enough to eat?” she asks and I see her worried eyes flash towards me in the mirror.
I nod.
“Why don’t you talk to me?”
I shrug this time. A nod just won’t be enough.
“How is school?” She drives slower so that she can take a look at me in the back of the car.
Another shrug from me.
“Don’t you think that cross over your mouth is a bit much?”
I shake my head in disagreement, not being able to tell her that it is the only thing that scares everybody enough to keep them sitting far away from me. They talk about me, but they never approach me. That’s the way I like it.
“Why won’t you speak?” she poses another question just as she hits the brakes, which makes me sit upright in relieve. I’m spared the one question she wants to know the answer of, and the one question whose answer is the reason for the cross over my lips.
I climbed out of the car and walked away, only looking back once as she hooted, causing me to lift my hand in a half-enthusiastic greeting.
As I walk towards the school on open pilot I see the others staring as they always do. Too scared to approach me, but still whispering behind their hands; eager to have a little bit of gossip early in the morning. One girl actually said my name so loudly that I actually turned around to look at her, which was when my whole life started falling apart, leaving me sitting on my ass and looking up into a face I had never seen in my life, but definitely wanted to see again.
He was skinny, but not too skinny either in his grey chinos. The checkered shirt was pulled tightly across his chest and his hair was mostly hidden beneath the beany on his head. It was however his eyes that I fell in love with. It was warm. That is the only way I can think of describing it. Warm and like liquid chocolate, and just the perfect amount of take-my-breath-away mixed in with it.
“Sorry dude,” he said with a smile as he offered me a hand up.
Hesitantly I took his hand. It’s not the first time I’ve fallen down at school before, but it is the first time someone has offered me a hand and looked like they meant it.
“That’s a really nice band,” he said trying to make a conversation as he pointed towards my hoodie. “My name is Blake.”
I stared at him for a few seconds, not really knowing what to do. Then suddenly; “Elijah.”
The sound that came from my mouth sounded weird in my ears. It’s been a while since I’ve spoken. I don’t even know why I said anything. It just happened.
“Well, I hope to see you around buddy,” Blake said with a smile that invited me in. He patted me on the back and walked off.
“Look back! Look back! Look back!” my mind screamed loudly, and just before he slipped away behind a building he turned around… And raised his hand, waving at me. I waved back, and then he was gone.
