The Hill

A Story by naomi

This is a memoir I wrote about an experience I had two years ago when I first started high school.

He is quiet, uncertain and he writes poetry that makes me cry. He feels that his entire existence is a mistake; that his presence is disturbing to the people around him. He came out this summer and I could've sworn that I saw the light in his eyes that I hadn't seen since we were 8 years old, but now his poems are all about boys who don't love him back, and he has scars on his thighs.

She is loud and when you hear her laugh, you can't help but smile. Lately I've been watching her condition herself to suit the quiet and mature boy who buys her gifts and only kisses her when she says he can. She holds her breath when she's with him even though he loves the way she exhales.

I am terrified to exist anywhere. I have chosen to be alone so often this year because I am afraid to burden others, I am afraid to impact anyone around me. I don't feel that I've earned the right to leave any footprints in my path. It's hard to say when I stopped liking myself but these days I don't eat enough and I spend my nights curled up on the basement floor trying to tell myself that there is something worth being here for.

We haven't all been together since we started school and we're not sure what to say to each other. I love these people but I don't know them anymore.

We wrap ourselves in blankets and we go out looking for something to do. We're stone cold sober and too young to think that it makes the slightest difference. We climb over a fence and find a hill. We swear we're growing up but it's like the urge to roll down, screaming and spiralling is too much for us to bear. We leave our blankets at the top as we make our way down. I watch street lights blur and hear our shrieks of delight pierce the silence of the streets at two in the morning. When we reach the bottom, we curl up together and I can feel both of them breathing beside me. Deep and slow, inhales and exhales. We fit together in our lopsided dog pile at the bottom of that grassy hill. We are all afraid to be who we are but we love each other still, and we don't understand why we can't feel the same way about ourselves. We talk about how things aren't exciting anymore; how christmas morning is just another morning and we wish that we still had to stay up all night because we were too excited to sleep. We play David Bowie and we lie there, sharing secrets that we've all heard before and moving closer and closer together. It's cold and we hold on to each other for warmth. Lately life has begun to feel repetitive, and more painful than joyful, but there is still this hill and these people and a long life ahead of us.