Unnoticed

The observations one high school girl makes in a day and the stories behind the observations.

           

            They all walk into the classroom and they stare. They look at her with such disgust and hatred she can barely think outside of their hypnotizing glare. They Walk past her and make sure to knock into her once again as they go to their desks. A routine she’s come to expect from her home room class.  Never apologizing, they only turn around and send back another cold look of annoyance to remind her of what she already knows.

            “ Your existence is  bothersome and meaningless.

                        Do the world some good , and go. ”

 

            Her train of thought wanders into self hatred but is then interrupted by the snapping of fingers in her lowered face. She looks up and to her left at the owner of those carefree hands. A boy roughly the same age as her, only with the intelligence equivalent to half  his 17 years of age. Why does he have to do that. Why does making me look stupid make him feel good? She thinks to herself as she braces herself once again for the comments from others that  ultimately make-up and break down her day.

             

            She looks at him and his semi-surfer cut brown hair that escapes the baseball cap sitting slanted upon his head .  An image to her, only outdone by the Abercrombie and Finch clothing he wears covered in holes and tattered edges.   Looking  as though he bought the clothes off of some homeless guys back.  He is the popular one most regular guys loathe. He is the person everyone wishes know.  His name is Jake.

 

            He looks at her and her gothic appearance, the black mournful attire she wears everyday. The wristbands that cover her lower arms, the black shirt and pants that have faded away into two entirely different colors. Her dyed black hair covers her ashened face,  while a silver cross sits at the end of the small chain that adorns her neck. She is the image of an outcast who has lost care of caring. She is the person who’s name everyone seemingly and purposefully forgets. Her name is Cailet.

           

            They look at each other, in two worlds apart.

            Their hatred is discernable,  but the jealousy is a curse.

            He does drugs to feel real,

            She cuts herself as a way to deal.

 

            The teacher comes in and the internal war between them subsides. For now the bitterness between individuals disappears, as the students read from their books and then take a pop quiz. The students stare at the clock and pray for the bell to sound. To signal the end of class and their freedom from hell.

            Cailet looks at the teacher and is almost convinced. She thinks to herself, The teacher really is beginning to lose her hair. She shrugs it off and puts aside this thought that is irrelevant in her mind. But again, she looks at the person who has and will keep teaching her English class until the end of the semester, unless for some weird reason she dies.

           

            The teacher is an older lady who won’t listen to quarreling and won’t put up discrimination. She is a bit over weight and wears more make-up than most of her female students combined. She bears no authority over her students other than the fact that she can call security. She is a widow who is lonely, she has cancer and does not know whether or not she will die shortly. She teaches and tries to pretend it‘s not true, while her students disrespect her and pack up ten minutes before they are due to leave. Her life revolves around the brats she envies at school and the cats she adores at her empty house. She sighs, gives up and tells them , “ You may go early.”

           

            Most of the class gets up in a rush. Pushing and shoving their way to the door. They file out, one by one and wander off into the halls. Cailet waits until the classroom is empty before placing her bag upon her shoulder. Then she stands up and pushes in her chair.  Walking out of the classroom unaware, that the teacher at her desk , just finished reading an e-mail and is unmistakably crying.

           

            She enters the hallway and walks down the corridors. Empty and desolate since the bell had not rung yet. Alone except for the janitor who is busy mopping up someone else’s mess. She looks at him as she walks by and notices how he turns away.  She thinks to herself, he must have had a bad day.

           

            The janitor hides his face to make sure he is not noticed, his hair unevenly cut. He wears clothes that have holes and probably cost him a dollar at some garage sale. Berating his image, upholding his status.  But he mops the floor in a rhythm, undisturbed, lost in Hispanic thought. Carrying the guilt of letting his wife and children get caught,  arrested and deported as he ran away and escaped the cops. He finishes one job and then goes onto the next. His motto,  “When bad things happen, just keep going forward and never look back.”

 

            Cailet walks the length of the school, from one end to the other. Reaching the buses , she unconsciously stops and looks back.   Lowering her head, she turns around and climbs up the steps to enters the bus. Glancing at the bus driver as she passes by, she wonders, Why does he look like he is going to cry?

            She goes to the middle of the bus and  finds an open spot by the window. She sits down and rests her head on her arms while leaning forward in her seat.   Looking out the window,  she watches the school doors from  afar. The bell rings and brings an end to the silence, as students pour out from the school in waves of different voices.

           

            She watches them, each individual and randomly wonders ,why do some people wish to fit in, while others would rather stand out?  Who am I?

             The words she hears from her fellow students,  filters through her ears creating pictures of hatred and despise. So she pulls out her CD play in an attempt to hide. From the people around her that live in their own little worlds. She hit’s the play button and turns up the muted sound. With a sigh she invites the change of pace it brings forth. The lyrics paint things she can  relate to in her own little way. The bus moves and  she looks up from her music and  at the bus driver once again, this time through the rear view mirror.

           

            The bus driver is an average middle aged guy.  He stares endlessly at the road before him, lost in deep conscious thought. He is normally cheerful, a happily married man. But today he isn’t wearing his wedding band. His wife left him for a woman he has never seen before, and they took his child with them. Now he is left in a place with nothing but memories and self made video tapes. He blames God, loses faith and begins to realize that his outlook on life blinded his crystal blue eyes. He holds in his emotions, his tears, and his fears. He is wondering where he will go from here.

           

            The bus stops at the park near her house before long, and she waits her turn to get out and go home. But as she  walks towards her house, she cringes inside. Her mother’s car is out front, when it shouldn’t be there. Cailet unlocks the front door and takes a deep breath. Bracing herself for anything unexpected, anything she hopes, but death.

            She closes the door quietly behind her, and walks on into the living room. Then she walks by her mother passed out on the couch. Cailet only shakes her head in shame as she heads for her room, stepping over all the empty beer bottles littering the floor.

            She looks back at the woman who is suppose to care, turns around and goes upstairs. Thinking to herself, when will this end? This totally isn’t fair.

 

            Her mother lays there on the couch, wearing what is unmistakably hooker like clothing. Long hair matted, uncombed. Conscious again, she rolls over and opens her eyes as she reaches for something on the ground. A pregnancy tester that has recently turned blue, tells the undeniable truth. She is pregnant again, and still without true love, as her new boyfriend Tom, is with the girl next door. She opens another beer bottle and takes a long drink. Then she turns on the TV in hopes of tuning out of reality.

 

            In her room, Cailet writes to pass the time. The night goes by fast and her even most of her homework is done. But it is now, in the early morning, when her fears arise. When she gives into the pain and her  feelings of anguish and guilt. When she dislikes who she is and exclaims her pain through silent tears. The lines on her arms just get darker and deeper. Her instrument of choice a knife this time, not a razor. But she holds back , afraid,  and today a little unwilling. She falls asleep in her bed as she whispers. Tomorrow. I’ll be noticed, tomorrow..

           

            

Reviews

[Ysabeaux]

This is beautiful. I can really relate to this, too. When I was in school I was the "freaky one" that no one wanted to talk to. I used to cut myself and wish that I was someone else. This really touched me. I never had bad parents, so I couldn't really relate to the end, but while I was reading the first half I was picturing myself at my old school. You have talent. Use it.