Hallways

I am a hallway away from that class. Yesterday, I was grieving in that class, and now, today, I would rather die than step foot anywhere near that class. I want to hide away and leave this toxic air. This air that everyone had to breathe. Not just anyone, but disgraceful, mean, arrogant, and high-maintenance people. I hated this air. The smell of rich boy cologne, Victoria's Secret perfume, overconfidence, and money. I do not deserve to breathe this air. The smell of the rich. I always hated it. It made me feel like I don’t belong, for I only know the smell of grease, hatred, and poverty.

My feet drag me away to that class. That class that started it all. That class started the pain, failure, exhaustion, and mostly my depression.

There is a click from the wooden door when I open it. Next thing you know all eyes are on me. I feel sick to my stomach. I hate this much attention. I feel nauseous as I look at how many eyes are on me. My hands start fidgeting, and I’m starting to breathe heavier. I feel weak, and these kids know it. They must think I’m so useless in life. A waste of air.

The thought of them still staring at me even made me physically weak. My hands drop loose, and everything I was holding onto falls onto the floor. My books were scattered across the floor like ice. The boy to my right chuckles and whispers to his friends. I hate being late. When you are late, everyone stares at you. When everyone stares at you, they judge you.

“ You are late Ms. Tanis”, says the Devil Teacher. The Devil Teacher always managed to get under my skin. I have my own personal name ‘Devil Teacher’ because it’s what really suits her evil personality. Way to make it obvious. I want to throw up. I hate this much attention for something so small. I blocked the devil teacher from my ears. I am focused on what these kids are probably thinking of me. Judging me. Secretly laughing at me, or maybe even calling me a monkey. I turn to face Devil Teacher.

“ I am sorry Miss. I-i was distracted in the hallway. Plus, there are so many people in the hallway walking slowly that it is almost impossible to make it to class on time eve-”

“Do you have a pass”, my Devil Teacher asks me. She did not even accept my excuse.

I give her a dirty look. She always has to interrogate me in front of the whole class. When she sees my facial expression, she immediately gives me a warning look. She writes something down on a yellow note card sticking out of her desk and tells me to take a seat. I reach down for the books I had dropped. The eyes are still on me.

While picking up my books, I look straight ahead to the first desk in front of me. There, sits my friend, my best friend, my ex-best friend. When she sees me staring, she quickly shifts her eyes away from mine.

I sit down in my seat two desks down from hers. I am still staring at her. I need her right now. I have no friends. How am I going to walk confidently, if I don’t have any friends to back me up in any given situation? She still continues to ignore me, even though she knows I need her comfort. She is listening to what the Devil Teacher is saying, and writing down notes. The whole class was writing down notes. I never wrote down notes. They never helped me. When I take notes in the Devil Teachers class, I always end up with a failing grade. So why try?

I figured I would try to write notes today. Maybe I can actually get something out of the Devil Teachers High School lectures for once.

I take out a beat-up notebook that was empty. My hand reached back into my bag to get a pencil. I spent two minutes looking for one and realized that because I rarely take notes, I don’t have a pencil. I look at my ex-best friend knowing she had one. She was amazing at art and was always drawing. I always thought that when we got older, we would go together to the art Museum, to see her artwork. I scooted my seat over to hers. I tap on her shoulders, but she refused to look at me. I tapped her again with more force causing her silky top to fall off her shoulder. She quickly fixes her shirt and looks at me with anger. My ex-best friend was finally making eye contact with me, but her Asian eyes were ready to slit my throat.

“ What ”, she says.

“ Hey Jen”, I say with a soft smile.

“WHAT!”.

“ I was wondering if you had a pencil I could borrow?” She just stared at me. It was as if she wanted to kill me with her eyes. Then, she turned back around without giving me a pencil. I scooted back to my seat. I stare blankly at the Devil Teacher not taking any notes. I then stare at Jen. Then, back at the Devil Teacher.

…………………………………

I spent the rest of the class daydreaming. Daydreaming about the impossible. Daydreaming about not being me. Daydreaming about my death, and how I would die. Daydreaming about if I were dead. Daydreaming about my family back home. Daydreaming about my mom back home. Daydreaming about living with my mom again.

I look at Jen between my thoughts. I think about how she probably didn’t want to give me a pencil so I could fail. She looks back at me for about two seconds. In her eyes, I see guilt, sadness, and sorrow. I know Jen does not hate me. She is trying to keep an image she had dreamed of since eighth grade. Unfortunately, I was not in her plans. Since the first day of school, Jen acts like I am a piece of fruit. A piece of fruit next to a beautiful delicious chocolate cake. Anyone with the right mind would choose the cake over the fruit. For that, I do not blame her.

My thoughts are interrupted by the bell. Everyone grabs their bags and rushes to the door like a flock of wild animals. I grab my bag slowly, and I walk at a slow pace. I take one last look at the Devil Teacher and give her the dirtiest look. ‘How dare you let me fail. At Least acknowledge my struggle and try to help one of your students. It’s the least you can do considering you are the Devil’ I thought. When I see her finally look up at me, I quickly turn my head and walk right out the classroom door.

I go out of the classroom and there is the Main air again. The air I loathe so much. People are walking to the left and right of me once I reach the hallway. These people look nothing like me. Their piercing blue eyes, pale skin, blonde hair, and hazel eyes look nothing like me. For I had the skin of purity, full lips, and ebony eyes. I loved my skin, but I do get self-conscious every once in a while. It’s hard walking in every day, and realizing no one here looks like you. Every day, was like a french soldier walking into a Nazi party.

My mother always encouraged me to be happy I am different because it’s what makes me special. I miss her. I miss her a lot. I miss her so much that sometimes, I can not focus in class. I just want to be with her. I looked nothing like my mother either. She had an orange complexion because of my bi-racial grandfather. Those genes did not get passed to me, but they did get passed on to my brother and sister.

I am different from even my own family. It was just me, the French Soldier. Learning and finding a way to fit into Nazi Germany. When I was young, Jen helped me with my insecurities about being different because she was different too. We were best friends because of how different we were from real-life barbies with blue eyes and blonde hair. Our favorite animal was a bee because it was black and yellow just like us, but times are different now.

I am alone in the hallway. Making my way to lunch. I no longer smell that morbid toxic air, but a new scent invades my senses. I was near the cafeteria. Just a door away. I fast walk over to the large wooden doors. I open the doors to the cafeteria and immediately regret it. I hated the smell of school food. Actually, I hate the smell of bland food. Food with no flavor, no salt, no life. Just plain food.

Where am I going to sit? All my friends left me because of Jen. All I have left is Dina, and she is in none of my lunches.

I walk into the lunch line. A group of girls with long brown hair are flirting with the ugly pale freckle face boys sitting at the table next to them. The boys are clearly trying to lead them on and it makes me sick. Seeing these girls having hope for this teenage love makes me annoyed. Annoyed that I will never be one of those girls. Boys over here do not like me. What is the point of having crushes anymore if they are always uninterested? Maybe it’s because I am different, or maybe it is because I am just plain ugly. The thought of that makes me sad.

I grab my tray of food and sprint out of line with my head down. I don’t want people to see my ugly face.

I aimlessly walk around the cafeteria. All the seats are taken. I hate talking to people and trying to make friends, so I did not even take that chance.

I opened the doors from the cafeteria and walked to the bathroom ignoring the hallway police. I pass by the girls in the mirrors admiring themselves and walk into the smallest bathroom stall. I sit on the toilet and breathe. Hot tears are streaming down my face. Why couldn’t I be dead? I hate it here. I want to go home.

I go sit on the bathroom floor instead, throw my lunch in the toilet, and flush. I start to sob. I want to be with my family back in my country, my island, my home. I want to be with my mom. I wanted her comfort, her love. Morris Academy is no place for an insecure, depressed, ugly girl like me.

…………………………………………….

I can not see. The sun is blinding my eyes, but I do not care. I wish it could blind me, or maybe even kill me. I would not have to suffer anymore. I am on the bus to go home. I feel pathetic. I am a senior about to graduate, and I still don’t have a car. The sad truth was that I could never afford a car.

Students board the bus one by one. They all pass the seat behind the driver, where I am. No one ever wants to sit next to me.

I see Jen as she boards the bus. She makes eye contact with me. I quickly smile, so she can see I am at least trying to be friendly. Maybe even friends again, or best friends. She half-smiles at me and continues to the back where her new friends were. I rest my head on the window and squeeze my eyes shut so tears won’t flow out.

I stayed like that until it was my stop off the bus. I grab my books resting on the seat and run home. The cold wind is causing my hair to go all over the place. ‘A twist out is not such a good idea for a windy day, I thought. I remove my hair from my eyes and breathed heavily against the cold winter air. At least I am not back in school in that toxic air.

I walk up the steps to my front door. I looked at the pretty french crystal door with disdain.

Every day, I leave the harsh reality called school, to encounter another reality that is even worse, which was home. Home meant that I could be alone with my suicidal thoughts. Home is where I could cry until I fall asleep, about my life without anyone seeing me. Home is where I can see all the memories of being physically abused by him. Home is where I could face the harsh reality that I am nothing in life. Most importantly, home is where Sonya was. The butter to my beans. The sugar to my ketchup, and the scissors to my rock. She is useless to me.

Sonya is my cousin which whom I live with. I live with her and her family. The thing is that it is because of them I am like this. It is because of them I have turned into a delicate, passive, depressed nobody. They had drained all the happy souls out of me since I was young. The only way to escape is if I go to college.

I always thought about college. I always thought college would be where my life would finally make sense. College is where I hoped that I would find myself again. It also scared me. I never did well in school because I always missed my mom. I was always focused on her, and how I wanted to go back home to my Island. Don’t get confused, for I was not stupid or dumb. I was smart, but I never put energy into school work. Maybe I do have a good shot at college? I don’t think I will ever get in, but I will try. I will try for my mom. I am going to do this for her. I do not want this life anymore. If it were not for my mother I would have committed suicide a long time ago. I am going to be happy. After 15 years, I was finally going to be happy.