Written by Mare. And copyrighted to Mare. Sorry about the crazy formatting. o.o
Mirror
I’m tired of
smiling.
But my
normal self won’t get me noticed. They like someone open, who smiles, who says
the words they were all thinking. So that’s what I give them. In return, I am
accepted.
My mom and
dad didn’t want me to be teased. That’s why they shoved me into a private
Christian school in the first place. One of those schools with uniforms.
Turns out,
uniforms and Christian schools don’t help.
So in the
middle of the school year, I decided to change myself. It was either change
them or be changed, and changing them wasn’t going to work. I paid attention to
everything the other girls did. The way they pretended to tuck their shirts
into their skirts, the way they chattered about the different injustices at school,
how they whispered things, sometimes mean things, about other people. They
avoided calling this practice “gossip”. No, to them it was “common knowledge”.
I listened when they started using forbidden swear words when the teacher’s
back was turned. I soaked this all up. I did everything they did and talked the
way they talked.
Finally, I
was noticed. I wasn’t a nerd anymore, or invisible.
Now, dare I
say it, I’m kind of popular. Girls follow me. One time, a cute guy confessed to
me. I was so surprised I rejected him. When the girls asked me why I did, I
just said that he was a jerk.
They
believed me. They hated him after that.
But I’m
tired of smiling. And as fate would have it, now I’m sitting across from Emilia
at the lunch table. It’s “common knowledge” that she keeps to herself and says
the wrong things at the wrong time. She’s weird, basically. Therefore, everyone
avoids her. I’m supposed to avoid her, yet here I am eating my lunch across
from her.
She’s like a
mirror. I see the person who I once was in her. I feel for her. I should say
something. Something nice, something encouraging. But that’s too risky.
“I wish you’d
stop doing that,” is what I end up saying. Emilia looks up slowly from her
lunch which she had been quietly eating the moment before.
“Doing
what?” She‘s just as tall as me, yet right now she seems like she’s as small as
a mouse.
“You’re
making the whole table vibrate.” She had been bouncing her knee around. This
comment doesn’t necessarily boost her morale.
“Oh.”
I’m making
her feel worse. I’ve felt like that once. School always used to give me a
feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach. Looking at Emilia, I suddenly
realize I still feel like that. Hunted. I feel hunted. Everybody’s trying to
find somebody new to pick on. I’m trying to make sure that that person is not
me, but I still feel like they’re waiting for me to trip. One fall, and that’s all
it takes. I’m gone.
“Sorry,” she
says, “I have some studies I need to catch up on, so I’ll be getting up now…” I stare at her. I’m seeing me again, instead
of some classmate of mine.
“You don’t
have to leave, you know.” I want her to know that she doesn’t have to leave
because of what I said. I want her to know that I can be a good guy. What do I
look like to her, I wonder? I’m the bad guy. She sees things in black and
white. There’s her, the innocent picked on girl, and there’s me, the leader of
a nasty pack of girls that teases her.
“I really
have to go,” she says, then walks away.
All of the
girls at my table pounce on me. They heard the whole thing. Oops. My
reputation’s at stake.
“You’re
acting all nice to her, now,” one says. I know that Emilia can still hear all
of this. She’s walking slowly.
“I’ve never
noticed her before, who is she?”
“I dunno,” I
reply. “She keeps to herself all the time…” She can still hear. I hope she
notices that my comment isn’t a bad one.
“Just look
at her. She’s such a nerd.” She starts to run away now. She doesn’t want to
hear more. And suddenly I’m the bad guy again. I feel sick to my stomach. My
food doesn’t look so appetizing.
“What’s
wrong?” a friend asks. I fake an irritated-looking face.
“I forgot to
do my science homework,” I say. And all at once, everybody sympathizes with me.
“Oh no! And
Mrs. Larkins is a really strict teacher!”
“Oh my
gosh,” I say, nodding and looking doomed, “I know. I need to do it. Now.”
“Do you want
to copy off mine?”
“No. Thanks.
Don’t worry. I’ll get it done really fast,” I say. “See you in a few.”
I find the security of the empty science
classroom comforting. I only wish it could block out all of the bad thoughts in
my head, too, as well as the noise from the cafeteria. No such luck.
I had easily
told my “friends” that I had needed to finish science homework, which of course
was a lie. Since when, I think, had lying become so easy? Lying felt so natural
now. It was a part of my life at school. Of course, I lied whenever I said
something about someone I didn’t think was true. I lied whenever I told a girl
I despised she was my best friend.
My smile, my
very smile is fake.
But you need
to be accepted, I think. I know I’m lying again. I’m lying to myself.
“Ashton?” I
whirl around. In the doorway of the classroom stands Emilia. She’s looking at
me, her eyes wide. She had said my name like I’m made out of glass.
“What?” I
say. I’m surprised to hear my voice come out rough. Oh gosh. I brush my hands
across my eyes. They’re wet. Get a hold of yourself, I think.
“Are you…?”
She trails off. She wants to know if I’m crying. Well, yeah, I am, but I don’t
want her to know that.
Dust in the
eye. I’m not giving that excuse.
“Eye drops,”
I explain, “for my contacts. They were dry.” I actually have 20/20 vision.
Emilia doesn’t know that, though. I’m such a liar.
“S-sorry,”
she stutters at me. Oh. She feels stupid now. I feel like a jerk for making her
feel that way. The silence feels uneasy and tense, but I don’t know what to say
to break it.
“Why are you
here so early?” Emilia asks. Her question surprises me. I didn’t think she had
it in her to talk to me.
“I forgot to
do my science homework,” I say. Another easy, natural lie. She finally leaves
the doorway and walks into the classroom.
“If you
would like,” she says to me, “I can help you to finish it.” She had worked hard
to ask me that question. She’s just trying to be nice. I know I’ve actually
done my science homework, but I can just pretend that I haven’t done it. A wild
thought forms in my head. Maybe if I start acting nice now, it will make up for
all the horrible things I’ve said to her in the past.
I’m just
about to say yes to her offer when a couple of girls walk into the classroom. I
look at Emilia and know I can’t say yes to her now. Not when people are
watching. I feel awful, beyond awful, because now I have to be the bad guy
again.
“If I don’t
ask for help, I don’t need help, idiot,” I say to her, in front of all of those
girls. The girls heard the whole thing, and they begin to whisper and laugh.
She’s looking at me. Her face turns white. I can’t believe I said it. You had
to say it, I tell myself.
I watch in
horror as she begins to cry. I didn’t mean for that to happen. I didn’t mean to
hurt her that much.
“Yeesh, girl,
save the meltdowns for later,” a girl says to her. Everyone laughs, except me.
Emilia runs out of the room.
“And she
wonders why we think she’s weird,” somebody else says.
I soak up
the feeling of guilt. I deserve it. I don’t think she’ll show up for science
class, not after what happened.
Oh well, I
force myself to think. I’ve got other stuff I need to focus on. It never hurt
this much whenever you said the same exact thing to others, did it?
But that’s
the problem. It does hurt. What I said hurt me as much as it did her. I’ve got
to tell her my reasons, the reasons for everything I do. When I tell her it’s
just to be accepted by others, she’ll understand. Surely, she’ll understand. She
knows the feeling I felt when I wasn’t accepted. She suffers that feeling every
day. She knows the feeling of longing.
She’s
probably gone to the bathroom. I walk out of the classroom and towards that
general direction, leaving the other girls behind.
It’d be
better if I just say sorry. But “just say sorry” is never as easy as it sounds.
Why do I keep on trying to save this world I’ve created for myself? Nobody is
really your friend anyway. What would it be to you if they suddenly decided
they didn’t like you? It’s a question I’ve thought of before, but never
answered. Now that question hangs over me.
I’m at the
bathroom. Sure enough, there’s Emilia standing in front of a mirror, crying.
Just seeing
her, all my defenses crumble and I feel my world crashing. No, stop, I must
save it from shattering. Don’t apologize. Don’t ruin everything you’ve worked
so hard for.
Stop fooling
yourself. It was a fake world anyway.
She looks at
me, and my throat grows tight.
“Sorry,” I
say. “I took everything too far.” And I start crying too. Gosh, I look like an
idiot. What must I look like in her eyes now? Now that she knows that the big
bad guy is asking for forgiveness and actually crying in front of her? “I never
meant anything I did,” I say, as though that would justify everything I’ve said
about her. She finds her voice.
“Yeah, well,
it hurt,” she says, and the words are bitter. Her words hurt me more than those
times when I was the one being teased. Why does it hurt more?
Because you
were innocent then. And now you’re not.
You’re
guilty.
I’m not guilty,
I tell myself. It’s those other people’s faults. The ones that forced me to
become this way.
Thoughts
race through my brain. I should explain now. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean anything.
I just do it to be accepted.”
She looks
angry and kind of puzzled. “So you hurt other people to get what you want.”
The way she
says it makes me sound really bad. I’m not that bad. I mean, I’m not, am I?
Who am I
kidding? I’m an idiot. I’m guilty. And I’m a terrible person.
And I’m
standing in front of this girl who reminds me of myself. My mirror.
“I know,” is
all I can say. “I’m sorry.” She continues to stare for a moment. I feel like
she’s judging me. Probably the sincerity of my apology. After all, half of what
I had been saying to her before had been lies. I hope she gets that this is the
most honest I’ve ever been to myself.
She just
stands there and walks away.
Yeah, I can’t
blame her. If it were me in her situation, I would’ve done the same thing.
It’s either
change them or be changed. I told myself that a long time ago.
What a
stupid idea that was. Because I looked through my mirror and saw a girl who’s
so much better inside than I am now.
At least
before I changed, I was innocent. And now I’m guilty. It would have been so
much better to stay innocent.
I wonder if
there’s a way I can be forgiven.
All my makeup is dripping down my face in a
very un-attractive way and I tell myself I deserve it. I suppose I deserve a
lot of things. I’ve gotten used to wearing makeup for the sake of making myself
more popular. I wash all the makeup off with a paper towel and some water. I
look much better, much more natural. I like natural. And with that thought I
smile at myself in the mirror.
But the
smile’s not fake and I like how it looks.
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