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1
Today
I was sat in my desk staring out the window as I usually did; it’s the best way to not accidentally look at one of them. By 'them' I mean the Painfully Perfects. If they were to catch me looking at them again I would be in for it. And I knew all too well what 'it' was.
The sky was the colour of blue that usually appears on a postcard, along with a beach and 'wish you were here' written mockingly across the top. I was lost in the sky and the few clouds that I could see. One in particular was shaped like the face of a great mystical dragon, with horns on the top of its head, and fire coming out of its mouth. Another was shaped like a bunny; how odd that the mismatched pair would be in the same sky, so close to each other.
My mind completely drifted from my control. I had no chance of hearing Mrs. Watson call on me to answer the question, on whatever it was she was teaching the class, let alone getting the question right.
I sheepishly dropped my eyes as low as I could while she scolded my ignorance and lack of attention. I added my apologies in all the right places, and assured her that I would refrain from looking outside again. Making it even harder to keep my eyes from the Painfully Perfects.
The Painfully Perfects was a clever name I came up with for the group of popular kids in my high school class at Echo’s one and only high school. They were the kids that everyone wanted to be, or at least be friends with. They were perfect. Good looking, rich, smart, funny, or at least they think so, like I said, perfect. The painfully part was what they inflicted on me, pain.
I twirled my hair around my finger, counting the number of times it went around, a trick I had taught myself when I first started school. It kept my mind busy so it didn't wander where it shouldn't. Twirling and untwirling, counting away. I was so focused on my hair I hadn't noticed the bell had rung and the class was almost empty.
“Thirteen times around, that’s the most so far,” said a voice I had heard enough times to know whom it belonged to. I looked up at Sebastian, for just a brief second, to make sure he was really there. He was. And then I did exactly what I would expect myself to do. I ran. I left my books and pencil case along with my diary; how could I be so careless? I ran out of the classroom, down the hall and right into the girl’s bathroom.
I felt a bit dizzy, most likely the result of getting up too fast, not to mention the gold medal timing of my sprint. What on earth did he do that for? Why would Sebastian Dale, a well known member of the Painfully Perfects, talk to me? He didn't just talk to me, he knew the number of twirls. Why would he know that? Was he watching me? Why? Why would he?
My heart was racing. I was sure I was going to have a heart attack right there. This was it, it was over, my life was coming to its end right there in the girls’ bathroom. Gross. I closed my eyes, made my peace with god and was ready. God, however, was not ready for me.
I let out a curse, which I liked to do as long as there was nobody around to hear me. I left the bathroom, only to find my books, pencil case and my, as far as I could tell, untouched diary on the floor outside the door. I looked around, down the hallway both ways, but nobody was there. I wasn’t sure how they got there, I assumed Mrs. Watson, but it didn’t matter really. I was late for my next class. The classroom door was open, thank goodness. That would make sneaking in undetected, easy. The teacher was facing the blackboard, his nail scraping along with the chalk as he wrote out an impossible math equation.
I was almost at my seat; I smiled, just slightly. I shouldn't have. I saw her foot whip out in front of me, but it was too late. I fell to the floor with a thud. If the sound of my fall hadn't been enough to alert the teacher of my late arrival, the laughter of the class surely was. At least their noise hid my cry of pain and humiliation. I gathered my things and scurried to my desk, trying not to notice the few kids that were kicking around my pencil case, and stepping on it. I hid my tears with my hair when I heard the distinct sound of my new iPod crushing under the foot of a Perfect. I was well aware of the trouble I would be in for when my parents found it. All the wonderful thoughts of Sebastian were removed and replaced by my embarrassment.
I didn't even bother picking up my pencil case. When class was over I rushed out, watching my feet the whole way to my locker. I vowed that from that moment on, I would watch only my feet when I walked, forever!
There was one flaw with my great plan of feet-watching that I should have foreseen. I was unable to watch were I was going and watch my feet at the same time; it was just a matter of time until I moronically walked right into someone. It was just my luck that after class, that some one was Katie Jacobs, head Perfect.
“Eww, you stupid cow! Why don't you watch where you are going?” Katie said. There was a familiar smugness to her voice that was usually present when she was scolding someone for their intolerant behaviour. My finger moved so quickly to my hair and began twirling that I hadn't noticed, until I realized it was stuck.
“Sorry,” I said quietly and hurried away, trying to pull my finger loose. I took my time at my locker, making sure I had a clear path out the doors and to the school bus.
I was the last one on the bus, a common occurrence. I was shocked to see my usual seat at the very front was taken; nobody ever sat in the front seat but me, which was most likely why no one else sat there. But regardless, I was not about to ask the large boy holding the football in such a way that indicated he would throw it if needed, to move out of my seat. I looked around quickly. Quite to my surprise there was an empty seat three from the back. I had never sat that close to the back of the bus before; it was a little exciting, but terrifying at the same time. Who was I to sit at the back? I was out of my league, that seat was not for me, I shouldn’t even think about it. No, I should just get off the bus and walk home, that was the only thing that I could do.
“Sit down, we are waiting for you,” the bus driver, a rather large unfriendly lady with tight, curly, reddish purple hair, round face, and large breasts that are always squeezed into a too tight tank top with her bra showing, called out while glaring at me in her rear view mirror. I knew she was talking to me; I was the only fool still standing up.
I walked carefully, somehow managing to look at both my feet, and where I was going at the same time, so as not to continue my humiliation.
I was smiling uncontrollably; no matter how hard I tried my face was refusing to cooperate. I wasn't even bothered that the three seats behind me were filled with Perfects. I was sitting the closest to the back of the bus ever.
I sat facing the front of the bus and the backs of the heads of those who were not as fortunate as I was to be sitting three rows from the back. Once more I became lost in my daydreams. What if moving closer to the back of the bus was just the beginning? Who knows, next I could actually sit at a table in the lunchroom, instead of on the stairs in the back hallway. Things were looking up, I could feel it. It was somehow perfect that every other seat was filled; it was as though the seat had been left empty just for me. The bus ride went by far too quickly, as things we enjoy usually do.
When the bus reached my stop, I snapped right back to reality. I was right, it was perfect, or I should say, the Perfects. They had saved that seat just for me, I should have known really, and while I was busy day dreaming, they were busy duct taping my hair to it.
When I tried to stand up at my stop, I was yanked back to the seat. The Painfully Perfects had struck again. The entire bus was laughing hysterically. I could feel my tears flowing already. I had no hope in stopping them. I panicked, I didn't know what to do, how to get myself unstuck. Would I have to stay there on the bus until everyone else was off and hope the bus driver would help me? I couldn't; I just could not bear the laughter which was like knives jabbing into my soul. It was humiliating, the worst humiliation I had ever felt so far. Why did they do this to me? I was devastated and angry at the same time. I just wasn't sure if I was angrier at them for doing this to me, or at myself for being such a pathetic victim all the
time. Well no more, I wasn't going to stay there any longer, I just couldn't.
I grabbed my bag, braced myself, and pulled as hard as I could. I felt some strands snapping right in the middle, but most felt like my hair was ripping from my scalp in large chunks. The pain was like nothing I had ever felt before, but I didn't care. I was free.
I ran from the bus, not looking back, and I didn't stop, I kept running all the way to the harbour, a good twenty minutes in the opposite direction of my house. I was out of breath, still crying and in pain. The taste of blood was in my mouth and the trouble I was having catching my breath was all that stopped me from throwing myself into the lake. I heard that it was impossible to drown yourself but I was willing to give it a try, but the water looked gross. I was going to need a new plan.
The harbour was not really much of a harbour, more like a wooden pier with a few rowboats tied loosely to it. A rickety old sign saying 'Use at your own risk' was nailed to a stump.
The water between the mainland and the island was supposedly filled with too many weeds to run motorboats in; they would just get all tangled up in the engine.
I hopped into the first rowboat I came to, throwing my bag in first a little too hard. It almost went straight over the boat and into the water on the other side. Once I was seated on the decrepit wooden bench I grabbed the oars and was off. Rowing with all my might, I was determined to make it all the way to the island without even stopping to rest my arms.
I don’t know why I was heading to the island. I had never been there before, and never really paid much attention to it. It was nothing more than a giant bump in the middle of the lake. Nobody ever bothered with the island or the lake, there was no beach really. I think there used to be. I had seen pictures of the town from years ago and there was a beach in them, but it was never taken care of I guess. Now it was nothing more than rocks and mud. But whatever the reason, the island was where I was heading.
I had the feeling that the island appeared to be a lot closer than it actually was, now that I was trying to row an old and hopefully secure boat to it. My arms were beginning to burn; I tried to convince myself I liked the feeling, that the pain was nothing compared to the feeling of my hair ripping out of my head; something best left out of my thoughts at that moment, as it was still throbbing excessively. My arms were now on fire, much worse than the pain coming from the back of my head, they were definitely going to stop on their own any minute now, no longer waiting for me to do the sensible thing and rest.
The shore was so close, I had almost made it. “Just a few more strokes” I told myself over and over, until I felt my boat slowing as it coasted up onto the beach. I jumped out, in a rebellion against my absurdly fast voyage, the boat almost tipping me into the water.
My feet were submerged in the brownish murk, my shoes, obviously ruined. Compared to the iPod, my shoes would not even be discussed. But I didn’t care about any of that now; I was more concerned with making the island my permanent home. A truly irrational idea I was aware, somewhere in my subconscious. My hand reached the back of my head for the first time since I ran from the school bus. There was something dry and crusting in my hair, I assumed it was blood. I didn’t care.
I secured the boat, not having the slightest inkling to attempt the swim to the other side, that is if I was going to the other side ever again.
The island was not a warm and welcoming place. The water was cold that beat against the rocks, splashing against my feet and ankles, ensuring I didn't dry off. The wind bit at my cheeks as I stood staring into the wall of trees that framed the beach like a barricade. The island felt frightening, yet somehow sad. Finally I allowed myself to think of what happened on the bus, and in the classroom. I pictured my crushed iPod, my ripped hair, and the pain at the back of my head. The throbbing pain. I wouldn’t have believed the ridiculously loud scream actually came from me if it wasn’t for the fact that I was alone on the island. Dropping to the rocky shore, I allowed the tears to flow freely down my cheeks. Exhausted, my eyes slammed shut.
I had no way of knowing how long I was laying there on the beach before the stranger’s voice woke me.
“What are you doing?” I opened my eyes, but did not turn my head, worried of what I would see. I didn’t recognize the voice; I cringed, hoping more than anything it didn’t belong to a Perfect.
“I’m sleeping.” It seemed to be the most logical response I could give.
“Why?”
“Does it matter?” I asked, annoyed by who ever this was interrupting my self-pity. After the day I had, I think I've earned it.
“Do you usually scream before you sleep?” The annoyance asked. I looked up to see who was to blame for disturbing me and snapping me back to reality, the last place on earth I wanted to be at that moment. I looked around, but there was nobody there. Had I imagined the voice? I couldn’t have, could I? I lay my head back down and closed my again.
“Are you going to sleep again?”
“That depends,” I replied, rolling my eyes.
“On what?” The voice asked.
“On whether you are going to keep talking to me or not.” I said.
“I will stay quiet.” Said the voice I had determined was a boy. Thankfully however, he was not any boy I recognized. Who ever it was, did he really think I would be able to lay there and sleep while he watched, if that was in fact what he was doing. I tried to look around without being too obvious, but I was unable to see very much at all in the dimming light. I decided I didn’t care, I wasn’t going anywhere.
“Why are you hiding?” I asked. I didn’t like that I had no idea who was there with me. I probably should have been afraid, at least a little bit, but I wasn’t.
“I’m not hiding,” the anonymous boy replied.
“Then why don’t you come out where I can see you?” There was no answer, but there wasn’t any sound indicating he was moving either. I felt a bit disappointed, and that annoyed me. I closed my eyes, not disregarding the fact that it may have been a dream, or just my imagination.
I shivered, the sun had disappeared over the mountain completely, leaving the air cool, and the dampness blowing in from the water was not helping at all. I had the feeling I wasn’t going to be able to stay here all night, not without planning ahead a little first. A blanket, maybe a sleeping bag, would help. My stomach made a rather unbecoming noise and I shivered again; the temperature was dropping quickly, if I tried to stay here all night I would most likely wake up with pneumonia, if I woke up at all. I waited a little bit longer, but not to avoid going back. I had to admit, I would be happy for the warmth of my house, even with the punishment I knew was coming. I waited to see if the voice would speak again, but it didn’t. Boys!
I got to my feet looking around, hoping to catch a glimpse of the boy, but all I could see was darkness. I climbed into the boat, a little more carefully this time, my feet still wet from the first time I stepped into the lake water. I rowed away from the island slowly, hoping to see someone move, but turned around to face the mainland after a few strokes, using the lights to guide my way back.
After tying the boat back to the dock, I began the walk home, my thoughts focused on the voice on the island, instead of thinking of something that I could possibly say to my parents that would explain my absence after school.
The voice had been gentle, but definitely a boys. And that was it really, there was nothing about it that was different than any other boy’s voice. He hadn't said anything of any real importance either, if anything he had been a bit annoying. Yet, I wanted more than anything else to go back there. By the time I turned onto my street I had made my decision, I was going to go back to the island as soon as I could, I just hoped that I wouldn't be grounded for the rest of my life.
I walked up the path to the front door, a flicker of hope sprung up inside me, the outside light was not on; maybe my parents were not home yet. Or maybe they were out looking for me, or worse, they had gone to the sheriff’s office. Hope quickly disa
ppeared, and was replaced by dread. I turned the handle slowly, stalling as much as possible. Locked. Good. Time for a breath. I grabbed my key from my bag, unlocked the door and slipped inside.
I stumbled over a pair of shoes on my way to find the light switch; I let out a curse word, the lack of response confirming that I was in fact alone. I called out to my parents, just in case. Nothing, I was definitely alone. I took another breath. I flicked on the light and looked down at the shoes I had just tripped over, they were mine, of course. I slipped them into the cupboard, along with the wet ones I was wearing. Hopefully they would dry over night.
I headed for the kitchen, suddenly aware of how hungry I was. It wasn’t until I had taken out the plate of leftovers, put it in the microwave to heat up, and turned around to close the refrigerator door that I noticed the note stuck to it. The slight breeze lifted the edge of the paper and caught my eye. I noticed my mom’s severe handwriting right away, she always wrote it black ink and even though she used proper script-style writing, it was straight and sharp, not beautiful and curvy as handwriting usually is. The note read:
Delilah,
Your dad and I will be late home tonight.
I left a plate of food for your dinner.
Make sure you wash the dishes after you are finished with them; I do not wish to come home to your mess.
As always, I do expect you to go to bed on time with your homework completed.
Mom
Delilah May Martin, a name my mom made quite clear she regretted giving me. She blamed the nurse at the hospital, saying that the woman brought the papers for her to fill in while she was still medicated.
“A name that clearly was given to you by the drugs,” my mom told me on regular occasions. I didn’t mind the name myself, it was unique, not to mention often sung about, and I definitely couldn’t think of a name I would rather have instead.
I ate my supper quickly, washed my plate and had the kitchen cleaned so there was no sign of me being there at all with only minutes to spare for my scheduled bedtime. I was well aware that the lack of parental supervision was not permission to disregard all the rules, one way or another my parents, or at least my mom, would know. I’m not sure how, but she would know, so I was warned. Thankfully I had completed my homework at school, the lack of a group of friends to spend my lunchtime with freed up a lot of time for homework and extra studying.
I couldn’t avoid a shower until the morning. I was cold right through to the bone from getting wet on the island; I think the informal funk that was taunting my nose was actually coming from me. Gross.
I was definitely not prepared for the immense pain the water caused as it slowly loosened the dried blood and beat mercilessly against my scalp. I couldn’t hold back my tears as I rubbed in the shampoo. But it didn’t matter, I was alone in the house, and even if I hadn’t been, I doubt anyone would hear my sobbing over the water. I let my tears fall as many and as quickly as they wanted to, the images of the day’s events flowing through my head. I wasn’t sure what pain to focus on first, the physical pain of my head, or the pain and humiliation caused by the Painfully Perfects. It didn’t really matter, they both hurt just as bad. I stayed in until the red tint was no longer in the water and neither was the warmth. Reluctantly, I turned off the taps, gently wrapped the towel around my hair that was so long and thick it would still be wet the next morning, which I was actually thankful for, for once, at least it will hide any patches of missing hair. Then I made a quick trip to the kitchen for some pain killers and a glass of milk. I wasn’t even going to attempt to brush my hair, I would leave that for the morning.
I lay on my side in bed, with an old t-shirt on my pillow just in case my head started to bleed again; I didn’t want to have to explain the incident to my mom.
I closed my eyes, hoping I wouldn’t relive the day in my dreams all night long. My dreams began on the island, skipping the school day entirely.
I was lying on the rocky beach again, it was cold and hard under my back. I could almost smell the water, and there was definitely a chill in the air. The sound of the voice startled me, even though I was waiting for it. Our conversation played over and over in my dreams.
When I woke the next morning, I decided to go back to the island after school. I just had to think of a convincing story for my parents for why I would be late.
I showered again; there was no chance of getting a brush through my tangled mass of hair. By the time I got downstairs I still had no excuse in mind for my parents, however the note on the fridge solved my problem.
Mom had clearly noted the date so I would not mistake it for the same one as the day before, I was going to be alone again. I smiled to myself. I was used to being at home alone, my parents were both very busy with work. They were ‘career people’; their careers always came first. It never really bothered me, it usually meant that I didn’t have to worry about being criticized for all the things I was doing at a ‘mere average level’, or for the obnoxious comments about the lack of effort I put into my appearance and social life. I often wondered what my mom would say if I actually did have plans one night. Would she be happy for me, hoping I enjoy myself, giving me money to spend and dropping my curfew? The thought alone was enough to make me laugh out loud.
Today, however, I did have plans; I was going back to the island and I could hardly wait. But first, I had to make it through the school day.
I ate my breakfast slowly, each nauseating bite of the healthiest cereal my mom could find in our limited grocery store as tasteless as the last. I learned at a very young age that ‘good for you’, usually meant that it didn't taste good. And the cardboard flavoured, grain filled concoction I was trying to eat was no exception.
I dressed in the plainest clothes I owned; I didn't want anything to draw unnecessary attention in my direction. Blue jeans, black t-shirt, black hoodie. I managed, through gritted teeth, to brush my hair and put it into a ponytail without giving up and wearing a hat.
My books were still in my school bag, so all I had left to do was to pack my lunch. I pulled out my lunch bag that I had left in my backpack over night. My mom would certainly not approve.
My heart stopped, how could I have been so careless? How could I have not checked that it was securely placed in my bag? Panicking, I tossed the contents of my bag onto the floor, it had to be there, it just had to! Maybe it got stuck inside my binder, maybe I missed it between my text books. My face was getting hot, I held my breath as I searched. I was dizzy. It wasn't there, my diary was missing. I dropped to the floor, still holding my breath. Where was it? I ran through the previous day’s events in my head, cringing at each humiliating experience I had been forced to endure. Then it hit me, right in the chest. Math class, I had been tripped when entering the class, falling flat on my face, my books, my pencil case, my iPod, I had been so focused on my broken iPod I hadn't even thought about my diary.
What if someone picked it up? What if someone had read it? I wasn't going to let myself think it, I would have no choice but to change schools, an impossible feat as there is only one high school in Echo. How would I ever be able to show my face at school if someone read it? Not that anyone ever paid any attention to my face. If someone was to read what I have written in there, all my thoughts and feelings, I would just die! But I am not that lucky, death would be too easy.
I reluctantly continued to get ready, moving even slower now, my body going through the motions without the assistance of my mind, which was numb. I momentarily debated not even going to school at all and instead going straight to the island; maybe the voice would be there now. Who was I kidding, I had never even been late for school, not once. As exciting as the thought of skipping an entire day of school was, not having to see the Perfects, not having to deal with whoever had my diary in their possession, I knew that I didn't have the nerve to do it. I would endure whatever humiliation and torture I was in for. I always did.
I stood at the bus stop, waiting for the bus. The weather w
as pleasant. There were just enough clouds that it wasn't irritatingly sunny or uncomfortably hot; I didn’t have to take off the baggy hoodie I was hiding behind. I had perfected the timing of my arrival at the bus stop over the last nine years. As usual, I waited two minutes and the bus appeared, right on cue. The bus hissed and squeaked as it came to a stop, doors opening noisily. I scurried to my seat at the front, keeping my head down and my eyes locked on the floor until I was safely seated. I Stared out the window as though I hadn't seen the same fields, trees, houses and buildings, every single school day since Grade One, as if something would change here, as if Echo was suddenly going to be different. The chances of the little town I called home ever changing, ever becoming anything other than a small little piece of hell for me, were about the same as the chances of me becoming head Perfect.
I could clearly hear the snickering of the other passengers on the bus, the entire ride to school. I wasn't all that bothered as I was used to it by now. The bus had barley come to a complete stop and I was out of my seat and waiting impatiently for the doors to open.
My locker was my first stop. Switching my text books for the ones I required for class, I kept my head as far into my locker as possible, hiding as best I could from everyone. I was the first one in homeroom, that way I avoided any repeat tripping incidents. When I walked into the room, I noticed that there was something on my chair, but I couldn't make out what it was from the door way. As I got closer, my heart jumped up into my mouth, nearly chocking me. It was my diary. Why? Who had put it there, so inconspicuously? They had missed their chance to taunt and tease me, or had they? Maybe they had ripped pages out, or photocopied them, and now they were being passed out to the entire school. Why did I rush to class so early? Now I was ready and waiting, trapped. I felt like I might vomit. My stomach flipped, I could almost taste my breakfast again. A second regurgitated version would be intolerable compared to the first time.
I picked up my intact diary and looked it over, inspecting every inch of it. No missing pages, not even a turned up corner. They must have photocopied it.
The door opened and in walked Sebastian Dale, smiling. He was nice to look at. I struggled to pull my eyes away. How could anyone be that good looking? It hardly seemed fair at all. His blonde hair was held flawlessly in a messy style, matching the perfection that was his deep blue eyes. His skin was tanned, but nothing outrageous, it probably wouldn't even be noticeable if it wasn't for the fake tanned bodies of the other Perfects that were always surrounding him. Since the tanning salon opened a year or so ago, the Perfects managed to finance the fancy new car of the salon owner all by themselves. They looked ridiculous if you asked me, not that anyone had. They looked orange. Sebastian didn't though, he looked...healthy. I felt my face get warm, I needed to look away, but my eyes were so defiant. I almost jumped when he winked in my direction. I looked around to see who was standing behind me, but there was nobody. I took my seat, I wasn't taking any chances today, besides he probably wasn't winking at all, most likely he just had something caught in his beautiful eye.
“Good morning.” Sebastian said. Sebastian Dale said good morning to me?
“Good morning,” I replied quickly, before I could say anything stupid. The door opened for the third time and the class began to fill up.
The morning passed by as any other morning did. I was laughed at when the teacher told me to stop curling my hair around my finger, was forced to play tennis with the wall in gym when no one would partner up with me, not that I blamed them, I'm a terrible tennis player, and had my ponytail pulled so often my head was throbbing again, and it had bled a little too. When it was finally lunch time, I was shocked and a little nervous that nothing had been said about my diary. Was it possible that nobody knew anything about it? Was there some miracle that occurred, saving me from the most devastating humiliation in the history of high school? I hadn't managed to avoid the wrath of the Perfects completely, but nothing like the torture I am sure they would have performed if they had found my diary. I didn't respond to any of them, I simply ignored them, as instructed by my mom and any teacher I ever turned to for guidance with how to handle the Perfects. The name calling and hurtful comments, I could ignore, or at least pretend to. It was much harder when they were knocking my books out of my hands, or putting signs on my back with words too cruel to repeat. But I was getting better at holding back my tears, at least until I made it to the bathroom or if I was really concentrating I could make it until I got home. The school’s zero tolerance for bullies' policy, still requires work.
I wasn’t sure what it was about me that made me their target, it had just always been that way. In the past I had tried to figure out what I could have possibly done to make them all despise me so much. But nothing ever came to mind. One teacher said that I must have done something and that kids don’t just pick on other kids for no reason. And because I was targeted for a reason, I should figure out what that reason was and fix it. Even at the time I knew the teacher was wrong and just flat out mean, because there isn’t always a reason is there? Some kids are just mean, and as much as we try to be nice or unnoticeable it doesn’t change that. Adults will say, ‘just be yourself and people will like you’ or ‘a real friend will like you for who you are, and anyone that doesn’t is not a real friend’ I would really like to find a kid for whom that advice had actually worked for. I doubt such a kid even exists.
I didn't notice the spit balls in my hair until I got off the bus after school. At least they were not painful. I pulled them out, cursing after each one as I ran to the dock.
I was slightly more prepared this time, as I was somewhat calmer. I checked each boat for the one that had the best chance of making it to the island and back, threw my bag in more carefully this time, then took off my shoes and socks and rolled up my jeans before stepping into the water. I pushed the boat off the rocks before getting in and started rowing for the island. I was full of curiosity, excitement and just a little bit of fear. It’s hard to be afraid when you don't know what you’re supposed to be afraid of.
I knew I was able to row the boat all the way across without stopping, I had done it once already, however, my arms seemed to remember that trip and this time they were not as willing to cooperate. I slowed my pace until I was barley moving. That was until I noticed the wind, as slight as it may have been, it was determined to push me back to shore. I was not having it. Ignoring my arms, I picked up speed again. 'Row, row, row' I told myself. Each stroke brought me closer and closer, until finally, land. I secured the boat, pulling it as far onto the beach as I could. I made sure that I found the exact same spot I had been in yesterday, and laid down. My eyes closed, almost all the way, trying to make the scene identical to yesterday’s in the hopes it would be just that, identical. It didn't take long for my patience to run out. I had been so excited to hear the voice again, I hadn't prepared myself for the disappointment of him not being there.
“He will come,” I assured myself. Why I thought that to be true I don't know. Why would he come back again? Meeting me was probably the reason he wouldn't come back at all, ever! I had scared him off. Was I really that hideous?
I thought long and hard about that for a moment, was I? My mom nagged me relentlessly over my wardrobe. My dad was quite content that I hadn't worn a skirt or a dress since I was five, he also didn't seem to mind my Transformers or Star Wars t-shirts, flannel shirt on top, blue jeans with or without holes in the knees and Dr Martins boots. He especially liked the fact that I only shopped once a year for back to school clothes, and most often it was in the one and only thrift store in town. My mom, on the other hand, complained that she had been cheated out of the mother-daughter shopping and bonding experiences that she was entitled to, simply for giving me life. But even with my unique attire, was I really so hideous? I know the Painfully Perfects thought so.
I glanced around, then quickly took my hoodie off and stuffed it into my bag, took out my pony tail, carefully ran my hands through my hair, a
nd pulled out my diary and a pen. I opened it to the next empty page, wrote down the date, then wrote:
Dear Diary,
Tonight I need to look at myself in the mirror.
I need to know if I am hideous or not. I only hope I can be honest with myself.
DMD
“Are you going to scream again?” The voice asked, making me jump. I tried to hide my smile, just because I wasn't able to see who the voice belonged to, I wasn't going to assume that I was not in view.
“I haven't decided yet,” I answered.
“Oh, well you can if want to, I won't mind.”
“I think I will pass today, save the screaming for the worst of the worst days.”
“So yesterday must have been the worst, why was it such a bad day?” Where should I begin?
“I take it you don't go to Echo High School? If you did you would know all about yesterday. Everyone does.” I said.
“I go to a school in a different town,” The boy said so quietly, I almost didn't catch it. I knew he was lying, he had to be. The closest town was too far away to drive to school and back every day. Or at least that was what my parents said when I tried to convince them that I should attend that school instead. But for some reason I can't explain, I didn't question him.
“Well, let's just say you should consider yourself very lucky then, Echo High School is filled with the most vile, grotesque creatures imaginable.” I was sure the voice in the bushes belonged to one of those creatures, it was the most logical explanation. This was another painful experience I was about to endure from the Perfects.
“Are you one of those creatures?” The boy asked with a hint of hopefulness in his tone.
“Me! I suppose you would think that wouldn't you? Why don't you go back to the rest of the Perfects and leave me alone!” I yelled, grabbed my things and ran back to the boat. I wasn't waiting around for them to do whatever it was they had planned. I got back into the boat and returned to shore. As I walked home I ran through what had just happened in my head. Had I acted too quickly? Maybe I had, but I was sure I was justified. Who was the voice? I think he had called me a vile grotesque creature, or had I called him that? But he could have been a Perfect, they could have jumped out at any moment and...and... Well I don't know what, but they could have done something terrible. I was quickly realizing however, that I may have acted a little, or very irrational.
The next few days passed the same as they always did. School was horrible, the day ended, then I went home to the usual note and dinner in the fridge. I would spend the evening alone, go to bed on time and do it over again the next day. None of the Perfects mentioned the island until Friday afternoon when Kevin suggested they go to the island on Saturday, insisting that it was about time they all finally went over there to check it out. Katie was so furious that he would even suggest it that she still wasn't talking to him on the bus ride home. I had been wrong after all, the boy on the island wasn't a Perfect, but, then who was he? And did he really go to school in another town? And if he did, why? I had to go back, I had to tell him I was sorry.
I should have been happy to see my parents, the Range Rover was parked on the driveway when I walked towards my house, but I wasn't. How was I going to go back now? My life was just not fair.
“Oh Delilah, what on earth are you wearing?” My mom asked when I walked in the door. And why wouldn't she? After all, she hadn't seen me all week, my wardrobe not meeting her standards should be her main concern shouldn’t it?
“I'm wearing clothes Mom. Would you prefer I went to school in the nude?” Ha ha, I laughed in my head at my own cleverness. My mom however, did not. Dressed in a wine colored knee length dress, that was flattering and made her eyes pop, hair and makeup done perfectly, she looked amazing, as always. My father gave me a little smile, quickly before my mom could see.
“Your father and I are going out tonight, we will be home late. Your dinner is in the fridge. Make sure you clean up your mess, and go to bed on time with your homework done.” The audio version of the usual note from the fridge, all it was missing was the date to tell me that it was for today, and her name on the bottom.
“Don't forget we will be leaving for the conference early in the morning, and we won’t be back until Sunday night. All the contact information and your weekend instructions are in the binder by the phone.”
“I know, I know. It’s the same every time.” My mom just nodded, she was obviously in a hurry and wasn't about to waste any time with me and my attitude. Their absence for the weekend meant I would be able to spend as much time as I wanted on the island. I forced my smile to wait, I didn't want to arouse any suspicions.
Less than half an hour later I was on my way to the dock, my supper heated up and in a container in my bag, along with an extra sweater, a book and a few snacks I had managed to scrounge up. I was walking so quickly I was almost running, filled with a new excitement. Whoever the voice belonged to wasn't a Painfully Perfect, and better yet, they didn't know who I was.
Once again I ignored the aching in my arms as I was fuelled with excitement, I rowed straight across to the island without stopping. I secured the boat and lay down in the same spot, it was quickly becoming my routine.
I pulled out my book and flipped to the page with the corner turned over, marking my place. This was the reason I was not allowed to read any of my mom’s books. I didn’t like book marks because they almost always fell out and lost my page, completely defeating their exact purpose. My mom’s books looked the same as they did the day she bought them, even if she had read them more than once. Not mine. Mine looked like they had been read and enjoyed. The first thing I did when I got a new book was break the spine, I want to be able to enjoy it, read it anywhere. The more tatty the book, the more it was enjoyed.
I must have fallen asleep while reading; when I opened my eyes it was dark. I wasn't sure whether I was alone or not. It didn't feel like there was anyone else there with me, but I wasn't entirely sure that I would know the difference.
My disappointment turned to despair, he wasn't here and he wasn't coming either. I had blown it, I had had the chance to have a friend, someone who didn’t know me, someone that didn't know the Painfully Perfects and I had acted irrationally, and ruined my chance. I took out my dinner, I wasn't in a hurry to go back home, I could wait a bit longer. I twirled the spaghetti around my fork, much the same as I often do with my hair around my finger. Maybe I was overreacting. It was Friday night after all. Just because I was socially inept didn't mean everyone else was. Heck, even my parents had a great social life. That must be it, he's just busy. How pathetic I was for making such a big deal out of it. Why was I obsessing over a voice? It's not like I knew who it belonged to, it's not like we actually had a real conversation. I made a strange noise in a sad attempt to laugh out loud, it was more like the sound a bear might make if it were struggling with going to the bathroom. Could bears even get constipated? Was I now seriously debating the bowel movements of bears? That thought alone was more than enough of an explanation for my non existent social life.
Still twirling the same piece of spaghetti around my fork, I stared at the boat. It called to me to get in and go home, much like a mother trying to get their young child to leave the park. That's when it occurred to me, the boat! The voice-assuming that there was a body attached to it- would need a boat to get to the island. All I had to do was see if there was another boat here.
Excitedly I stood up, my dinner dropped to the ground, clearly inedible now. It was now dark; I could barley see two feet in front of me. The island was so quiet and so big. I began to imagine what might be lurking behind the trees. I began walking, staying close to the edge of the water, as far from the tree line as possible. I couldn't see very far in front of me and was not at all interested in going the entire way around the island, so it I hadn't walked for long when I decided to give up. I needed to go home.
The lights from the town reliably guided me back to shore. After I secured the boa
t at the dock I looked out towards the island. All I could see was black, but it wouldn’t have mattered any way, the island was too far to actually see people on it. I decided I would still come back in the morning, I wasn't ready to give up just yet.
I counted the boats and there were six, two had rather large holes in the bottom making them unusable, two were questionable and two looked okay from what I could tell, I'm not a boat expert, but no holes seemed to make the most sense. At least now I would know if someone else was on the island.
The minutes passed like hours that night, most of which I watched change on the clock. I tossed and turned, anxious to go back to the island. When I did actually manage to fall asleep, I woke up a short while later. I dreamt I was in school, the Painfully Perfects stood in front of me pointing and laughing. I tried to turn and walk away, to ignore them as I usually did, but the rest of the school would just push me back to them. I wasn’t able to escape. I tried to push my way through the crowds, but there was no use. Even the teachers joined in, pushing me right back to the humiliation of the Perfects. I was different, I didn’t fit in, not even in my dreams. I opened my eyes, finally escaping them, but not able to escape from the feeling of being lost and alone. I knew it wasn't my parents’ leaving for the weekend causing it, I was alone for at least one weekend a month and I quite enjoyed it. I tried to convince myself that it was probably hormones. My period ended yesterday, ridiculous feelings always seemed to come along with that monthly curse. I hated the moments I felt teary more than anything.
In the morning I stayed in bed pretending to be asleep until I heard my parents drive away. Now I could shower with the door open and my music playing loud enough for me to hear it over the sound of the water. I sang along as loud as I could, using my hair brush as a microphone while I got dried off. I dropped my towel on the floor with no intention of picking it up until Sunday, and danced naked in my bedroom. My mom would be mortified. I smiled.
I dressed quickly. I was excited, it didn’t make sense, but I just knew the voice would be there today. I hauled my backpack to the door. It couldn't hold anything else if I wanted it to, I had stuffed in everything I would need to spend the next two days on the island. I put my bag on my back, and with my pillow in one hand, sleeping bag in the other, I was off.
Six boats were waiting at the docks, I wasn't worried. I put my stuff in the same one I used last night, and set out for the island.
My arms burned again; one day they would forgive me I was sure. I secured my boat on the shore confirming it was in the same place as before, I could still see the marks in the ground from the boat. There was something comforting knowing I was in the exact same place, it would make it easier for the voice to find me. I wasn't going to think about the voice, I was trying to convince myself that I was on the island to spend a peaceful weekend outdoors, not that I was there to solely wait to hear the voice that I was so desperate to hear again. I was sure that being so desperate to hear the voice was not all that healthy.
I placed my sleeping bag on the beach, laid out with my pillow on top. I took my book out of my bag and got comfy, I knew I wouldn't fall asleep this time, it was morning, and I had slept a little during the night. Despite my efforts, I was so excited to hear the voice again I thought I might explode.
I must have read the same first few lines of my book ten times before I gave up. An uncontrollable curiosity was drenching me, it was time for me to explore the island. I hadn’t heard the voice yet, so I was sure that I was alone. I turned towards the trees, and took a deep breath, excitement, fear, or maybe a combination of the two ran through me. The ground was covered in a slippery green sodden mass of plants. The trees were so thick in some spots that I wasn’t sure I would even fit between them. I started up the mountain carefully checking the ground before I stepped, the last place I wanted to take a fall would be here, on the deserted island, the chances of anyone hearing my cries would not be in my favour. Some tree stumps came loose with just a slight jiggle of my foot, however most were secure enough to support me as I climbed. The air smelt damp, musky, making my nose crinkle until I was used to it. The higher I climbed the more my heart raced, I felt as though I was trespassing on someone else’s territory.
I looked down to see how high I had gone and was rather surprised that I was unable to see the water anymore. I had an uneasy feeling that I was being watched, I turned around and saw something lurking in the shadows, at least I think I did. It was most likely my mind playing tricks on me. I walked up the slight path I had been following just a little further, unable to listen to the voice of reason in my head telling me turn back. I was lost in the beauty of the trees, and the unknown. The secret hide away nature had provided me with was really astonishing.
Then I heard a twig snap under foot, however, I was standing still, the foot in which the twig was under was most definitely not mine. And that was all I needed to be sure I had to return to the beach. I headed back down, a task that is not as easy as one may think, especially when trying to go quickly. The path seemed to become a slanted green covered ice rink. I inevitably slipped painfully onto my back side three or four times before I made it to the comfort of the rocky beach.
After I caught my breath I walked down to the edge of the water, took off my shoes and stood with my feet in the water. At first step it was so cold I wanted to run out as fast as I could, but instead I took a deep breath to allow my body to adjust to temperature. Then I walked along the jagged rocks that were surely cutting the bottom of my feet as I walked.
The sun was noticeably higher in the sky by this time causing me to check my watch. I had been on the island for over an hour already. I wondered if I was still alone, I started to walk back to my spot on the beach, lost in a daydream of the voice. I was finally distracted by something on the beach. It wasn't a rock. It didn't look like a clump of sand either, it was too red. Then it hit me, it was pasta from my dinner last night. I forgot the container I dropped, along with my fork. My mom would not be happy. Frantic that something as silly as a Tupper wear container would ruin my whole weekend, I got up. It should be right here, right where it dropped, unless it was swept up by the water, then I would never find it. But that didn't make sense either. If the water had come up the beach enough to take the container it would have washed the pasta sauce off the rocks.
“What are you looking for?” The voice made me jump.
“I left a container here last night. My mom is going to be mad that I lost it,” I should have lied. The truth sounded so stupid.
“You dropped it, your dinner went everywhere.”
“How did you know that?” I asked, trying desperately to see the boy.
“I saw you.” Was he actually here last night after all? Why hadn't he said something? Why did he just watch me? Creepy.
“Why?” Was all I managed to say. I wasn't sure whether to be afraid, flattered, or shocked.
“I like watching you.” He replied. Fear should have become terror, “he liked watching me” that sounds like something a psycho would say, Instead, I felt calm knowing that he was there. What was wrong with me?
“Why didn't you just tell me you were there?”
“I thought you were still mad at me,” The voice was definitely quieter, “you know, for calling you one of those creatures, what did you call them, um...Predicts?”
“The Perfects,” I corrected.
“Right, the Perfects. What breed are they?” That seemed like a rather strange question. He either really thought I was talking about creatures or he was playing along to be nice.
“The meanest breed of all, they make you want to beg for Hell. They are the popular kids.”
“The popular kids? I don't think I follow.” This was starting to get annoying.
“The popular kids in school, the kids that everyone wants to be friends with, to be liked, and accepted by, or at the very least, ignored by.”
“So they are not actually creatures. I mean, at least not by the definition of the w
ord?”
“Well, not technically, no.” I wished he would come out of the bushes. Surely he wasn't afraid of me.
“Why do you call them the Perfects?”
“I named them the Painfully Perfects when they first started picking on me. You see, they are perfect, beautiful, rich, smart, all that. The painful part is what they do to me.” My hand quickly covered my mouth, why had I said all that? I should have lied, I should never have made myself so vulnerable.
“Anyway, I wasn't mad at you, I was just worried that you were one of them, that's all.” Why? Again I had said too much.
“But I told you I wasn't.”
“I don't trust that easily.”
“So what do I need to do so that you will trust me?” He asked. I was taken aback, why did he want my trust?
“Well it might help if I knew who I was trusting?” I said hesitantly.
“I'm Jack.”
“Hello Jack,” It was nice to have a name for the voice at least, we could work on putting a face to his name later.
“I'm Delilah.”
“That's a pretty name, I like it.” I turned away from the bushes, I knew my face was going red, I could feel it getting hot.
“Did I make you mad?” Jack questioned.
“No, embarrassed. I'm not used to getting compliments.”
“Oh.” We sat in awkward silence for a moment, listening to the water lap against the shore.
“So Jack, did you see where my container ended up?” I asked as I turned back towards the bushes. It was sitting there on the ground.
“Thank you Jack.”
Aberrant (short) Page 2