Capture

I could see myself sitting there by the lockers. She looked so melancholy. Her head was slumped against the wall and her eyes were closed. She looked at piece but I knew her throat was tight. I knew she wanted someone to ask her, what was the matter?

I shifted my weight. I was starting to get impatient. I pitied her, and not in the good way.

She was in the middle of a chorale of friends whom were all talking over her head. Why? Probably because they thought she was tired. Probably because she hadn’t realized human beings can’t read minds.  Probably because at the end of the day she wouldn’t use her God given vocal chords and do something about her situation.

She was wearing a black tank top with a denim jacket, jeans and black boots. I was so proud of those boots. I thought they made me look so badass. I didn’t realize how much of a cover they were. Not then. A me who was cognizant of myself would have gone with the sandals, like the ones I was wearing watching her. She was a textbook case of teenage angst.

I sighed. I walked over to her, stepped over the shoulders of her friends sitting in their little circle, and pulled her to her feet.

This wasn’t so easy to do. A past self is stiff and very set in their ways. It took a couple of jerks, but she stumbled forward with her eyes agape. She looked like she was about to cry.

She tried to turn around, but I had her by the wrist. No one noticed the activity - the past was the past, and so long as I didn't interact with the others, they wouldn't change.

“Look at me. No, no. Not back there. Look. At. Me.”

After struggling for a little bit she stood still. Her head hung. I think she knew why I was there.

I took her by the shoulders and gave her a shake. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?

“Look at yourself. Then wipe your eyes and look at me, because I’m the last person about to give you condolences. You’re a mess.”

I didn’t raise my voice. I wasn’t haranguing her, so to speak. She just needed a tap of reality. I mean, goodness gracious, grow up child.

“You’re not just shy, you’re grossly afraid of life. Don’t-don’t interrupt me, yes, you are. You don’t talk to people, you’re paranoid, and what do you think they’ll do? I can guarantee you think of yourself worse than any other person on this campus.”

She was trying to look away. I gritted my teeth and took her roughly by the jaw with one hand. “Look at the sun and smile, girl!” I laughed. “Put on colors. You know you like pink, embrace it! And speak, Goddammit. Speak!”

She looked very stunned. Her form was quivering, flickering like bad TV reception. She sniffled, and I hugged her.

“I like your dress,” I heard her mumble. I looked down. I was wearing a crème colored sun dress.

“Thanks,” I said good naturedly. “You’ll get it at Charlotte Russe in two years. Don’t get the shirt you plan on buying with it, you'll lose it in a couple of weeks."

I let go of her. She snapped back into her place on the wall, like a rubber band pulled too taunt. I was done.

However when I turned around…I don’t think this is what happened, but I could have sworn I saw her open her eyes.