Locker

There's noise everywhere. Lockers slamming, squeaking sneakers, books thudding, the sound of cloth brushing cloth and air, laughter, a hundred raised and lowered voices creating a near-deafening rumble, the kind where so many words are heard clearly that it all becomes an oddly gentle murmur. But all that doesn't matter because all I can hear is you.

Your silence is the loudest sound. It drowns out the murmur, the harsh clang of painted metal forcefully closing, the squeaky linoleum and rubber, the gentler undertones of our world revolving and passing us by without a glance, with barely a growled word.

There are colors everywhere. Pale blue-green linoleum, garishly painted maroon lockers, warm flashes of natural black, brown, red, and red hair, glimpses of bright, vibrant hues of highlights, book bags, clothing, shoes, the occasional brush of a blue, green, brown, grey, black, and hazel tinted windows on laughing, grim, intent faces. But all that doesn't matter because all I can see is you.

The way you look at me, as if suddenly you don't know me, as if you don't want to know me. The abrupt paleness of your face as all the color seemed to drain out of it except for the red high on your cheekbones and warming your ears. There's a look in your eyes that I know I will never forget, that I know will take precedence over everything else I see today, tomorrow, ever. Your body is tense and still, like a deer about to run, and your nails have buried themselves in your palms, dotting the floor with small orbs of crimson color.

And suddenly you're gone, swept away by the tides of departing peers, gone like a wraith in the mist and the only way I can be sure you were even there is to stare down at the bright red you left behind on the floor being smeared by the passage of shoes until the brightness is gone, until it's a dull red-brown that is cousin to the maroon of the poor, abused lockers that line the halls.

The last student leaves and the teachers disappear back into their classrooms for a last minute grading and still I stand there, staring at your mark on the floor. I don't feel the urge to move, the desire to go anywhere and I'm completely silent even as I'm screaming inside with such intensity that it seems impossible for no one to hear me.

I am a locker, garish maroon and almost unnoticeably battered, alone in the school where you've left me.