Goodbye - 10/31/2003

I'm sitting stiffly in my computer chair writing this. Of course you forgot about me, of course. You said you might call, but you sure as hell didn't. You said you would make exceptions for me; you did, but didn't follow through. So what am I supposed to do now? Sitting here, running my fingers over the cuts on my arms. What am I supposed to do?

I'm sitting at your kitchen table, eating quietly, paying close attention to the pattern on the plate, and the sound of my fork clinking on porcelain. You look up at me, from under your eyebrows, across the table. You catch my eyes with yours, but I look back down at my food quickly. I can hear your mother clear her throat nervously, like she does.

"Is you food alright Maveline?" she asks. I can feel her smile on my forehead. I nod.

"Yes, thank you."

You look at me worried, and ask if we can be excused from the table. Your mother says yes, and you get up quickly, and take my plate, which was long since empty, and walk to the kitchen. I get up silently, and push in my chair, taking the appropriate actions to make a soundless get away to the bathroom, before you can drag me to your room.

I am just about there, when you walk up behind me and grab my arm, above my elbow. Your hand seems large on the thinness of my upper arm. You lead me to your room, closing the door behind us.

I sit down on your bed, not saying a word, and you stand there in front of me, your multicolored eyes trying to look kind, when what you want to do is rip off my flesh so you can see how I work on the inside. You grab my left wrist, and pull my sweatshirt back up my arm. You know me too well, and just as I know you knew, there are cuts up and down my arm.

For a moment I think you might hit me. For a moment I wish you would. But you don't. You drop my wrist and sit down, straddling your chair. You rest your arms on the back of it, and place your face onto them, so I can't see what your feeling. I sit there, blank faced, not attempting to make a move either way.

A song is playing over and over in my head as we sit there. "How can you see into my eyes like open doors, leading you down into my core, where it becomes so numb." I pull my sweatshirt down over my arm again, slowly. I guess you felt me move, because you violently rise from your chair, and it falls over. You are standing over me, with anger filled eyes, your pupils dilated, your nostrils flared, your mouth open so slightly to let in and out angry ragged breaths of air.

"Why?" you say, looking at me still, looking me in the eyes. I can't look away. I look at you sadly, sorrowfully. I don't say a word. "Tell me why." You say quietly, but to me its almost like you are yelling it right into my ear through a speaker. I can't say anything, I can feel tears that are welling up behind my eyes, but I force them back. I can see the veins in your arms standing out because you have your fists clenched. You turn away from me, and pick up the phone off your desk. You throw it at me, and it hits me in the chest. I know what you want, you want me to call my parents and ask if I can leave. So I do.

You show me to the door, and we walk out and sit on the curb, to wait for my parents. 15 minutes filled with silent rage and sadness, we sit there, trying to look decent when my parents come. As they pull up, I stand up, and force a face smile, and a wave.

"Goodbye." You said, like a person to the corpse at a funeral, and walk back into your house. I get in the car, and my mom doesn't ask any questions, I just sit in the back seat silently, hands in my lap. Tears silently run down my face.


AN:this started out as a freewrite, but, i think it turned out pretty well.