Innocent Guilt
Numb
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Chapter
Five: Numb
Somebody once told
me that the eyes were windows into a person's soul, gateways that led into a
very spiritual realm, twin vortexes which provided a path to the essence that a
free will contained. Nothing sounded more impractical to me than this, an
analogy that preached faith and religion, philosophy and ethics in one breath.
Why should I care what a perfect stranger can see when they look at me? It's
not like they'll know my life's story or anything like that. How could they
with just a passing glance? They wouldn't.
Nobody knows me, and I don't relate to them.
That's exactly how I like my transactions, conversations, and even probable
friendships to be conducted--and I wouldn't have it any other way.
I'm better off alone, I'm doing good, I'm
okay...
That's what I have
to keep telling myself every time I'm in front of a mirror. I can't be thankful
for the dry-cleaned clothes, spotless shoes, or accessories I'm wearing. This
image, the pristine portrait of a gifted, flawless student, is more than an
embellishment of my inner self. It's a lie, a blatant misdemeanor against
truth, a sin perpetrated by a teenager who had everyone convinced that he was
anyone and anything but who he truly was. I am committing the worst
crime of all, stealing the identity of a forthcoming pupil to conceal my
shortcomings, acting like my intelligence is superior to that of my
acquaintances.
/You fraud. /
Look at me, always trying to be someone I'm
not, someone I could never be in this life, much less in the next dozen
or so...
/You're not even the least bit original. /
What if my peers
ever discovered that I wasn't who they thought I was? What would happen to the
awards I've won, the accolades teachers have given to me, the praise that
administrators bestowed so trustingly upon my record? Would they resent me
enough to suspend me from school?
/Suspension? Whatever. The principal would
rather have you expelled. /
Am I not who I say I am? Is this all there is
to me, some sophomore who parades around in expensive suits showing off bank
accounts and car keys, but is just as juvenile and immature as the riffraff
that attends my district?
/Why not? It’s not like you’re anything
special. /
Why am I still alive?
/You shouldn’t be. /
How do I find it in me to live like this?
/Deceitfulness. /
Who should I turn to?
/No one gives a damn about you. /
What can I do?
/Be out on a ledge somewhere--/
“Shut
up!” I nearly screamed, grabbing my head with my hands, burrowing my nails into
my scalp. “Shut up, just shut up already!”
/You have your nerve. /
like I’m in dire need of a size change. /
Pulling my brow down, I could feel
cre
creases of a deep frown weighing on my mouth. “What do you mean?” I asked
suspiciously.
/I think you know what I’m getting at. /
Shifting my sight
restlessly, I turned to the side and brought my hands up to my waist. Yes, I
knew exactly what my oh-so brilliant conscience was pointing out, but I
didn’t want to divulge that to the heartless animal. Stubbornly, I bowed my
head, refusing to lend another victory to my abusive alter ego.
/Look at yourself. /
to avoid it altogether. /Look at what you’ve become. /
“Leave
me alone!” I hissed poisonously, “Just--”
/Won’t admit that I’m right? That you’re
just as much as a screw-up as you’ve always been? /
“Fuck
you!”
/You’ve said that before. It’s an old
inside joke between us now, remember? /
“What
do you want from me?” I cried, coming treacherously close to my wits’ end.
/To do what I told you to. /
“Which
is?”
/See what’s there. /
“I
can’t!”
/Too scared to try? /
Sullenly, I measured
the space from one hip to the other. The distance was similar to a pocket
dictionary’s length, but to me, it equated to being mountains apart. My skin
was cadaverous; a thin sheet of white stretched over a bed of rusty springs,
the pelvic area resembling a formation of bleached bones drying in a desert. If
I was ever confronted by a vampire, I would be mistaken for another creature of
the night, some variation of the undead that refused to go gently into that
goodnight. Baring my fangs in dissatisfaction, I wrenched my head up, only to
be struck with an unholy sight.
/Beautiful,
isn’t it? /snickered my head voice.
Impulsively, I
dragged a limb to my face, stroking the mound of skin there. My cheeks sit high
on my visage, feminine features that rival any actresses’ cosmetic influences.
Once upon a time, they would have been one of my best attributes, glowing
pillows of angel feathers that were softer than a child’s touch. Somehow, they
had been raped of their supple complexion, exposing rough, unrefined clones
that could hardly boast of a past as rich as theirs. Methodically, I inspected
the texture of my flesh, scanning every pore as if the tissue gave refuge to
snipers. I was blind to the cracked epidermis, peeling away from my jaws like
paint abandoning a dilapidated house.
That was the least of my concerns.
Above the water
starved blemishes were my lips, two rubbery flaps that bled if I cracked a
grin. One of them was split, tearing into the cells underneath with a
vengeance. They had every right to take revenge on me. I haven’t let as much as
a splash of liquid grace their evaporated wastelands. Slipping my tongue across
the barren badlands, I made another wild discovery. My mouth was parched. Not
just devoid of saliva, but missing any
drop of fluid, smothering my senses with the mental rendition of a tribal
member suffering from lack of solutions. This is the status of dehydration,
where I was overriding the instinct to survive so I could reach a little bit
closer to that All-American stereotype, the digitally enhanced photo of a male
posing for Spin or People magazine, exhibiting his good looks and proud
attitude as if nothing could pierce his lofty confidence.
Why
can’t I be like that? I speculated
absently, critiquing my frame, pinching the taut skin around my abdomen.
/Because
you’re repulsive. / my strict and
unyielding conscience replied, the laughter and sarcastic elements gone from
its tone. /You’re revolting and
nauseating to be seen with, some kid that plastic surgery wouldn’t be able to
help alter. /
My arm fell from its
location, tumbling in slow motion towards my thigh, reminding me of how an
acrobat topples from the high bar to the floor. Except trapeze artists don’t
dismount like they’re unable to balance themselves on their swings. Most of
them are graceful, gorgeous beings that defy gravity, torturing their envious
spectators with performances that become once-in-a-lifetime events. I was the
polar opposite of charm and panache, tripping into my classrooms with ignominy,
dishonoring my family name by damaging its elegant standing. I’m not even
worthy of speaking my relations’ title, so why was I chosen to uphold it? I’m
certainly not built for the duty.
/That’s
right, you’re not. /
I can’t do anything right.
/Never
have, and never will. /
Everyone that knows me would rather walk on
the other side of the street than talk to me.
/Sick
of you, they’re all sick of you. /
Why do I even bother to show up to school
anymore?
/Like I
said, nobody needs you. /
Nobody needs me…
Agreeing with my shadowy self, I plucked a
calligraphy pen from my briefcase, squeezed my eyes shut, then thrust it into a
place on me that had gone totally numb.