Second Chance (65 page)

She chokes out her words
and hangs her head
.
“
What if I
never see you again
?
”

“
You’re the one that always said to leave this to fate.
”
I cup her che
e
k against my palm and stare into her eyes
,
magnified behind a pool of tears
.
“
Don’t ever change
for anyone
.
Promise me?
”

Te
ars are dripping off her chin
.
She
covers her hands over
her face and cries into them
.
I watch this angel
I broke
.
A silver light falls over her and
ma
kes her skin look like stone, but
I turn to walk away
.
I hate that this is my last image of her
.
It’s not what I wanted at all
.
And I don’t shed a tear
.
My voice never quavers
.
It’s like somebody pumped lead into my heart and steel into my brain
.
I walk away like a
machine
.
I keep moving before my thoughts make me collapse
.

I don’t dare look over my
shoulder
.
I hear whimpering behind me
.
I need to hold it together
.
The sky’s falling in around me
.
Stars are
burning souls
.
Melting planets
.
Flying comets spiraling towards a crash landing
.
Clouds are ghosts
.
The moon is a lonely
,
unblinking
eye
.

I swear at the ground
.
Life is never a perfect story book
.
It isn’t happily ever after or one fine day or love
everlasting
.
It’s twisted and warped and it peels and tears and your heart just becomes this piece of
shredded
fabric sewn over with patches
.

I can hear people pass me on the sidewalk
,
but I can’t see them
.
They’re floating shadows
.
I feel the tears start to stab my eyes
.

Not yet
, Gray
.
Deep breaths
.
Hold it together
.
Just a little longer
.
 

I turn at the next block
.
A drooping streetlight sprinkles a golden hue down a lifeless street
.

A few more seconds
.
Hold on.

I pic
k up the pace and make it into the
empty alley that leads to my house
.

Okay
.
Now
.
Cry your eyes out
.

DYLAN

I drag
myself out of bed
the next morning to face a future I never planned
.
To face a moment I don’t belong in
.
I feel like a stranger in my own skin
.
I turn on the bathroom light and a glum, puffy eyed girl stares back at me
.
I barely recognize her
.
She looks like she could be related to me
.
The same eyes, the same chin and nose
.
The same freckles and skinny, long neck
.
But she
slipped into an identity that doesn’
t fit her, like
a pair of shoes that are too
tight
and
limit
yo
ur movements
.
It
isn’t
comple
ment
ing, it’s constricting.
But sometimes it’s hard to see until someone points it out
.

I stare down at the pajamas that Liz gave me, a matching cotton
T
-shirt and draw string shorts that are perfect and pretty and plain
.
What was I doing
?
I look like all of you now
.

I glare back at my appearance and tighten my lips
.
I almost lost my
identity
.
I blend in
.
Why was I trying to become
one of you?

Why do some people try to trap me
?
Don’t
they get that it’s in my anatomy to fly?

I
look down
at
the
basket of makeup on the counter
.
I don’t want to hide behind anything
.
I d
on’t
want to
disguise my
imperfections
just because people tell me they’re flaws
.
I think they’re what make me unique
.
My blotchy skin
.
My boring hair
.
Don’t try to make me beautiful
.
I already am
.
And I don’t want to be idolized for something so temporary as
outward
beauty
.
It never lasts.

I stare at this girl who ha
s been crumbling for the past month
.
Who almost lost herself
.
I
straighten
my shoulders
.

T
he first thing I do is wash her face, where a smudge of
black mascara colors
dark
rings under her eyes
.
The next thing I do i
s
grab a pair of scissors from the drawer and go to work at her
h
air
.
It’s thick and I have to cut small
sections
at a time, but I eventually make my way around her head,
throwing handfuls of long hair into the garbage and
cutting unt
il the ends fall short, just
below her ear
s
.
It’s jagged and uneven and it suits her
.
I grab a baseball cap I inherited from Gray, a red ca
p
with the Lobo mascot decorating the front
.
I pull it over
her
forehead and it’s soft and worn in
.
It hides the bags under
her
eyes from staying up half the night crying
.
I start to recognize her again
.

I
touch the ends of my messy, uneven hair spilling out from under the cap
.

It’s me
.
I’m back
.
It’s been a while
.
 
 

I throw all
the makeup in the garbage and s
nap off the bathroom light
.
I
p
ack up the rest of my clothes, but realize, as I’m folding, I don’t want
any
of them
.
I throw the coordinated outfits, the trendy tanks, the cropped jea
ns,
and
the high heeled shoes, on a heap on top of the bed
.
I figure Catherine can find something to do with them
.
I decide to keep the dress
Clair
bought me
.
I genuinely like it, and it will always remind me of a
generous
heart
.
I get dressed in an
old, baggy pair of jeans with a recent rip
in one knee
.
I pull a yellow
tank top
over my head. I
t’s soft and faded and
perfect
.

I walk down the sidewalk, s
qui
nting against the bright glare of the late morning sun
.
I wish it was
rainy and cold, s
omething better suited to my mood
.
All the sunshine and beauty and the smell of freshly cut grass makes my head pound
.
No one has the right to be happy today
.
Gray broke up with me
.
The world should mourn my broken
heart, not rejoice in sunny, June
weather
.
I frown at a shirtless guy mowing his lawn and want to say, “Hey, how can you just go on with life like that
?
Don’t you
realize
my world just
fell apart
?
And you’re
worried about your
lawn
?
”