I rushed out of my English class, books in my hands and my messy honey-blond hair falling in front of me; with a quick movement of the head, I tried to put some strands back so that I could make it across the corridors and not crash into anyone unexpectedly. I could see my locker from just a few meters away, it was being blocked by some of the cutest boys in the school.This really puzzles me. Is your protagonist gay? I'm not sure he is, because he says later he is discouraged by how girls don't talk about him. I wasn’t a cute boy. I knew none of the girls talked about me, if it wasn’t to say that I was a loser. I always tried to not care, but it’s hard not to listen to what people say about you and I feel like whatever I do is not good enough for society, or just for high school students. Honestly, I don't feel that last portion was necessary.
I scratched my throat to make them notice that I wanted to get to my locker, but they didn’t seem to hear me.
“Excuse me,” I said finally. They turned to look at me, smirking.
“Hey, Jordan, the dude behind you wants to get to his locker,” One of them said, but the guy ‘Jordan’ that he was talking to didn’t seem to care. He just laughed. Here we go again. Why won’t they just leave me alone?
“Oh, you want to get to your locker? Oh, I’m sorry, but my feet are actually stuck to the ground.” They laughed. They were making fun of me because not long ago, I had been stuck to the tennis court when I was picking up some of the balls, and at the time, a pair of girls had wanted to play but I wasn’t able to get off the court. The rumor had spread all over the school.
“Please, could I just-“
“No, wait. You need to help me. My feet are stuck! Help!” They laughed again, and I was starting to get mad. I simply clenched my teeth and put up with what I was going through. It happens everyday. Don’t worry, soon you’ll be out of here. If this is what your character was thinking, you should write ", he thought" But I had choir, I couldn’t afford to be late. The choir master would get so mad at me and then call my mother. I think the "so" in that sentence is unecessary. The last thing I needed today was my mum telling me off.
“Come on, I really need to go.” I could hear a little streak of anger in my voice.
“Oooh! Someone’s getting mad!” The Jordan guy said and they eventually left.
“Why are you late?” Brother Fred asked me as I walked into the church. Not everyone was present, but he always only cared about me. “Answer me! How can my male soprano be missing? Don’t you remember that we have Easter coming? Please, just get up here.” He was bellowing, and his voice echoed across the church. He then mumbled- an extremely quiet mumble- that I managed to hear: “Bloody hell!”
We’re in a church. Mind your language. Again, this is what he's thinking. I rushed up to where I had to stand, suddenly feeling very shy and nervous. I never felt like this, I was usually the one to have solos, and the choir was a place where I usually felt myself. I opened my mouth to sing as Brother Fred gave the queue and Mildred played tune on the organ. I let the air fill my lungs and let it out with the most beautiful sound I could make.
*****
“Tomorrow remember you have a book group to go to with me.I would rewrite that sentence. Something about it is just not right. And then, we must go and have this hair cut. There is no way you are following me to the charity fair with such hair!” My mother reminded me as I washed the dinner dishes. She sat at the round kitchen table making a list of the things she had to do. Or rather, the things I had to do for her.
“What charity fair?” I asked.
“The charity fair that the church is giving to raise funds for the Easter party. Remember, I asked you to bring out all your old clothes and toys. You’re going to sell with me.” I listened. I noticed that everything she told me was like an endless pile of orders. I would try to use a better simile there.
“Alright, mum. I’m done.” I wiped my hands and asked for permission to go into my room.
“Yes, dear. I’ll be coming up there soon.”
My eyes searched my room. I was sixteen and the room still looked like a nine-year old’s. There were Spider-man posters, Star wars posters and figurines. On my bed side, stood a picture of Jesus praying and next to it was my picture with my parents. My mother hated to see that picture next to Jesus'. She believed that my father should never be put anywhere near the Lord.
The thing is, my dad had asked for a divorce, even though we’re Catholics. It was all my mum’s fault, though I never said it. She was the sort of person who liked to give commands and control people. Dad had had enough.
I looked at the celebrities who covered but only a small part of my walls. Linkin Park was screaming ‘Numb’ through my ears as I took an analyzing view around the room. "As I analyzed my room" would sound much better. It was like I was playing back my life to myself. Again, I would try for a better simile. For so many years, people have controlled me. The song made me realize how stupid I was for always listening to orders; especially from my mother who constantly did that.
"You’re going to be an English professor in a University one day." Her voice spoke through my head. What she didn’t know was that our minds were not looking in the same direction. I did not want to become an English professor, but to become an actor.
I often saw my path to Hollywood drawn on the road, and I took secret drama classes which my mother never knew about and the teacher said that I was very talented. Mum hadn’t suspected a thing until…
“Never! My son is not to become a drug-dealing actor! You will be-“
“But I don’t want to an English professor! I don’t want to! Why do you always decide what I should and shouldn’t do? Why not just let me be more like me, and less like you?” The lyrics of my favorite song slid out of my lips.
“Because I am your mother! I am right, and I know what’s best for you. If I say you won’t be an actor, then you won’t! That’s it; I don’t want to hear anything else from you. In fact, get up to your room!” She screamed. She literally screamed and went crimson.
“I’m not going. You always tell me what to do. I’ve had it! You seriously p*** me off! I’m goin-“And for the very first time in my life, she smacked me, the sound of her hand on my cheek resounded in my ears.
“How dare you speak to me like that? Since when have you become so insolent? It’s that school of yours, isn’t it? I knew I should have had you home schooled! It’s never too-“But before she could finish what she had to say, I was already running down the street.
My feet were pulling me into a sprint with not destination. No, there was a destination: life. Life was to be my next stop.
I’m tired of being what you want me to be,
Feeling so faithless, lost under the surface.
Don’t know what you’re expecting of me,
Put under the pressure,
Of walking in your shoes.
No longer was I going to be “Mum’s little boy”, but now, Sam I am.
125,003 Literary Works • 672,791 Reviews
