Sannio - The World As We Know It

I'd always wondered about it, to be honest. I know, it’s quite stupid. I knew from history at school that earth was once an imperfect world. They never really went into depth when it came to how we became perfect, they just said that the countries signed a peace treaty and was done with it. But then again, we weren’t exactly raised to ask questions. That just wasn’t the way things were done.

My name’s Patty R. Butler. I don’t actually have a middle name, though. I kind of just put the ‘R’ there myself. I think that Rene would make a nice middle name, but I’m constantly switching it. Somedays it’s Rene, others it’s Rachel, or Reyna, and somedays, when I was in a particularly silly mood, I would be Patty Rat Butler, or even Patty Rasberry Butler. I don’t really tell anyone that, of course. Because I’m fifteen years old, and much too old to do those things. That just wasn’t the way things were done!

I live in a little square-ish house in the suburbs at Rhode Island. Everyone forgets about Rhode Island. Ironic, considering all that happens here. But then again, I’d guess that everywhere has something crazy going on. At least if the rumors are true. Everyone lives in a little square house. Everyone has a good, if slightly boring, job. Everyone attends a good school and gets good grades. Mostly because no one tried for great ones, seeing as how we’d all get the same future anyhow. We never got poor grades either, though. I had a cousin who consistently got E’s and F’s for a whole month.

Mom and dad don’t talk about him. I can’t remember him, either. He lived far away, and we were in grade school when it happened. Really, the only reason that I know about it is because I heard mom and dad talking about it in the kitchen in the middle of the night. I like to stay up at night. Or I did, at least before I was caught. Mom and dad locked me in my room from nine until six thirty from then on. Don’t get me wrong, they love me dearly. I think that’s why they did it.

I knew at the time that I wasn’t supposed to stay up and make trouble. We don’t make trouble around here. That just wasn’t the way things were done. But in my mind, I wasn’t making trouble. My little brother wasn’t ever awake at the time either. Mostly because he wasn’t alive yet. And, from my perspective, my parents never talked about anything that I didn’t know about. I just went down because I liked the sounds of their voices. Their voices were soft to each other. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard your parents talk when they were sure that they were alone.

They spoke with a whispered hesitantsy. Their eyes were always open slightly wider than usual, but they looked like they were scared about… something. But I didn’t know that they were scared. I just thought that they were excited. It was a few years later, in my room, seated by the window with a book in my lap that I realized that they were always scared. But even then, I didn’t know what about. We did live in a perfect world, everyone was happy. I can’t remember the last time that I saw anyone truly sad. We don’t get sad. Do you know why? I’m sure you do. That’s just not the way things were done.

Are you sensing a pattern? I did, I just sensed it much too late. I was about fourteen and a half. Though I just said fourteen to anyone else. I went to high school like every other kid my age. I didn’t have a best friend, or even a group of friends. I just had lots of acquaintences. Just like everyone else. We all sort of treat each other the same way. We’re polite, and we just talk about each other. Not ourselves.

It was absolutely maddening. Try to imagine every secret, and story that you’ve ever wanted to say. Imagine all of them jumbled up in a big ball, or as a long line. Anyway to somehow mentally turn them into a tangible object. How big/long/deep/wide/dimensional is it?

Exactly!

Now imagine swallowing whatever you just made and walking around like it was no big deal. No one really knew each other, because you were hidden inside yourself. You could share a few things, but only if someone else asked you about it first. And even then, you had to direct the conversation away from yourself as much as possible. That’s why I almost never talked to people. Because it was maddening! That’s why secretly, I stashed one of my unused notebooks under my bed. I would write about my day in it. I would share my secrets with the paper, and replace my voice with the light scratch of my pen on the paper. It was an escape, and my only irregularity. Because everyone was the same.

Well, not all the way, just very similar. Selfless, caring, kind, and boring. If we could all just be a bit more selfish, the world would be a much better place.

That stupid notebook was my pocket of rebellion in my tamed, pillowy world. Which is why I loved it. I wrote math on the front, and in the days when I was feeling particularly rebellious, I would actually carry it around with me in my bag. It made an entire day fun. I wrote about my ambitions, my wishes, my family,

I have a mom, dad, little brother, and a cat named Arthur McDowny. I can’t find them, but I know that they’re alive. So that’s a start.

By now, you probably know that something’s a bit off. So I’ll quit my rambling, eh?

It started about… I don’t exactly know. I’d wager a good month or two ago. I was at school. It was on Thursdays, which is funny because nothing ever happens on Thursdays. They’re just about the most ordinary days in the world. I’d rotated through my classes, ate lunch while reading, and then rotated through the last of my classes and walked home. Most other kids took the bus, but I just liked to walk. I liked to hear people laugh, and birds chirp, and see the occasional dog tied out in the yard. I took different routes every day if I could help it, just to help shake it up. Sometimes I got home way too late.

Every time I did, my parents looked as if they had walked in on me kicking a small puppy. Horrified, extremely frightened, and slightly sick to their stomachs. They would usher me inside, slam the door closed, and give me a steak, green beans, apple pie, and a pat on the head as they ignored my questions. Honestly, that’s one of the reasons that I always walk so slowly. Because I’d like to get an answer. If they’d just tell me what was so wrong with me being a little later than I would have been on the bus, then I’d stop! But it never seemed to work.

Chicken, baked potato, and a few spoon fulls of chocolate pudding. A glass of milk. A conversation with the family. We talked about everything, but nothing at all. I didn’t even know them to be honest, the only person that I truly knew was my little brother. He ate his dinner like a good little boy. He was almost a mirror image of our mom, with his almost grey blue eyes, sandy blonde hair, and oval shaped face. He was just about the cutest little boy I knew. Then again, I didn’t know very many. But even if I did, I’m still pretty sure that he’d win the first prize in my books.

I myself look just like my dad. Black hair cut at shoulder length, slightly squinting brown eyes, which were so deep brown that they were nearly black. I have rather thick eyebrows. I really don’t like my eyebrows, and my lips are too small. But my mom says that she praises all that’s holy that I got his smile. I always bit my lip, trying not to smile at that.

My parents are private. And kind. And nice. And outgoing. They’re very friendly! My brother is too. I, however, am not. My parents often ask me about school, and my social life within it. I just say that it’s going on. It’s one of the few occasions when I’m happy about the social propriety rules we had. When I could just say “good” and my parents would leave me be. They were always confused about why I didn’t have any friends over. I just said that it was because the school was really laying it on with the homework. I think that they could see through my lie, but it’s not like they’re allowed to ask about it anyway, so I was good. I’d always wondered if there was something wrong with my brain. Everyone else seemed to want to talk to everybody, and I always wanted to talk to nobody.

But I was still lonely.