Blue Skies

            My head was pounding. I had to get out of this hell. I knew if I didn’t leave soon I was going to have another mental breakdown and I definitely didn’t need that. It would only add to my list of problems. Anxiety, clinical depression, self-harm, therapy, and not to mention the shit ton of homework I have. I certainly did not need any more on my plate.]

            I tried to remember what my therapist had told me to do in these situations but I couldn’t think straight. Since I was feeling a little queasy I started to make my way outside. I knew the breeze would help. As I was stumbling by, I spotted a new face in the crowd.

            She had dark brown hair but eyes as blue as the sky. I opened my mouth to introduce myself but closed it quickly again and ran outside, feeling dizzy. The moment I walked out into the open air I was engulfed by a nice cool breeze that blew across my face. I turned back around to see the words, “Arman Prep” plastered in bold black letters across the front of the school.

            I looked at my watch and groaned. Second period started 15 minutes ago and I was late. Again. I decided it would probably be better to skip the class and go for a walk. I’m sure I could come up with some excuse for why I couldn’t make it and if not then I’d just accept my detention.

            It was only the third week of freshman year and I had already had four of these breakdowns. Some teachers never confronted me about missing classes, more out of them wanting to stay away from me than compassion.

            I despised everything about my school other than the woods they owned behind the baseball field. Since I wasn’t exactly Mr. Popular I would often take my lunch from the cafeteria and bring it outside to the bench in the farthest part of the woods.

            I discovered the bench when I was in 7^th grade and wandering around in the woods. It was pretty late at night and there had been some stupid school event my mom had wanted me to go to. I had started to get anxious about what people were thinking of me and I panicked. Back then I wasn’t used to having that feeling of insecurity, it was something unfamiliar to me, but now I greet it as an old enemy that doesn’t seem to want to leave. I quickly ran to the first exit I could find which happened to be the one leading to the baseball fields. With the tears blinding my vision it was hard to see so I tried not to. I shut my eyes tight, my fists clenched as if holding something dear to me. I tried to let the darkness of the night swallow me up and never spit me back but instead I stumbled and fell forward. I flailed my arms out desperately, in an effort to catch my fall but it was to no avail. My ribs slammed into the bench and I groaned in pain. Steadying myself with one hand on the top of bench I caught my breath until I had enough energy to take out my phone and turn on the light. I gasped in surprise at the bench, which looked incredibly out of place compared to all the trees and plants.

           Ever since that day, the bench has been my comfort spot whenever I’m sad or need some space. As I sat there I began to examine all the parts of my life, good and bad. When it came down to it most of the things were bad and even the good things weren’t very good. It’s certainly been awhile since I’ve had something great come into my life.

In the beginning of 8^th grade I made my first good friend and that was a new start for me. It was the best thing to ever happen to me. I became a happier person who didn’t worry or have mental breakdowns as much and I began to get to know other people. Unfortunately, my only friend moved during the end of last year, which sent me spiraling into a deep depression like never before.

           The cuts on my wrist came back, deeper than ever, my grades dropped, and I didn’t go a single day without crying. These habits gave me the reputation of the “unstable crazy kid” that everyone should stay away from. I mean I can’t really blame them for hating me as much as they do. If I were them I’d probably stay as far away from me as I could but then again, I probably hate myself more than they all do.

            The thing that makes my hate for myself even stronger is that I can’t escape myself. I can’t just stay away from myself or be someone else, I’m stuck being me for 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, and 52 weeks a year.

I got up from the bench and started walking back to the school, immersed in my depressing 15 year old person’s thoughts. When I came back to school this year I had hoped things would be different and I’d be able to make a friend again but all the new kids had already been told to stay away from me, so they did.

            My mind snapped back to reality as the bell rang, signaling the end of second period. I grabbed my backpack from beside the door and was about to enter the building when something caught my eye. From another part of the woods, the girl I had seen earlier emerged. There were tears streaming down her face and I almost confronted her but the bell rang again, just at that moment. I rushed inside and quickly found the classroom I had class in.

            When I entered nothing about the class changed. Everybody just continued whatever he or she was doing and tried to act like I didn’t exist. I was used to this treatment by now and had decided I liked it better than them making fun of me. I took my seat in the far back corner of the room and waited for the teacher to start the class.

            Soon enough, the teacher started speaking about some bullshit history that the school required to be taught. As always, I fell into a state of boredom where the pencils were more interesting than what was going on in class. About halfway through class, the new girl with the sky blue eyes walked in, her face still red from crying. Many people in the class laughed at her as she dropped one of the many books in her hands. I quickly picked up the book and handed it to her, causing our eyes to meet for a moment.

            She quickly looked down and brought her books to the desk next to mine. I was a little surprised by her choice of seat, I mean hadn’t anybody told her I was a crazy loser? I soon forgot about her presence, as class dragged on and the teacher continued to drone on and on about the same old thing. Finally the bell rang, releasing us to our “freedom” of lunch. I put away my books very slowly, like always, to avoid any interaction with the people that thought I was a freak.

I picked up my bag again started to walk away when I noticed that the girl was still in the classroom with me. In my four years at Arman Prep I had never once invited someone to my bench with me, even my friend, but as I was exiting the classroom I had a sudden urge. I turned back around and walked up to the girl.

            “Hey,” I said, in a voice unfamiliar to mine. She looked up obviously very startled by my talking to her and then looked down again, blushing. “I saw you crying outside in the woods,” I blurted out. Now it was my turn to look down. When I looked back up I expected her to be angry with me but instead she took a deep breath and said, “Yeah, these first few weeks at school have been pretty hard.” She grabbed her bag from next to her and said, “Well see you around.” “Wait,” I almost screamed. She turned back around, a slight smile on her face and said, “Yeah?”. I shifted around nervously and then asked, “Do you want me to show you this place I found in the woods awhile ago?”. She grinned and took two steps toward me. “I think that would be nice,” she said trying to avoid me seeing her reddened cheeks.

We walked outside together and her eyes twinkled in the sun, making her look extremely beautiful. “It’s right here,” I said softly as we neared the area. Slowly, we both made our way through the thick branches and plants around our feet. “There it is,” I said, feeling a little ashamed of the small bench now. I expected her to laugh but instead she walks out in front of me and took a seat. After she realized I hadn’t sat down yet, she motioned to the spot next to her. Awkwardly, I made my way over there and she laughed when I tripped over a root in the ground.

             “I don’t even know your name,” I said, laughing a little. She grinned at me again and said, “We kind of skipped introductions. I’m Mary, what’s your name?”. “I’m Grant,” I said, feeling nervous. I waited for her to say something else, but when she didn’t I asked, “You’re new here right? It’s hard to blend in as a new student at this school because there are so few kids.” “Tell me about it,” she said, digging her finger into the dirt in front of her.

“You’re quiet aren’t you?” she said with a smile. I nodded my head self consciously and looked down at my worn out Oike sneakers. “You’re one of the few people around here that is. Everyone I’ve met so far has been loud, obnoxious, and self-centered,” she continued stabbing a stick into the ground. “What about me?” I asked grinning. She took the stick out of the ground and picked her head up. “I don’t know about you just yet but you certainly seem like one of the nice people.” I laughed and said, “Most people don’t think so. Most people try and avoid me because they think I’m weird.” “You are weird,” she said, looking amused. I cast a surprised look at her but I couldn’t deny it. I was weird and it seems that I couldn’t hide that fact from her. “Being weird isn’t a bad thing you know. Weird people are usually the best people. I’m weird too. Maybe we could be friends.” At this I looked up, straight into her beautiful sky blue eyes, and replied, “Maybe.”

              I woke up the next morning looking forward to seeing Mary at school. This morning was the first occasion in a long while that I remembered looking forward to going to school. Well it wasn’t exactly school that I was excited for, it was more one person. After school, the day before, we went back to the bench and talked for another two hours. I quickly got dressed and grabbed a bowl of cereal from the pantry. I nearly swallowed the cereal whole, bowl and all, before I took my backpack from the living room and walked out into the brisk autumn breeze.

              The usual crowd was waiting at the bus stop, which was composed of the jocks, cheerleaders, goths, nerds, and then me. I always sit alone in the back of the bus because that’s the only place I’m welcome. All the other groups have their spots where they have conversations and laughs but in my row, where I sit alone, I listen to music. Even though the day was the best I’d had in a while, I still did the same routine of plugging my headphones in to listen to the same playlist (The Smiths, The Rolling Stones, and the Kooks). When I finally arrived at school I quickly put my stuff away and walked out into the woods. There she was waiting on the bench when I got through all the tangled roots. I smiled at her but the moment I did I knew something was wrong. Tears were streaming down her face and she had a razor in her right hand.

I rushed over to see blood emerging from several cuts on her left arm. I let her cry because I know sometimes you need to let it out. Instead of telling her off or telling her it was going to be okay, I simply placed her hand in mine and squeezed. This technique was one that my therapist taught me. Whenever you are crying or having a rough time, if somebody squeezes your hand it brings you back to the real world. So I squeezed her hand because it was all I knew to do. And I squeezed her hand because I knew what it felt like to be as sad as she was where the weight of the world was upon her. And most of all I squeezed her hand for hope that she would be able to feel how much I cared for her and that I was there for her.

               After about 20 minutes of hand holding she began to calm down, and her sobs turned to sniffles. I didn’t ask her anything because I know that when you’re hurting like she was you didn’t want to be bombarded with questions. So I just sat with her to let her know that there was someone out there that really did love her. We did not speak a single word that day but communicated by presence and presence alone.

               It was weird to explain the connection I had to Mary. I barely knew her but at the same time I knew her so well. Soon after that day I started to get to know the details about Mary’s life though.

               Mary was born and raised in New Jersey, and had two brothers and a set of parents. She spent most of her time drawing and painting outdoors because she cannot stand being inside with her parents. Her birthday is May 7, and her parents did not remember her birthday last year but she was sure they would this year. Her best friend is her dog, named Max, who she hangs out with when we’re not together. I learned that she’s had a self-harm issue since she was 13 and thinks she is extremely ugly. I tried to tell her she was beautiful but she said she just couldn’t see it.

               Winter had come and gone and the spring weather of May was upon us. The sun was out, the days were longer, and the nights warmer. On May 6, I went to the store to buy a gift for Mary. For the past month I had been trying to decide what I should get Mary for her birthday, and saving money at the same time. I finally found the perfect present for her on the first of May and went home to count my savings immediately. Today was the first chance I’d had to go back to the store and get the gift so I took advantage of the opportunity.

                On the morning of May 7, I woke up nervous and excited at the same time. I deliberately wrapped my present in old wrapping paper I had been able to find in my basement. I arrived at school at 7:30 AM and tucked my belongings into my locker but kept the gift with me. I wore my nicest suit and tie that day because I knew she loved it when guys dressed up for an occasion. Careful not to shake the gift too much, I walked down to the bench where we met each morning.

I envisioned her sitting there in a beautiful dress with a smile on her face, waiting for me to arrive. But what I saw disappointed me. She was not there at our usual spot, which was extremely abnormal because whenever I came, she was there, sitting on the left side of the bench. My first thoughts were that she was hiding or busy at home celebrating her birthday. As I neared the bench though, I spotted something glittering near the tree. Covered by leaves, was a razor covered in wet blood. A shiver slid down my spine, like a drop of cold water, and I immediately turned back to the bench hoping to see her there smiling down at me. But again I saw something other than what I wanted.

                On the bench there was a blue sticky note, the color of Mary’s eyes. My heart raced as I peeled it from the old wood and held it up to the light to make out what was written. On the note only two words were written and they were hard to see because of the blood surrounding them. The note read: “I’m sorry.”

At first I thought she was just talking about cutting herself but then it hit me. She was gone. Gone from this school, gone from this earth, and most of all gone from me. I don't know how I knew but it was obvious to me she was dead. All at once I felt myself crumble into pieces. I couldn’t contain myself.

                The next thing I knew I was screaming and I had the razor in my hand. Both my arms were covered in my blood but that’s not why I was screaming. I was screaming because it was the only thing I could do to keep from feeling. Because I knew that if I began to feel again it would hit me. It would hit me that those sky blue eyes were now only lifeless grey souls. It would hit me that I would never get to hear her voice and laughter again. And most of all it would hit me that the best thing to ever come into my life had exited so quickly.

                 I hate when adults say, “Oh you’ll understand it better when you’re older.” I understood it then as well as I ever will in my life. The things that give you the most happiness also leave the biggest scars and nothing in life is forever. At one point or another the thing that makes you happy in life is going to leave and you’ll feel its absence, eating you from the inside out. But it’s also necessary in life to take chances on people because if you don’t you’ll never experience true happiness. Life is lived for moments and the only way it's possible to have great moments is to take risks. Sometimes those risks won’t pay off but that’s life.

                 I don’t know what I did wrong if this is life because for the past 15 years I’ve tried pretty hard to be happy. Somewhere I went wrong because it seems that every risk I take kicks back at me with a negative effect. I always come out of the experience much worse than I started and I’m getting real tired of the bullshit that life keeps throwing at me. I’ll keep going and keep fighting though because I know that if she was still here with me she wouldn’t want me to give in so easily. She’d want me to try and continue with my life, even if she couldn’t, so that’s what I’ll do.

                 I took one last look at the bench I had so many terrible memories and tears shed on. I flipped over the bench with a clatter, as the top of it came unhinged from the bottom part and broke into several pieces. I then picked up the razor from the ground and walked over to a nearby tree and began to carve roughly. The scratched letters in the tree grew deeper and deeper as I worked through the day. The hours passed quickly and at 5 o’clock I finished the carving and took the razor and threw it into the nearby stream. Carved deep into the tree in big letters were the words, “Here lies Mary Cleary, RIP.” I wrote these words to serve as a reminder to everyone of her short-lived existence and time spent in this world.

                 I brushed my hands off and got up off my hands and knees. I laid the gift I bought under the tree as I felt the warm tears stream down my face. Under the wrapping there was a complete set of acrylic paints with a new canvas and a painting. The painting was one I had worked on over winter break and it was the thing I was most proud of. It was a painting of Mary's face and most of all, her sky blue eyes.

                 I knew I wasn’t going to be okay. But maybe I needed to not be okay for a little while and maybe there would be someone else. Maybe at some point in my life there will be someone who will come into my life and never leave. For now I can only have hopes, so I hope that Mary Cleary is happy, wherever she is now, and that eventually I too can be happy.