Causing The Rise And Fall

The Day Before

That conversation was 7 years ago. I'm now "focusing" on what was supposed to be alegebra. I never got glasses because I had excellent vission. But in the back of the classroom, that seemed more like a lie everyday.

Sitting in the back, in the corner, was a norm for me. I thought it took away the attention. Some people say that it is asking for attention like in the stereotypical movies the media casts upon us. It makes it harder for eye contact with everyone.

So I guess this is the part where you call me antisocial, introverted, loner, etc., but that is not entirely correct. If you had my power, would you go up to everyone and shout, "Guess what? I can defy everything you know and kill you with a little concentration! TA DA!" I wouldn't. And I don't want to risk someone finding out.

I try not to think about it much. But that is impossible. Imagine having a third arm. Try not thinking about a third arm you have. See? I wouldn't want to go up to someone and say, I have a third arm. Or risk anyone finding out about my third arm. Because a third arm is not something to be proud of.

I look up to the board to see Mr. Oakman staring right at me. "Miss Oliver, would you like to show the class an example equation such as this one?" He gestures his hand to the board to which looks like a foreign language. I was daydreaming once again. I am pretty sure I look like a deer in headlights. I feel my eyes widen with horror."Sir, I didn't f-fully...understand w-w-what the equation- I mean problem was asking." I sounded like a bumbling idiot. "But Miss Oliver, your, may I say, 97% in this class can easily prove otherwise," Now I could feel the weight of the class's eyes on me. I can't believe that the class believes that I am brilliant. The girl in the corner soon to be writing everyone's paychecks. Seems unheard of.

My legs turn into spaghetti as I stand up and proceed to the front of the class. As I slowly make my way to the board, I read everything I can on other people's notes. I see triangles, letters, a, b, and c to be exact, bubble letters of names, stick figures, diary entries, drawings of celebrities, more triangles, well this helped. If Mr. Oakman wanted me to draw a picture of Jenifer Lawrence in a bikini on a motorcycle, these people's notes would be a little more helpful.

"Pythagorean theorem?" I whisper that only I can hear. "Yes Willie." Mr. Oakman can apparently hear me. He shoots me an unapproving look. I now can do this with a breeze knowing its a simple topic. I hurry up the equation and scurry to my desk. I hear a fake applause roared by the classroom full of 9th grade juvenile delinquents.

The bell soon rings and as I gather my stuff, Mr. Oakman pulls me aside. "Miss Oliver," I look at him. "You're getting a new seat tomorrow. You and I both know you know the material, but you need to pay attention more. You're going to sit right here." He hits his hand on the desk harder than needed. He flashes me a fake smile and I walk down the hallway to last period.

I don't know why people care about me sometimes. The only person who needs to care is Dad. My teachers shouldn't give a care about me paying attention. I'm passing all of my classes. My lowest grade is a 95%. I don't know their reason for caring about me. It's not my personality. I only have one around Dad. It's not my looks. I make a trash can look fabulous. Call me Grendel. It's not my potential. Everyone has a potential for something. I just happen to have a potential for killing your whole family and giving your whole family life. Like I said, I'm clueless.

My final class goes by quick. This time the teacher didn't question me sitting in the back and not paying attention. She figured a 99% was a good reason to stare out the window.

The final bell rang and I was out of there. I walked out to the front of the school "Finlayson Academy" and waited forever for Dad. His old Jeep pulled into the loop and I jumped right in and we took off.

"How was school Willie?" Dad tried to make a normal conversation. "Eh, I've had better," I start gazing through the window to see groups of kids walking to their houses. They don't have to deal with the stuff I do. Imagine my power in the wrong hands. The destruction. The construction.

"Stop thinking about it," Dad instructs me. "I can tell by the look on your face you're thinking about it. Stop." We do stop at a red light. "You don't understand. I'm a weapon. I'm dangerous." Horrible thoughts flash through my mind in a series of pictures, ideas, dreams, fantasies. "Never mind." I say. "You think, out of every person on this planet, this galaxy, this universe, I don't understand." Dad said. There was a silence in the car. "I may not have your capabilities, but I've known you and had to protect you since the day you were born." Since the day Mom died. He does understand.  "So you do understand." I mumble. He puts on a smirk and nods his head.

Dad's hand reaches to the radio and puts it on a hip-hop station. Our heads nod simultaneously to the beat. Dad starts rapping along with, who is this? It might be Lil' Marco. Or maybe Big Leon. I don't know. When the mic went to the other person Dad looked at me patiently waiting for me to give him my wicked rhymes. And I did. We gave the kids walking home a sight to remember. Our bopping heads and loudness even made the birds look at us funny. Like I said, I only have a personality around Dad.

We arrive to our two story, 2 bedroom house. I get out of the Jeep and walk down my stone pathway to the front door.

The door was unlocked as usual. Our neighbors were elders who's time was coming soon, teens around my age, and retired military veterans. I don't know  exactly why Dad trusted these people.

I walk into the house and take off my shoes and head upstairs. The staircase creaked a little bit as I was walking up. I open my bedroom door to put my bookbag on the hook and walk back downstairs.

Dad was sitting in his green leather recliner. "Wanna watch a movie, Willie?" I look at the T.V. to see dragon slayer doing what the name implies. "Sure." I sit in the couch and we watch a 2 hour and 45 minutes long, $1.50 rental movie with the one person who understands.

The sun sets and the moon rises, and its time for me to go to my room. Dad was cleaning the kitchen after making Vegetable Lo Mein when I'm up in my room. I know he'll be cleaning for a little bit so I pull out my notebook. It is tiny and gray with my name sprawled on the front. I have had this since I was 7. Since the day of the oreos. After Dad told me about my power, I bought this with all the money I had. ($3.75 to be exact) No one knows about it. Not even Dad. In here I record my feelings, poetry, events, etc. A little cliche, but it helped. I wrote about Mr. Oakman and the car ride. A memory filled day. Just another normal day.

Oh, but that will change.