In Your Head

eight

I want to move, need to move, the time on the radio of my truck continuing to count up by minutes. But I'm paralyzed, unable to take my eyes off the side entrance of the mall. The crowds of people moving in through the doors, out the doors, swinging back and forth. Their faces lighting up in silent laughter, muffled from the glass of my car window between us. Others quietly mind their own business, peering down at the cemented ground, watching for cars passing by before they cross the street. Teenagers around my age follow their friends out the doors in groups, shoving each other and throwing jokes around. Something my friends and I used to do years before everything happened, when things made sense. Just by glancing at them, images rush through my head like a breaking dam. One memory after another until they drown my mind. But these aren't the bad thoughts or images that usually harass me, these ones are sweet, joyful. Back to the summer of 1995.

**

Exiting the doors nearest to the movie theatres. Bags of popcorn still in hand, Candace grabbing for handfuls. Alanna stumbling next to me, tripping over her own feet. She rambles on about the movie still fresh in our minds; a horror, that was our favourite then. Wondering of all the possibilities the next movie could go, what spin they could take on, if there would be a sequel. And then there's Austin following behind me, catching up as he finds my hand, interlocking our fingers until they become one. With his warm touch I peer up at him, a small smile spreading across his face, lighting up as he gazes back down at me. His dull brown hair turns into a golden tint in the setting sun behind him. Everything's fun, perfect.

**

A soft smile pulls at my mouth. Those were the moments I enjoyed the most back then, spending so much time with my best friends until I was breathing them in. Our energy becoming one, our minds connecting. I never got sick of them, could never get enough, like our shared time was an addicting drug filled with dopamine and serotonin. My face hurting by how wide my smile was. My stomach aching from my laughter with the three of them. It didn't matter what we were doing, anything and everything was an adventure. Going to the movies. The mall. Roller-skating. Strawberry picking. Suntanning in our front yards. Bracelet making. Baking. Sleepovers. Even something as boring and dull as studying for tests together was fun, given we usually didn't get any work done. But whatever, that didn't matter. Because nothing mattered more than the calmness, a type of safeness that always flowed through me the moment my eyes met them, the moment we walked side by side. And the second I left them, waving bye and returning to my home and them to theirs, something inside me sank, a type of longing, I missed them already. Austin the most, I could never go too long without seeing him. This was my life before. Everything was perfect.

Before. That's the key word. Because before was easy and fun and carefree, uncomplicated. Until it wasn't. Until the hurricane of after deteriorated my life. Until September of 1995, when I entered grade 11. Until I joined the class belonging to the new English teacher. Until I saw him. A light I never knew I needed. A light that highlighted parts inside me no one had ever seen, ever noticed, not even Austin. And suddenly, something in my head switched, tingled, fluttered with the sight of him. The things that once mattered the most to me seemed so small and childlike in comparison to him. The drug had expired with my friends, leaving a bitter aftertaste anytime I hung around them. Now, there was no other drug I needed more than him. I didn't want to see my friends anymore. I didn't want to see Austin, nothing else mattered. All I wanted was Trevor Val. Marking his papers with his fancy pen at his oak wooden desk. Ankles crossed, back straight, wire-framed glasses on. So focused, so content with what was in front of him. Resting his cheek on his hand, his eyes glued to the stories we'd write for English. Running his fingers through his dark, tapered hair; shorter on the sides and longer at the top. It was mature, rigged, refreshing seeing another style rather than the regular curtain bangs most guys wore my age. His eyes remained stuck to those pages in front of him. That is, until I entered the room, everyday, and suddenly it was like I had a small fairy bell attached to me, singing whenever I graced his room, looking for him. He'd lift his head, those dark, spell casting eyes absorbing me, drinking me. And my heart would skip away, drumming to an irregular beat of its own. My stomach flipping around, this way and that. And I hate to say it, hate to admit it, but I liked his look before. I liked this feeling swirling around inside me. I liked the attention from him. I liked being called his little flower. I liked.....him.