The Insurgence: Bleeding Silver

What Google Says

Google says what I'm going through is considered a, "traumatic event." If you ask me, I think I'm doing fine all things considered.

Mother and father enrolled me in high school the week of the accident, said something about how the crowds and supervision will keep me safer... Yet I'm starting to see errors in their plans. Like right now, as I walk down this hallway for some funny reason everyone goes silent and parts to let me through. I can hear the rush of whispers begin behind me like a wave as I pass by. They all know— or at least they know what the town has dubbed the truth. If you don't mind, I don't want to talk about the accident right now because as you can see... it's taken over my life.

But I keep a positive outlook... because I have to. For him. Hope for a rational explanation and a monster behind bars is all that keeps me pushing through. Things could always be worse. And it's what he would've done for me.

Since everyone is busy gawking and muttering in the hallway, I make it to Algebra 2 first. Back in elementary school this would've made me a celebrity, but the angry mob also includes the teachers. At least Mrs. Chadwick just chooses to ignore me, instead choosing not to give me snacks and candy or even give me a dry erase marker for class and making me get it myself. Like I said: things could be worse.

I count down the rows of chairs and desks and find once again everyone got their candy, and their whiteboard and marker for class. Mrs. Chadwick doesn't look at me as I stroll to the other side of her uniquely decorated colorful classroom and grab the bin for the materials.

And this might sound a little snobby... but there are only red markers left. My hand freezes inches away from the tub of dry erase markers, my fingers twitching, probably confused by my sudden freeze. As my chest heaves, my heartbeat like thunder in my ears, that paralyzing fear and mix of adrenaline coursing through me. I'm fine. I lick over my lips and start debating. Just take the marker and sit. It'll be worse if I ask for a different color. I stay rigid, however. I can't bring myself to accept the stupid marker— this should be fine. I can't hide from the color red.

So I snatch it and head to my seat.

-

By lunch I've forgotten about my outburst in math. It was the first reaction I've had in a couple days, I'd say that's impressive. The little wins count. I'd need a little win to boost me through this lunch period too because as I mentioned, I was just enrolled and that came with a built in buddy that went to my same elementary school. Darla Swanson. She had a problem with authority back then and now was basically the mob boss of this lunch table. Everything I've seen in movies and TV shows of the mean girl came to life when lunch time came. While everything else I could just suck it up and get through, lunch was real dread. My built in buddy isn't very nice.

I take my designated seat at the end of the long rectangular lunch table and pull out some homework from math. Usually they won't bother me if I'm busy and stay quiet, lucky me today everyone in the cafeteria seemed buzzing with some sort of scandal? As everyone sat down Darla actually had on a sad face while her friend Tabitha continued chatting about the details. Is it bad that I tuned in?

"I just don't know how Josh is going to focus through this semester with everything going on!" Tabitha stammered with a squeaking high voice, her thin eyebrows upturned and accentuating her doe brown eyes. She has what the books describe as, "an innocent looking face." Tabitha gently shakes her head, a slight tremor in her bottom lip. "I'm worried he won't graduate." My heart sinks for her, that same worry deep in the back of my mind. I wanted to jump into the conversation and sympathize, connect with them and maybe reassure them but Darla's harsh demeanor holds me back. I know how they'll react if I butt in.

Darla elbows Tabitha, her head snapping so hard her platinum ponytail does a flip. "Shut the hell up about that, Tab!" The bite in her voice nearly makes me tip over, but that ruckus in the cafeteria nearly swallows her yelling. Is this what everyone is talking about? Josh? I notice his seat is empty at the opposite end of the table. Darla settles, looking down at her outstretched hands. "They'll find him."

Those words catch me off guard. I dare sneak a glance in their direction.

Tabitha shakes her head. "It's been two days," she nearly whispers. The sudden change in their voices sends a shiver down my spine, the near white in her complexion adding to the new pit in my stomach. "You know what happens if they don't find him today... They never find—"

"Shut up! Shut up about the fucking boogeyman!" Darla slams her lunch tray down, it's contents flying up and then crashing down onto the tray and all over the lunch table.

My jaw is dropped. All around us the cafeteria has gone silent, Tabitha's weeping sounding like screams. I can feel the heavy eyes in this direction knowing that's what they all were talking about... Josh's brother has gone missing. He's in elementary school from what I can remember. It's a hard thing to go through, a friend of mine went missing when we were kids, at that same age too. I think about what might've happened everyday. I swallow and lean forward, inserting myself into the conversation. "I'm sorry," I say with a soft smile. I watch as my peers at the lunch table stare unblinking at me, jaws to the floor and looking at each other. "I'm always here if you want to talk," I add, and go back to my work.

I'm proud of myself. I don't think I've overstepped or annoyed anyone. Think I handled that interaction well if I do say so myself.

"No one fucking asked you," Tabitha spits, her tone like ice as she gets up and storms out of the cafeteria. I can feel the heat rush to my cheeks as I watch her, afraid to look behind me where I know the rest of the table and maybe even the entire cafeteria is waiting to scold me. My eyes slowly unfocus, drifting off into space while the sounds around me amplify. I listen to the air vents, the beeping of a register, the sounds of talking so far away I can't pay attention even if I wanted to. Like a storm cloud, a headache settles in, pulsating in my skull and pounding on my eyes. I'll have to Google this later... I hold my head as the world rushes back in where I'm met with yelling, shuffling feet, scuffing shoes squeaking on the shiny tiled floor. Too much. Too much. Too much.

I think about the red marker... How a glob of it dripped down my whiteboard. I remember my own screams, how our feet shuffled and scraped against the wood floors of my house and then the stone walkway outside as he dragged me out of my house— I'm fine.

I snatch my backpack and race out of the lunchroom just as the bell rings. I can't move though and instead let the crowd move around me, bumping into my shoulders, elbowing me, hitting against my backpack so hard I nearly crash to my knees. I feel each breath catch on the dryness of my throat— I clutch at my neck. Why am I not breathing? My eyes move through the crowd, for an opening, for someone kind to get me out of the sea of people.

All these people in this big world... and no one listens. No one wants me.

For the first time in one week and two days I start to cry. I don't shove away the memories of what happened that day, I don't tell myself that everything is fine... because the truth is this is hard to deal with alone. It's hard to hang on to hope when they make me feel crazy. Just... one person. One person is all I ask for. One person in this little town that's already made up their mind about that day, about me. Is that too much to ask for?

-

September 30th

Google said that to deal with a traumatic event it might help to write it down. This might be the only thing that listens to me, or maybe the only thing that deserves to know the truth. My name is Ayla Gordon and It's been one week and two days since the accident and I can't bring myself to say the m word. I don't know what to think to say because every single time I open my mouth no one hears me. How is it that I'm supposed to trust this process, trust adults and their judgement when no one is listening to me? They put words in my mouth and twist the ones they want to hear, they laugh at me, they make fun of me. They called me names down at the station that I don't wish to repeat, with my father standing right there! I feel like everything I do is being monitored now. If I even breathe too loud mother is up and in my face in seconds... Is it wrong to wish they never came home at all? Is it possible that I'm being selfish and there's a reason they act this way that I'm not seeing? And is it wrong to wish that it was me?