The Perplexity Of Normal

Sam

   SAM
There was never a particular reason I was born. It wasn't a carefully planned decision, nor a mistake of young hearts. My parents were middle aged with stable jobs and a decent home, but they'd never really specified as to why they wanted a child.

"Well...that's what everyone does, right?" My father had said, a question in his voice.

That's what everyone does.

Most humans are creatures of habit, we never stray far from the beaten path. The phrase "safety in numbers" is used completely and utterly when describing us. Like pieces in a puzzle. When you fit in, the picture is complete and perfect, no one can pick out your piece. But, if you have a box of ill fitting pieces, suddenly all of them are problems.

Everybody is so busy, so determined, to make the pretty picture. Chiseling away at their own pieces for the sake of conformity. Creating a puzzle that doesn't exist. Nobody stops to notice that the disarray, when let be, creates something beautiful on its own. The colors of individuals leap out, bright and undamped. Shapes and sizes become inconsequential. It may not be visually pleasing to look at, but it's real.

No matter how hard anyone tries, there will never be the perfect picture. There will always be that one person who, for the sake of their own piece, will tear yours apart.

People are never perfect.

I just wish everybody else could see that.

***
     My alarm beeped. Slowly, I sat up in bed and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. Monday. I was never going to feel great on this day. However, I suspected that was a natural feeling among all teenagers, especially if Monday happened to be the start of school and the end of summer.

     I drug a hand through my hair, not ready for life at the moment. I just wanted to collapse back on the bed and sleep the sleep of the dead.

My body felt heavy and my eyes were too dry, courtesy of the inadequate sleeping schedule I had developed throughout summer. I had read somewhere that that was normal for teens as well, something about a circadian rhythm and too much screen time. However, for me, it was the inability to halt one of my works, which were haphazardly scattered about my room.

     "Samantha, honey!" My mother called up the stairs. I could hear her feet padding softly on the carpet. She pushed open the door, "time for school." She smiled.

For some reason, this sparked annoyance in me. I knew it was time for school. Did she think I would forget? Did she think I could forget?

      I smiled back and thanked her anyway. There was no reason for me to feel like that, she was just being a parent, or what she considered a parent anyways.

I hopped out of bed and glanced into the closet, grabbing a pair of comfortable jeans and a loose sweatshirt. I never did understand why all of the girls dressed up for the first day of school. It was definitely not an occasion to celebrate. However, I suppose people dress up for funerals, so maybe it's something like that.

     I paused to entertain the idea of Olivia Hill dressed in a crop top and too short shorts, mascara dripping down her face as she cried at the loss of a loved one.