Wildflower: Dear Diary

Calla Lily: 12

Dear Diary,

Here's what happened today.

1/8

❁ ❁ ❁

My awakening is abrupt as the alarm from my laptop across the room sets off loudly. Obviously, it's meant to wake me up in time for school. It usually works, and honestly this is unfortunate for me, but it worked this morning. My heavy eye lids rise just to snap shut at the blinding sunlight streaming in through the unblocked window. What a morning, I think to myself inside my head because that's where thoughts occur. It's a reoccurring thought saved for every morning.

I pull my body that is just as heavy as my eye lids out of bed and towards the laptop ringing some default alarm sound from it. I click on the touchpad of the keyboard to shut it up and ease the annoyance running though my veins. That feeling is always short-lived, but it doesn't mean I'll ever get used to experiencing it.

Today's the day. A simple apology might not seem like a big deal to others, but it means the world to me to keep as many people as possible close to me. I slip the folder out of my bookbag just to make sure the card is still sitting there, waiting for me to hand it over with a solemn expression. I don't want pity-I never do-but especially not today. So, I will dress nicely, but not too nice. I will do my hair to be neat yet boyish. I will cover my scars and scratches and imperfections. Just for him.

I put on a good outfit, at least it is in my opinion. It's a loose, soft sky-blue T-shirt with a simple flower design sewn into the sleeve. Then, I pick out baggy, dark grey jeans, and I put on black boots on top of white socks. Like I have been doing for the past couple of days as routine, I put on a large Band-Aid to cover the equally as large gash on my nose bridge, the one that is all thanks to my mom.

I begin to drag a belt through the loops on my pants, then I pull the belt through itself until it has hit the last hole and fits my waist. I'm not even skinny, but this particular belt is longer than my other ones that only take about two holes to fit my waist. For the finale of the outfit, I tuck in my shirt, but I pull it out just slightly to avoid looking like I'm trying to suffocate myself.

While focusing on my reflection in my vanity mirror, I dab on some concealer over the agonizing scar perpendicular to my lips. It's not physically painful anymore, but just the sight of the weakness is excruciating. I then run my fingers through my soft, blond hair to make it appear as if an effort was there, but it was nothing important.

I don't bother studying my appearance in my full-length mirror since I've worn this outfit before and already know what it looks like on my body. It hides it but also shows my hard work. My thin waist. It also doesn't make me look too gay. Of course, I am, but in a school like mine, it's better to just not look like a boy-kisser.

I figure that I've wasted enough time just simply thinking and getting ready, so I grab my light teal bookbag with the apology note inside and sling the straps over my shoulders. On my way through the creaky door of my bedroom, the old, wooden floor planks of the hallway, then finally the dirty and matted carpet of the living room, I close the front door behind me to head out and wait for the bus.

I finally got up on time, so the bus should be here in about ten minutes and not leave me behind like it does most mornings that I'm late. The mornings in my neighborhood are fairly vacant of any human life until maybe nine AM, so I'm not worried that I'll see anyone out at this time. It's only eight o'clock after all.

When the bus does decide to show up twenty minutes later, I realize that maybe I've been waking up later than I thought most days. I find my seat in one of the front seats on the busy bus. Somehow, the seat I managed to find was completely empty.