YELLOW WINTER

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7
Blue oversized pants, purple shirt, white running shoes...and I just had to forget my camera today?
Was it the caffeine?
Or the haste to leave the house before they came over?
One of those caused me  fantastic pictures of Cheesy books guy.
Not yellow but that's ok. Although everyone stares at him in a way I wouldn't have thought possible if I tried wearing similar colours but somehow he doesn't look like a clown.

Unfortunately I see it... He isn't like me. He doesn't fade into the background like I do, oh no he doesn't.
It isn't because of his attractive friends that girls flock by his desk or guys say hello to him in and out of school, oh no.
He's unconventional.
The thing about being differently cool is that people get bored of the normal and find beauty in unpolished gems.
But he isn't unpolished...he doesn't need a change of clothes or better choice in books or many words to make him "cool" he's him, and he is interesting.
He doesn't need basketball swag, athletic body movements, more friends or more words to stand out he's just fine.

Today I walked behind him like always hanging my head as low as possible.
He doesn't turn back when he walks and I'm glad, I don't have to remove my eyes from him...from the bruise on his fingers, the little ring he wears on his right hand, his black polished nails which looks whipped out everyday he comes to school but when he sits by his window reading those cheesy books his nails are covered in black nail polish. Somehow they make his curls stand out more and his lashes, my God! Is he beautiful in a way beauty standards don't do justice to.

A car screeched by the side of the road and in a minute my eyes were gone from him when my eyes did return he wasn't there.

Where'd he go?
A drunk driver had made my fight and flight hormones kick in and I'd lost him.
But wait, I think I see him.
Where's he headed?
Why the cemetery?
Oh...that's why...
I stop in my tracks unable to move.. why's he there...

I don't need to go closer to know who's tomb his standing over. 3rd roll, 16th head stone.
I have it permanently imprinted in my mind and I never officially attended that very burial...
Bright. . . .
Her name...it brings back images of a girl i never really knew but somehow I recall her smile. The way she moved, her bag pack always hung behind her and her glasses... God did she have one of those big frames, as compared to mine she literally wore the globe.
I knew her friends, I knew I wasn't like her...with my underdeveloped chest I looked like a kid standing beside her.
Her Diastema made her smile look like a gate way to endless happiness...her skin ...she is beautiful, not was. I don't think anyone thinks of her in past tense. She's too bright for that, she shines too brightly for that.
I think of her from time to time...when I see Marie in pain I wonder just how much the image of Bright contrasted with her last moments.
Marie survived but when you think about Bright's last moments and her's u wonder just how much pain Marie is in, just how much pain Bright was in to have sworn not to forgive her mother on her death bed...

It wasn't her fault Bright...but who am I to say that?
If in an alternate universe which doesn't exist Marie and I were normal I know she wouldn't watch me die slowly when I can get blood transfused to save my life.
It isn't a hard procedure is it?
But why'd they do that to Bright?
Why'd they have to turn off the light in her eyes?
Why'd they have to dim her shine?....

How can you?
Who made the mistake?
Do they think about it often...I hope they live in constant guilt.
How'd you take a baby from her mother's arms?
A mother who became a widow while nursing her little child and then suddenly that baby, the only baby she has is taken away from her because someone made a mistake with the blood.

How'd you fight to survive when ur own body's making up mass soldiers to kill a threat that was supposed to save ur life?

Oh Bright... "I would never forgive you mom"
"I said I didn't want a blood transfusion, now see..." Oh Bright...the pain u must have felt...the pain she must have felt...
How'd you live with the guilt of wanting to save your child?
How'd you wake up every morning and have to live with those words...? I know what it feels like to feel guilty about your existence but how'd you feel guilty for existing in place of someone you'll give up everything in a heartbeat to save?

How does a mother accept that she wasn't wrong in wanting to save her child.
How does she convince herself to live again after that day, after those words?
How'd she forgive herself when you ain't here to forgive her?

My heart feels heavy...as heavy as the clouds above.
I need a smoke, I need to get out of here as soon as I can.
From the distance I watch him sit by the side completely ignoring the rapidly gathering dark clouds.
How's he able to sit there with a sad smile?
Why do I get to see his smile for the first sadly lined across his face..
I'm glad my camera isn't with me. I'm glad.

The heavy pouring rain doesn't stop my anxiety quivering fingers from pulling a cigar out and trying to light it up while constantly having to pick up the lighter that keeps slipping from my fingers.
Darn it!! I almost stomp my feet in the pool of running water but I recall I have to right to throw tantrums or cuss out loud.
The street's almost empty with curtains on apartment buildings drawn down, cafes filled with people too focused on their cups coffee to look out the window, cars running by fast and few umbrellas walking down the street.
I don't have to worry about anyone seeing me struggle to light a cigar. I'm invincible, remember?

I'm too soaked to care about running home or finding shade so I just let the rain feel my skin...oh to be touched... except when someone rushes pass me or I have to clean Marie up on her bad days i get no form of human touch ...the rain is enough though. If only it wouldn't make combing my hair hell tonight catching a cold wouldn't bother me.

YASMIN.

Yasmin? The voice is from behind me, but from whom?

YASMIN!