Heaven's Far Below

02: Amorphous

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02: Amorphous

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[uh-mawr-fuh s] adjective

lacking definite form; having no specific shape; formless

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"W-We have to go back," My voice instinctively quivered. "Like...like r-right now."

Fatima turned towards me, her hardened blue eyes portraying anything but sincerity and calamity. "What are you talking about? We just got here." She unbuckled her seat belt and opened her car door, "What? Is Rosa your grandma or something?"

I was dumbfounded. "It's Rita...and...and she's my mom." I murmured, tightening the strap of my seat belt as if it was supposed to be a sign of defiance.

"I'm sorry," Hanna replied grimly, still planted in her warm leather seat. "I--no, we---didn't know."

I nodded and gulped, my throat feeling as rough as sandpaper. "It's fine, just...just take me home, please. I-I don't want to be here."

Mel wrapped her arms around me in a half embrace and I found myself leaning into it for support, like I was a toppling tower of Jenga hanging onto the idea that I'll be turned upright. But deep down, I know I'm free falling--my legs are light, my arms tingling with sensation, my mind caught in a blurry light-headed daze.

I take a deep breath to lower my pounding heart rate. "She's always been dead to me, but now, it all seems so...so fucking real."

Mel's grip grows tighter when I say this. "I know, Harpy, I know." Then with a dramatic flare, turned towards Fatima, "Why aren't we moving yet?!" 

"Don't yell at me," Fatima asserted, "I think there's too much ice or something in the tires. They won't move." 

In the distance, the bell rang. 

"Forget this. Her parents--I mean her Dad--can pick her up. Okay? I can't be late to Mrs Sharpton's class again or she'll cut me with her sharp ass number two pencils." Hanna snapped quickly, opening and slamming her door with more force than necessary. 

"She's right," I mumbled as I unbuckled my seat belt, "I'm...I'm fine. Really, I'm sure I can go through one school day...and if it gets too much, I can just call Jess." 

Mel gave me a skeptical look as she released me from her embrace. 

"I'm being serious, Harper, you need to go home not first period." 

From the corner of my eye, I can see Hanna and Fatima trudge their way through the white walls of snow, a pang of guilt echoing within my own shock because I was the reason why their perfect blonde heads were frazzled. It was enough to make me close my eyes. 

I wanted to yell in the air, "You there, God? It's me, Harper!" but I knew it'll do nothing, so instead I opened my eyes and stared deep down inside Mel's, meanwhile opening the car door to let cold air in. 

 "I'm fine, Mel. I'm happy she's dead. No more mystery." I said harshly as I stepped outside, "Why won't you get that? I'm not sad. I'm not upset. I'm happy." 

I forced a smile on my face and began walking, snow finding its way inside my keds--creating a soggy mess that was me. 

That's when I remembered I needed to lock Fatima's car. With a sigh, I turned around in defeat.  

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The entire halls of Lincoln High School hushed as soon as my feet touched the pee colored linoleum floor. The only sounds being my shoes squeaking and me whispering my calculus theorems to separate myself from the lot of them. 

Popularity's a weird thing. You're not supposed to talk about it, but you know it when you see it...like porn or, or a fistfight. That's how I felt as I caught the off glance stares of students and teachers, wondering what I was doing there. 

I felt popular, but not in that good way every acne-ridden teenage girl strives for. I was no longer that girl who could recite the periodic table by both their atomic number and in alphabetical order (starting with Actinium and ending with Zirconium) but the one freak who's mom was dead. 

I was the punchline to the one bad joke the creepy kid all dressed in black always told which left the principal wondering if he should call someone. 

"What's short and ugly and motherless all around? Harper Whitman!"

I shivered from the thought. 

The bell rang again, reminding students that they needed to be in their seats. I watched the crowd disperse and followed after them, trying to keep my cool and blend in as I took my seat in Mrs Caldwell's. 

English was never my forte. Neither was Physical Education. Or Art. 

So instead of actually opening my copy of Catcher in The Rye, I stared out the window to watch the snow fall in clumps. Eventually, all I could see was white...but it wasn't white. It made me feel sick to my stomach--like my intestines and liver and kidney were having a drunken riot. 

And though I could hear every person in the class whisper and talk, no one dared to mumble a word to me.

Losing mothers is very infectious. 

That must of been why my body told me to vomit. 

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Special Thanks to NightLikeThis for creating me the picture above! I must say, it looks very very professional. When choosing my head cover, I kept teetering back to this one. Good job! I might just come back to you for future covers! 

Message to the reader: Do you want to make me a graphic? If so, feel free! All attempts and covers will have a dedication and a special written 'thanks' at the end. Thank you! For more details, just PM me.  

Please leave your love below as comments. They surely do make my day!

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