Sketches and Scars

| sketch one |

He sits by the window, next to my seat.

He must be new, because I’ve never seen him before. Nobody else seems to give him much thought. I don’t know why, but I find the boy fascinating, or at least interesting. Nevertheless, he catches my attention in a way no other boy has before. He’s dressed in dark baggy clothes, and his black hair hides his face as he bends over his sketchbook. He looks so silent and sad, I can’t help staring.

I make my way over to my desk, setting down my books. Then, uncharacteristically, I speak to him.

“Hello. Are you new here?” I watch him with curious eyes.

The boy glances up at me, a flash of grey behind his dark bangs. He nods mutely, turning the sketchbook towards himself, protective.

I try again. “My name is Jade. What’s your name?”

He doesn’t answer right away. It’s not like he’s being rude or anything; it feels more like he has no idea what to do. He’s either very shy or doesn’t talk to people much.

“Tallan,” he says real quiet. He’s still staring resolutely at his sketchbook.

I decide to let him go… for now. He seems anxious to get back to drawing, anyway. “Nice to meet you.” I turn back to the teacher at the front of the room, but I’m glancing out of the corner of my eye at Tallan. He hasn’t looked up, and he seems lost in his own world, closed off to the rest of us.

I wonder why he’s so quiet.

By the end of the day, I’ve heard more than I want to about him.

People say crazy things; I don’t know what to believe. Some say he’s a delinquent, done bad things, got kicked out of eight schools nationwide, and just recently been released from juvie. Others think he’s a depressed emo, or has some kind of mental illness. Either way, it’s obvious he’s a social outcast.

I watch him from a distance, still curious. He keeps to himself, and doesn’t talk much to anyone, not even the teachers. He does seem kind of sad, and a bit jumpy at sudden sounds. Somehow I think there’s more to his story than being expelled multiple times or wearing dark clothes.

The next day, while I’m talking to Amy, Tallan walks by in his quiet way, his head down and shoulders slightly hunched. I watch him, distracted.

As he passes a group of guys, someone calls out, “Hey, emo freak!” A tennis ball comes out of nowhere and hits him on the back of his head. Tallan ducks his head, seeming to fold into himself. The guys taunt him, calling him stupid names, but Tallan doesn’t even respond, just stands there mutely.

I watch, helpless, a bystander. I want to go over there, but I’m scared. Amy watches too, pity in her eyes.

That ticks me off for some reason.

When the guys finally figure out that they’re not going to get a reaction out of him and leave, Tallan clutches his book to himself, looking like a lost little boy. I catch my breath. But then he’s gone.

In science class, we have to pair up.

I take my stuff and drop it into the empty seat beside him. He looks up, startled. When he sees me, he nods in acknowledgement, relaxing slightly. But I didn’t miss the hunted look in his eyes.

We do our lab quietly and quickly. He’s a concentrated worker, frowning slightly as he measures the substances and records his observations. But he’s obviously good at science. He gives me subtle hints for the answers and corrects me when I make a mistake in that soft, guarded voice. We finish before everyone else.

“You’re really smart,” I tell him.

He shrugs, looking down. He doesn’t say anything.

As he goes back to drawing, I study him quietly. I think back to the way he walks, the look in his eyes, the quiet voice… He can’t look more like a victim. I wonder what’s happened to him before.

Tallan drops his pencil. He reaches down to grab it, and his sleeve rises up a bit, exposing his pale skin and… ugly, jagged scars on his wrists. I gasp softly. His eyes flick up to mine, and he straightens quickly, pulling down his sleeve. The bell rings then, and he bolts out the door as if he’s on fire.

He’s not at school the next day.

By now, I’m so focused on Tallan even my friends have noticed. They ask me why I’m so fixated on him.

“He’s weird, Jade,” Amy says, not unkindly, just stating what she knows.

“You know everyone’s talking about you and him, right?” Kate tells me, stirring her yogurt.

“I know he’s cute,” Ella says, patting my hand, “but there are other cuter, more normal boys out there.”

I smile, but don’t listen. My friends are just looking out for me, but I can’t help it. I want to know his story. Why does he seem so afraid all the time? I doubt Tallan can hurt me, or anybody, really. As far as I can tell, the only person he’s hurting is himself.

it's short, i know. but this is still an experimental thing, so bless you for reading anyway. the writing's also choppy and broken looking because---- well, i can go on with metaphors and english class, but really, how i started writing with this was that i didn't want to go to sleep one night and they said writing out thoughts was a good way to... write out thoughts.

smile, pass it on: say hi to that kid you've gone to school with for the past however many years but you've never talked to. do it; i dare you.

> Barefoot and Bruised ~ Jamestown Story

> external link: a beautiful poetry blog i follow. write her a secret, she'll write you a poem.