illumination

Chapter 2

2

I spend the rest of the day avidly concentrating on Lauren's nonexistent relationship with Jerry. At lunch, while she dissected a short conversation she had with him, I listened intently to the praise and admiration she rained on him. I hadn't seen the mystery boy since this morning, and I was kind of relieved. I figured if I don't think about my problems, they aren't real.

Delusional, I know.

Sitting in this hard plastic chair at this cafeteria table, I can pretend to be normal. I can laugh, and joke, and act like my heart doesn't hurt because my dad is half way around the world and he still hasn't called me. Because I never let it out side of my carefully constructed walls, my pain leaves me breathless. I just want my mom, because her being gone is the reason I am broken, and to brittle for this world.

I stopped my thoughts from continuing. I was fine, and I rebuilt the walls that had crumbled in my moment of weakness. I drummed my fingers against the faux wood table top, inspecting my rings to give me something to focus on.

I was pretty much obsessed with rings, and had one on each of my ring fingers, one on my left index finger, and one on my right middle finger. This one was my favorite, because all of the other ones were simply silver, with varying intricate designs. Antique, well worn silver encircled my finger, delicately set with a vintage cut sapphire stone, such a deep blue that in some light it looked almost black. The ring was my mother's engagement ring, as well as her mother's, and my grandmother's before her's. It was passed down by the women of my family through generations. I remember my mother wearing it, and laughing when I would insist to try it on my too small fingers. She then would whisper to me, "Soon enough this will be yours. Patience, sweetheart."

Absently rubbing the ring I look around my surroundings. It was November, and my classmates were growing weary of school. Jocks were punching each other's shoulders and congratulating themselves for their various conquests. The cheerleaders, giggling nastily, were touching up their already overdone makeup and gossiping amongest their group. Kids with dark rings of eyeliner and questionable wardrobe choices were staring suspiciously at the lunch moniters, and scrawny boys with DSs and books on how to program the perfect warrior were debating heatedly.

Everything was perfectly normal, so why did something feel not quite right?