Flicker Pain

[1] matchbox

Friendships are hard.

The first thing established is the common ground – things you're both interested in. Things like the clothing you wear, the music you like, and so on. But those things come so naturally: you'll see a girl walking in the mall, you'll like her turquoise dress and ask where she bought it, perhaps you'll say it reminds you of something that Taylor Swift would wear, who is coincidentally her favorite singer as well as yours. You'll then find out that turquoise is both of your favorite colors, and you'll be in awe of how easy it was to find someone who was just like you.

Some similarities are a bit harder to find, and more than that – they take a bit more bravery to reveal. The chance of finding someone who will understand is so slim, sometimes it feels better to just keep it to yourself. And keeping those secrets creates rifts in your friendships.

You want to make sure that your friendships are strong before you end up getting your heart broken again.

The thought crossed my mind as I waited at the bus stop. A gust of wind blew against my exposed face, and even though I was bundled up in layers – I shivered. It was still dark out, and I was the first one to arrive at the bus stop, doomed to face more than ten minutes shifting from foot-to-foot in the fresh snow, wondering about the first day of the new semester.

My schedule had been completely changed, so I was destined to meet plenty of new people. Last semester should've been a good example for what to expect: I hadn't made many friends. Yet my hands still shook and my heart still pounded, and the only thought that crossed my mind was whether anyone would like me.

My friendships were like matches. Sparks flew between us and the fire lasted for a little while, but it eventually died. They weren't meant to last forever. Even people I considered to be close friends – we always drifted apart. There was no one whom I could truly call my best friend, and that was unsettling for me.

After all, the role of best friend was a necessary character in the life of a teenager. Most other kids I knew had one, if not several. They supposedly did everything together. And when they talked about the joys of having a best friend, I knew that my utter cluelessness was evident.

It was possible that things would be much different at the start of a new semester in a group of fresh faces. But unless the lessons I'd learned last semester were completely thrown out the window, I couldn't see things being all that improved.

Gradually, I had begun to understand the inner-workings of the average teenage mind. And what I'd discovered was that I was more out of my element than I had originally thought when I'd joined high school. For example: I learned that most liked to talk a lot. I didn't, really. A lot of them had the same interests, things that I thought were dull and tedious. Even in the class elective dedicated to what I loved — no one I knew took it seriously. They say there's a place for everyone, but I was still looking for mine.

That made finding true friendships feel like an everlasting journey.

A powerful breeze hit the side of my face, pricking deep with imaginary needles. I looked down at my phone. Four minutes left. The only sound was the bristling of trees against the wind, reminding me that I was still only in my neighborhood, and not at school where I would already know the answers to the questions that hung over my head.

Few by few, people began to trickle towards the bus stop, shivering and coughing as they stood in the cold. No one spoke. That much was still the same from the previous semester.

The bus arrived shortly thereafter, and one-by-one we climbed onto the bus. We were the last stop before school, so most of the seats were taken. Like most of the others were forced to do, I snagged a place at the edge of a seat, and desperately kept myself upright as the bus began to move.

The ride to school wasn't long. When we finally arrived, I was one of the first off the bus. My high school – West High – basked in the morning glory, promising an ominous new semester throughout its thick, orange brick walls. Only three months had gone, yet the utter distress I had felt had almost dissipated entirely.

The difference was that I wasn't entering blindly this time. High school now wasn't the odd mystery I digested through the stories my brother told me each day when he came home. I was conscious of everything – good or bad – that lay within those walls, and the truth was that none of it should have scared me as it once did.

As I entered, the lobby was packed with chattering students and echoing conversations. People stood in their little circles comparing schedules, grades, new outfits and other gear they'd picked up during the holidays. I kept my eyes to myself as I walked past them, making my music a little louder so I could drown out their noise.

The first class I had was with a teacher I'd already known and liked from the previous semester. It had been one of my favorite classes, so I walked in with a smile, expecting it to be more or less the same. What I was greeted with was a very different atmosphere than what I'd imagined.

I sat down, and was welcomed by three others – two boys and a girl – who were supposedly my new group members. They shared a mutual disinterest in me, each other, and the class as a whole. Things only became worse when the teacher announced we would be doing a get-to-know each other activity for the entirety of class...

* * *

The day continued in the same direction. Everyone seemed to have had come up with their own ideas about what everyone else was like. Whether they were correct assumptions — I doubted they'd find out soon since they more or less refused to speak unless spoken to.

Not being a social butterfly myself, I tried to keep the fire going, but at some point I just had to let it burn out.

I was now left with an empty matchbox: zero hope, and the longing to start all over again.

I entered my biology class with drooping eyes and a tiredness that couldn't be overcome by sleep. Perhaps it was a social tiredness; being tired of meeting all the wrong people and wasting all the right opportunities.

I – being one of the earliest ones to arrive at class – sat down at a desk in the back and took out my phone. Soon, people began to flood into the classroom, taking seats far away from me. Six hours ago, I would've cared.

It's just like last semester. Only worse.

However, the minute after the class started – someone else appeared.

He entered the room, his breath heavy as though he'd just been running. His features were dark, the kind you could spend ages getting lost in. After apologizing to the teacher, his eyebrows furrowed as he looked at the layout, and then relaxed as he spotted the empty places beside me. He stuffed his fists into his pockets as he stepped over to where I was, almost cautiously. He took a breath, and then he opened his mouth:

"Can I sit here?" He muttered.

"Yeah, sure."

He took the seat across from me and turned his attention towards our teacher. Slowly, I did the same.

All my matches had struck out, but maybe – just maybe – a little fire was left.

* * *