Imperfect Me (Also On Hold)

This is how I imagine my wedding: I’m in a beautiful white gown with intricate flower patterns trailing down the side of my dress. Swirls, flowers, and symbols, are dancing on the bottom of the white silk dress. A silver lacy veil falls on my face, covering my blonde hair.

The groom is waiting for me, something glittering in his hands. I look up at his face, hoping to see a smile, but instead, the groom’s face is blurred. He reaches out his hand and just as I grasp for it, everything shatters. I see my gown disappearing, replaced by a black shirt and dark wash skinny jeans ripped everywhere. My blonde hair disappears, leaving me with messy layers of dyed black hair. My fairytale vanished and reality washed over me.

Sighing, I look over at Mrs. Eriksen trying to pay attention but failing miserably. Glancing down, I spot the red scars on my arms, new ones on my wrist, and a few on my left ankle. Each individually cut stood for each thing that was wrong with my life. Divorced parents, dog dying, boyfriend passing away, all these things were on my body.

“Shana? Can I see your homework?” I jerked my head forward, looking straight at Mrs. Eriksen’s piercing blue eyes.

“Uh… um… yeah. It’s right h-here,” I stuck my hand into my backpack pulling out a sheet of paper. “Here y-you g-go.” I stuttered.

Taking a look at the paper, she said kindly, “This is Geometry homework Shana, we’re in Biology the last time I checked, sweetheart.” My face flushed bright red as the kids around me snickered. “Students, I clearly remember everyone of you turning in the wrong homework assignment at one time.” She said calmly. This was a small town and all of us have had the same teacher (Mrs. Eriksen) for over twelve years!

Not complaining or anything, but I wish Mrs. Eriksen didn’t do that. I could stand up for myself, and I didn’t need some teacher helping me. “It’s right here,” I interrupted, handing her the Biology worksheet. I hid my arms under the table and rested my chin on the textbook, watching her walk away from me.

It was like this everyday, the same routine over and over and over again. And for some unexplainable reason, bad things keep happening to me, and I’m starting to think God hates me.

“Shana, somebody wants to talk to you.” Surprised, I stood up and took the wall phone in my hand. “H-hello?” I asked hesitantly.

“Hey Shana, you okay so far?” the voice buzzed.

Sighing in relief, I answered, “Yes, mom, I’m fine.”

“Great, honey! Now, I called to let you that you’re riding the bus home today.”

My heart immediately sank like a rock falling to the bottom of the ocean. “But mom! You said you were going to pick me up today!” I complained.

“I’m out looking for a job, Shana. I won’t be home ‘till Wednesday. Take care, ‘kay?”

“That’s a whole week!” I insisted, acting like a five year old. “Do you have to get a job?”

I heard a soft sigh from the other side, “You’re fifteen, honey, you can handle it. Love you sweetheart, see you on Wednesday.” I heard a quiet click and then an annoying buzz. Putting the phone back in the socket, I trudged back to my seat.

“Okay class, here is your job list –” I blanked out immediately. Jobs just didn’t work for me. My dad damaged his four ribs on his construction job, I sprained my left ankle and my right wrist on my ice skating internship, and my mom, well, she would lose all her jobs after three months minimum. She was pretty darn lucky – except that she had me for a child. I was a mistake.

“BRIINNGG!” the bell rang. Quickly picking up my backpack, I rushed out the door to face the buses of doom.

“Come on, hop in,” Mary-Ann said. She was the bus driver for route thirteen. Clambering into row twenty-six, I immediately stuck in my earplugs and turned on the music full blast. I chose a song, Ghost Girl, and sang the song quietly, barely making a sound.