Kendall

3

    Friday mornings are just so... up lifting. Though I am most certainly not a morning person,Friday mornings are always more bearable than any other school day. I guess it has to do with the promise of a brief two day freedom after school.

   Like every morning, I walk over to the small window and I'm greeted with the same perfect pale pink and blue sky. It doesn't rain here often in the small town of Onyx. This town is full of happy families with white picket fences in front of their perfect cookie cutter houses. Every household is the same; hard working husbands leave for work while the wives stay home and clean their houses until pristine, almost like the Stepford Wives. Sounds like the perfect place to live, but I'm sick of it. Certainly every family must have some dark secret lurking behind their Tiffany curtains.

   Soon, the normal morning routine begins as I gaze out the window. The pudgy Ms. Henderson does some strange skip-walk thing out her front door in her jogging pants and loose fitting shirt. She stretches a few times and begins jogging down the road moving her arms in fast swinging motions. Hopefully she thinks she doesn't look as ridiculous as she really does. Across the street, Mr. McCormick kisses his tiny daughter goodbye as he leaves for work. His wife waddles out the house,hand on her swollen pregnant belly, and calls her daughter back into their home.

   I turn away from the window and reach blindly into my closet until I grope a pair of jeans and -of course- a long sleeved shirt. Thank goodness for the cool weather.

   I pass Essie's room and see Aunt Jade holding her close and rocking her back and forth on the balls of her feet.

   Her smile is beautiful. My aunt is only in her mid twenties. She and Thomas ran away together when she was barely 18. When she found out she was pregnant five years later, they got married. She turns to me,her smile fading a bit."Oh, good morning Kendall."

   When my aunt talks to me, I always hesitate to answer her back. It's like every time she looks at me, I feel like she is secretly cursing me for taking her sister away from her. I know I'm crazy to think that, but I just can't shake that feeling. I open my mouth to greet her, but my throat locks so I opts for a smile and nod.

   In the bathroom I peel my clothes off slowly. Not only do I have cuts on my arms, but I have some along my thighs and above my knee, my stomach has a few, and so do my sides. When my arms are full, I have no other choice.

   I don't understand how I'm brave enough to take razor blades and press them deep into my skin and glide the blade down my arm as the blood pours out? I realize quickly that I'm not brave at all, that's one reason I rely on my blades so much; I'm not brave enough to face what happened to me. My blades also keep my head straight.

   I look at myself in the mirror. The girl staring back at me is pitiful. She's gaunt and cut up. She looks like she's been locked up and tortured somewhere. She isn't very pretty anymore either. Her shoulder length black hair just hangs their, limp and lifeless and in need of a hair cut to trim away dead ends. Her blue eyes are dull and boring and she is too pale. There is something obviously wrong with her. Some secret she hides. But can anyone guess her secret?

   Before the accident, I was pretty enough. With a little makeup here and there I had a few male admirers always eager to care some books or open doors for me. I had liked the attention, especially from one boy named Tristan. He was my my first kiss, and I was let down by the hype of a first kiss. My friends described there first kisses as head-spinning, knee-shaking, and heart-racing experiences. Mine was a simple boring peck on the lips, but not even Tristan would kiss me now. No one has even held a door open for me.

   I sigh and look away. "Don't let what you see in the mirror ruin your day." I say to myself.

   I put my bra and long sleeve black shirt carefully and walk out a few minuets later with my hair messy,but decent enough for the student bodies scrutiny, and the usual red lipstick and light usage of black eyeliner.