The Come Up

Chapter 34 - Slams and Cameras

                    Mom says that all these decisions are up to me now, that she won't be telling me what to do, only suggesting. Only laying my choices out for me. I tell her that I know my choices but she insists that when they come out of her mouth maybe I will understand them clearly. Flex has taken her side and so it is easy to look about my leave of absence without the pressure of disappointing her, because she says she is already incredibly proud of me. 

I've been running around Harvington from department to department explaining my reason for leaving. Everyone seems supportive, some of the staff even recognized me as soon as I came through the door. A few students have begun to ask for pictures, and the ones who don't ask just stare at me. 

It still confuses me because I really don't consider myself that big of a deal. 

It is my last day on campus and all my things are packed up but before I leave Harvington indefinitely, I stop by the Poetry Slam in a cafe like lounge with dim lights and a full room of students sitting as they watch the feature poet open the show. 

I watch from outside as the large windows spread from ceiling to floor and the feature poet is muffled through the glass. There is no one else outside of the cafe, just a full moon and I. 

He begins a poem called "Finding self" and it is the most beautiful muffled poem I have ever heard because I guess none of us have really found ourselves. I used to think that not knowing exactly who I am or what I want was an attribute of being young but sometimes I feel the adults around me are so much more lost. 

I feel a tap on my shoulder and jump. 

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. Are you going in?" A short blonde girl with glasses asks. 

She opens the door and motions for me to go first. I step in, now that attention has been brought my way by the door opening. 

I stand at the back and fidget nervously, fearing that I have interrupted the amazing poet but he continues undistributed. He is light skinned and tall with kind eyes and pinkish lips. He looks directly into my eyes as he starts his next poem, ironically called "Girl in the Back".

I feel my face heat up and I look to the side of me to see if he could possibly be talking about anyone else but me. 

I am the only one standing in the direction of his eyes and immediately I shift my gaze to the floor. 

"It isn't a mystery that you push away the ones that realize you need them

And spare me the objection, I know you think that you can do all things by yourself and for yourself 

There is hurt deep in your iris 

Stigmatized by hurt deep in a private place in your mind

A place very few have visited and by few I mean just him and you" 

He performs in a rhythm without rhymes. I look up to see if he is still looking at me and sure enough he is. I sigh deeply and hold his gaze as his words have oddly enough begun to relate to me. 

"You wonder how to say sorry again without saying sorry again." He pauses and I am frozen. 

"You wonder how to say forgive me when you know more than well you aren't suppose to be forgiven.

She stays in the back because it's safe

She stays there because the front is too alarming

Too much attention brought to someone who considers themselves undeserving