My Life Being Dead

My Life Being Dead, Chapter 3

 The next day was better. My mother came in and grabbed me into a tight hug, briefly explaining how my step-dad’s uncle had died and they went to the funeral. I smiled and forgave her. There was no need to hold grudges against the only person who ever loved me.

The doctor told me I could leave, with a cast on for the next two months.

When we left the hospital, I finally asked what happened to me. My mother looked at me strangely, and for a second I was worried that even she didn’t know.

“Honey, the paramedics said you were struck by lightening. It threw you into a tree. They never told you?”

It made sense to me. The crack, the bright light, the tingle in my fingertips.

“Sorry, I forgot.”

My mother made a “click” noise with her tongue. “You poor thing. When we get home I’m going to run you a hot bath.”

I shivered at the thought of such heat. My body pulsed with repulsion and I croaked, “No! Please, not too hot.”

My mother didn’t understand my aversion to hot water, but didn’t question it. She loved me, after all. And I was just an ungrateful child. I should have been thankful for the offer.

When we got home I slowly hobbled upstairs to my room with my crutches. I laid back and tried to remember that night. Where was I? I was with Meagan, wasn’t I? It struck me as odd that she hadn’t called or checked on me, but then again considering the other thing that struck me, I didn’t blame her. She should have been freaked out. Like I wasn’t a loser before.

I reached for my phone and dialed her number. She didn’t answer.

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By the time school started up again, my hair had grown back to it’s lusterless self, and my leg had healed. A dull ache still pulsed in times of stress, but for the most part I was healed. The tingle in my fingertips never went away, though. It became a part of me that I accepted.

I walked into school with my head hung low and my eyes on the ground. No one noticed me, for which I was grateful. Meagan hadn’t contacted me since June 3rd, and I wondered if she still went to the same school. But I saw her, propped up against a locker staring at me. When she saw me looking back she looked away and started talking to this guy next to her. He was cute. Definitely her type.

I walked by not making eye contact and went to my assigned locker. Standing next to it was the most handsome man I had ever seen. His hair was dark brown, his eyes were almost as dark as mine, and he was built just like men were in movies. I realized my mouth was open, and that I had stopped and was staring too late.

He opened his mouth, and out came the words, “What are you looking at, freak?”

My eyes diverted from him face and I remembered who I was. I wasn’t some sexy, big breasted sex goddess, I was Cassidy. A freak of nature. I opened my locker and shook off my shame. I was a nobody, and I didn’t even have the courage to reply to an insult. Then again it wasn’t an insult. I was staring, and I was a freak. I sighed and took my books out. No man would ever want a freak. At least not this kind of freak.

In my first class, a girl that used to be my friend, but was popular now tripped me and I fell. All my books flew everywhere and I felt my leg throb from the awkward position it fell into. Everyone around me laughed as I sat up and gathered my books without a word. I sat in my seat and ducked down low. My fingertips pulsed harder, and it comforted me to know I wasn’t in this alone. I’d always have my pain.

Someone passed me a note with a look of disgust and I took it, thinking it must be a mistake. Who would send me a note? It must have been meant for someone else. But the person who passed it shook her head with annoyance and focused back on the history lesson. I opened it up and read the sweetest words I had ever com into contact with. I almost cried from the tenderness emanating from the paper.

I’m sorry you’re treated like this. Just know that someone sees you, and someone cares about you, Cassidy.

The rest of the school day was spent clutching the note to my chest and dreaming of who sent it. I was completely occupied with the action of daydreaming. Of course, thoughts passed through my head that it could be a practical joke, set out to give me a false sense of happiness. But I dispelled them and allowed myself to hope. For the first time in my life, I hoped.