January is apparently month number one, even though the year isn’t a straight line, it’s a circle. January Second Two Thousand and Fourteen truly began like any other day, no difference. It’s the day you’re not planning to die, but hey, it happens.
Imagine you are sitting on the back of the PAT bus and you’re listening to the song Changes by Tupac, which, as of yesterday is your third favorite song. Your mouth currently tastes like the fakest maple syrup you can imagine, sided with toaster waffles and orange juice from concentrate. Your below shoulder length blue- black hair goes into your eyes because your mother wants you to grow them out. Apparently they make you ‘gothic,’ and ‘signs that you are Satan’s daughter’ are not appropriate for the fourteen year old girl you are. Your makeup is brown and shimmery but not overwhelming, and your clothes are tight to your skinny body and fully jet black. You’re wearing a cross necklace, which is upside down, even though you are neither a Christian nor a Satan worshiper. When you were six you went to France with your mother and she bought two perfumes, one that she still wears to church and the other she soon realized she did not like and gave to you. You have that perfume on today. It smells nice.
Something you would probably like to know what your name is. Well.
You are Jade Oliver Night.
“Hey lady.” A voice said. I rolled my eyes and looked at my phone. “Lady Lolita!” The same voice shouted. I turned around, and an old bald guy with a weirdly shiny head was staring at me. “Turn down your emo music. And take the magazine off that seat over there. Someone could be sitting there.” He gestured to my rolling stone magazine. I rolled it up.
“It’s not emo music.”
“I don’t care what it is, as long as I can’t hear it.
Whatever.
I turn back away from him. Just as I do, the bus pulls up to a stop, two people get off, three people get on. I pulled my notebook out of my bag and jotted it down.
Something I’ve noticed- You’re going to see things, notice things, hear, feel, and smell things that drive you crazy. It’s one of those things that happens no matter how nice you are and no matter how much of a tolerance for pain you have. You won’t have any control over it- none at all. The only thing you can really do is go with it, or better, jot it down because this can come in use someday.
It reminds me of the times you hate something so much that you become obsessed with hating it. You get so obsessed on this, and you insist that you hate it. But eventually you almost like experiencing it because you can just hate on it some more. This is another thing that can be written down. You never know when someone will force you to write some kind of poem about your observations or you’ll want to publish the things you went through as a child.
It bothers me. It bothers me that more people get on the bus than off. It bothers me that the song “Whistle” by Flo Rida even exists, but people associate it with me because I’m obsessed with its stupidity. It bothers me when people don’t write everything down because I don’t have the option to not do it.
After about three stops, four more people off then on, the bus pulled up to the building across the street from my school. I stood up, and, - left foot first- marched off the bus.
“Jade!” Someone yelled. I turned around and Caroline Anderson was standing, waving to me from across the street. I waited a couple of seconds, and the walk sign signaled for us to cross. I walked, left foot first, and trying to avoid any cracks, to the other side of the street. As I stepped onto the curb, Caroline smiled warmly at me. “How are yah, Jade?”
