My Beautiful Mind

2.

–ep, beep, beep, beep, beep. 

I'm jolted out of my vivid thoughts by the obnoxious blaring of my alarm clock. After staring at the little black machine for a minute, I realize I must've forgotten to turn it off when I woke up an hour earlier of the scheduled time. I turn the alarm off and look around my dorm room. Nothing's amiss except for the unsettling fact that I've been staring out my window watching the sunrise for who knows how long. I warily rub the sleep from my eyes and instinctively reach for the violin–

But it's not there. None of it's there. No violin, no bow, no stage, no applause, no disease. Unfortunately, I speak too soon. The emptiness remains, just as all-consuming and crippling as it was a few moments before.

My eyes wander subconsciously to my backpack, thrown carelessly on the floor with a notebook, an odd pencil or two, and several textbooks spilling out the gaping opening. As I come back to my senses, it takes me a moment to remember who I am. Right, I'm a few months into my sophomore year of college as a English Language and Literature major–with no clue of what to do after graduation–an uncertainty that's terrifying me. Maybe I can turn writing from an outlet to express myself into a career, or become an editor for a publishing company or a lawyer–that is, unless I learn to ignore the whispers and odd looks of my fellow classmates. I sigh and turn back towards the window.

I can't go back there. I can't go back there.

I grab the sides of my head and rock back and forth in my gray dish chair. If I could just go back to that concert hall, everything will be alright, won't it?

I just want to forget. I want to erase the pain and agony of the past two and a half years from my brain. I will my mind to slip back into the illusion, but it won't budge. It's as if an iron door to that pocket of the universe has closed firmly behind me, not allowing me to find out the girl's fate. The emptiness grows within me until I'm convinced that it's all that makes up my body. Organs, blood vessels, bones, muscles be damned.

I slowly rise from my seat and force myself to dress for the day despite that my arms feel like lead. I attempt to pull a thick, wooly sweater over my head, but I can't tug it down my torso. Here I am, pathetically standing in the middle of the room with a piece of cloth wrapped tightly around my head. I try to breathe, but nothing flows into my lungs. I feel a little bit dizzy all of the sudden, but I stop my movements.

Maybe if I wait here just a little bit longer, I can go back to the violin.

Nothing happens and I'm slowly losing consciousness.

Abort, abort, abort.

I suddenly panic and with all of my strength, I grab the sides of my sweater and violently pull it down, freeing my head in the process. I suck in a delicious mouthful of air and turn to look at the floor length mirror hanging on the door. I'd been crying. Wet splotches dot my reddened cheeks and my eyes looked bloodshot and puffy. After dashing out to the bathrooms to brush my teeth and splash some cold water on my face, I take one more shaky breath and gather my things and leave the safe confines of my room. Once outside, I square my shoulders and practically force my legs to move in the direction towards class. Because of that sweater episode, there's no time to grab something to eat from one of the dining halls. I dig through my coat pockets for a spare energy bar, but my hands come up empty.

I feel prying eyes burning holes in the back of my coat as I hurry down the leaf-strewn path towards the main academic halls and keep my gaze glued to the cracked pavement. I study the patterns of frost that cover the asphalt, admiring how unique they are every morning. I'm about halfway across campus at this point. As long as I don't make eye contact, the day will be somewhat bearable. Despite my usual inconspicuous appearance, their hurtful whispers still continue to assault my fragile, sensitive ears.