Dear Mark Fischbach

anybody have a map?

Mark paces back and forth along his dark blue carpet, counting each step and going through his schedule for his new coming school year. 

One, two, three, earth science. 

Four, five, one, two, three, anatomy.

His sweaty palms clench tightly while he takes in the sight of his neatly organized room before his eyes settle on his chrome Mac. After pacing for several minutes and wondering how each little thing could go wrong if he messes up the slightest, Mark finally takes a seat on top of his comforter and peels open the laptop to show his empty document, desperate for words. 

Dear Mark Fischbach,

Today's going to be an amazing day and here's why. Because for today, all you have to do is just be yourself. 

But you also want to be confident. That's important. Easy to talk to. But mostly, be yourself. That's number one, be yourself. 

Oh, and also, don't worry about your hands getting too clammy for no reason at all and you can't make it stop no matter what you do because they are not going to get clammy so I don't even know why you're bringing it up because it won't happen. You just, you need to be true to yourself. 

I'm not even going to worry about it though because seriously, it's not like..it's not going to be like the that one time you had the perfect chance to introduce yourself to Amy Nelson at the art show last year, when you waited afterward to talk to her and tell her how good her art was and you were going to pretend to be casual like you didn't even know her name. Like she would introduce herself and you'd be like, "Wait, I'm sorry, I didn't hear you. May? You said your name was May?" And she'd be like, "No, it's Amy, I said Amy."  and you'd be like, "Oh, see, I thought you said May because I'm very busy with other things right now is the thing." But then you didn't even end up saying anything to her anyway because you were scared your hands were clammy, which they weren't that clammy until you started worrying that they were clammy, which made them clammy so you put them under the hand-dryer in the bathroom but then they were still clammy, they were just very warm now as well. 

Kathryn rests her shoulder against the doorway as she begins to wave a twenty dollar bill above her head, a clearly upset look painted on her face. 

"So you just decided not to eat now?" She speaks loud and clear, sighing quietly to herself as she sets the same dollar bill on the now empty desk of Mark's before she shifts her way to the bedspread where her son was sitting, a faint glow lightly up his pale and anxious look. Mark quickly saves the progress on his document before shutting his MacBook and pushing it into his quite empty backpack. 

"Oh, uh, I wasn't all that hungry," Mark whispers, almost to himself as he lifts his casted arm to scratch at the back of his neck, his eyelids drooped as he follows dust particles in the air. He didn't really want to make eye contact with his mom despite how close they were, he still would get so incredibly awkward and nervous. 

"You're a senior in High School, Mark! You need to be able to order dinner for yourself if I'm at work! I mean, you can do it all online! You don't have to talk to anyone on the phone. I know you don't like the phone." Kathryn finishes as Mark stands on his own two feet, his own legs shaking beneath him while he begins to pace back and forth for the second time that morning. 

"You see, that's not actually true. You have to talk to the delivery person when they come to the door, and then they have to make change while you sit there and wait for them to make th-"

"This is what you're supposed to be working on, Mark! Engaging with people! Not running away!" 

Silence filled Mark's room and Mark began to fidget with his fingers, counting each one of his knuckles in his head while he waited for his mother to leave the room so he could return to his previous tasks. She didn't seem to budge, though, and better yet, she spoke up again.