Angel Eyes

1

The girl I see in the mirror is loud. The girl I see in the mirror is bold. The girl I see fears nothing. The girl standing there knows what she's doing.

  The girl standing there is a lie.

  The girl I see in the mirror is quiet. The girl I see in the mirror is shy and insecure. The girl I see fears nothing. The girl standing there is broken.

  The girl standing there is me.

  I blink myself into a clear focus. I don't want to mess up on my makeup, and when I say makeup I mean mascara. It is Monday August 15th, 2017. It is my senior year of high school, and It's this day that's kept me going.

  I drop the tube and stare into my beautifully flawed face. I study the scars made by acne that I couldn't leave alone. The un proportionate nature of my ears to my head. The hair that never seems to want to leave my face. I stare into the eyes of mine that have seen a thousand different lives and outcomes.

  The eyes of mine that saw my own death and rebirth just weeks before.

  Turning on my heel I put a smile on my face and walk down the hall to grab my backpack and keys. Entering the kitchen I see my mom through the window, she's outside with my dog, Peyton.

  My relationship with my mother is strained. It's by no means bad enough for me to truly complain about, but I find it within my selfish soul to do just that everyday.

  I walk out the front door locking it before heading to my car. Making my way through the front yard I tell her I'm leaving and open my car door. Throwing my stuff in the passenger seat, I sit down and start the engine already hoping for the day to be over.

  I'm over the pretending, and I haven't done any yet today. I let my eyes flutter close only to snap them back open as I immediately see the hauntingly beautiful eyes that have followed me in my dreams since my death.

  Not my literal death of course, as I'm still living and breathing right now.

  But the death of my soul. The death that I caused myself. No, not a death I caused myself really. It was a death I caused so I could end the suffering of my soul.

  Those eyes are what saved me. Those eyes are all I can remember of a night that I've blocked from my system. Those eyes remind me everyday that I was unhappy and miserable enough to murder myself. To lose the battle before I had tried to fight it.

    I try to shake the unease the memory brings me. It's the past, and normal human ideology recommends that we ignore the past right?

  I am going to make this year mine. I am not going to go down another self destructive path. I was given a second chance, it would be ungrateful to not even try to take it.

  My school is old and in the middle of up north no one knows Minnesota. It's a 30 minute drive in the summer and an hour drive in the winter because of the snow and ice.

  The towering pines and birch woods block my view of the sun as I pull out of the long driveway leading to my house.

  My mom moved the family up to the woods and lakes after she was done getting beat up by her boyfriend. The land belonged to someone in the family that died, I think. They camped in tents in the 80s before building a three story cabin that looks out through the thick brush and over the clear lake water. It's calm and peaceful up here. I love it despite being almost alienated from the people due to the mocha color of my skin.

  My mother grew up in an even smaller town in the middle of the state, and went against all the rules when she started dating black guys. It wasn't that bad of an infraction until she got pregnant not once but twice by a black man.

  Now Minnesota isn't necessarily prejudiced. Well, that statement mainly apply to the larger towns of the state, but here in the smallest town around for miles and miles those same courtesy's aren't shown by white folk. It's not that they don't like me or are out right rude or racist towards me and other races, they just don't really associate themselves with me really. Many of them have told me in the past they are scared of me, and I can't fathom for what other reason than for the color of skin. It would be worse if I wasn't still half white and therefore still half acceptable.

  My best and only friend is a shy quirky girl that singled me out on the very first day I came. Without her my life would have ended a long time ago.  She found me in the corner of the cafeteria where I was determined to ignore everyone in my presence and inserted herself into my life like a new puppy. She was was the most irritating person I had ever met, but yet still the most lovable and accepting of them all.

  Passing the Dairy Queen I spot my school just around the corner. Freedom Lake High School, the screamin' eagles. The most cliché and easiest name the stuffy old white men could have come up with in a town surrounded by lakes and eagles.

  Turning my car into the parking lot, I search out the back corner so I can continue to blissfully ignore everybody before I have to be forced to interact and play ok.

  Hearing the bell ring I pull myself together, looking one last time in the overhead mirror double checking there's no tears in my eyes and ruefully step out of my car.

  Jogging up the steps I walk through the front doors, looking around the halls that I loath so much. The loud speaker then comes on ordering all students to report to their homeroom classes to pick up their schedules for the year. Knowing the path to the room instinctually after doing it repetivity for the last three years, I make fast work of passing the rows of lockers and classrooms until I get to room 114.

  Passing under the doorway I shove my way through the groups of people blocking my way to the desk, shouldering my way to the front to greet my teacher and grab my schedule. Pulling the paper from his hand, I thank him and walk away to find my locker as I study my schedule.

Period 1. Carpentry

Period 2. Statistics

Lunch

Period 3. World economics

Period 4. Swedish

  Irritation sets in as I realize that I have to go to the counselor to change my schedule, because I've already completed all of my required years of Swedish and I refuse to take anymore. Finding locker number 22 I drop off my bag and then begin towards the counselors office.

  One thing that I do enjoy about the school is how small it is. Some people would hate the fact that my entire school has less than 1600 students and faculty members combined. So even though I hate small towns, I hate people even more so I'm thankful I don't have to deal with that many on a daily basis.

  Arriving at the office I keep my head down as per usual so I don't make eye contact with anyone and be forced to engage in conversation. I stop without looking up, in front of what I know is my counselors office after years of using it as an escape from the world. Haphazardly knocking on the door I push it open without waiting for a reply, already greeting her and expressing my irritation over the mix up of classes until I finally realize that there are voices already in the room. Cursing to myself I force myself to look up and apologize for my interruption.

  I trail my eyes as slowly as possible up to meet the eyes of the occupants in the room and freeze as I am transported back in time.

  Staring back at me with an unbearable intensity are those same strikingly beautiful eyes that have haunted my dreams.