To Those Who Never Die

page three:

I whipped my head to look at whoever interrupted my session of heavy-weight thoughts; a male student stared back at me with bored eyes.

"Pardon?" I didn't have enough time to register who this student was and if I ever met him before he brushed past me, opened the door and stepped in the classroom.

Groups of chatter and conversations halted as they brought their attention on me and my crutches. Sweat built on the insides of my palms as I moved forward, struggling on the stairs up to the rows of desks.

Right then, I knew what it felt like to be the laughing stock; a humiliation, the epitome of failure. It was, in fact, the epoch of incredulity as Dickens had put it.

Not wanting to waste my strength up the rest of the stairs, I settled into the second row of desks, sliding in next to the guy from earlier.

"You're sitting next to me." the student sighed whilst opening his notebook and binder, a silence settling in between all the loud voices and cackles around us.

"Is that a problem?" I asked, one eyebrow quirked up in questioning. The guy shrugged.

"I'm Clayton." I said after a minute, debating whether or not the guy beside me was a serial killer or an idiot not worth my time.

"Uh-huh." he replied as he jotted down a few notes, his scribbled handwriting barely noticeable because of his arm set stiff on the desk, creating a barrier between us.

Brushing away the slightest sense of annoyance at the back of my mind, I leaned back in my seat, settled my backpack onto the desk and zipped it open to rid it of the objects inside.

"You got a name?"

"Not one you'd know." he replied, not missing a second. I planned on asking him to elaborate on himself; tell me the regular stuff like how old he was, if he had siblings and if we ever met before, only for the soft yet audible patterned tread of Professor Davis' dress shoes to silence the entire room.

"Good morning students, nice to see you all here, though I'm pretty sure most of you are still hungover from the weekend party most of you threw." that earned a majority of the class to laugh, the other half groaning from the loud eruption of humor.

"I hope you're all paying attention because today's class goes as review for your exam this Friday. Now; have any of you ever heard of the historical novel 'A Tale of Two Cities'?"

And it went on like that; asking questions, answering questions, gaps of silence in between, and then a sharp out-cry of the school bell.

"Remember students, turn in your novel study essay by this Thursday. I want to see your best efforts put into the assignment. If you're a minute late to hand it in, you'll get an F." Professor Davis slammed his book of 'A Tale of Two Cities' and occupied himself with something on his desk as all the students cleared out in a bustle.

Before I had the chance to follow my desk partner out of the room, an older and authoritative voice halted me. "Clayton, please stay back a minute." I sighed.

"Yes, sir?" I carefully made my way down the stairs, not wanting to trip in front of dozens of students in the class.

"You haven't turned in your self-reflection yet. You were supposed to hand it in last week." Professor Davis crossed his arms and watched me with perceptive and compassionate eyes; right. Pity.

"I was busy with things." I gave a little shrug, hoping to sell my act with an expression of indolence. Professor Davis let out a breath of frustration, obviously unimpressed by my idiocy.

"Mr. Deluca, I'm aware of the situations you are going through and have been going through the past week or so, but that gives you no excuse to abandon your homework on a highway." my lips pursed and my head shook sideways, as if saying "I have no idea what you're talking about." I shrugged again.

"I didn't. I abandoned it on my desk." in most situations, I would have laughed at my own sarcasm, but now it seems almost uncanny.

"Clayton. You're nineteen, a senior high school student who is going into college next year and you're behind in almost every subject in school but physical education. You know I'm just trying to help you become whoever you want to be, right?" I cringed at his words, feeling every ounce of pity and condolence dripping off his words.

"Actually now that I think of it, my pet fish at my essay. Yeah, that rascal goldfish. You know? I should go home and make sure he manages to get it out of his system. See you tomorrow sir." I twisted myself around, my crutches tapping against the floor every step.

I don't remember if I stayed in the washroom, counting the seconds of useless air I breathed in, or if I went straight to the roof of the school right after my interaction with the teacher, but when the scene of a rising sunlight hidden away in the arms of light grey puffs of clouds, I nearly forgot what it was I was wanting to get away from.

Maybe it was the eyes of pity that had me crying at night, or the fact that people have to treat me so differently just because I'm 'different'. I remember taking a deep breath as I inched myself closer to the edge of the school, hoping that maybe someone who actually cared about me would stop me.

One second.

Nobody was coming.

Two seconds.

I thought everything was useless.

Three seconds.

Taking another sharp breath, I moved my left leg so it hovered just above an invisible cloud of gravity.