The Memory Playlist

San Francisco

Niki.

Waking up on a Monday morning is difficult as it is. Waking up on a Monday morning in January when you've left the window open is even harder. Waking up on a Monday morning in January when you've left the window open and the moment your brain starts functioning it's instantly sad is the hardest.

As I draw myself out of my covers and sleepily close the window, I look over and expect to see Adam since that was the plan. When he isn't there I remember the details of last night and instantly I feel hollow. My brain is eerily quiet as I stare at my empty bed, and the silence is deafening.

I can't believe I gave up Adam last night. My first and most true friend, the love of my life, I just threw away. I told him I wasn't in love with him and that I can't be with him. Maybe there's still time...

The other half of my brain snaps awake and I think No. I don't need him anymore. Things will be okay.

Rather than argue with myself, I turn my music on through the iHome and start getting ready. I sing quietly along as I strip myself of the clothes I wore last night and use make-up wipes to remove yesterday's smudged eyeliner. The scrape around my arm stings when I touch it, so before doing my normal morning routine I clean it and wrap gauze around it.

When I'm ready to leave, Tim has just come out of his cave. We both skip breakfast, Tim getting the bad habit from me, and get into my Jeep. It doesn't have any doors or a roof, but it does have a soft top I can put on if I want to. I drive us to our high school and park in the student parking zone, same as usual, and get ready to face people. Honestly, I don't even like people when I'm not sad and anxious and think too much, so when I am this way I want to kill people.

My sunglasses go on, my beanie gets readjusted, my headphones blare the angst-y rock of Alkaline Trio, and I let my mouth rest in its normal resting place, which people have told me makes me look bitchy. For today, that's good. I leave Tim with a simple "have a good day" and he responds with a tired "Today will be a long day."

Walking through the hallways isn't difficult anymore. By now, freshman have figured out how things work and aren't wandering puppies. This is a good and a bad time for me because as easy as this makes day-to-day life, it means that the freshman have figured out how to fit in. They don't stand in the middle of the hallways to talk to friends anymore because they know it pisses off their peers. They don't talk obnoxiously loud, most of them anyway, in the morning and they don't question others anymore. There is, of course, the few scene or emo kids that have made it into the high-performance high school I attend, but they too conform within their group. It's sad to see, and while trying to distract myself from Adam it doesn't distract me from the sadness.

I make it to my first hour without incident, sitting down more towards the back. When the bell rings, the few seniors around me are chatty, as if this Monday morning were no different. But for them, I suppose, it isn't. For me, it's a balancing act to keep myself normal for the next four and a half hours until I can sit in my car and wait for Tim.

After attendance has been taken, my French teacher sits down at the front of the class and asks us how our weekend was- in French of course. We all have to answer, so when he comes to me I answer very plainly. "Ordinaire et triste." He doesn't press for more information, sensing I don't want to speak. When everyone has spoken, he announces a pop quiz.

My younger brother was right. Today will be a long day.

Andy Biersack.

Ten days.