Without The Words

Chapter 7

"Oh no," I heard Mr. Garcia mutter in between my disheveled sobs.

I looked up at him, wiping away a few stray tears, my eyelashes soaked and my green eyes ready to release my liquid emotions once again. It was truly astonishing how much tears my eyes could compose.

"What happened?" He asked softly, putting his hand gently on mine.

I slowly retrieved my notepad and pen from my backpack and began to sloppily scribble, my fingers shaking and hands wobbling.

If I were to speak, my words would have definitely been incoherent, so I realized that sometimes it's relaxing to not speak. With that in mind, I continued to write on the notepad.

People on the bleachers were talking about me. They were saying things that weren't true. I'm sorry that I'm acting like such a baby, it just hurts I guess.

"Look at me, Poppy." Mr. Garcia said. He tilted up my chin and wiped away another tear, his finger leaving a trail of warmth on my damp cheek. "You're not a baby, nor are you acting childish in any way. You're strong. And I'm not just saying that because supposedly it makes people feel better. You are strong. Do you think it's easy for someone to live with the guilt you do?"

He paused for a second and then began again. "Do you think it's easy to not be able to respond? No, clearly it's not and you know that way better than anyone else in this whole damn school. Nobody knows you and nobody knows what you're going through. So you know what? They don't deserve to know. They are disgusting beings who are so bored with their lives that they'd rather talk about someone else's. You ignore it, and you keep your head high. You can't save their lost souls, and it's not your job to. You are magnificent, Poppy Rose. You are two different flowers in one being, and that is truly beautiful."

The first thing that popped into my mind after he finished talking to me was two different flowers.

I scribbled on my notepad.

What do you mean by two different flowers?

He chuckled. "Your name, dear. A poppy and a rose. It's a truly incomparable name and that itself proves how unique you are."

His eyes searched mine for a response, but I stared blankly ahead at his comforting complexion. His wonderfully warm brown eyes. His tan skin and messy brown hair. I didn't know how I could possibly thank him, but one specific idea came to mind.

"Thank you, Mr. Garcia. Thank you so much." Each word I uttered was quiet and wavering from my recent tears, but I knew he heard it. His reaction was priceless. His eyes lit up and he smiled so wide I could see his gums atop of his straight and pearly white teeth.

I was surprised to notice how unfamiliar I sounded. Not hearing your voice for a long time is odd, but in a good way. It was comforting, but after saying those words I closed my eyes and in replace of the darkness my eyelids possessed came an image of my mother engulfed in the flames. I shuddered at the image, but a firm grasp shook me out of my mental ordeal.

"You can do this," he said quietly. "You have to accept the images in order to move on. The more you speak, the more you'll get used to it. It'll take time, but you're strong enough. Baby steps, Poppy."

I nodded and he gave me a sad smile, one that did not reach his eyes. But when he put his hand on mine again, the comfortable gesture gave me the fuel to keep my head high as he had said to. His words repeated themselves over and over as the rest of the day went on.

Mr. Lee's class eventually came and my whole body was consumed in anxiety, except this feeling was a lot worse. Mr. Garcia's words of empowerment had kept me with my head raised for quite some time, but the feeling eventually faded when I locked eyes with Mr. Lee.