I Know You

I can see her on the other side of the courtyard. To her, I do not exist. I am just a guy who keeps to himself because interaction is overrated. I find it rather jocular that people feel the need to constantly wear a fake face in front of fake people with fake lives. In fact, we live in a world where no one truly knows each other. No one takes the time to stand from a distance and see the truth behind everything we think we know. But I see you Isla Robinson. You are not what you pretend to be. I know you.

I awake at exactly 7.24am. The house is redolent with a sweet smell. I can't make it out. I get dressed into my usual jeans and a black hoodie and I head downstairs to find that my mother has left me breakfast on the table. Pancakes. This isn't typical. She wants something. I guess I'll find out what that something is later. For now, I will enjoy the piquant taste that floods my mouth. Once I have savoured my morning meal, I pack my bag ready for the day ahead. My first lesson is English. It is my favourite lesson because I get to see you. You sit two rows in front, one to the left and surprisingly, you are incredibly intelligent however, even you wouldn't believe me if you saw how you behaved with your friends. You dumb yourself down for them. I've never understood why.

The bus will be here soon and I will sit alone on the lower deck as I hear your social group cackling above me as I do every day. You don't take the bus. Shame. I love watching you. Everything you do means something entirely different to how it is taken. For example, when you tuck your hair behind both ears, people think that means you are interested in them. I know that you are surreptitiously listening to another conversation. I can tell because you always feel internally bad about it and so you fidget with that strand of multi-coloured string you always seem to carry. That's how you always seem to know everything about everyone. You listen. I love that about you.

First period. I arrive ten minutes early to minimize the amount of human contact I  have to endure. I'm not interested in seeing people smile about things that don't make them truly happy. Apart from you. You have a beautiful smile.  But you still don't know me. I bet you hardly remember my name even though you have sat and listened to the register in English hundreds of times. 

The bell rings and other students start to flood the classroom. You are one of the last. You are always one of the last because you have to gather on the other side of the school with your friends every morning. Same place. Same time. Like a robot. You are programmed into this routine. I watch you as you amble over to your seat and you greet a few people before sitting at your desk and scuffling around in your bag. You pause as if you are momentarily distracted by a thought but then you continue to pull your English book out of your bag. I perdure the rest of the lesson with you constantly in my eyeline in some way before the bell sounds again, declaring the end of my time with you. For now.

I don't see you again until lunch, however you have been wandering my mind invariably in the time we have been apart. I perch on the edge of a bench I typically sit at as it allows me a full view of you. You're laughing. Having fun. But even from here I can see something is wrong. You look to your right and freeze. Like something has frightened you. I look over to see if I can work out what you are staring at. A group of boys. You shake whatever you are feeling and return to your conversation with the other girls. I am left confused. What is going on in your head?

Quicker than expected, the end of lunch comes. I pack away my belongings and begin my journey to my final lesson of the day. Something catches my eye. A boy. He is lingering around where you were sat. He picks something up. I can't see what it is from this distance. He looks at it briefly before launching it into the air. He looks angry. I forget about it and go to my lesson.

At the end of the day I see you; you are sitting by yourself on a low wall, just out of the school gates. I want to talk to you, ask you what is wrong because this is not your typical behaviour but before I get the chance I see a man starting to approach you. I stop but he sees me. He looks unsure of himself. He turns and walks back the way he came.  You look at me. I don't know what to do. I see your face fill with confusion, possibly trying to work out who I am and what I am doing. I panic and run. I leave you alone, on the wall.

The next few days pass and I haven't seen you. You have not been in our English lessons and you have not been present in your usual spot with your friends. Perhaps you are ill. I wish I could care for you and bring you everything you need to get better. I will one day. I promise. 

Two weeks pass and there is still no sign of you. I am starting to worry. This isn't like you. I go to your house after school to see if I can find out anything. There is a police car in the drive way. This is not good. This is not good. I don't like this. I hang around for a bit and one of the officers comes out of your house. I hear something to do with murder. I hear your name. I need to go. I don't want to listen.

The next day, I go to school and there is  a crowd of people around your spot. There is a picture of you. People are putting flowers down. People are crying. I don't understand what is happening.

An anouncement is made in assembly that day. You're dead. I don't know how to feel. I don't know what to say. What happened, my love? No one knows what happened. We just know you are no longer here. I will no longer be able to watch you twiddle with your hair in our English lessons when you are having writer's block. I will no longer be able to watch you as you fight over the cutest boy with your friends. I will no longer see you. Except, I do.

I can see her on the other side of the courtyard. To her, I do not exist. I am just a guy who keeps to himself because interaction is overrated. I find it rather jocular that people feel the need to constantly wear a fake face in front of fake people with fake lives. In fact, we live in a world where no one truly knows each other. No one takes the time to stand from a distance and see the truth behind everything we think we know. But I see you Isla Robinson. You are not what you pretend to be. I know you. I'm the only one who will ever know what really happened to you.