The Realization

The Realization

I don't have a room. I sleep in the living room on a mat. It's kind of comfortable. The softer beds I've slept on usually make my back contort into positions where my muscles aren't used at all and when I wake up I feel sore.

The hardness of the floor isn't really the problem. It's the location. For example, sleeping on the ground in a meadow is better than sleeping on the ground in a jungle where voracious insects crawl and where predatory mammals roam. The living room is public space. That means family members can stay in the living room as long as it is deemed reasonable within my mother's logic. Because it's my mother's logic, my mother can stay in the living room as long as she likes.

It's 2:37 AM.

The only way I can get her to leave is to scream random gibberish continuously.

My bus comes around at 7:20 in the morning. I can make the day last with five hours. I've done it before. I'll do it again.

It's 5:30 AM.

I lied. I can make it through the day with three hours.

My oldest sister has a mental issue because of reasons. She has to take this medication that makes her sleep early. It seems like a good thing. It really does. Until she gets the full eight hours of sleep.

The living room is connected by a threshold to the kitchen. Besides the threshold is a half-wall.

My oldest sister decides to make loud, random noises while putting away the dishes that were washed the night earlier. The dishes clink against each other.

It's still 5:30 AM.

I try to reason with her but it doesn't work. The situation escalates. My mental faculties aren't functioning yet to tell me to stop arguing with my sister. I can't go back to sleep now. I'm too angry.

How can I spend the hours I have left? The ceiling looks interesting. The cardinal direction of West looks nice at this time. If only I had supervision. The wallpaper on my iPod is so pretty. I drew her a couple months ago. This is too much. I need to pull myself out. Vikings and dragons. Seems like a legitimate way to pass the time. Reading can't hurt.

It's 6:53.

I got to get up now. The morning routine occurs.

It's 7:16.

Why is the girl I stand next to moderately pretty? Stop looking at her.

It's 7:23.

The ritual of greeting my friend while on the bus went through its life course.

It's 7:42 AM.

The boy with the mental issue holds the middle doors open for the entire student body with the insides of his elbow. Why does everyone seem to have a mental issue?

It's 8:05 AM. It's first period.

My school has block periods. It makes sense really. More time allows the student to focus on one thing for longer allowing for more progress. It's like specialization but instead of human resources; time.

In first period, the desks are arranged in groups of three. Each group faces towards where the teacher would usually be.

It's a different girl this time. She's prettier than the one from the bus stop, although I'd never say that to either girl. The bus stop girl sits behind me. The different girl smiles at me, straight into my soul. It's like she can see straight through me. What the heck? I know she isn't really interested. I know one hundred percent. She smiles at nearly everybody she talks to.

Stop looking at my paper. The guy sitting next to me can't process as fast as I can. I turn the page and he loses track of where I was at. Everyone else is still working. People don't like it if they find out someone else is literally smarter than them. Drawing on the back of the test packet makes it look like I work at the same pace. Only the really cute girl and the ok-ish guy that cheats can see that I'm already finished.

It's second period.

The only time I know is when school ends. I don't know what time classes change. I just go with the bells.

My teacher changes the groups up. It's a shame. I liked my group. My group was like gunpowder. She gives new groups a design experiment. She wants all groups to use scissors, two sheets of paper and a length of tape to make the tallest freestanding structure in the class.

I should've thought about this more. Oh well. It's not like I can change the design. The tape will lose stickiness if I remove it. Other groups start to steal my groups idea and add their own. Only one does it better.

It's third period.

The teacher is not bad. She knows what she is talking about. She just doesn't have an attention demanding voice. People tend to push her around somewhat. It not right. She's really nice.

Time for reading groups. The book is not interesting. No one else in the group finds it interesting either, not even the girl that picked the book. Questions about the book are made up to satisfy the teacher.

Hey... It's lunchtime. I'm just content that my third period class is close to the cafeteria. That sophomore girl that likes me is waving to me. I shouldn't have talked to her when I stayed after school. She tricked me into giving her my phone number.

My food that I eat is alright. Sometimes I pack it, sometimes I buy it. My friend from second period sits next to me with his girlfriend. I've never been content being a third wheel.

I leave the cafeteria. The sunlight that shines through the roof windows in the hallways feels good. I wish I could stay in that one spot without looking crazy.

It's still third period. Uneventful really.

Now it's fourth period. The technical shops. The main reason why the majority of students come to this vocational high school. Freshmen don't have shops yet. They rotate to see which one they want to spend the next three years in. Depending on what grade the student is in, shop comes around at a general time. For example, sophomores have shop at second period, juniors at third and seniors at fourth. The are exceptions of course.

Most of the people in my shops are potheads. I'm not joking. All they talk about is pot. The next time they smoke or how to roll is pretty common conversation. What's better? Is Mary Jane better in a bong, bowl or blunt?

I'm just here working on my senior project.

It's 3 PM.

It's 3:46 PM.

I'm home now. I feel that video games just waste my time but I do them anyways. I find that playing them allows my mind to not be in reality. For a couple hours it's like not being myself. Just accomplish whatever menial task there is.

It's 7-something PM.

I remember in third period that my teacher said we can choose our senior poses for the yearbook. I can't figure out how to choose a pose.

Live chat looks useful. Dustin was helpful. Feedback? "Give that man a raise."

A selection of prints shows on the computer screen. My youngest sister helps me narrow the variety to just two of them. She leaves.

My oldest sister is sitting on the couch. "Which one do you like better, the left or right?" I ask.

"The right," my sister says. She thinks it's funny that I'm smiling so much.

"It's for Mama," I say. Almost instantly she gets defensive.

"Well you look weird because you hardly smile," she retorts.

And that's when I realize it. I never smile.