The Person Behind The Relfection

Your shoes

Chapter One: Your shoes

" Even psychopaths have emotions; then again, maybe not. " – Richard Ramirez

I want to scream for you. Yet, I don't want to scream to you. I want to yell your name knowing that there is one above us watching, I want to scream for their remorse. When I cry, I look into the mirror, rather I cry to the person looking back. The man you would see walking down the street, the man you would  think was normal. Not the boy I am, not the scars I have. I don't want to grow up, but I long for time to pass. Knowing fully, that time is an illusion, and that if we all woke up tomorrow knowing nothing, our arrogance would guide us, not the clocks on the walls. But, of course, then there is you. I want to know you. Not the person I see walking by, but the one that cries into the mirror on the other side of the reflection. I watch it all. I watch you dig your nails into your skin when you look into the ceiling. I watch you tap your foot to the rhythm of the voices around you. I watch as you stare, stare at them. Stare at the normal people. But I'm willing to bet, you're not staring at the people looking in the mirror, we never do.
This morning you walked to the familiar lamp post you stand at everyday, to watch bus #8012. You know I would like to think that we are alike, that you see me the way I see you. I like to think that you go to bed at night angry at the world, but not yourself. However, I can't believe you're different. But beyond that, special. But then again, if everyone is special no one is different. I can hope you admire me, not yourself. I hope that I can change you, make you the person I see in everyone, set an example. Then, I want to end it all. Sort of like Romeo and Juliet. Except today no one will wonder why we did what we did, because deep down they will know that we see the person behind the mirror.
I want to lay flowers after you're gone, and as they rot and shrivel to pieces I want the world to recognise the subtle nuances that death creates. That, the only reason there are flowers is death, the only reason for happiness is sadness, and the only reason for me, is you. And now, poof, were both gone.
You walked along the empty hallway, following the familiar pattern, only touching the red checkers. I could tell you were happy today by the lightness in your steps, and the intention in your strut. Then, your foot slipped.
"You touched the blue," I muttered to myself. No, no, no. Not myself. Looking back in a daze, as if no matter what you saw, you would just continue along your path, thinking nothing of it, you saw me.
"What?" You stared at me, and this time I knew. You were one of them, one of the reflections. But I didn't worry I could change that.
"What to say, what to say, what to say..." I hummed beneath my breath. I have never talked to you before.
"You touched the blue." I shouted, much louder than I had hoped. You jumped, but your expression was blank,  as if you were expecting me to explode.
"I wasn't doing- I don't know what you are talking about." You explained, but I know you better than you know yourself.
"You were trying to only touch the red-" I stated, but I was soon cut off.
"You were watching me?" I wanted to say 'No, I was admiring you.' But that would be weird.
"Actually I was admiring," I paused, "Your shoes, and," I paused again this time looking up in your direction to see your reaction to what I was saying. "I was looking at your shoes and I noticed that you were walking in a pattern. That's all."
"Do I know you?" You said, but not in a condescending way. You said it in a way that let me know you wanted to know me.
"No," I said.
" Well I have seen you around you know. 'Admiring me' or whatever you want to call it." You began to walk forward, in a way that signaled me to follow you. Your body language changed, now that you knew you had my attention. You started to walk in bigger steps and you looked up, not at your feet like you have done before.
"I have a staring problem." I joked. I read somewhere that it was good to joke in 'awkward' situations.
"Look at me." You said, as if I wasn't already. I widened my eyes and raised my eyebrows to signal that I was. But you wouldn't take that for a minute.
" No stupid! Look at me" I stared blankly, you could tell I was confused.
"Look inside me-" You started but I interrupted.
"That's kind of weird, but okay?" I walked forward.
"Not like that you creep," you narrowed your eyes and looked me up and down.
"When you see me, what kind of person would you think I am?" Of course I wanted to say, there is no kind of person. We are all genetically wired by social norms to fit into society like puzzle pieces, but I knew that that wasn't what you wanted to hear. You wanted me to call you weird, mysterious, different. You wanted what we all want, to be recognized. And I needed you to trust me, so I said what you wanted to hear.
"You look like your independent, special, like you don't fit in with everyone else." Now, this is the part where you pretend not to like my answer and declare that you are just like everyone else.
    "You got all of that just by looking at my shoes?" Of course, of course. You have no idea that I've been watching you for months and trying to give reason to every move you have made. Every nail mark in your arm, every traced staple on your paper, every version of you. I knew that everyday, at 9:07 you walked to your elective in the office a few minutes late because you knew you could get away with it. I knew that everyday at that time you would spit out your gum in the trash can in front of the boys bathroom where I would watch you, repeating this pattern everyday.
"What are you doing here anyway?" You asked. This time it was condescending.
"I-" I looked around me for an excuse, "I forgot my water bottle and I was just getting some water, besides I should be the one asking you that" You tightened your grip on the straps of your backpack.
"Im late." You said, as if I was stupid for asking.
"Oh so you're late everyday at this time-" I muttered very quietly beneath my breath," However, you weren't as shy as I was.
"Oh, so you forget your water bottle everyday at 9:07 and just happen to be here?!" And with that, I said nothing else. I turned away and went on with my day knowing that, for the first time, you noticed me. You knew I was here and didn't say anything. For the first time, you didn't ignore me. But now I keep wondering to myself, what did I do today that was different from the rest? Why now, do I suddenly exist?
When the last bell rang I listened to the volume increase as those around me raced to leave. You were only in one of my classes, film study. I especially like that period because I have an excuse to watch you. It was our last period so everyday, I watch you gather your things and walk out the door after everyone else. I watch you wait for him and I watch you both leave together. He was tall, he was skinny, he was pale. I almost feel like, if my soul was a person it would look like him. I don't know why you care for him, after all I care for you much more.q
Walking home from school, I always seem to find myself 10 ft behind you both. He branches off first, and when he does you untangle your earbuds. When you put them in your expression changes. Your head lowers and you frown a little, but not the sort of frown that signals your sadness. I like to think you frown because you know that you won't remember that moment in a week, or a month. I think you frown because you know, like me, that this life you live has no meaning. That in 100 years no one will remember you, May Green, the girl that goes to Fort Benton highschool, the girl that lives in a small town where everyone knows everyone yet no one ever leaves.
You turned onto your street, where I had first seen you. You walked on the grass instead of the sidewalk. You took a couple of big steps up to your white, wooden, old house. The windows reflected the dim sun, covered by Montana clouds.  You ran your porcelain fingers along the rough exterior gently lifting your hand when you reached the basketball hoop. A slip of paper was wedged in between the doorway and when you read it you frowned once more. But of course, this time I knew that frown too well, that it was the frown of one more lonely than the person that lives within themself.