Overcoming the Omega

Wheels on the Bus

    Before I head to school I toss on my snow boots, jacket, beanie, and everything I need for the colder weather. I stare at myself in the mirror and study my reflection with intensity, the faint rays of sunlight bouncing off of it onto my knees and chest along with the wall and the empty bottom bunk giving my room a calming feeling that's almost comforting to me. I quickly smile to check for remnants of waffles in my teeth. With a sigh, I walk out my bedroom door and down the rickety wooden staircase. 

     Outside the air bites at my skin and lips and my teeth chatter as wind flows in and out like little puffs of smoke. The bus stop is piled with different genres of people, a girl with purple and black hair and big leather boots blasts her music while a little farther away three boys toss around a football and a group of girls giggle and watch them like food. I enjoy sitting back and watching the crowd from afar, it keeps them from watching me. At least at school, I come off as seemingly normal, unlike every other aspect of my seemingly odd existence. 

  Another small group walks up, including but not limited to Garret Allan and Hunter Keyes. Garret is next in line to be alpha's right-hand man just like his father is to mine. He's tall and tan and has the brightest green eyes I've personally ever seen. At school, he's popular, plays football, and wins prom king, the usual typical high school dream guy. He is everything my father wishes for me to have, for me to settle down with even if that will never be my choice.  Everything I wouldn't want for myself and my future. 

    Hunter Keyes is another stereotypical high school girl who is on the cheer squad. Her only abstract trait is her gift with the cello. She makes the instrument sound like angels are singing from the strings and it echos through the school's concert hall and surrounding classes during sixth period. The music draws me into the hall and sometimes I sit outside of the concert hall to listen to it sing symphony and symphony, melody after melody. While I stumble over the piano keys her fingers dance with the cords and bow, they string up and display beautiful sonnets that are unimaginable to the typical human brain, but to me are constantly craved. 

   My love for music started young, I was only five when my mother put me into lessons for the piano and flute. She wanted me to follow in her footsteps and play the flute as she did, but her dreams got crushed about three weeks in when I wanted nothing more than to tap the keys. I would play for hours on end, even if the noise I was creating was nothing close to the actual piece until I would get it just right. I had to make sure every note was perfect. She used to hum along with me and make dramatic dances to the pieces as I played in what once was our dining room. She'd giggle and cheer me on at every mistake and tumble I had taken. Dad smiled at us from the doorway. At that time his heart was warm and happy, filled with music like ours was. these days he can't even go into the room and to be honest neither can I. My fingers drifted from the keys, and my body pulled away from the piano, but my heart has been glued to it ever since. 

    The bus pulls to a stop and one by one we file in. The smell of gym socks and strawberry perfume floods my senses as I walk to my seat, three rows in on the left. I draw little stars and a smiley face on the fog of my window as we take off to the next stop. The tall evergreens are covered in dew from the cold autumn morning and the sun has barely risen as we drive the next three minutes to the corner of Main Street and Willow Lane, our next stop. This stop only two people, both covered from head to toe in warm clothes. The girl is quite pretty, her long hair and bangs stick out from under her bucket hat. They climb in and take a seat down next to each other. They never made any romantic moves in front of me, but from what I can tell by their energy, they have to be dating. The door closes again and we take off for our final stop before school. 

  We make it to the stop and five people step up before Canyon Taylor climbs up and makes his way toward me and plops down. A smile stretches across his face and his cheeks and nose glow red. His blue eyes stare into mine as I sit back up straight off of the window. 

    "So you chose the butterfly beanie today, huh? It looks good on you, most do though," he whispers into my ear and then leans back to his original position. Canyon and I met in first grade. I would always ask to go to the bigger park across our small town because it was where his bus stop was, and of course, Mom would give in and drive the full fifteen minutes there. During recess we always raced to the swings, I always beat him for obvious reasons, but he tried so hard every time to the point I had to let him win sometimes. He also plays guitar, a bass. ACDC always blares from his earbuds when he walks in the halls and wears every band t-shirt I could imagine. If you see us apart not in a million years would someone think we make a perfect pair, but we do.  My classical spin on his alternative style blends into a mess of fun misfortune. Dad doesn't like him, he thinks I need more friends in the pack exclusively but this might just be because Canyon helps me sneak out sometimes. We spend the rest of the ride sharing earbuds and making imaginary stories and jokes about the bus driver to pass the time. Today he is secretly dating our vice principal and has twelve cats, last week he was a clown on the weekends to make extra cash. 

    Finally Quincy High comes into view, with the hornet statue at the main entrance and every window covered in hornet pride. The bus stops and we flood out into the main hall and wait for the bell to ring at 8:05 am, it's only 7:45 am. I go to grab a second breakfast which consists of yogurt and a blueberry muffin and head to my first period in B hall, chemistry.