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Do you ever feel like you're simply existing? Like you're just a body taking up space while everything around you keeps going? You just sit there as time moves forward and suddenly all your days become mushed together and you can't tell the difference between Wednesday and Thursday. Then you realize that you're living on a dying planet that's a part of something so much bigger than you and begin to feel insignificant.
What's the point of all of this if we're all going to die anyway?
Sometimes I wonder why I'm here. And why do people expect me to make huge life decisions and plan for the future when I didn't even ask to be here in the first place. I'm only seventeen and the choices I make now will lay the foundations for what my life will be like in five, maybe ten years.
But when you begin to realize how small you really are— how none of this actually matters in the end, you begin to question your purpose, the purpose of anything really.
I mean, I could just end it right now. Let this be the final scene in the movie about my life.
Would anybody even miss me?
My dad would probably jump for joy as the credits played. My mom may shed a tear but ultimately let out a sigh of relief. At least they still have another son. Maybe he'll turn out better. With no confusing thoughts or obnoxious voices in his head telling him everything that can go wrong.
But what about everything I'd miss?
Graduation? Falling in love? First kiss? College? Marriage? If everything is pointless, why do I find myself looking forward to these things?
These thoughts run through my mind as I struggle to fall asleep sometimes. I stare into the emptiness that is my room on nights like this and wait for those thoughts to run out of breath so I can look for answers in my dreams.
Maybe I'm just overthinking.
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I sat in front of my locker, quickly scribbling some random answers on the English homework that my mind wouldn't let me complete last night. Sometimes my thoughts drown me like quicksand and simple tasks become too difficult to complete. Of course, my grades suffer when I get like this so I always try to get my work done at the last minute.
"What you working on?" Chase asked as he sat next to me and looked in my lap to see what I was writing.
My body tightened as I bit the inside of my cheek while he moved closer.
"It's nothing," I mumbled and shoved the paper into my backpack.
"Are you working at the skate shop today? I might stop by."
"I only work on Wednesdays and Fridays," I informed him and began to stand up. The bell was about to ring.
"Well, I'll come by tomorrow then."
I guess I'll just be sick tomorrow.
"And there's a spring break party on Saturday at my house. You should come," He told me while walking backwards down the hall.
Definitely not.
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It feels like I get sent to this lady's office at least twice a month. I've counted the pale blue ceiling tiles and gray bricks in the walls so many times that my brain won't let me do it anymore. Now I just stare at her while I count how long it takes for me to blink. My personal best is 67 seconds.
"What do you think?" Dr. Thomas asked, disrupting my count.
"Huh?" I rubbed my eyes.
"I knew you weren't listening," she laughed, "What do you think about talking to the Board of Education about the walkout after spring break?"
"For what? They aren't gonna do anything," I groaned. Every time the "higher-ups" want to sit down with the "little guys," it's to squash dissension, not bring about change.
"This is a great opportunity to share your demands. And you have everyone's support.
"I'll think about it Dr. Thomas. Can I go?"
While walking down the hallway, I spotted Shayla furiously scratching the burgundy paint off the door to the boy's bathroom. Her blue braids were pulled into a giant bun on the top of her head, revealing the scowl that hasn't left her face since the walkout.
"Shayla," I tapped her and she dropped the key she was using.
"Oh, it's just you," Shayla rolled her eyes, "Shouldn't you be leading a revolution or something?" she continued scratching letters into the door.
I leaned on the lockers next to the bathroom and filled her in on the conversation with Dr. Thomas.
"What do you think I should do?" I asked.
She didn't support the walkout but I was still curious about what she thought. Shayla's reasoning makes a lot of sense and I love how dedicated she is to her politics.
"What do you think you should do?"
"I don't know," I shrugged, "That's why I am asking you."
"Look Joey," she put a hang on my shoulder, "You know what you want to do. It doesn't matter what I think. But I will say this; talk to Rashad," she giggled, "I mean, he is the victim here. Even if he doesn't think so."
Then she walked away, leaving me to stare at her latest masterpiece.
