short stories

I don't care

I don't care

Each and every year the same. Discussions with teacher and parents bore me to death. I know that I'm not good in school and do I look like a care? This year, I have to be honest, I'm a bit scared. Our new teacher seems really strict and she could tear me down and I feel like my mum could be screaming and yelling at me later. I don't care about school! Why can't they understand? There are way more important things, I rather enjoy good things than school. Learning from life instead of a person devoted to teach children things they have learned. They learned it themselves, it's not something that interests them anyway. I don't even know why you would chose that job? Because they want to see teenagers, they miss their old times? Skiving school, not learning, going out in the night. The door opens and the teacher comes out. Mum stands up, I follow her lazily. Though I don't care, my heart starts to race. She smiles a bit, my mum responds, I just look at her with an empty glance.
"Phineas," she starts.
I hate my name, why did mum chose it? What is beautiful about it? Its meaning is oracle. Boring.
"I have been thinking a lot about you."
Why would anyone think about me? Mum looks at me, a bit worried, she sees my tension rising. I avoid looking back at her. That glance, I can't stand it.
"How are you?"
I look up, I did not expect that question. So much that I have no idea what to answer and I just mumble a "good".
"That's great. So your grades, how do estimate yourself?"
I laugh.
"What, is that question? Bad of course!"
"And what do you think about it?"
"Don't give a shit"
"Phineas!" mum warns.
"So you don't care about having bad marks. And what about your future?"
"I live in the present. I'll see in the future."
"You know that if you don't have an idea, you can land on the street."
"You talking to me like I'm a kid!" I respond annoyed. "Man, I know that I have to think about my fucking future, well I don't care about it. If I'm homeless then I'll live with it, goddammit!"
"Phineas!" mum says louder.
"I would like to talk to Phineas alone, Madame. Is that okay for you?"
Mum thinks about it with a cringe smile.
"Yeah okay, don't let yourself influence by his language, I'm sorry."
"It's alright," and she says nothing until my mother left.
"What do you do when you're not in school?"
"Diverse things, why would you care?"
"Because I think there is something in you, you never show up in class, only on days where you can see a certain girl. Teachers are not dumb, you know."
"And?"
"Hey. Take that mask off," she hits.
I stammer "What mask?"
"I worked at a psychiatry for 2 years, then I decided that it's not for me. Too much problems, I always wanted to help people and I could there, but it wasn't like I imagined. So I wanted terminate, but the psychiatry proposed to me the job as a teacher, I took it. And I saw that here, with this society, a lot of people have problems. Depression and loneliness, aggression, family stuff, it's way more frequent or it shows more up."
I stay silent.
"I know that there is something wrong in your head up there."
"I wouldn't talk to you about it anyways."
"You don't have to. But better find someone."
I never talk about it. People would see me as weak, that's why sport lessons, I never showed up. Nothing really made me hold on to life, maybe only that girl she talked about. And my mum, she has enough problems like that. I never wrote it down, never said something out loud, never cried because of it. I kept that all inside, thought, screamed and cried in the inside. My eyes are stuck with tears since years and I promised myself to never let them out. I have to be strong, I will not tell anyone about it because if I do, it will cause way more trouble. And mum can't know because he will know that she knows and then she will be hurt too.
"I have no one," I said, my voice breaking.
"You don't have any friends?"
"I do but they wouldn't understand at all. They're all too dumb and focused on girls asses, their games on the phone, their body."
I've never cared about my body. I never wear shirts or short trousers, trying not to show how skinny I actually am. I never look at myself in the mirror, I hate seeing myself.
"And what are you thinking about the most?"
"I don't know."
"Think about it for a minute," she proposes.
And she looks at me and waits. I eat myself from the inside, first my cheeks and lips with my teeth and my mind to find an answer. And all that comes up in my mind is that one thing, I could never say it anyways.
"Really?" she asks
"What?"
I said it out loud. I did not.
"Yeah," I sigh.
"You want to die?"
"No, I mean maybe yes."
We can hear a gasp out of the door. The teacher stands up and opens the door.
"It's really not good to listen at doors. Here, wait" she says to my mum and takes money out of her wallet. "Buy yourself something, you can keep the change."
My mum just looks astonished at her because of what she just heard and because of what the teacher just did. But she really leaves. The teacher closes the door again and smiles to me.
"Good luck with handling her afterwards."
I smile too. "Thanks."
"Sure you don't want to say anything?" she asks while she sits back down.
"No. I can't tell anyone."
"Why?"
"He would kill me."
"Who?"
"My dad."
"But you just said it."
"I know," I say and put my head in my hands. Tears. No.
She must have noticed because her hand is on my back and give me a certain warmth. It helps. I look up, her face is smily but sad.
"What am I gonna do?" I cry out.
"You have to do something. But that stays between us, I promise. I'm always there for you. First try to find yourself, give your mask up. Don't try to be hurt more. I can't imagine what you're going through. You could focus on school, start a sport or other activity. What helps could be like writing a song or a story. Diary. Scream. Just. With no reason. Eat a bit."
She sees that it makes me shed even more tears so she hugs me.
"It's gonna be alright, you have me at your side. Maybe not the coolest but at least someone. You're not alone. Many people have that. And that girl, Clarissa, talk to her. Maybe she's the one, don't let her go."
"Thank you," I try to say.
I stay in her arms until all the tears of ten years leave my eyes. It took at least ten minutes. I feel better. She gives me a handkerchief and lets me go to my mum.
"And? You're all right? You know I'm worried about you?" Mum starts.
I stop her. "I don't give a fuuuck."

That story came out of nowhere, it was only that boy who doesn't care about school first and it ended up being a boy who's violated from his father I guess. I often ask myself if it's a problem of society, or is it a problem with those persons? Is the society making them do that, like I can't really explain it myself, but do you understand? I used to hate French movies (because I'm also French by the way) but there was one who is really good. It was about a couple who are separated with two children. The father was violent with his ex wife and she got to get away from him, but he came back of course. And the dad still wanted to see his children, so he saw his son sometimes. He wanted to talk to the mother, but she avoided that obviously. The movie was so good because the tension rose all time. Until when the mum and her son are alone at home after the elder daughter celebrated her birthday. The father came, a weapon in his hand, because he didn't got to talk to her about the children. And I'm not gonna tell you what happens next, but the tension was sooo intense, some people left the room because of it. The movie is called custody in English and "jusqu'à la garde" in French.
Have a nice day!
Bérénice