Who I Want to Be

Hearts

I believe that everyone has a heart. It's naive of me, surely, to wholly believe in something so childish. Yet, I cannot let go of this hope. I want to believe that even in the worst of people there is good: that although some hearts are shrivelled or small or buried, they exist. Perhaps people just do not know how to use theirs, or they feel it is lost. It is still there, though, pumping truth and kindness through their veins. Everyone must have a heart, otherwise how do they survive?

"Hey, Gabby, what are you writing?" I look up at Marion and Clo in front of me. I hesitate, speechless. "Come on, we're your friends. You can show us." Before I can react, they pull the notebook out of my weak grasp. While Marion scans over the front cover, Clo catches my gaze.

"Did you finish your English assignment yet?" I nod.

"I haven't." She laughs like being a bad student is cool.

"I can help you, if you want."

"Really? I just need to finish the last paragraph." One secretive smile from Clo and I shiver.

"Oh my god. Are you trying to write a story or something?" Marion interrupts us and pulls Clo's attention away. They lean over their seat backboard, my journal in their hands.

"Actually, it's more like a.. a diary... or something..."

"Diary? How cute." There's a subtle condescension in her tone. I try my best to overlook it.

Marion opens to the page I had been on and my pen falls out. It hits the ground before rolling to the back of the school bus. "Oops. Sorry." She does not bother to retrieve it.

"It's okay," I murmur.

"What does it say?" Clo asks. She leans in closer.

"I'm getting to that." I want it back, but I cannot say that aloud. The words won't come. Besides, they probably would not listen to me even if I could.

"I believe that everyone - EVERYONE - has a heart." Marion's dramatized mockery stings. I look out towards the rolling hills and trees, suddenly wishing I was not here.

"Stop that," Clo laughs. "That's mean." She turns to me. "I think it's very innocent of you to write like that." In my ears, innocence sounds identical to idiocy or inexperience.

"Well, I guess this writing does suit Gabby," Marion bandwagons. A furious blush rages across my cheeks.

"You're so rude. You should apologize." I see Marion turn to me from the corner of my eye.

"Sorry." It's fake. Somehow, that gets another giggle out of Clo. I keep my gaze squared on the treeline.

"You're terrible. Give Gabby her book back."

"But I want to read more." I watch Clo pry the journal from Marion's hands. As she returns it to me, she smiles at me like a little kid.

"It really is adorable," she patronizes, before Marion pulls her away once more. I shove the diary into my bag. I've always loved writing, but right now the thought of it disgusts me. It is more stupid than it has ever been.

I curl back into my seat and pick at my faded jeans. The world is moving fast outside: fields with crops and livestock, bunches of trees or shrubbery - they only last a second before escaping my view. I have sat on this same bus for almost a decade, and yet I still feel lost when I look outside. I still cannot place myself on a map. Without realizing it, I have ripped another hole into my pants, and now Anna will worry again.

I hate that I always make others worry - that I can't seem to stand on my own two feet. Everyone seems to move so fast like the trees and farms, passing by me before I truly understand what I've missed. Marion and Clo, for example, who whisper incoherently in front of me. They may hurt me or taunt, but I am still in awe of them. The way they can compose and command themselves, they understand this world. I mean, they could be adults. I am still a child. I am still, as they say, stupid and naive.