Again I Lied

   Bell rings.  An unwelcome gesture telling us to stop what the fuck we're doing and move on to our next class.  School can really suck, and it can hurt if it feels like it's going on forever and ever.  Gathering a pile of books (two binders, three separate books, a journal, a sketch book, and a notebook), I stood up from my desk to walk down the hallway away from my last class.
   Standing at my locker, struggling with the combination as students conversed and journeyed to their next class, a body leaned against the locker next to mine and grabbed the books from my arm.  I looked up only to see him standing there.  Half smile twisting his lips holding victory over my pile of school books.  He expected me to say something, a greeting of some sort or a clever phrase, but caught glance at the pain and sadness in my eyes.
   "Hey, you okay?" You asked me how I was. He asked stepping away from the locker.  I could tell he was concerned by the look on his face.  There was a moment of silence between us; students swore loudly across the hall, a girl squealed, teachers spoke to one another about it all.
   I put on a fake smile, hiding.  "Yeah, I'm good." I answered that I was good.  I wasn't very sure if he believed me or not, but it was worth a try.  Locker swung open frightening me.  He nodded as I took my books from his hand to place a green binder in my locker.  It landed at the bottom with two heavy looking and weighing books.  I closed the locker and turned to walk to my next class.
   He followed at my side, one because he has a class in the same area of where we were going and two because he is a best friend.  He watched me suspiciously as we walked in the hustle bustle of students.   "You look like you're going to be sick.  Do you feel okay?" You asked me how I felt. He asked moving my hair aside to feel my forehead.
   "I'm fine." I told you that I felt fine. I told him to heal his worried wounds; I felt like retching in the restroom, but I held it back for the sake of never having to do that.  We entered the hallway of our classes, he left me with the command of staying well and we went to our classes just as the bell rang.  My teacher smiled; she liked me even though I was almost late for her class every day.  Handing out the assignment, she told us to get to work.
   I looked over the paper, it was an easy paper and I had it finished before she made a second walk around the entire class.  I thought back to my friend; he looked so concerned about me, it almost hurt to have told him what I had.  I just couldn’t tell him, not like I could even if I tried.  I didn’t have the heart to say;
   “Guess there’s going to be a storm today.” My teacher said looking out the window after thunder shook the ground.  I frowned and looked to the floor, upset and pained emotions running through my veins, my body, my heart.  Dark clouds covered the sky hiding sun’s happy warmth.  Gray clouds of sorrow overthrown bright rays of happiness.  Students crowded around the window trying to view the foreboding scene in front of them.  The teacher hushed and hurried them back to their seats where they reluctantly sat still trying to see out the window.
  Half way through the class period, after more thunder and lightning, rain started to pelt against dark glass.  Part of me wanted to run and hide from my own self.  To cry forever like all rain feels like.  Too sad to work, too upset to read.  I buried my nose in a book and stared at one page concentrating on the mass of words and meaningless phrases that couldn’t be put together properly.  The rain picked up, blowing angrily with the wind.  Heavy rain cries rivers through canyons of joy.   My teacher once again looked out the window, only to be greeted by bright lightning.  Students laughed when she jumped back.  She quieted them as she closed the blinds, as if it would help at all.
   I glanced up from my meaningless book distraction to see my open sketch book on my binder.  A happy-faced girl looked up at me waiting eagerly for me to finish her, although I couldn’t bring myself to pick up a pencil to draw something so pointless-feeling at the moment.  Lines should be drawn when there is the heart to, but my anger was peaking when I remember what someone had told me.  My eye twitched, my frown turned down more; my girl drawing had a girlfriend, only contradicts that person’s comment.  I couldn’t feel my own body other than the burning hatred.  Blackened rage burns where passion once embered.  It’s my life to draw what others do not want.
  Staring harder into my book, I tried so desperately to concentrate on the words in front of me.  Misery overflowed from the reservoir from deep inside me that kept my body working when it couldn’t.  Despair rears ugly head over hopeful smiles.  It’s not me, I don’t feel like myself.  I want to be the someone I know, not the someone that has molded around one little thing that happened.
   Why is it so hard?  To keep the smile on my face that once shone without warning.  To let no one see the crumbling me fall to pieces at any moment.  I feel like sand through open fingers, tempted by gravity to fall back to earth to be taken in by so many other grains to blend in.  Like little sand dollars, so delicate when they’re washed to shore in the ocean’s current, wanting water when all they get is sun drying them death.  Spirit crumbles like fragile sand dollars.  Footsteps interrupt my thoughts and my teacher walks passed to see what I was doing.
   I faked a smile as I glanced up at her and continued to pretend read my book.  I tried to hide any emotions behind a carefully built wall of fake happiness so no one could figure out when I was really feeling.  But I wear a smile / I hide behind thin tangible walls  I had to repeat my actions several times for the entire class period.  I felt like a doll being used to make someone happy.  Although I feel like that every day, today felt even worse.
   The bell rings.  An unwelcome gesture telling us to stop what the fuck we're doing and move on to our next class.  I gathered my God damned books once again and hurried out the door to meet up with him once again.  He stood there, glaring around the pack of students as they hurried off to their next classes.  He caught my eyes and waited for me to reach him.
   “Are you sure you’re really fine?” Were the first words from his mouth.  You asked me if I really was fine.
   “I’m fine.” I lied.