Mar 11

Peter Pan

September 5th, 2018
    I wake up early in the morning and glance over toward the clock, whose blue light shines onto the wall like something in an alien world, apparently, I was only asleep for a few hours, it’s 7:49 a.m. I slump out of bed and slink right over to the shower, then strip down for the huge crowd of toiletries in the bathroom and hop into the tub as soon as the water gets as hot as possible, because the Lord knows I am not hot enough alone.
    I really indulge every time I take a shower because I never want it to end. It’s not that I really enjoy the shower. It’s that I just can’t stand that feeling of stepping out of a hot shower into that cold morning air. Still, I figure just like anything else, there’s always a painful aspect to it.
    “Charlotte?” my mom hollers out from downstairs.
    “Yes, Mother?”
    “Come on, it’s time to go! You’re going to  be late!”
    I mutter under my breath, ”when am I ever not late..?”
    My focus shifts to a half-opened dresser drawer where I keep all of my school outfits, I scrunch my eyebrows together harshly and the drawer flies open as a white tee shirt and a pair of skinny jeans float their way to me.
I look at myself one last time in the mirror, this is as good as it’s going to get, I guess, I think to myself, and then stomp down the stairs. I get halfway down but soon remember that I forgot a sweatshirt. There’s no way I’d ever actually wear just a t-shirt in public, there’s no way to hide myself from people with it. I close my eyes and imagine vividly which sweatshirt I’d like to wear, of course, my mind goes to my favorite MCR one. No long after I hear it flutter towards me until I feel it wrap around my waist; telekinesis, gotta love it. I make my way down the rest of the way and am almost out the door until my mother says:
    “Two things. One, I didn’t even hear you go back upstairs. And two, you know I don’t like you wearing that thing.”
    “One, either I’m fast or you’re deaf. Two, so? I like it. Why should you have to like it if I’m the one who’s deciding to wear it?”
    “It’s because I’m your mother, and you need to listen to me and learn some R-E-S-P-E-C-T. And what is ‘My Chemical Romance’, anyway?” she rolls her eyes as she shuts the dishwasher.
    “As I’ve said before, mother, this is my favorite band. Bite me.”
    She sighs, “let’s go, I don’t want you to be late again.”
    We walk out to the car and get going to school. Albeit, this “school” much more resembled a prison than a place where you go to learn anything. Renaissance High School is probably the lowest of the low, the worst high school in all of Detroit - no, more like the worst high school in all of Michigan. It was surrounded by a gate that seemed to be fit to keep Mexicans from crossing the border, but it wasn’t even adequate at preventing pissed off kids from ditching class halfway through the day, little did the administration, let alone the entire city know that a quarter of the student body has “superpowers” which allows us to pretty much do whatever we want. Mind reading, flying, telekinesis, we’ve got it all. But nobody can know that.
    When I was eleven years old I found out I could move objects with my mind. Apparently, I get it from my dad, but I’ve never met him. He and hundreds of other people with powers fled the city when my mom was pregnant with me seventeen years ago because the government started “eliminating” them. Probably because they’re normal, boring dickheads.
    Regardless, nobody snitches of anyone, otherwise we all die. So we pretend to be normal and bribe the regular kids so they keep their mouths shut too. We’re in it together.
    The first sigh of relief I have in the morning on Mondays is the first class of the day. My first class on Mondays, as well as Thursdays, is History. The reason that this class is such a wonderful part of my day? Samantha. Samantha “Sammy” Russell is my best, normal friend in the entire world. Well, actually she is pretty much my only close friend in the world, but who needs a lot of shitty people in your life when you can have one, gorgeous asshat? Not me.

     Our teacher walks in with his typically lanky, limping posture and manages to address us in a meek “good morning, class.” We respond by saying the same thing and, as usual, he doesn’t notice that we had addressed the class and not him. He sits down and doesn’t say anything else - he looks kind of hungover and so he just sits there resting his eyes for a few moments. Once he notices that we’re staring at him he straightens up and says, “today we’re gonna watch a movie, okay?” Okay? Hell yeah that’s okay, and I know I’m not the only one thinking it, I look around the room and spot many kids smirking and nodding their heads, half of them know they’re about to get an extra hour of sleep.
    The rest of the class he was slouched over his desk while some boring “movie” about Thomas Jefferson was playing. And so, we just waited out the bell and, when it finally rang, we went to our next classes… well, some of us. The rest of the kids usually went and hopped the fence to skip school right after the first block. The school only checks attendance once at nine am, right after the first class of the day has begun, as if they believe someone who shows up for the first one is definitely going to stay for the rest. This weird thought process on part of the administration was brought on by the belief that the school’s fence could actually prevent anyone from sneaking out, hence again why our secret must be kept safe.
    Of the students who came to school on any given day, I was not a part of the student body who cut class after first period. Nor was I one of the kids who cut class after the second, or third and fourth. I was one of those kids who just decided to stay in school all day. My thinking behind this is that, whatever’s outside those gates, can’t be any better than what’s in here; the world, to me, is just a shitty place in general. Besides, if you stay until the end of school, there are only a couple dozen people there, so you really don't have to be surrounded by anyone or interact with them.
    The sun is bright and shining right in my eyes on the bus ride home. The only thing that I believe is saving me from losing my shit over it is the sweet, sweet sound of MCR. And just like that, pain strikes again. It’s a recurring theme in my life, kind of like eating way too much on a night out and then feeling like you’re gonna die.
    The bus takes me about 30 minutes to get home, and the whole way there I chat with Sammy and listen to music. The best part about where I live is that she lives right next door to me, so we hang out all the time. There’s not really anything else to do around here except for playing with my cats, of which there are 8 and I’ve given them all their own name, and their own unique backstory. That’s just how much time I have on my hands and how little productive things I have to do.
    Samantha isn’t exactly the same way as me. Even though she is normal, she and I have so much in common, but she’s just the cooler version of the personality we share. She’s got a girlfriend, more friends than me, an awesome family where her father didn’t leave and her mother wouldn’t disown her. She doesn’t need to rely on waiting for some sort of Peter Pan to come and take her away, because she’s already in Neverland. She sits there happy as can be, the world in her hands like putty, and I’m stuck staring out my window at night looking for some scrawny boy who can fly.
    But it’s not just about what she has that I don’t have, it’s also about what I have that she doesn’t. What I have is rapidly deteriorating mental health where it feels that I am trapped in my own head, she does not. I have powers that I cannot use or else I will die, she does not. I am nothing, and she’s more like everything.
    I will admit that from time to time I envy her. I love her for what she has - both physically and on the inside as well - like a nice phone and car and stuff, but also what she has as a person. I envy that she is so beautiful, this beauty beyond compare, this goal that will never be achieved by me so long as I live. The worst part about it is that I can never find it within myself to hate her, not even a little. Even with all she has, and how jealous she makes me. How perfect her life is, how little she has to try, or think, or feel. This is what I’m most jealous of, deep within the depths of my soul. It is that she doesn’t need to try. She kicks back and enjoys the ride while I’m stuck here evermore, still just looking, searching for my Peter Pan.