Picture Day | Teen Ink

Picture Day

February 15, 2014
By Juice1197 BRONZE, Beaver Falls, Pennsylvania
Juice1197 BRONZE, Beaver Falls, Pennsylvania
4 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
Living is not for the weak.


Your mom got me around early September. It was a slow day in the shop, and I was so tired of just hanging out. I wanted someone to buy me, I mean, what’s wrong with being wanted? I watched her bump into a younger girl’s cart. It was when she turned around to apologize that she laid eyes on me. I tried to act natural, but I was all tingly on the inside.
She hesitantly took me off the rack and said “this is a good one,” and from that moment I knew I was in for something big and important. It was going to be my time to shine and my glory would be everlasting. I’d be shown at parties, ironed daily and dry-cleaned. This was going to be the life I was meant to live.
I could see it all now. Though I was much too small to be worn by Brad Pitt or Chris Hemsworth, a child would have to do. I saw an Annie remake in my mind, and a young boy as a supporting actor arrived at the movie premier, wearing me and a pair of black trousers! I’d be a controversial shirt too, on the “who wore it better” section of a magazine. Good bye thrift shop, hello eternal fame!

Little did I know, I was meant for you, the spawn of Satan.
You walked into school on a slightly rainy day, with your Buzz Light-year lunchbox and Scooby Doo backpack. I knew you were nervous about your day by the way your hands were shaking, and you started chewing on my buttons. You chewed one off before class even started. Not cool, by the way, maybe you should brush better. Before I knew it you and your classmates were being led by whatever poor excuse of a teacher that was. She was mean, old too. I figured she was one of those oldies that never shut up about how underprivileged she was back in ‘her days’. It was when we finally made it into the gymnasium that everything fell into place. I understood why you were so nervous.
It was picture day. This was my moment. And it didn’t feel good at all. I got stage fright, I suppose. I bet your picture was great, considering I couldn’t see your stupid face. I smiled for you since you were far too concerned about the rubber band some girl named Brianna shot at you. After the pictures, I knew the rest of the day would be hell from that point on.
Your lunch consisted of a ham sandwich, apple slices, and a juice box. It all went very well, until you decided your lunch wasn’t enough. PIG. So your friend shared a pack of Gushers with you. Being the stupid child you are, you squished the candy before you even put it in your mouth.
And bam, the first stain of the day. I bet you don’t have any idea how hard it is to get stains out of me. You mother will be paying good money to clean me. But you didn’t care, because your so-called ‘friends’ started laughing at you. You do know they think you’re an idiot, right? I mean, who in their right mind squishes a Gusher before they put it in their mouth? Little imbeciles, that’s who.
The playground was hell. You neglected to acknowledge the small mud puddle beside the swing set, and somehow slipped in it. You ignorant scum, how awful could you get? Maybe you should’ve just gotten your picture taken in some ratty t-shirt if you were going to treat me like this. You got the back and left side of me covered in the sick smelling, worm infested pool of shame. Back at the shop, your mother passed a hand-me-down Bob Marley tee that could’ve went through this instead of me.
By the end of the day I was seeing red. I wanted your blood on my sleeves. Your friend thought scissors would be fun to play around with in art class, (which was a bad idea to begin with, do you even listen to your mother at all?) and there went another button. At least you weren’t running with those things; unfortunately the substitute was finger paint. Your sunset was horrible, green is not in a sunset. Get your colors right.
I was missing a total of four buttons, one from each cuff and the other two going down the front. Two of which which you chewed off, another had a scissor incident and the last seemed to loosen itself in a sick, suicidal attempt to get the hell away from you and your disastrous mannerisms. The swirls of negative sunsets and mud baths were absolutely putrid by the bell. Smelling bad is not how you make friends, just so you know.
Your mother picked you up from school and took you home. She forced you to change shirts, and you tossed me to the side while you pulled on a white tee shirt. Away from you, I was left to contemplate my existence. Well, I would’ve contemplated my existence if I wasn’t so tired. Fatigue took over my threads, so I slept sprawled out on the seat next to you. I caught bits of a conversation your mom was in over the phone, she didn’t sound happy with the state of me. It was going to “take forever to wash these darn stains out” and she “should have seen this coming.”
Instead of being given the emergency care I required, I was placed in the waiting room—a dirty clothes bin, forgotten. You will never understand how disgusting it is in there. It’s like a cramped room full of hobos, football players, and wet dogs. I was in that bin for several hours, until your mom realized “oh my God, I need to wash Tyler’s shirt.”
Tyler. Right. I never did get your name. Well Tyler, your mom complained about my smell and mentioned placing you one of those big protection bubble things next year. Have fun with that.
She made a valiant effort with the Spray ‘N Wash and then tossed me into the washer. The water was incredibly cold, by the way, but it did the job. And hour later your mom snagged me out and put me on a hangar to dry. Unfortunately, she was smoking a cigarette while she did this. You get your carelessness from your mother, Tyler. She, on the other hand, regretted her mistake and attempted to clean me up once more with a small area on my front a bit thinner than the rest.
I suppose I turned out okay, but your mom hid me in the way way back of your closet. I’d never had the experience myself, but other shirts have gone through this. They’re tucked away from everyone and rested in darkness forever. By ‘forever’ I mean until you decide to clean your room and find me again. By then of course I’ll be too small for you, and head off to a yard sale or the Salvation Army. It will take a while, but I’m hearing thrift shops are very cool these days. Maybe I’ll be sent to someone that’ll treat me right. Maybe.
I regret your mother picking me. I suppose I should have stayed on the rack for a while longer. I was such a beautiful shirt, made for such great things. Things that were worth so much more than a child’s picture day.



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