The New Kid

February 28, 2011
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Most people call me the sweet new guy. I always smile, and I always treat people with respect. My teachers absolutely love me. Why wouldn’t they love a student who turns in papers that receive a big red A+ on it? The girls love my cute little compliments, and all the guys think I’m pretty cool just because I can throw a football. For the most part, moving wasn’t so bad. Everyone thinks I’m very happy with the new change and that my life is perfect. I have a car, a nice house, great parents, so everything is fine, right?
What they don’t know is if you dig down deep, I’m not that happy sweet guy. Those smiles are just ways to deflect any curiosity or sympathy. I used to be happy, but that was before everything happened. I remember vividly laying in my soft cool bed, a month before I moved across the country, crying hot salty tears as they trickled down my cheek. My pillow was soaked, and my head pounded from crying. Why did I cry? I don’t know, the agonizing longing for someone who you’ll never feel their hand in yours ever again.
The next morning, I had to wake up and face a day that I didn’t want to come. I wanted my sheets to envelop me, to protect me, to keep me from having to venture out into the unknown. Most people thought of a day as a new start. I didn’t. I thought of it as a new battle. No one knows how hard it is to wake up and catch a reminiscing scent of that someone who you loved. When people pass away, they’re supposed to leave completely; only leaving memories. That is completely wrong. Their perfume’s light, sweet smell leaves stains on your nostrils. Their dark, gorgeous hair leaves impressions on your skin. It’s so hard to move on when you had a feeling only felt when with that person. It’s like asking to part with your own body part. If I had ever loved any girl, it would’ve been her.
Sadly, today will be the last time I’ll ever see her. I climbed into my parents old black Ford truck and closed the heavy steel door. The “click” of the door was louder than it should’ve been. The ride along the old cracked road lasted for an eternity. I started to feel very claustrophobic in the black truck. It was as if I was in a coffin. I managed a slight grim chuckle.
When we arrived at our destination, the deathly chilling wind cut into our clothes down to our bones. My parents and I slowly started to tread over to the flock of people dressed in black, much like ravens at an execution. When I took my seat near the front; I saw her. She was beautiful. Death at least didn’t take that from her too. I almost broke down right there. I walked up after the eulogy was read and her parents said their final goodbyes. I knelt by her icy coffin. I kept asking the same question over and over in my head. My questions unanswered, I gently kissed her cheek. Her smooth perfect skin was cold on my lips, and with that final kiss, the tears slowly came. When they put her in the ground, I couldn’t watch. I couldn’t imagine her pretty face being devoured by carrion worms and maggots.
I finally managed to get home, and I retreated to my bed. I slept for what felt like a week. The next month, I trudged around emotionless. I couldn’t find a reason for emotion, because it never helped me. Eventually we moved, but sometimes I wish I could move on, too.

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