Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

Their Stares

Their stares, their eyes, their dirty looks, their disapproving shaking of their heads, their subtle laughs, their pathetic yearning to help her. To help me.

The stares. I have learned to accept them. They are always there; always there to follow me as I go with her. Always there to follow her as she enters the room, yet they go unnoticed to her.

Always there, like an untamed beast, because they can’t even control their stares.

Nobodies’ stares follow me as I start the race. All eyes are still on her. It’s as if a flashing arrow’s always above her head, beckoning their eyes to follow her every move.

Nobodies’ stares follow me as I finish the race. In first place. While breaking the school record.

Nobodies’ eyes even glance my way while I accept the gold ribbon, confirming my title as the fastest in the race.

All eyes still on her.

* * *

“Hey mom! I won!” I shout while jogging towards her, gold ribbon in hand, stares on high demand.

“I know, I saw the whole thing! Congratulations sweetheart!”

I bend down and suddenly we don’t just share a hug, but also hundreds of stares.

“Thanks.” I hug her tight, glancing around, feeling not self conscious, but conscious of my mom.

Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

Site Feedback