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Monday… Tuesday… Wednesday… Thursday… Friday… Saturday… Sunday… Monday… Tuesday… Wednesday… Thursday… Friday… Saturday… Sunday…
The days of the week run through my head. What am I doing tomorrow? Tomorrow is Tuesday. I will be doing he same thing that I did last Tuesday. I will be dancing. I will be watching the other girl in the mirrors. The one that is smiling and letting the music flow through her. The one that never shows up anywhere else. Repetition.
I walk down the hallway to my locker like the other days of the week that I am here. Monday… Tuesday… Wednesday… Thursday… Friday… I walk down the hallway just like I will unil the weekend. Then after the weekend I will be back to repeat the pattern again and again.
I’m thinking about the way I walk. Right… Left… Right… Left… Right… Left… I follow the rhythm in my head. I make my own music.
I open my locker while keeping that rhythm in my head. I’m wishing that I had someone to show my music to. Someone to show that other girl to. I am alone though. I wonder if she gets lonely, inside waiting for it to be Tuesday again.
I’m walking down the hallway again. It’s close to the end of the day. Ten minutes left. I’m going to wait for the bus, but I’m supposed to be in chemistry for five more minutes.
I’m waiting for the bus. I’m thinking about mirror. I’m thinking about how they reflect everything perfectly in a whole other world behind the glass wall. I’m thinking about my reflection when there’s no music. When I’m standing still. When I’m alone.
The bell that dismisses school rings and the buses start to appear. 1… 2… 3… And then there’s mine. I get on and sit in my seat. Alone, surrounded by a bunch of other kids, but totally alone.
I’m at home sitting in my room. We have new neighbors. There’s a guy. I think he’s beautiful. He didn’t so much as glance at me. I’m thinking about the girl in the mirror when I’m dancing. The happy one. She is a repetition of me, a reflection of me, but she’s different. She is happy. She is free in that other world. She is beautiful. I am not.
It’s dark outside and I’m going to sleep. I didn’t eat supper. I locked myself in my room. I’m wondering how that girl feels, locked away inside on every day that’s not a Tuesday.
I’m on the bus, on my way to school. He is sitting in front of me. I said hi, but I think that I’m invisible today.
My morning is rushing by quickly, each minute in a total blur.
I sit alone at lunch. I am not eating I am thinking again. Always thinking.
Then the afternoon goes by quickly too, until I’m sitting on the floor of my personal dance studio. I wish I was allowed here more often. My mom says that it’s not healthy to spend that much time alone. She doesn’t understand that the other girl needs to get out more often. Only Tuesdays.
My music is playing and I am dancing. I am lost on the music and she is free. There is light from next door that I’m not used to, but it makes everything brighter. The house that is outside the large window on the east wall is no longer empty. No longer alone, lost in the dark.
I fall asleep tonight as that other girl. I’m wishing that I could be like that house.
I wake up thirty minutes late. I’m rushing to get ready. I’m wondering what it would be like to be invited to the dance next month. What it would be like to rush to get ready. But I’ve never been invited. I practically don’t exist. Alone again.
I get on my bus and he sits in front of me again. I say hi again. I still don’t exist. Repeating yesterday, but there is no release tonight.
I go through school, Thinking, Wishing that it was Tuesday.
After school I’m out in my yard, alone. Our neighbors are out in theirs, but I’m invisible again, they don’t come talk to me. I’m spinning around, the freshly mown grass underneath my bare feet. Mom tells me to put my shoes back on, but I really don’t care.
Darkness again as I do back inside to my room. I’m staring out my window. I’m wondering if maybe he’s looking out his window too. I’m wishing that he would notice me.
It’s three in the morning. I’m still staring out my window. I’m thinking about his dark hair I’m thinking that maybe it stole it’s darkness from the night.
I’m on the bus. I’m thinking about the tires turning. One circle… Then another… Then another. I’m wondering if he ever thinks about stupid things like tires and hair and the other person in the mirror. He probably doesn’t.
I’m walking down the hallway, following the rhythm in my head again. I’m walking to my locker again.
My day is going quickly again. Now I’m home again, sitting in my room. Staring out my window again.
Our neighbors are coming over for dinner tonight. Mom says that I should show him my studio. I tell her that I’m invisible. I tell her that he won’t even see me. Maybe he won’t even hear me. She laughs.
They’re here. Mom is answering the door. I am finishing up in the kitchen. We are having spaghetti with meatballs and a side of green beans. I don’t like green beans.
I’m sitting at the table twirling the spaghetti with my fork. I’m thinking about how I feel when I’m twirling around. When I’m dancing. When I’m her.
The grown-ups are going to go play some boring games that only they could understand. Mom sends him with me. We’re going to my studio. He’s looking at me weird. I’m happy that I finally exist.
I’m opening the door to my room of mirrors. To my sanctuary. He steps in and I follow. I ask him if he dances. He says that he’s not any good at it. I’m happy that he can hear me.
I turn on some music. I’m thinking about how much I want to dance right now. It would be nice to dance with him. It would be nice to show him that other girl.
He recognizes the song that is playing right now. He tells me that he saw me dancing Tuesday night. He says this is the song that was playing when he saw me through the window.
I’m blushing. I’m thinking about the house. His house. I’m thinking about it lighting up the darkness.
He’s telling me that I’m beautiful. He asks if I think about him as much as he thinks about me. He asks if I ever think about how perfect his hair is. He says mine is. He asks if I think he’s weird. All I can do is smile.
He says I have a pretty smile. Then he kisses me. I’m thinking that I’m not really awake. Can we do this again sometime? Can we repeat this scene?
I’m walking to my locker. There’s new music today. I’m thinking that I like this music better. He’s heard this new music. He says he likes my music.
I’m at my locker. Inside there’s three red roses and a picture of my dance studio. The other girl is standing there. She is everywhere now. I am not alone anymore and I’m going to the dance next month.
Monday… Tuesday… Wednesday… Thursday… Friday… Saturday… Sunday… Monday… Tuesday… Wednesday… Thursday… Friday… Saturday… Sunday… Never alone…
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"The simplest way that i can understand therapy is that we're born a certain
way, we're taught to be something different, and we spend our whole lives
trying to unravel it and ultimately align ourselves with who we really are." ~Billy Corgan
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"Writing songs is super intimate. It's a bit like getting naked"~ Gwen Stefani