The Silent Treatment | Teen Ink

The Silent Treatment

April 8, 2015
By GracieMay SILVER, Brownsville, Oregon
GracieMay SILVER, Brownsville, Oregon
9 articles 0 photos 4 comments

Favorite Quote:
Writing is a form of therapy; sometimes I wonder how all those who do not write, compose or paint can manage to escape the madness, melancholia, the panic and fear which is inherent in a human situation.
Graham Greene

His shirt, baggy and grey, was wrinkled at the seams; the V-neck of his shirt reminded me of a pajama top and his pants were basketball shorts that were above his knee and black. His feet were huge, covered in a pair of red Nikes. You could see the blue, prominent veins on his tiny arms as he shook them at me. His hair stuck up in odd places, and looked almost grey. His eyes, too far apart, were ocean blue, not just any ocean, but west coast blue. The murkiness glazed in his eyes as he tried to coax me into speaking. His nails were dirty and un-cut as he pulled them through his hair; his teeth, covered in braces, crooked and gapped, smiled as he emitted his high pitched laughter. It sounded as if a hyena was on laughing gas as he laughed at his cleverness. I continued to ignore him as he waved my stolen pencil high in the air, showing his slender nose and slightly chiseled face. I scowled at the table and continued my work.
He came over to my table and hit my arm, trying in vain to get me to answer. I only looked at his arm, on it were light blonde hairs and his skin looked as if it was cut into red blotches and was smooth to the touch. I looked at my science book and glowered, operation silent treatment had turned into torture. He taunted and teased me with his high laugh, his voice escalating by the syllable. He cackled, his gray hair moving up and down as his eyes squinted. I most defiantly hated operation silent treatment.
I continued to ignore him as the day went by, dreading every second of his lousy attempts at conversation. “Just talk to me!” he had yelled, running his hands through his hair, pulling at his shirt that was too big for him. I turned away and pretended to be very interested in the small flower that had sprouted in between the cracks of the cement.
I had closed my eyes and counted to ten. “I hate him. He’s a jerk and not worth my time. Don’t talk.” I thought over and over again and soon, he left. I blew out a sigh of relief as the last period of my day would consist of me and only me.
I typed furiously on the keyboard until the bell rang; I jumped out of my seat and ran for the yellow buses, not bothering to look back. I could feel his presence at my back and I slowly turned, secretly. His light blue eyes held sadness as he walked down the asphalt; his backpack stitched and frayed at the seams was black and gray with the Jan Sport logo. He stared at the ground shuffling his feet, looking miserable and a twisting guilt sensation came over me. I frowned; I was not guilty for making him sad. He had been rude and mean and I wouldn’t give in. I slung my black and pink backpack higher on my shoulder and walked faster, not wanting to trip on the step up onto the sidewalk.
I made my way through the laughing crowd of students, not looking or talking as I only had one goal in mind; get to the bus as fast as you can and don’t look back. I had kept my head down as I weaved through the crowd of blues and greens, smelling the odor of cheap cologne and expensive perfume. I gagged at the stench of putrid lilacs and berries as I avoided the huge red pole. But finally after several attempts at worming my way through the mob of students, I made my way onto the bus. I kept my eye on seat 17 and walked down the aisle, slowly, telling myself not to turn around, to not look back because I knew he was behind me.
He grabbed my shoulder and I shrugged him off, sitting in the brown faux leather seats. I stared at the ripped hole that was filled with white puff and cried. I couldn’t take it any longer. Why wouldn’t he leave me alone! The sick creep had bothered me ever since last year and I couldn’t get away from him. He followed me like a trained cat and I was his owner. I cried even more. I hated stupid cats with grey fur and blue eyes that laughed obnoxiously high. I hiccupped at the thought and stared at the window as the trees rolled by until suddenly I felt the seat next to me shift.
“Can I sit here, please?” he asked innocently.
I looked into his blue eyes and shrugged; I didn’t have a drive anymore. I dried my tears and scooted closer to the window, willing myself not to glance in his direction.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. I looked towards him and he smiled crookedly, scrunching his nose and titling his head. I turned back to the glass window and frowned.
“Too late,” I silently said looking at my hands; red from clenching them into a fist, tiny crescent shaped marks had appeared onto my tight fist as I pried my nails off my poor, red skin.
“What did I do?” he said exasperated. The tears crept down from my eyes and made their way down my cheek. The tear dripped onto my blue jeans as I wiped the rest away furiously. He caught sight of my tears and moved closer. He grabbed my hand and I exploded, no longer able to keep the words built up in my mind; my feelings and thoughts all behind the dam had finally exploded.
“You know what you did! Every single day I come to school, dreading it because of you! You tease me and pester me, I know you hate me just say it, I don’t care anymore!” I said as I glared at him defiantly, willing him to say anything.
“You think I hate you?” He said carefully looking at the ground and frowning, his ruffled hair blowing in the wind from the open window.
“You tell me every day, how much you think my friends are better than me and how you would never want to work with me! Don’t deny it, you hate me and I want you to go away!” I sounded like a three year old in a fifteen year old body but all my feelings flew out of me like a sky diver flying out of a plane.
“I was just kidding, gosh” he said scoffing at my answer.
“That’s what they all say, but then the victim goes home and cries herself to sleep while the bully is oblivious to her pain!” I screeched pushing him out of my seat and onto the walkway.
“OW!” He said glaring at me. I harrumphed and crossed my arms, too angry to speak. I couldn’t believe that he had the nerve to say he was kidding!
“,” I said enunciating each word and filling it with venom.
Hurt filled his eyes as he turned away, picking himself up off the walkway, “I’m sorry,” he whispered, almost in audibly.
I buried my face into my hands and let the tears fall, thinking: why couldn’t this day be over?   

The author's comments:

Please comment or like, I put a lot of myself in this piece and I hope you like it, enjoy!

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