21 April 2012
Why me? What did I do? These were the questions I had kept asking myself, over and over. Scenarios, paths, choices… What could have been different... I just needed to leave for a moment though. I wish things could be different. Why me? I gripped their wet hand tightly in mine while I tried to breathe steadily as a tear rolled down my face, and I thought over the potential of other viable scenarios that could have been.
I remember the first time I met them. No, I remember before that, when I first saw them. I was under a tree, reading, feeling the breeze run across my cheek, over my hand, and ripple through the pages of my book. It was sunny out, and it was spring, the beginning of a new cycle in life. The blossoms from the trees were at their peak, and their petals had blanketed the ground turning it pink. I wasn’t paying too much attention at the time of what was around me; it all looked ordinary to me. I could easily be oblivious to the things around me, as long I had my books. I loved to read. This was the true beginning.
I flipped another page, trying to find out what ever happened to Jesse. Was she captured and tortured, or did she escape? I couldn’t finish the next page since someone rudely shoved a box in front of it. I looked up at the perpetrator, about to say something, but they spoke first, “You said you would help. How long do you intend to read there hiding instead of helping me?”
I grabbed the box and set it aside, looking back down at my book. “After I am done reading this book. The project can wait, so let me—hey! Give that back!” They took my book from me.
“Not until you help me. If I let you read this,” they pointed to the book, “We will never finish this in time.” I made a reach for the book, but they backed away. “Oh, no you don’t,” they ran back indoors and yelled back, “Bring the box!”
I got up on my feet and brought the box with me as I muttered to myself, “Why can’t she let me finish at least the chapter… Sheesh, so impatient…” I closed the door behind me.
I was assigned to help them with this project since I didn’t participate in the class so much. I didn’t think I would have a helper in it either, but the teacher insisted since it was a good idea for me. This was because I could never get my work done on time, and blamed it on my books. Had I hid my book in class better, I might have never got it taken away so many times, and then she may have gone with one of the other students. Or perhaps if she wasn’t so keen on trying to involve me in the class, I could avoid it. I could have considered speaking up, or the teacher could of given me someone else. Of course, she chose the most enthusiastic individual in class with the most energy to be with me—the book worm. I could have also protested against working with them, but I thought they’d be easier to work with. Besides, I wanted to know why they chose to have orange hair in the first place; it certainly stood out, unusual. She refused to answer that question after class, so I stopped pursuing for it.
The following couple months were irregular to my routine. Everything stayed the same; I woke up, read my way to school, read during classes with occasionally getting my book confiscated, and read my way home till I fell asleep, with choosing to work on the project most the day on the weekends. At least, by work, I meant read and let them work on it, then stay up as long I could at night till I fell asleep. After that first weekend, that orange haired girl started taking my books too, but more so than the teacher. At least my dad didn’t mind, or should I say uncle… Sometimes I call him mom just to joke with him, but he was my dad to me. My uncle would never tell me about my parents, so to me, he was my dad and mom, and so called him as such. He let me do what I wanted. He thought reading was good, and there was worse out there for me to get into.
The third month was when I finally accepted that I would have to work on this project and also began to go over to her house, too. The first time over there felt ominous, ranging from all directions. The house was white, and so were the interior walls. This was the first time over at a friend’s house, so it was mystifying to me. I felt a little overwhelmed. I didn’t know what would entail that night; I just knew it was hard being there, especially since I promised to leave my books. I just couldn’t manage to be calm, and so asked my friend for a book to hold onto. They agreed, but as long I would not read it, because we were there to keep working on the project.
“Can I at least know what the title of the book is called? I won’t read it, I just want to know. It’s not a dictionary, is it?” I questioned her. Not knowing what a book’s title was, was like not knowing how to drive to me. To me, not knowing was considering driving similar to eating an onion; just how can one associate those two?
“You may not. Ask again, I will take it away. You said you just wanted a book to hold onto, and so there you have one,” she had told me, “The planning is almost over anyways, and then you can get back to reading your books. Now, what do you think we should have planned for the last day?”
I looked at her, and then back down at the book in my hands with a cover over it, just waiting to be revealed… “We could just do a reading competition…,” I looked up at her again, “Or, a book hunting competition?”
“We already had asked the class for additional thoughts, and one of those was NOT a reading competition. Also, who wants to find a book at school?”
“… I was joking about the reading competition…,” I looked down at the book again, wanting to take a peek, “Perhaps we can ask some of the store owners if they’d donate a couple items, and can have an auction. The money can then be used to support the school. What do you think?”
“That is a possibility,” the tea whistle started to blow, so she got up, “I’m going to go get the tea, be right back.” She had left the room. I kept my eye on her till I could see her no more, and kept listening for her footsteps to make certain she was gone. I was determined to find the name of this book, and I wasn’t leaving till I knew it. I looked around the room to make sure there would be no witnesses, and then at the doorway to the hall again, before down at the book, and lifted off the cover. There in white letters was the title of the book. Essence of Beginner’s Magic: book 1. I thought this a little funny. Like if there ever is such a thing as magic… I wanted to check inside the book now, since this captured my curiosity in full. I quickly opened it, but the pages were blank. I checked the front of the book, the back, the middle, all blank. I looked closer at the pages, hoping that they might just be faded, or something. I set the book down as I searched my bag for a pencil to make a mark on one of the pages so I could check it later. If there was any magic, my friend knew, and I felt certain I would find my answer there.
I set the book back down and went out to check on my friend. It was just the two of us, and the book was bugging me being empty. Books were not meant to be empty. I rounded the corner, following the noise to the kitchen, as I watched my friend direct cups from the cupboard, pouring the tea while searching for something in the pantry. “… Lauren?” I watched as the cups set themselves down on the counter, along with the tea pot on the stove, while she looked at me.
“You saw, didn’t you?”
“yes… I’m sorry. I looked in the book, and wouldn’t even have believed it had I not seen this…”
“So, now what? You looked at my book, and seen me.”
I couldn’t think of anything to say, I just needed to think. My mind was flowing with thoughts, ideas, and was just so much to take in all at once. I had to take a breather. I went back home so I can think it over, but heard my uncle talking to my friend on the phone. He was telling her about my parents. Why would he tell her and not me? I felt a bit angry. I couldn’t make much of it out, my mind was spinning, and I wanted to be alone. I went back out; somewhere I can hide for a while. I went to my favorite hiding spot, which were a few trees nearby a lake. Not many people came by there, and I could hide there for some time.
I circled through thoughts in my mind. I could have chosen not to look at the book, or the cover. I would have obeyed her wish, and none of this might have happened suddenly. I could have chosen to pretend I didn’t look at the book, and not go out, or, perhaps remained there, and asked. Getting answers is what I want most right now, and I can’t get that many here. I could have tried listening more to my uncle, and find an answer there. Maybe if I listened, it would of explained everything. Was I the only one to see? There were so many choices, and I was overwhelmed by all of the choices. I kept thinking for hours, not even noticing it was dark out, or that it begun to rain either, until I couldn’t endure the cold anymore. I was tired, but my mind kept on racing. I would ask myself, Why me? There could have been anyone who could have seen it, and yet, I was the one to have seen her use magic. What did I do? I feel like I had left a friend, a dear friend. I didn’t notice how much the time together has meant together, and I actually left my books at home for once. I never do that. If I had brought one of my books, things could be different. I stumbled around in the darkness, trying to find my way home. I walked for what seemed a long time. I might have accidently went deeper than I thought, since the brush kept becoming more abundant. I must have walked in the opposite direction.
If my friend was here, I wouldn’t be lost, they would light the way for me with magic. Or I could even apologize for leaving. I just couldn’t think clearly. I stumbled for the sixth time over a branch or something, this time spraining my ankle. I couldn’t help but begin to cry over my predicament. Right now, I want my frien
Outcomes • Opuss № I