Departed

I open my eyes. I slowly reach for my phone as it sounds a loud obnoxious alarm. It’s seven a.m. on a regular Monday morning. I drag my lifeless body out of bed as I head to the kitchen to make breakfast. After finishing a bowl of cheerios, I trudge back to my room and continue with the rest of my morning routine. I make it out of the house by seven forty-five, and since I live only two blocks from my high school, I know I’ll make it on time. On my way out, I shout behind me to my mom, “Bye mom, love you!” as I do every morning. I wait for a second, no answer. She must have been busy, so I carry on out the front door, shutting it behind me.

I enter the big brick building right on time and soon find myself sitting in my first period English class. The bell rings, but everyone continues to chatter as usual. I have no friends in that class so I simply stay quiet in my seat in the back of the room. Mrs. Watson hushes the room until the talking has faded away. She begins to talk about the book we just started in class, I don’t even remember the name of it. She then asks a fairly easy question about one the characters and invites anyone to give her the answer. A few silent seconds pass, “Anyone?” she repeats. She looks around the room, but no one gives her a response. Finally, I begin to speak up from the back of the room, giving her an answer I was exceptionally pleased with. No one even bothers to look at me. Not even Mrs. Watson. In the next few seconds, this boy Jackson repeats the same answer I just gave, but merely switched the wording around. “Good!” Mrs. Watson exclaims as she turns around to begin writing something on the white board. “I just said that.” I affirm, a little annoyed with not getting any credit for my sufficient answer. Nobody acknowledges me. Not even the usual judgmental people in our class turn their head from the front of the room. I become irritated. I begin to add on to my original answer about the character of Penelope from our book. Ignored again. “Hello?” I utter from the back of the room. “Mrs. Watson…” I wait a few seconds and become embarrassed as no one answers to me. It’s very strange and something feels weird. I get up from my seat and start to the front of the room. “Hey” I tap my teacher on the shoulder, but all she does is sneeze and walk off to her desk. Jackson begins to giggle from behind me. I turn to him, although he makes no eye contact with me. No one does. Everyone acts as if I’m not even there. I lean towards Jackson’s desk and start to raise my voice, “What, you think this is funny?!” He continues to ignore me and talk with the kid next to him. No one so much as glances in my direction. I start pacing around the room. I frantically wave my arms in front of a few faces and bang my fists on a few desks. “Hello?” I’m shouting now. “Is this some kind of joke?!” Nothing. A feeling of immense panic comes over me. I march to the nearest desk and pick up this girl’s book before quickly turning and chucking it at the wall. With all my might, I let out a huge yell. The book violently hits the wall, and then falls to the floor with a thud. I look around. No one’s looking at me.

Nothing’s making sense. As I look back to the girl’s desk, the book is sitting there, precisely the way it looked before I picked it up. Tears begin rushing down my face and there’s nothing left to do but get out of there. Before I know it, my legs are carrying me out the front of the school. Even though I pass a few bystanders on my way out, no one bothers to stop me or even look at me. I’m desperate to get home. As my jog picks up to a run, my cry evolves to a sob. It’s only been a few short minutes before I’m approaching my front door. My hand turns the knob, and as I hope to find relief, I uncover the complete opposite.
My heart skips a beat and I drop to my knees. Filling my living room, are endless amounts of family and friends dressed in black. An eerie silence occupies the house. With a few sniffles here and a soft whispering voice there. My brain is trying it’s hardest to wrap my mind around what’s going on. It’s not until I see the big framed image of my face next to the words, “In loving memory of Alice,” that I understand. I have departed.