Carry on My Wayward Son
There is but one nightmare that I fear above anything else. A recurring dream since as far back as I can remember. It’s of becoming a failure of a person—a disappointment to those all around me, and the feeling that I must erase my existence from this world lest I disappoint someone else. It is not based upon any real memories but has caused panic attacks whenever similar emotions are evoked by events in real life.
Breathing calmly but nervously, I dare not look into the classrooms as I tiptoe by the open doors. Why the hell do they bother with calling attendance? After all, it's my own life, isn't it? Muttering these words inaudibly I walk aimlessly down the hallway.
That I am here at all is a manifestation of my will to once again "integrate," or "get with the program,” is it not? But… is it even worth it? I've not been to English class for two months. Would the teacher even recognize me? Or perhaps she’ll ostracize me in front of the class for being a worthless student? They all act high and mighty but they’re just animals in the end. I can't go in. Where can I go?
Perhaps I should talk to my "official counselor”—the one to whom my welfare at school is assigned to? Yet I'm afraid his advice may just be "shape up or else." Doesn't he know I already know that? Is there no one who understands my predicament? I’m lazy, I’m forgetful, I waste everything… I am not like anyone else. I've tried, but I can't remember where or when things went wrong.
What I need is a second chance. To redeem myself for mistakes made, so that I may become again a mainstream kind of guy. I started out okay, didn't I? There are just too many things to do. Too many things I can't do. Things I don't quite understand. Things I fear. What's the use of being diligent if all I feel is shame in the end?
Yes, I am afraid. So afraid I cringe over and grasp my stomach in pain whenever I sit. I'm lazy, I must be. But I don't remember ever consciously being lazy. Maybe I'm just reluctant? It's fear that makes me reluctant. No, it's not laziness, it's reluctance, I think? Reluctance because I fear losing what little I have, and I fear not understanding what they say.
How could a temporary lapse of reason bring such bad consequences? Or am I just overanalyzing things? Why am I leaning against the wall outside of English class, in fear of the teacher and my friends (are they my friends?), wondering how the others smile so brightly, anticipating graduation to come soon, pretending all is well in their lives?
Need to be as calm and cool as possible. Coolness is a virtue that must be maintained at all costs. So I sit just outside the classroom, out of the view of others, eavesdropping as usual. After all, this had been my main method of integrating, right? Catching the waves of what is cool and adopting myself to it—perhaps too much. I know.
Perhaps courage is what I need. The courage to walk in there and declare myself a man of courage, apologize for being a nobody, and catch up to the best of my ability. It's the manly thing to do. Face up to my problems. That's what the songs all say, right? In the movies, kids like me have a sidekick to verbalize these moments, but I guess I'm alone on this.
I'm so quiet now, eating my lunch early while still leaning against the wall. I don’t want anyone to see what I’m eating. I think I eat ugly. I can’t remember the last time I sat and ate with anyone at school. It’s probably the one thing that’ll give away my true identity as a loser. I eat freakin’ ugly, so it doesn’t matter how nice I deck myself out. Don’t look at me when I eat.
Soon, everyone will graduate, but I’ll remain another year as a sore sight for the teachers… the one who hardly comes to class. Worse yet, I will be forgotten. Soon, what little progress I've made with the kids shall all be washed away. The memory of me to them will be no more, for soon there will be nothing that binds us.
Yet, in a single moment of clarity, the thoughts freeze while a boost of fresh warm blood permeates the mind. Feeling resolute, I aim to make this moment count. I head towards the light shining down the hallway, my head drained of blood, my eyes half closed in numbness, and chin held high. I walk toward the white window, taking off my prized jacket and shoes. I run ever so slightly in the beginning. As I accelerate, I hear the sound of ruffled feathers; then the feet no longer clasp the ground; the clear jingle of something sharp breaking; and soon the sound of wind outside the building brushing against my ears.
