Don't Change
I am doing homework.
Again. Sometimes it seems that's all I do with my life -- go to school
and do homework. But that's wrong. There is so much more. I'll get to that
in time, though. You have to know something about me for this all to make
sense. That's what they say, anyway. No one cares about the life of a stranger...
So I'll tell you about
me, to start with. I'm 5'11, which is tall for my age...especially for
a girl. I have brown eyes and brown hair. Short brown hair - almost like
a boy's cut, but not quite. I'm told I look nice with short hair, but I'm
not sure I believe people who tell me that.
I'm kind of skinny,
and eighteen years old, but I don't drive yet. No special reason, really...
I've just never gotten around to getting my license. There always seemed
to be other things in the way...
Things like school.
I'm a senior this year, but I'm taking all hard classes. I'm expected to,
being the class salutatorian. It should make me feel happy, to be able
to say that. For some reason, though...
I don't remember the
last time that knowledge made me happy. It's been such a long road, to
get there... That's part of the reason, I suppose. Why else do I take those
classes? There isn't really any reason to... Calculus, Physics, Advanced
Psychology... they're not really going to help me out in life. I hate my
schoolday.
I shouldn't say that.
It isn't true. I'm in the choir, you see... I made it into the performance
group. I even have solo coming up in our concert next week.
That's really the only
spark in my life right now, the singing. A one hour retreat from the world...
a vacation from all of those faces, all those people. All those expectations.
I wish it wasn't like this. That I had a normal life, with normal friends,
a normal family. Less pressure, you know? I wish I didn't have to live
up to all of their ideas of how I should act, how I should look. I wish
that it wasn't quite so easy to lose myself in it. I wish...
That's not right, though.
Wishes don't do anything; they're just words. Words don't change anything.
They never will.
My mom is calling me
from downstairs. I share this room with my older sister, when she's home
from school. She's a nice enough roommate... better than any I'm likely
to find in college. For the most part, we get along well. She yells up
again, louder this time. She must have thought I had my headphones on.
I always used to wear them, every minute I possibly could. It didn't help,
though; the music couldn't take away the reality.
I'll be there in
a minute, I answer back, just like always. It's a routine. We both
know what she'll say next. She says it anyway, though.
Come down soon. It's time
to help.
I wonder what it is this time. I just did
the bathroom Saturday, so it can't be that. Probably dishes. We have an
agreement in my house -- one person will cook and the rest will do dishes.
Tonight Mom cooked. It must be the dishes.
I come downstairs; there're
thirteen of them. An unlucky number, if you believe in that sort of thing.
I don't, but maybe I should. I mean, there's really no reason not to. Nothing
that can be proven, anyway.
I head into the kitchen
and start the water. We don't have a dishwasher, at least not a mechanical
one. My parents used to joke with us, telling us that they have two dishwashers
-- me and my sister. They think it's hilarious. I used to, too.
I turn on a CD in the
next room, the dining room. I don't even know what it is, just something
to listen to. Anything to listen to. Life can be so monotonous. I return
to the kitchen and start washing again. When they're all clean and rinsed,
I'll call my sister. It's her turn to dry tonight. I hate drying.
They're done and I return
to my room, briefly shouting out to my sister that it's her turn. I take
the CD up with me. It has some nice songs on it, so I'll put it in my system
to listen to while I finish my work.
I don't want to do it
now, though. The work, that is. Instead I just lay on my bed and stare
at the ceiling and think. I suppose I've been kind of misleading you. My
family and my friends are all normal. They're happy, energetic people;
sometimes that gets very annoying. But I love them all, despite it, because
of it.
I guess that leaves
me to be the wierd one. It's true in a way. I've always been a loner. I
like to read... I actually prefer being by myself, most of the time. It's
only sometimes I like to be around people, or in front of people. Like
when I'm singing, and I can lose myself in the music; I can be the person
in the song. I don't have to worry about what people think.
I care too much about
others' opinions, even though I don't want to. I'd rather be in complete
control of myself and my moods and my life, like some of my favorite characters
in the novels. But I'm not; I'm just me. And that means that I care how
they think, what they believe. I think that's probably the only reason
I do so well in school...I want to make them all proud of me, no matter
what the cost. Especially my parents -- they want so much for me, because
they know I can achieve it. They know I'm smart and mostly good and so
responsible. So do my friends. I hate it almost, being the smart one in
the group. I feel so closed in. But that's the way it is. I know that all
I have to do is look in a yearbook, any one of my old ones. I have my friends
autograph them every year. Most people at school do. They all write the
same thing, how I'm a good friend or a nice person... that generic sort
of message everybody writes. They all end the same way, too: Don't change.
Sometimes I wonder if they mean it. So I guess I know what they want, too.
I don't know what I
want. I guess what I want most is a permanent release. All of those expectations,
those responsibilities. It's hard having every one know they can rely on
you, that you won't bail out on them for some piddly little reason. There's
so much stress. I don't want to let them down. But now...
I'm finding it hard
now, to keep on caring. I still care what everyone thinks, that hasn't
changed. I just can't seem to be able to motivate myself with it anymore.
I don't want to fail, but I don't want to succeed. I wish there was some
way out.
But there I go, wishing
again. This time, though, I suppose it worked. I know of a way out of all
of this mess. I know of several, actually. I could just stop. I could change
myself. Or I could just go crazy.
But... I couldn't just
stop. It'd be too hard to see the disappointed looks on the faces all around
me. They wouldn't know how to act. It's be as if I'd betrayed all of them,
by turning out to be nothing like the girl they thought they knew. I couldn't
take it, knowing I've caused them such confusion and pain.
I couldn't really change
myself, either. Not even little things, like my appearance. I've thought
about it before, though. I want blue hair, deep blue like the midnight
sky out in the country and away from all of the lights of the big city.
Brown is so plain. I'd to go to school with my hair done up in spikes,
like a frozen porcupine. But then I'd have to give up performing with the
choir. I could never do that. I'd just as soon die.
I've thought about suicide
before. It's so easy, in theory. A knife or a razor, when nobody's home.
Downing a few bottles of pills. I know where they're all kept, anyway.
I can't do this either, though. I know all the pain I'd be causing my family,
my friends. Maybe they'd feel guilty, like there was something they could
have done to help, and they didn't. I don't want them to feel bad. It's
not their fault.
So I guess that leaves
only one thing, right? I have thought about going crazy before. Letting
go of the silken strands of reality and just letting myself find some happy
place or time. Even if I have to make it up. Maybe I could meet faeries
or dragons. I like reading stories about them, after all. Maybe I'd meet
some, if I could let go of all my disbelief, all my common sense. Maybe
they'd even talk to me.
I sigh, almost regretfully.
Unfortunately, that's not an option either. Not right now it isn't, anyway.
There's that concert coming up. They're counting on me to be there. All
there, I mean. It wouldn't be right for me to give them extra work this
close to it. Besides, I want to sing. I love singing.
I am singing.
I'm singing? I hadn't
even realized it. I must have heard this CD more often than I thought.
A lullaby is playing right now, and a woman with the sweetest voice is
singing, crooning phrases over and over, as if to a baby.
Her accent is intoxicating.
What I wouldn't give for such a beautiful lilt... The magic that is her
voice weaves a spell over me, and I stop singing to just listen.
Go to sleep, she
intones, Do not cry. I am here, my wee child
I feel my eyelids get
heavy, and realize I am falling asleep, just listening to her. Tomorrow,
I remind myself, there will be plenty of time to think. I let the music
overtake me.
Go to sleep, Do not
cry. Tomorrow is a new day. Tomorrow is a new day...
I feel a stab of dread
at the last lines, but it feels like it comes from so far away. Tomorrow
is a new day.
And yet, somehow I know
that nothing will ever change.