Title: Undiagnosed

Author: Karole

Subject: Drama/angst

Summary: If you could disappear, would you? Have you ever felt nauseous when someone was close to you, in your bubble?  Eighteen year old Caroline, a senior year of high school, has managed to make herself disappear, by avoiding and barely speaking. Now she is forced in situations, that make her face her fears and change her mind and a harsh thoughts about the world around her.  Lesbian Love and Lust..dont like..dont read.

Chapter: Labeled Mad.

            It was winter, because of if it, I waited for my school bus, with two shaking people, who were complaining about the cold. Not just once, but ever thirty seconds that passed by. One girl, that was shaking,  slightly elbowed me and said ‘its cold’ If I wasn’t out there for the last ten minutes with her, and couldn’t figure out that it was below O, then I am sure I would have notice that not a silent moment could go by without her continues whining. She found me strangle already, so I took my jacket off myself, and handed it to her, leaving me in my black t-shirt. She started cussing, and flipping out, like I was mad; even if she took it over her jacket and gratefully, trying to warm herself with it. The bus came soon after though, and I was glad the last two minutes were about how I was crazy, rather then one more moment of her every brilliant realization that it was cold.
The bus driver spoke her greeting to her but looked upon me with the strangest glare that I couldn’t help but to smirk. “What? It’s tropic hot out there.” I said as half laughed sitting on the old bus seat that could have been pissed on by a five year old yesterday, and washed to cover it up, with no chemicals to really take it away. I hated this society of morons who only thought if something wrong you hide it rather then solving the situation. In fact, I hated going to this school, this high school that each individual mourned their own death, not realizing that they were really among the living, or at least the undead. Those who even dare to smile, or laugh, with their friends are usually mocked later for acting like fools. I come to think its envy, jealous of someone who is willing to act like a fool. But I care not. I fit this; I fit in the undead world. I am this stereotype of this prison society, I to don’t know when the last time I felt that I could smile. Perhaps I am the only one who is aware of this selfishness of this act, but I do not care. Like my father said, I am a spoiled little brat; therefore, I am going to do what feels right.
This winter was beyond cold. The only thing that got me not to shiver, was the yelling in which I was mad was shouted of this dark red head figure, with her noise pierced, and brilliant green eyes. She slightly had a “Pretty” Goth look to her; but then again I don’t usually label people, I don’t waste my time to understand those names people create to understand each other instead of consuming their time. All I know is I am sure she heard she was mad, and yet she found me bewildering and it satisfied my hunger for a label of madness. To diagnose me that, yes, there is something wrong with you. You aren’t just fading in this society because you’re pitifully normal; you are really just fucked up. I bit my lip, trying to not convince myself not to smile. Although, for a second I thought I should so I was seen as more unusual. However, I wanted silence on this bus; I wanted to daydream of the perfect figure. I wanted to daydream of that figure’s lips, and I wanted to pretend that for some reason this figure saw something in me. Something that wasn’t all pretend, and I kissed this figure. I kissed, and I was returned in kiss. I imagined happiness, I imagined love, and then cursed my mind for being mad, even if it was what I wanted.
“So why did you give me your coat,” she sat next to me and I cursed myself silently for trying to get her attention off the cold and on to me. This was my first mistake, in all the years of my schooling. I was good with silence, good with disappearing, I might not have the right to smile with others, but at least I would be a lone. Why would she now ask the question, she already labeled me mad without asking, why couldn’t she just let it be?
“You said you were cold about five billion times,” I stroke out, “thought I help you out.” I am sure I could have been nicer in tone, but I was not in the mood to socialize. I might not be in the mood any day to be speaking, but at this moment in which I forced to, I defiantly didn’t, as she crowed next to me. I sat on my own usually on this bus, and I liked the space. Now I felt oppressed, I wanted to be a lone. She might have noticed that I felt ill with her near, but she didn’t notice that what I said meant to be harsh. It meant to be cold. Instead she thought it kind and she handed me my jacket back.
“Will thank you, I don’t really need it anymore.” She thanked as she grinned. I never new someone to smile at something I did. I never meant someone who actually sat next to me and picked up a conversation and actually responded to what I said as some favor. I looked at her for a moment, and realized that I was in lust. Yes, in lust. She was beautiful, she was glowing with a shinning smile, and I was a pervert that wanted her for it. I wanted to drain her of her sweet tender innocence
"So what’s your name?" She asked and I silently laughed to myself. I had known her since kindergarten, her name was Andrea Potter, she stood at 5'2, but stood at 4'10 till eighth grade where she had a little bit of a growth spurt. She is seventeen years old. Her father name is Paul Potter and her mother Jenny Park, taking her median name after they divorced when Andrea was in 6th grade. I was not her stalker, its just you pick up things about people when they are forced in the same society for your entire youth, draining the life out of you. I have heard her speeches a few times, 'hi, my name is Andrea.' Not to mention she has lived two houses down from me from the beginning of this hell. In fact our parents tried to get us to communicate, but did fail being that Andrea could never truly see me. I did my best to disappear in the shadows of her back yard, or really her understanding of what a kid should be.
I didn’t expect her to know a lot of who I was, but my name, I figured she should at least know. At least she had the courage to dismiss her fear of being embarrassed, and asked my name without any shame. That took some strength. Then again, if her next question was, ‘are you new here, I might have had to puke.
"Caroline," I told her as I looked back out the window of the tainted old bus. I hated this bus, with its shadow ruff and its grass green seats. Part of me thought of saying to her, "your mom, fuck off." Or say a name like "Emily Dickinson." And wonder if she would even have a clue. I didn’t though, instead I told her my name and acted like it didn’t bother me, or care. Which in all fairness, I didn’t care; I like the concept that I did my best impression of an invisible person.
"Sorry, I did know that, your name is Caroline Sanders. I am just not very good at getting to know people, I ask stupid questions sometimes."
She made me laugh slightly in a muffle sort of way and wondered why today she picked the day to try. What made me so lucky for this day to get this wonderful present, perhaps I had some lucky charms for breakfast. Oh sweet sarcasm, why must I be a cynic?  Ha, this stupid society has really made me so fucked up.

            “I don’t bite.” She said and I gazed upon her again and wonder where in the random world that came from. Till I realized I was shaking again, a response I couldn’t control when I was close to people.  I wonder if in the beginning my life I was conditioned to a phobia of people. Perhaps I was given negative punishment, each time I crawled to another baby. At last, this couldn’t my excuse; I couldn’t see my parents permitting such a mental conditioning, being that they yearn for me to socialize in healthy manner and environment.  They did this, of course, while I begged on both knees to be home schooled.  My father could teach me religion/philosophy, world geography, and anything in the social studies department.  My mother could have taught my English, Math, and all the basics.  Even though I had more of an equal understanding of math with my mother when I was twelve, and ten with my father.  The adults say we have no concept of math skills because were trained how to use a calculator. They don’t understand, we just under math in a different way. They were taught how to add, multiply, portions, division.  We are trained, or at least try to be taught how to use Os and 1s so we can become less human, and more mechanical.   I am sure there are some human aspects being that it is a public school. There was still a diversity that flowed, even if our society’s money, policy, and standers may wish it not be so.  In Elementary, it was the popular vs dorks, the crazies, and the occasional few outsides, which did include me. In Jr. High, it was the Punk’s vs. the Preps, or whatever was between. In high school, I guess no one really cares. It is shown though passions, the attitudes, the politics, and opinions, that I believe, are always highly overrated.  The violence and the political movements, and the cussing to show you are better then the oppression of that government and rules put on us. I don’t care though for passion, I rather just disappear like I started when I was young.

            I was lost in my thought for long time, that I forget that I was sitting next to her as she glared me waiting for a response to her, what she thought, was a witty commentary. It had gotten so easy for me to lose time, by thinking. As if I could stare at a clock, and it would move because I would block out all the time starring. I would either think of love, or think about death, or some crazy thing between.  When someone is staring at you though, and doing that wave thing in front of your eyes, I hadn’t master blocking that out. Manly because I never had too before, except for a few teachers who actually said ‘good morning Caroline? You sleeping with your eyes open again?’

            “Sorry, I guess I am little chilly now.” I don’t know why I gave in to my pride. I wasn’t even cold, my thoughts were too distracted from it. However, I rather her believe that I am ass thinking I am stronger then the rest, instead of completely withdrawn that I was too afraid of human contact, or her. Isn’t the first lesson you learn in life to never show fear? That’s my father said anyway, but I think he was just talking about kids. I don’t know, I should pay closer to people’s ramblings.

            Her lips did this ‘U’ thing again, and I had a craving to kiss her. Something about that smile drifted me into an earlier daydream, and I gave that figure a name, and it was her name for the moment. I wished her to leave at the same moment, being with those thoughts I shook harder, and wished her to leave before I fallow threw, and made a new homophobic prick because I couldn’t control my teenage hormones. 

            “Wow, you’re really shivering,” She wrapped me in my coat, and wrapped me in hers arms, rubbing my arms, as if we were close friends that had known each other for so long. She didn’t realize that I was shaking because she was close to me, she didn’t realize that it was because I was a pervert, and I wanted to take my hand and please her. She didn’t understand it was because I am not used to human touch, at least human touch that was not from my parents. That was a different Caroline, not the Caroline that was sheltered in her own demented shell protecting her from those her age. Not to mention, I am pervert. Couldn’t she tell by my blushed face? Couldn’t she tell that I was nothing but ill inside, and that if she stayed close she might catch my disease? She needed to stay away, or she might become fucked up like me. Demented in the head, and cursing the air that so kindly kisses her and me.  The only thing that I could tell that was shared between us.

            This was the longest bus drive that I have ever lived. We passed the gassed station, and I thought we paced it in hour ago. Although that thought must have been mad, since the trip to the school was only fifteen minutes at max. She was crowding my bubble, although I dared not to say a word crude. I should, why was this girl, Andrea, deciding to speak to me now. I wish for a moment that I truly could go invisible.  Her perfume smelt rosary and I couldn’t help to take it my lungs. 

            Red started to hit the windows, with the sun raising above the lake we past by. I new soon we would be at school with this, and I was slightly comforted. In fact, the next thing I new we were at school, and I jumped out the doors and flew away with my feet, and from her, from everyone who was too close.