At the end of the semester my English teacher handed back all the papers we had written all year so far, and the journals that we had been writing all year long, we had gotten to pick what ours looked like, mine unlike the rest of the girls in the class was not hot pink with little fuzzy lime green sparkles on them, that’s fine for them but not for me, mine was black nothing more plain black matt leather, I was the only one in my class who had one like this, and it was at the bottom of the pile with a grade that decided my fate in this class. Into my hands this little black book of my secrets fell, with a grade it was a b plus I had passed but the comments hurt they said I was morbid, dark, depressed, and needed to see a therapist, but that the writing style was beautiful.

As I read the words a rage more than anything I had ever felt came over me, before me everything swam red and dark, people were no longer people, they were obstacles in my way, in my way of the escape I so longed for but could never have, not really anyway, sure I could have some escape, in liquor, I could forget for awhile but it would come back stronger later, in the drugs I could have lost myself and my feelings but I didn’t I had never touched them out of fear. Out of a fear of dependency, besides the feeling of getting all of those memories come back would hurt more then losing them in the first place was worth. So now I had nothing only my little black book that housed everything that had happened since then, since when I gave up my escapes to try and be in the real world to try and allow people back into my life, and there has been very little that has been easy since then.

I ran into the hallway and out of the school not stopping to grab my coat from the locker that was mine and ran out on to the campus of my school, I was in a boarding school because, although he claimed it was for the education, my dad didn’t want me around, I remind him of my mom, who left him, and moved to America, we still live in England, and he was still bitter, and more troubled then ever, so in some ways maybe never being there was a blessing. I ran to my spot, it was a bench right of the path, that I always sat on, I’m the outcast, put in a dorm full of outcast, no one talks to us in plain sight of anybody else, and I was the only who would sit in the open where we could just be picked on, they called me brave, they thought I did it to be defiant to stand up for us to stand up for what I believed in, but really it was nothing so grand it was because I had no place else to go, no friends to speak of, and I had long ago made this my spot, the people from the other dorms would not sit there for fear of being associated with us, the geeks, the nerds, the outcast, the Goths, the true emos, the people who did not fit in anywhere else.

Having said that I was shocked when after sitting in the snow of over 20 minutes with out a coat letting the snow fall in my hair and cling to my dark wool sweater a warm body sat down next to mine, and a dark, long dress-coat was slipped over my shoulders, a warm scarf was wrapped around my neck, and before I could fight it a hat was place on my head. I started to take it off but a long fingered, pale hand reached out and stopped me, it reached over and grabbed my own hand and a deep, slightly rough, and strangely accented voice spoke, “You are shivering, therefore you are cold, yet someone gives you a jacket, and hat to keep your head warm and you try to remove them, at least leave them on until you have stopped shaking, and there will be no arguments.” I did not look at him but I did move my hand and fold them in my lap, where a pair of gloves had been laid, I turned to look at the man sitting beside me but before I even turned my head he growled out in a low voice, “Put them on, and then you will answer my questions and maybe I will answer yours, no don’t turn and look at me, you could, but why ruin your image of what or who you think I am by things as trivial as the truth?”

“How old are you?”

“I’m 17.”

“I would have guessed older, why are you out here in the snow without a coat? For at 17 one would think you would know that when it was cold you might want a coat.”

“One might, or one might think that I wanted to get away from something quickly.”

“I suppose one could think that, but I also suppose that one could tell you to go back inside for I’m sure you have some school work to do of some sort.”

“And I could respond that I do not, because it is the end of semester, therefore Christmas break begins as soon as the bell rings.”

“Ah, well in that case you had best be getting back to pack your things to return home for Christmas is what one may say back.”

“Ah, but, then I would say to one that I will not be returning home so you see I have nothing else to do but stay here in the cold watching the snow fall.” I could feel his eyes on me piercing into me. Watching me, waiting.

“And does that bother you?” his voice had dropped low but maintained his ruff harsh quality, “Or would you just rather have it that way.” His voice sent shivers up my spine pulling myself together I responded,

“And what if I’m indifferent?”

“Some how I highly doubt that.”

“What reason do you have to doubt that as far as I know this is the only time we’ve ever met.”

“I suppose it is now isn’t it, but most people would not be indifferent to not being invited home for Christmas.”

“Who told you I wasn’t invited to Christmas, how would you know that?”

“You just told me by your answer my dear.”

“I’m not your dear.”

“Then what would you be prefer to be called?”

“By my name.”

“As you wish, Alina.”

“That is not my name.”

“It is your full name is it not? I thought you wished to be addressed by your name.”

“By the name I go by not the name I was titled with.”

“But your full name is much prettier.”

“How would you know?”

His accent came out stronger as he responded, “I know a lot that people and a lot of things.”

“How fascinating, but I really must go now as the bell has just rung and I don’t want to be here when everyone else is. Good evening.” I slipped off the coat and turned to hand it to him. The brim of his hat shaded his face so that I could not see his eyes his dark coat was spread out around him, his pale hands ungloved. I continued to watch him even though I could see so little of his face I knew he was beautiful. I reached out to hand him the coat again but he made no move to take it just stood and began to walk away from the buildings and the parking lot into the woods.

Turning on my heel I walked away with the coat; I made it to my dorm and silently walked the halls. It was shaded and dark but warm. Unwelcoming but safe. I made it to my room where I found a note waiting for me:

Dear Ms. Alina,

I am terrible sorry for my hasty departure of earlier today. It was quite rude of me. I still have not completely adjusted to being around people. I found your company quite pleasant. I hope to see you again sometime in the near future. I would tell you my name or how this letter got here but what fun would that be? Besides those are really rather trivial matters in the grand scheme of things.

Until I next see you,

The Man From the Bench

Still holding the letter in one hand with trembling fingers I looked around the room, searching for him, finding no one I moved to the window to look out over the snow covered grounds of my prison that masqueraded as a school. Moving my other hand to the pane of glass and pressing my fingers to it; letting the cold seep into my flesh, while the other hand still clasped the letter. Muttering allowed, “Why me? Please God what did I ever to do to you?” resting my forehead next to my hand on the window pane, and watching the snow drift by my half shut eyes.