CSTs... they're easy. But exactly getting your freaking hands on them... that's another story. Homeroom teacher had the box of tests in front of her, but she wouldn't stop talking. Repeated banging the head on the wall might have stopped the flow of stories for a while. Now it's back? Maybe?
This jacket is warm.
Such a warm jacket.
It's all white.
It's so white.
It smells nice.
All soapy and fresh.
Such a nice clean white.
Just like this room.
The walls are soft.
So is the floor.
I think I can sleep on it if they let me. It's so comfortable.
Oh, the jacket has buckles. Shiny buckles. I can stare at them all day. They're so shiny.
Some meanie sewed the sleeves closed.
Oh, pooh. Now, I can't put my hands through the holes.
That might've been fun.
Putting hands through holes.
The jacket's tight, too.
Tight enough that I can't move my arms.
That's okay. The people in blue who come in the room do everything for me. They feed me. And clean me. Brush my hair. And carry me to bed.
Sometimes, they even take me out for walks. I like those times. The fresh air. The little birdy sounds. The sunlight (though the blue people don't let me stare at the source for long). And the openness. The life. The greenness. Outside is good. Outside is nice. They don't take me out enough.
There isn't much to do in this room.
Except stare at the white, white walls.
Then, the walls stare back. And a staring contest begins.
There's this one man. He has green eyes. Not like grass. It's darker. They're pretty. They're the same color as my right eye. Don't know what color the left one is. But his are nicer. They have little black and gold dots on it. Such nice eyes. He has red hair. It's long. Just like mine. Funny. We have a lot of the same colors. Except my hair is brown. Brown like dark chocolate. He isn't all blue. He wears multi-colored clothes. And they change each time he visits. He comes a lot. Into this very white room. Not as much as the blue people. But a lot anyway. He's nice. He always brings me a lollipop. Lollipops are yummy. It's always a different kind each time. Oh, sometimes, he tells me stories. They're really nice stories.
Much better than watching the walls stand.
Yes, much better.
He told me that he had met a girl a few years back. She was the funniest girl he had ever met. She also had a face only a mother could love. And him. They met when a bully stole his book─his most favorite book in the whole wide world─and she got it back. He gave her a cherry lollipop as thanks and it turned out that she loved lollipops. They've been best friends ever since. One was never without the other. Getting to know her, talking to her, basically being with her, he found himself slowly falling for her. It wasn't a shock to him. "Considering how beautiful how her personality was." Her expressions, her gestures, her little quirks here and there, he loved them all. She was the nicest, funniest, most loyal person he had ever been friends with. No matter what, the girl always stuck by him. "Through thick and thin." She would never fail to make him laugh. She was always there to make the world brighter, happier. He wouldn't had ever talked to her, never would have knew she existed, if it wasn't for that fateful encounter. He was fine by himself. He could've carried on fine on his own. Because they did meet, he couldn't stand being without her. He needed her now. She was the person he couldn't do without. He wouldn't have survived high school, his life, without her.
"This beautiful world shone. Shone only because it was behind that smile, her smile."
One day, the girl fell in love. No, more like she realized that she had fallen. And deeply too. Her heart was with someone who was always with her. Who had been with her since forever. Who held her hand with she was lonely. The one who lent her a shoulder to cry on when her little brother died. Who made her vegetable and lobster soup when she was bedridden. Who stayed by her side after that car crash that took half of her face and older sister away. Who comforted her after her mom took one too many pills, distraught after her beloved children's deaths. The one who gave her a home after her father drank himself to death. Who spent nights talking to her, reading to her, when she couldn't sleep. Her childhood friend. Who also didn't happen to be him. The girl and her childhood friend shared memories, memories that the man didn't have. They were memories that existed before the two best friends met. The man met his best friend during their sophomore year of high school. Eventually that childhood friend, who was a few years older than the two best friends, was drafted to the army. Letters would come back home, addressed to the recruit's parents and the girl. The girl by then was engaged to her childhood friend, who she has been dating for a couple of years. They were going to marry either after she got out of high school or when he returned. The young soldier never came back. He was a KIA. He died a month before he was expected to be home. Her heart was broken and she went crazy. Something in her mind just snapped. It was the last straw. Her friend, her heart, her life was gone, killed. And everything else along with it. She destroyed everything in her path. Ripping up books, letters. Flipping tables. Smashing vases.
She sounds like a scary lady.
The lollipop man said he tried to stop them, but they sent the girl to a place called an "asylum." He told me that he visits his friend every chance that he gets. He said that, when he doesn't get to see her, he misses her. The transition from always together to barely being able to see each other was near unbearable for him.
The lollipop man always smiles.
But his smiles look sad.
I would ask him. But I don't remember how to talk. I open my mouth and nothing comes out. So I stopped trying a long time ago.
He always looks a little sad when I don't talk back to him. After a while, he'll fill the quiet with words.
Always, always smiling with his mouth.
But not always with his eyes.
... ... ... ... ... u
... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... r
... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... t
... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ..s...?
He likes to tell me a lot of stories. Mostly about his best friend. It's more interesting than the shiny buckles on my jacket.
And they're really shiny.
Shiny enough to see myself in them.
Sometimes, he brings presents. He says that they're things that the girl would've liked. They're really nice stuff. I wish I can play with them. Or at least hold them. Just for a little bit. Or maybe stare at them a little. Too bad the people in blue always take them away after the man leaves.
He's a nice man.
Such a nice man.
Thank you for reading. A lovely present and future to you.