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zeeamoe · 7 months ago

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The Boy That Sits Alone In The Front Row Always Wears A Black Sweater - Part 15

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Nothing changed much after that.

Very rarely I would tag along with her to do her errands, or sometimes I would randomly come over to hang out at her place. She didn’t mind since I knew everything anyway.

At the very least, her mom had the pride to present herself as a decent mother figure when a guest was over. She couldn’t do any of her antics because I was there.

But I could tell her mom was annoyed every time I was over.

At some point, she warned her to not invite me over anymore. So, we came up with this scheme that I was an annoying friend who would show up unannounced bringing some kind of food or gifts. Then, it would seem rude if I wasn’t welcomed or turned away.

It didn’t solve anything. And her mom would just find a way to get out of the house to have a smoke, or she would become a lot moodier when I wasn’t there. We could only create short moments of peace every now and then.

I was glad that she was more open to complain about her situation to me. It wasn’t as if I could solve any of her problems, but it was nice that she could let out her pent up frustration and talk about it.

This went on for quite a while. The situation wasn’t the best but it was pretty stable.

But then, her mother died.

At the beginning of our second year in highschool, and we were classmates for the first time since the start of our friendship, a teacher interrupted our class just before lunch time.

Through the class windows, I saw a man standing in front of the classroom dressed formally. I didn’t know who he was at that time.

He was her dad.

The teacher was explaining something to the other one who was teaching us. I couldn’t hear what she said, but she had a serious expression and this apologetic look on her face.

Then, she looked over to the students, softly calling out a name.

I looked over to my friend who was called, asking her with my expression.

She noticed her dad standing outside, but she looked back at me equally confused and shook her head, shrugging her shoulders.

She stood up and followed the teacher.

I saw her dad wrapped an arm around her shoulder and they both walked away into the hallway.

Then, the teacher’s voice filled the room.

“Class, she will be excused for a while due to a personal loss in her family. Let’s all be understanding, and please let me know if anyone would like to send support. Now, let’s continue…”

The class broke into whispers for a bit, and it resumed afterwards.

But I sat frozen at my desk.

I knew her family were no longer in contact with their relatives from the mother’s side, and I was aware that both her grandparents from her father’s side had passed away when she was younger.

The rest of her relatives were all quite healthy, unless there was a case of an accident… but I had a weird gut feeling.

I sneakily took out my phone when the teacher wasn’t looking and started texting under my desk.

- [typing] hey, who passed-

[delete] Tap, tap, tap.

What the hell? What kind of sick person asked another person in mourning ‘who died’?

I should reword it better.

The teacher’s voice faded in the background as I bent down, placing my head on the surface of my desk, and sighed.

I didn’t know what to say or what to ask. I didn’t know how, because she was my closest friend.

Had we been less close, I would have sent my condolences right away, I would have known how to arrange my words.

But I didn’t want to just say whatever to her especially in times like this.

I couldn’t understand what she was going through.

All of my grandparents from both sides of my family were alive and healthy, and I never went to the funeral of any close relatives.

I was scared to talk to her because I cared.

How was I supposed to comfort someone in mourning as a person who never knew grief?

I managed to send her a text after consulting with my mom when I got home from school.

But I didn’t get a reply.

Which was weird, because she usually replied very fast. Both her ringtone and notifications were loud, and she never turned them off even at school.

It worried me, but I convinced myself that it was normal considering what happened.

I didn’t get a reply the next day either.

What I got was an official announcement from the school and the information of the funeral.

I read the name written on the announcement over and over, and I was sure.

It was her mother’s name.

And I didn’t know what I was feeling at that moment.

In fact, I didn’t know if I was feeling anything at all.

Before the announcement, I had been worried, anxious, curious, helpless, anything that made me feel uncomfortable inside.

But the moment I was sure it was her mother who died, all that uneasiness went away.

Was I relieved?

Would that be a bad thing?

I wasn’t sure if I should be feeling glad, and I wasn’t sure if I should be feeling bad.

Looking back, I realized it was stupid to even care about how I felt about what happened. I should have just paid more attention to my friend who went through that.

However, she didn’t reply to my text that day either.

She didn’t reply to any of my texts until I met her on the day of the funeral.

I decided on my own that I would base my feelings off of how she would be at that funeral. If she was sad and devastated, then I would be sad with her, if she was at peace and relieved, then I would be glad with her.

Yet, I was surprised to see her with her usual fierce look.

At the funeral home, she stood side by side with her sister greeting people. They were both wearing different kinds of plain black dresses.

They didn’t look gloomy, didn’t look like they were at peace, and didn’t look like they were frustrated at all. They looked… bored.

If they weren’t wearing all black, people might have mistaken them as the funeral home staff with their lack of emotions.

What struck me the most was that I realized they were both wearing makeup.

When I went to greet her and was finally able to express my condolences, she spoke up first.

“Hey, sorry I haven’t been able to reply to you.”

I blinked.

I was taken aback.

“What are you talking about? That’s fine. You shouldn’t have to worry about that… Anyway, I’m sorry for your loss. How have you been doing?”

She stared right at me with an empty look in her eyes and opened her mouth, but there was a second before a voice came out.

“...I don’t know.”

Her sister glanced at that before quickly returning to greet another person.

She had gotten taller to the point that they were almost the same height by now. From the corner of my eyes, I saw her shifting and relaxed her shoulder.

I wasn’t sure what I should say or how I should respond, so I waited.

She then continued on her own.

“It has been a weird few days. I guess we’ve been pretty busy. We’ve been helping dad with the funeral, and take care of things in the house, you know? I’m not sure how I’ve been doing myself,” she said, smiling faintly.

“Oh,”

Right, she was probably still processing. It must have been hard… Was it hard? She said she didn’t know.

Then, what should I do? How should I feel?

Not knowing what to say, I just tilted my head at her, and she mirrored it.

Just like that one time, I looked closely at her face and around her eyes. Except this time, she didn’t have that puffiness. She didn’t look a bit like she had been crying at all. Or at least, she hadn’t been crying yesterday.

“...Okay, then.”

“Yeah,”

“Take a seat, and save a spot for me. I’ll sit with you.”

“Okay,”

As I left, I spared another glance towards her sister.

They look alike… but her sister seemed to have softer features that made her look friendlier.

I wasn’t sure if I imagined it, but even though her sister had a similar empty look, her eyebrows were slightly furrowed, making her seem a bit bothered by something.

I looked around.

It was a simple funeral, and there weren’t a lot of visitors.

I guessed roughly that most of them were either relatives, their dad’s coworkers, and some of the two sisters’ friends.

Some came by only for a short while before leaving again.

I don’t think their mother had a lot of personal friends.

They didn’t disclose the cause of death, so people were talking about it here and there. It was quite shameful, especially when the funeral home was quite small and the layout was so that even small voices would echo.

“They said it was because of health complications, but they wouldn’t tell us what exactly.”

“Haa… and she was still young, too. Leaving behind two girls. I feel bad for them, and her husband. Poor him.”

“I heard she used to smoke and drink alcohol. Oh, I don’t want to badmouth, but really, that is why… we should avoid those.”

“She didn’t work. She didn’t leave the house much either. With her husband at work and the girls at school, what did she even do? Being at home too much is just not good, building up stress.”

“And did you see the girls in front? They didn’t even look a little bit upset. Makes you wonder what kind of mother she was…”

“Right, right. They’re so young, but they seem too mature already. Even the little one is wearing makeup? Did she teach her that?”

“Her husband is the only one that looks a little messy. He must be devastated that he lost his wife,”

“Well, he was the only one working, and now he has to take care of two teenage girls on top of that. Of course he’s devastated. And he has to leave work to take care of all this,”

I looked around and found their father talking to a few people.

He had dark circles under his eyes, and his hair was slightly disheveled. He really did look like the only one in the family who seemed upset.

I thought it was weird that there were people who would talk this way at a funeral.

I haven’t been to a lot of funerals, but the ones that I went to never seemed to have the people talk about the dead so negatively.

I looked down to play with my phone in my seat, trying my best to not hear any unnecessary gossip.

Personally, I didn’t like her mother all that much. And who am I to judge them for bad mouthing? As if I wasn’t the one who talked trash about her a lot when she was alive to her own daughter.

But, now that she passed, everything should be left behind.

…But for some reason, I can’t help the tiny, tiny voice inside that said she might have deserved it.

For all those times, I listen to my friend complain about her. How she had to regain her composure with every ringtone, and how she purposefully put herself in detention, not being able to feel like herself at home, and how she would always defend her after every rant.

‘At least she never hit me,’

‘At least she never cheated on my dad,’

‘Well, she did let me do what I want,’

‘Well, she did help me with homework and stuff,’

‘I guess she cared enough to not steal our money and run off with it, haha!’

I gritted my teeth.

I kept reminding her that it didn’t matter what her mother did or didn’t do, the fact she had to do certain things and act a certain way because she was uncomfortable and distressed meant that it was already some kind of abuse.

I blinked.

Was it right to call it that? Was that the right word for it?

I didn’t understand it at that time. I don’t think I understood it at all even until now.

It didn’t take long until the funeral began.

I saw my friend scurrying over to the seat I kept empty next to me.

There were a lot of empty seats. Not that there were many seats in the room to begin with.

It was a lonesome funeral in general.

Her dad walked up to the front and started a speech. However, I couldn’t remember what it was about.

Because as soon as he started, my friend leaned over and talked in a quiet voice.

“...She died of an overdose,”

I didn’t process what she said immediately.

Once I did, I held the urge not to turn my head to look at her.

We were in the front seat and I didn’t want to make it seem like we were gossiping in the middle of the funeral. People were already talking about her, and I didn’t want to add something like, ‘her daughter was being disrespectful at her own mother’s funeral’ into the mix.

I only looked at her with my eyes and nodded slightly with a frown.

She leaned back to her seat, but she continued to talk at the same low volume.

“That’s how dad found out what she had been doing with the money he gave her,

“He didn’t take it well. And I told him that I knew all along, and how she made me do all those errands, and what she had been doing in the house. I told him everything.

“I didn’t know why I told him… I just thought that now that it was over, he should know everything. But he crashed out because of it. He must have felt… disappointed and betrayed. I should have given him some time before telling him everything, but when he found out why she died, I… he was so confused and I thought not knowing anything would be a lot more painful for him.

“He yelled at me for a good amount of time, and then yelled at himself. Then, he distracted himself by planning the funeral, organizing her things. We all did.”

She was staring at something around the casket, but not right at it.

I looked at her dad, and slowly scanned the room to find her sister. She was sitting a bit far from us to the right, just a row behind.

I wondered how they felt.

Her dad had been under the impression that her mom was getting help all this time. Not knowing that the money he gave her ended up causing her death. And to hold a funeral without being able to tell people about what really happened.

Did he do it to keep her dignity or his? Or his daughters?

Although I didn’t remember his speech, I remembered he said something pretty general, something along the lines of being ‘a good wife’ and ‘a good mother’.

I had to breathe slowly.

I did remember his face.

He only glanced at the crowd every now and then. His eyes looked so tired. He blinked a couple of times as if he was troubled with something. He wasn’t that old, but he had visible wrinkles. His voice sounded a bit harsh.

At that time, I didn’t know if that was just how he talked, or if he had a hard time doing his speech.

I found out later on that he had a naturally harsh voice, which was hard to discern any emotions within.

Yet, I could be sure that I felt something from his voice when he was giving that speech. There was some kind of emotion, but I didn’t know what it was.

Out of nowhere, I heard my friend’s voice speak up again from beside me.

“Do you remember when I cried that day we were getting our report cards?”

“...Yeah,”

The day I offered her to stay at my place just for one night.

I glanced at her.

She never looked directly at the casket, but she never took her eyes away either.

“I never really told you what happened that day, why I cried like that.”

That day, she ran into my arms and burst into tears. She sobbed and cursed, then she complained and ranted about her mom that night. She told me what her mom was like and what she had been doing, but she didn’t say a word about what happened when they were getting her report card.

“That day, the teacher handed the report card to my mom which she opened and read, then and there. They started with the good things, my grades, straight A’s on most subjects. And like any other teachers, they would express concerns for their students’ weak points. For me, it was my behavior evaluation.”

I started to frown a bit.

Truthfully, there shouldn’t be anything that her mom could criticize her based on those report cards. It wasn’t as if she was a behavior role model herself as a mother.

But if her mom really did say something about that, I felt myself getting angry on her behalf.

“After listening to the teacher, we got out of the classroom. I thought she was going to go straight home, but then she talked to me. She said that I was smart, so I should be able to go to any highschool I want.

“Then, she read the report card again, and looked through the behavior evaluation. She asked me why I acted that way in school, how she never taught me to be like that.

“She said she let me wear whatever I want, and wear makeup, and be myself, and do whatever I want, but that I wasn’t supposed to do it for attention and be disrespectful, that I was supposed to have manners.

“And she asked me why I behaved that way, who I did it for, what I was trying to prove, and lectured me.

“I ignored her at first, but then I got annoyed and got mad at her. I told her she didn’t have a right to lecture me. ‘Not this,’ I told her. Not about behavior. She had no right to talk about that.

“I thought she was going to yell at me in the hallway. And we would scream and fight at each other. I didn’t care. Let anyone hear about it. I wasn’t embarrassed.

“But she only said, ‘if you’re not doing it for attention or for anyone, then it’s good. If you’re doing it for yourself and not to prove anything, then it’s good. I let you do all that for yourself, so you won’t feel like you’re forced to do it one day. Not when all your friends do. Not when the world expects you to.’

“She said, ‘don’t be like me.’

“And she left.

“That day, you told me to turn off my phone, right? So that I didn’t have to think about her even when she needed me to run ‘errands’.

“Well, the very next day, I checked my phone but there were no messages from her, only from my dad.

“When I got home, I found dishes of my favorite food on the table, cooked from the night before.”

#writing #original story #writers on tumblr #slow burn #original character #creative writing #writeblr #first draft #writing dumps

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zeeamoe · 7 months ago

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The Boy That Sits Alone In The Front Row Always Wears A Black Sweater - Part 14

click here for the previous post

We hadn’t been friends for that long, so I didn’t want to force her to tell me things if she didn’t want to. All I could do was let her know that I would be there for her.

A few months passed and we finished another year of middle school. It was the day when we received our report cards, which for some reason was held on a weekday.

Both my parents took a day off work to attend it. Most only had one of their parents attend.

There was some time before it was my turn, so I went around to other classes and greeted my friends. I knew that she got an earlier turn, and had probably received hers at that point.

From what I knew, her dad had a job, while her mom always stayed at home. So, I guessed that her mom must have been the one to attend.

I reached her classroom only to find that someone else was inside with their parents and the teacher. She was not there.

I thought she must have gone home already, so I walked away.

Then I went past another classroom which was dark and empty, but there was a student standing still with a report card in their hand.

They were facing the other way.

Tall, long hair, thin build with the sleeves folded and the skirt slightly over the knees.

It was her.

“Oh, you’re still here?”

There was no reply.

I didn’t see her mom anywhere. Maybe she went to the bathroom, so she’s waiting for her here. That said, it was a weird place to wait.

Why wait in an empty classroom and not the hallway? Why didn’t she turn on the lights? Why was she just standing there rather than sitting down somewhere?

I stepped into the classroom.

Although she didn’t respond to my question, she seemed to hear me and turned her head around.

And I could never forget her face that day.

The light from the hallway was reflected on her eyes. Her eyebrows were furrowed in a way that made her look helpless. Her lips were pressed together, quivering.

In the dark, the girl who always had a fierce look on her face, for the first time ever looked like she was about to cry.

I reflexively opened my arms.

Without saying any words, she dashed into my arms and burst into tears.

That was the first time I ever saw her cry.

As she was sobbing quietly, I brushed her back lightly. She was taller than me, so I was struggling since she seemed to put her weight on me.

I wasn’t sure what to say, or if I should comfort her. I wanted to say something like, ‘hey, it’s okay’ but I didn’t even know why she was crying. I decided to just let her cry for as long as she needed to.

There was no way it was related to the report card. She might have gotten into trouble, but her grades were great. If anything, it might have been the behavior evaluation section. The amount of detentions she had that year alone could leave anyone jaw-dropped.

Turns out, I didn’t need to ask. Because she suddenly spoke through her broken voice.

“I hate it here... I’m not going home… I want to f*cking leave!”

She kept sobbing and sniffing, and there wasn't any strength in her arms, but she didn’t let go.

It was an awkward position to be hugging and crying in a dark, empty classroom with the doors open. Thankfully no one passed by during that time. It was also almost my turn to receive my report card, and I had to go back to the second floor.

Of course, I didn’t let go of the hug until she did it first. It didn’t take long for her to regain herself. She probably remembered that I had to go.

She backed away, sobbing for one last time before wiping her tears away.

“Go ahead. I’m okay… I’ll be here until you’re done.”

I nodded and patted her arm.

Then, I had an idea.

“Hey, why don’t you stay at my place?”

She blinked.

I blurted it out without thinking much. I was just giving her an option since she seemed to hate the idea of going home that much. Especially today. And I thought the details could be figured out later.

“Just for a night, or however long you need. My parents are here, so I can just ask them later,” I explained as I walked out of the classroom. “Just think about it. I’ll get back to you, kay?”

And I ran back to get my report card.

Whatever happened, all I knew was that I had to get her out of there for that day. There must have been a reason for why she was the way she was. Why she purposefully got in detention after school, why she had to drop everything for an errand, why she never tried to run away from any of it.

Good news was, my parents were okay with it, despite my report card being a complete flop. The teacher only advised that I take extra lessons or tutors, but appreciated that I was well-behaved in class.

It was also a relief that they didn’t ask much further on why she had to stay at our place. We had a spare room anyway, for when relatives come over.

The only thing was, when I went back to that classroom, she was hesitant.

“Hey, my parents said it’s okay! You can borrow some of my stuff, so you don’t have to go back first, or we could stop by somewhere to shop for things!”

“No, umm…”

She stood up from a chair. Her face was no longer red and there were no more tears. There was just a slight puffiness left.

I figured she might have turned it down.

If the matter was just getting away, she simply would have run away a long time ago. Considering what kind of person she was, she could easily find herself a job, crash to a place, or even live in the streets.

I knew her problems couldn’t be solved by just running away. But, then again.

“Just for a day. It’s okay. You deserve at least one day to get away.”

I could only convince her that way. I didn’t know if it was right. I didn’t know if it could get worse when she came back. But, she needed a little break. Just a short break from everything.

I knew that much.

Whatever problems she had at home, I knew she needed at least a day to breathe.

After a few seconds.

“Okay,”

She agreed to it.

As I had suggested, she both went shopping right after. Since she couldn’t go home to get her stuff, we went to buy clothes and some products before going to my house. My mom tagged along as well to buy some things.

It seemed that she planned to cook something for tonight. There were so many ingredients that it seemed like she could throw a feast. Hmm. It was suspicious because her mood couldn’t have been this good considering my report card.

Anyway, when we went home, my mom did cook a lot.

“What’s all this for??? Mom! Are you finally glad that I got passing grades for all my classes? It could have been worse, right?”

“Shut up, this is for your friend here! You should thank her! Because you wouldn’t be getting all this good food if she didn’t come over. I would have made you study in your room! And are you going to explain to me why you got a D in English?! You speak English!! How are you failing the only language you know?!”

“Awww, come one, mom! Don’t yell like that! Look! We have a guest! She’s hungry! Just cook, just cook! Look! I’ll help-”

“What? No, I’m not that hungry! Ah, it’s okay ma’am, excuse me-”

“What are you saying? You have to eat! Look at you, so pretty! But you’re too skinny, you should eat more! And you’re so tall! Seems like all the food went to your height, but you should still eat! Come! Eat, eat!”

“Alright, thank you ma’am. It smells so nice. I’ll make sure to eat as much as I can…”

I was right that she didn’t have any problems with her report card. She got mostly A’s and B’s, though her behavior evaluation was full in almost every page… seems like the teachers had a lot to say about that.

We spent the rest of the day watching, talking, and playing games. I sucked at it, but she didn’t mind and enjoyed playing anyway. And I suggested that she turn off her phone or at least turn off all the calls and text messages.

She didn’t turn it off, but she muted everything and left her phone in one place.

I thought I should do everything I can to distract her. It would have been pointless if I asked her to get away only to have her burdened with overthinking each time she gets a call or a text message.

She always went to school with this attitude as if she was carefree and ignorant. As if she could brush off any problems on her shoulders as if it were nothing. People thought she was cool. I thought of her that way too.

The way she always got good grades and never missed her homework. She was smart and pretty. She knew how to dress well and had this charisma wherever she went. Everyone loved her since she was down to earth and good at socializing. She got in trouble a few times, so that made her cool and mysterious. She was fun.

She was everything, and everyone wanted to be like her.

Yet, I had this guilt for her at times.

I would look at her as she laughed off her problems or rolled her eyes. She had her chin up and presented herself as this independent, carefree being that would be down for any challenges. Then, I saw how it would all go away for a split second when her phone rings.

In that split moment, I felt guilty for not being able to be the friend she could turn to. How I wished she would look at me and ask for advice, or ask for my help. I couldn’t solve her problems, but I would go with her to do her errands. I would even defend her against her parents if she asked me to.

But, I respected that she didn’t want to tell me. I knew she was hoping that none of us wouldn’t notice. That’s why I pretended to not worry. If she wanted me to think that she was fine, then I would act as if she was fine.

I bet she knew that I noticed. Why else would she dare to cry in my arms like that?

And because of that, she probably judged that she didn’t have to hide anything from me anymore.

Before we went to bed, we decided to have a late night snack of ice cream in our pajamas. We decided to just share a room since we’re having a sleepover anyway. My mom found an old air mattress that could fit in the extra space of my room.

She sat there leaning against the wall.

“Thanks, by the way, for letting me stay. To your mom and dad, too.”

“No problem. I think they love having other people coming over. I used to love having sleepovers with my friends, but we don’t do it that much since we got into middle school.”

“Oh, really? That sounds fun. I never had any sleepovers.”

She took a bite of her ice cream.

That statement surprised me a bit. I thought she would have done things like this often considering how social she was.

“This is your first sleepover?!”

“Yeah, it’s fun. My parents never let me sleepover at a friend's house. They said it was a hassle to their parents, or they were worried if there was a man in their house ‘cause I’m a girl. And I never wanted my friends to stay over at my house, because…”

She trailed off, and looked as if she spaced out a bit. But, she continued immediately.

“I told you that my mom had a temper, right? She has anger issues,”

“Yeah.”

“Well, she also has other issues…”

I could tell.

I stretched myself to lie on my stomach and finished the rest of my ice cream as I listened to her.

“She would drink and smoke in the house. Actually, that might be why she has anger issues… whichever comes first, I don’t know. And she would fight with my dad almost every night. So, you know, I didn’t want to have anyone over with the intention of having a good time just to… listen to my parents fight.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. I would also avoid having people over when my parents are in a bad mood.”

“Thing is, it wasn’t actually that bad. It was just annoying. But, it has gotten worse since…”

And she trailed off again.

And I had the urge to say that she didn’t have to tell me if she didn’t want to.

And at the same time, I wanted to know. My selfishness won over. So, I let her speak.

“...There was one time where she acted as if she was getting better. She said she wanted to change, and she stopped drinking, and she asked my dad to lend her money for therapy… or something. And she said she was prescribed some kind of medicine, and she joined this support group or whatever. My dad believed her, so he would give her money every now and then.

“It was weird, because instead of getting better, she would take it out on me and my sister when my dad’s at work. I found out about her so-called ‘medicine’ and ‘support group’... basically she found gambling friends, and she got her ‘medicine’ from there.

“I was so mad. The whole time my dad worked my *ss off just so she could gamble his money away and do drugs? And I couldn’t stand it… It was so bad that she would break things and throw them away before my dad could see them. And I would’ve been fine! I would’ve been able to stand it all! But my… my sister is too young for this-”

Her words were clear and sharp. Her voice didn’t shake despite her face getting a little bit red and her eyes welled up a bit. She had a lot of anger that she held in for who knows how long.

I silently but quickly grabbed a box of tissues and just put it in front of her.

Her sister was four years younger, old enough to understand but shouldn’t have to. She was shielding her from understanding.

Back then, I didn’t have enough knowledge when it came to these kinds of things, and I was pretty insensitive. I asked her what I thought was rational.

“Did you tell your dad? Shouldn’t he know that your mom was lying about what she used the money for?”

“...I couldn’t tell him. If he knew, they would fight. And it’s not like he could do anything to stop her. She could act worse if he cut off her money. And it’s not like he could protect us from her all the time, he had to go to work.”

‘What about divorce?’

At least I had the sensitivity to not ask that out loud.

So, that was why she would get in detention. She could avoid going home and getting errands if she were in a place where her mom couldn’t force her out of. And she would purposely stay there as long as she could until it reached the time her dad came home.

And she probably made sure to do all her errands to make sure her mom wouldn’t ask her sister to do it.

She took a tissue and blew her nose.

“The errands. You asked how I could buy those things in my room from the leftover money, right? You could probably guess already, but my mom would make me buy cigarettes, or pick up her prescribed ‘medicine’. It’s not that she didn’t care what I used the money for. It was basically a bribe, so I wouldn't blab to my dad. Shame on her, I wouldn’t have blabbed even if she didn’t bribe me anyway.”

She finally finished her ice cream after spending most of her time talking.

“It sucks, because despite all this… she’s my mother,”

That was the only time her voice trembled a bit.

She chuckled bitterly, “This might sound crazy, but if you overlook the temper, the smoking, drinking, and drugs, she’s actually a good mother.”

The last word was said with a subtle sting.

“She takes care of me and my sister since my dad works. She pays attention to our school needs, she cooks for us, she cleans the house, she teaches us things. She could have just been a good mother, why does she have to…”

That was when it hit me.

The whole time, I only saw her mother as an obvious villain.

When she said all that, I imagined my own mother. What if that had been my mom? If at some point, my mom got herself into something bad and she changed. Would I hate her? Could I hate her?

I didn’t realize her considerations were more than just taking the burden for her sister and her dad.

After blowing her nose another few times, she took a deep breath.

“You were right, I really needed this just for a day. Ugh! Tomorrow’s gonna be a pain in the ass when I get back, though. But, thanks.”

“I meant it when I said I’ll come with you on your ‘errands’ or if you need me to bail you out from home.”

She laughed genuinely, “Thanks, but I don’t think I want anyone to come with me when I… actually, nevermind, I’ll call you if I change my mind about that.”

“Alrighty.”

I didn’t have any comfort words to offer her. I didn’t know how, because I couldn’t even imagine how she must have felt. I only had this sense of gratitude that I wasn’t in a position as bad as hers.

I immediately felt terrible for thinking that.

That was probably the first time that I noticed this trait. The feeling of relief that others were doing worse than me.

When I first knew her, I thought about how unfair that she had it all. She had good looks, good grades, and good friends. Even though I had nothing against her for having that, I just kept wondering why it was harder for me to achieve those things.

Is it bad that when I found out about her family situation, my first thought was, ‘Well, so that’s what sucks in her life’? As if that made life fair.

It isn’t fair.

Then, I wondered if she thought that way when she came over to my house and met my mom.

Did she wish her mom was more… normal?

And I thought, perhaps she’d feel better if she knew what part of my life sucks and showed her my report card. She went through it to mock me and laugh about it. I laughed along with her.

I hated that I struggled in school. I hated that I couldn't pass any test despite studying all the time. And I thought I’d hate it if people made fun of me for something I worked hard on.

But, I didn’t mind at all.

I hoped this made her feel like life was fair, even if just a little bit.

“Bhahaha! How did you even get zero on this one? I didn’t think a zero was possible! Hahaha!”

“Shut up! I tried to memorize it, but it was so hard! My brain glitched during the test and I mixed up everything!”

“Hahaha! You’re right, you only got all of these wrong because of a slight mistake, but because they’re all multiple choice questions, you get no points! Hahaha!”

After a while of chatting, she was laughing heartily as if she hadn’t been talking about her tragic life just a moment ago.

Talked about a lot of other things that night. I wanted to distract her again so she could have one night sleep without a thought of her family situation.

And we had so much fun talking, we didn’t realize it was almost 3 AM.

“Hahaha! We really should sleep!”

“Yeah, haha! Do you need more blankets? It gets really cold at night. Actually, it slipped my mind before, but can you really sleep on that mattress? It’s smaller than a regular mattress because I think it was when we used to go camping, I would sleep there when I was still little.”

“No, it’s fine! I sleep curled up anyway! Look, this is how I usually sleep.”

She plopped into bed and curled herself under the blanket.

“Pfft! You know, you’re so tall and skinny, I didn’t think you’d be so flexible that you can curl up like that! You look like a ferret!”

“What the f*ck!”

“I’m calling you ferret from now on! Hahaha!”

“No, you won’t! What the- What are you doing?”

“Changing your name to ‘Ferret’ in my contacts!”

��Hey, no! Stop! Gimme that!”

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zeeamoe · 7 months ago

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zeeamoe · 7 months ago

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The Boy That Sits Alone In The Front Row Always Wears A Black Sweater - Part 13

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It was maybe about six… seven years ago.

The girl who stood out in the crowd always got in trouble somehow.

Long hair, taller than average, her uniform sleeves and skirt were folded, and she wears a little bit of makeup that you wouldn’t notice unless you take a good look at her face. It was against the school rules, you see.

She had a pretty face, and was surrounded by people all the time.

At least once a week, she would get in detention.

I had seen her around every now and then, but we were never in the same class, and we hung out in different circles, so we had never interacted.

Until that one time I walked into the detention room.

Clack!

The girl was sitting nicely on the seat right in front of the teacher’s desk, which was empty. Both her arms were on the table, holding a phone, playing some kind of game.

She looked up, then pointed towards me with her thumb.

“Detention, too?”

I was holding a book and a bunch of blank papers.

Holding everything in one hand, I used the other to close the door behind me.

“No, I’m here for a make-up penalty for math class. I failed the test. And then I took the make-up test, but I failed that, too. So, the teacher gave me this penalty to pass the class. I basically just have to copy all the questions and answers in handwriting.”

“Oh, cool. How many questions?”

I inhaled through my teeth.

“120.”

I walked in and took a seat right next to her, and started to set the papers ready.

“Wow, goodluck.”

“Yeah, I’ll be here for a while. He said I can’t leave until I’m done. And if he can’t read my handwriting, I have to do it all over again. Oh, well. So, what are you here for?”

“...Guess.”

As I started on my work, I took a quick glance at her.

The first thing that came to mind was that she probably got dress coded. Because she was known to fold her uniform skirt until it reached her thighs, or sometimes she would wear excessive accessories, or wear a regular t-shirt underneath her uniform only to take off the uniform sometime during the day.

But right now, she was wearing her uniform properly, with only her sleeves folded once. And there were no other accessories other than her earrings.

“Disrupting class?”

Her group was always the loudest in the cafeteria. And I’ve heard teachers who complain about her asking irrelevant questions or joke around without paying attention, distracting other students.

“Nope.”

Hmm… I often pass her by in the hallways when I go to the bathroom a few times. Not that she was back from the bathroom or anything. Sometimes she would just be sitting on the floor, playing with her phone, or talking with other people.

Without looking her way, I tried my next guess.

“Skipping class?”

“Nope.”

“Being late?”

“Also nope.”

“Playing with your phone during class?”

“Nah.”

Hmm, what else could you get in detention for?

Then, I remembered the one time I got sent to detention.

“Missing assignments?”

Usually, the teacher would just scold you, but since I did it too many times in that one class, I got sent to detention.

I heard her go, “Huh?” and I turned my head.

She thought for a bit before continuing.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been sent to detention for that. I didn’t know you could get in detention for that.”

“I did.”

“Ah,” She snickered, “Despite how I look, I’d say I’m pretty much a model student. Did all my assignments and got decent grades.”

“Hoho, lucky you!”

I sarcastically rolled my eyes and continued writing.

I didn’t really pay attention to the guide book or whatever they talked about at the beginning of the school year, and I already forgot most of the rules. Also, I didn’t want to rack my brain to think of what else you could get in trouble for.

So, I started to spew out nonsense.

“Then, cheating?”

“Haha, no.”

“Plagiarism.”

“Nope.”

“Bullying.”

“I don’t bully, alright.”

“I give up then.”

“Hmm.”

Still focusing on my work, I didn’t look at her to see her reaction. I could only hear her nails tapping on the desk.

“I got sent to detention for using inappropriate language.”

“What?”

“Cursing.”

Holy sh*t. You can get in detention for that? I curse all the time!

I guess I never did it in front of teachers.

“At lunch break, I was walking into class and I dropped my ice cream. I went, ‘Motherfucker’. It wasn’t even loud, but the teacher was right behind me. He was like, ‘Hey, watch your words young lady, that’s detention for you’, so here I am.”

“That’s kind of funny.”

She laughed.

“It is funny. Why would you get sent to detention just for saying one bad word, though. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Yeah! I think you could’ve just argued your way out of it.”

“Nah, I kinda like it here. They’re supposed to watch the students in detention, but I’ve never pulled anything weird whenever I’m here, so after a few times, they just leave for some reason.”

“Is that why you’re playing a game right now? Are you even allowed to do that?”

She was sitting right in front of the teacher’s desk, with her phone right in front of her. She wasn’t even trying to hide it.

Whoever sent her to detention could walk in any minute and add another hour or something.

But, she just shrugged and calmly answered.

“I don’t think so. But I’m sure they won’t come back to check.”

They won’t? Why not?

That time I was in detention, the teacher was in the room with me the whole time, only going to the bathroom occasionally. Why was no one keeping an eye on this troublemaker?

I asked her.

“Doesn’t that mean you can just leave, then?”

“Haha, yeah actually, I can just leave whenever I want.”

What kind of detention was this?

“So, why aren’t you?”

“Like I said, I like it here.”

“Oh, why? Does it suck at home?”

“Yeah, it sucks.”

I guess she was one of those kids who purposefully avoided going home early. But couldn’t she have done other things like going with her friends somewhere?

Why detention?

I ignored my thoughts and randomly responded.

“I kinda get it. I hate coming home after frying my brain and having to do all these chores and errands-”

“Ugh, yes! I hate doing errands! I just got home, and for some reason I had to go out again? At least let me lay down for a bit!”

I didn’t expect her to cut me off and went on a rant. Anyway, I matched her energy for some reason.

“Right?! I feel the same way! Alright, great then. Stick with me here until I’m done. I just got to question number 8 and I’m bored already. If you’re not here to talk to me, I might go crazy.”

She plopped her phone down on the desk and stretched out her arms and legs.

And after yawning widely, she replied.

“Sure. You wanna get corn dogs after this?”

“Ooh! Yes.”

And from then on, I would find myself going to the detention room after classes to hang out with her.

At the time, she talked as any normal teenage girl would about her family situation. So when she said her house sucked, I didn’t think much about it.

I didn’t know how bad it actually was for her.

One time, she didn’t come to school because she was sick, and I got the idea to visit her.

I came over to her house bringing warm porridge and herbal tea that my mom made.

When I got there, the one who greeted me was her mother, who looked just like her. They were both pretty. And she had this same fierce look on her face that made her seem like… a b*tch.

She didn’t smile once as I talked to her.

“Are you her friend?” she asked.

It was a friendly tone, but the stern face threw me off.

If there was anything I learned about socializing with someone’s parents was that they’re very nosy about what their kids do in school, who they hung out with, what they were like. So, I blabbed about anything.

“Yes, ma’am. I brought some porridge and tea if that’s okay. My mom made them. Oh, I also got some notes from school that she might have missed today. I got it from her classmate.”

Yet, she seemed to be the type that wasn’t curious and minded her own business.

She opened the door and led me into the house as I talked.

“Oh, how nice of you. She’s in her room. It’s upstairs, the furthest door to the left.”

“Thank you! Excuse me,” I said as I walked in.

Once I was inside, there was a smell of smoke and I caught a glance of an ashtray on the table. It was filled with a bunch of cigarettes.

There was no one else in the house, so it was obvious that she was the one who had just been smoking.

I had nothing against people who smoke at that time. I thought they were cool, as were the thoughts of a middle-schooler. But even then, It was a bit odd for me.

Why would you smoke in the house when your daughter is sick?

I could still smell them even after climbing up the stairs. It was so strong that I had to hold back a cough, because I thought I might offend her. Thinking back, I should have just coughed.

She didn’t say anything else, so I just helped myself to get to my friend’s room.

There was a hoarse, but a rather enthusiastic voice saying, “Come in!” after I knocked.

I opened the door to see her sitting up on the bed in a purple pajama with yellow stars, grinning.

“You shouldn’t have come. It’s really nothing serious. I’ll probably go back to school tomorrow.”

She said that in the scratchiest voice I’ve heard her talk.

I closed the door and rolled my eyes.

“What are you talking about? You texted me that you had the worst f*cking headache and that you could barely walk. Why are you acting all fine right now?”

“Ehem. I was obviously exaggerating.”

She dropped back in bed.

“My mom made you porridge and tea.”

“Oh, send thanks to your mom!”

“Yeah,”

I sat down on a chair and started to unpack the food, all while looking around her room.

It was filled with band posters and merch, her shelves had magazines and books. Not academic ones, but novels and comics. On her desk, aside from the messy notebooks in the middle, shoved to the corner were a bunch of cosmetics and nail polish.

I served the porridge to her as she got up from her bed again.

“How the hell can you have all this stuff? I mean, look- what’s this… comic? Do you even read all this? Where’d you get all these posters? My mom would nag all day even if I asked to buy just one of these things. ‘What do you even need it for? Do you know how much it costs? What's the point? Why not buy something useful, focus on your studies first! Don’t go around buying useless stuff!’ yada yada yada.”

Taking a spoonful of porridge into her mouth, she just shrugged.

“My mom lets me buy whatever… Well, she actually gives me money for errands and stuff, and if there were some money left, she said I could take it for myself.”

Isn’t this what they call embezzlement?

“All of these just from leftover errands money? Either you lie and steal from your mom, or your mom is very generous. What kind of errands she made you do to make you afford all this? My leftover errands money would just be enough for a can of soda and some snacks.”

I picked up a fashion magazine.

The cover was of a tall, blonde model wearing a bright red bikini.

I showed her the magazine and gave her the most unimpressed face.

“Does she know you buy this kind of thing with the money? Does your dad know?”

“Wha ar yu, ma der mam?”

“Finish chewing first.”

She gulped down what she was chewing.

“I said, ‘what are you? My other mom?’ Shut up.”

“No, I’m just jealous that you get to buy all of this, while my mom would yell, ‘What for?!’ for just asking. So, she does nag you about it?”

“Nah, she doesn’t care. By the way, you see that poster over there? Over the right shelf? Yeah, do you know that band? They’re going on tour soon, come with me to their concert!”

“Oh really, how much are the tickets?”

At that time, I didn’t realize that she was trying to change the subject.

It was almost always the case whenever I mentioned her mom. It wasn’t that much different when I asked about her dad, but it felt like she was more willing to talk about him.

I never really visited her place that much. Because she would always suggest going somewhere else to avoid hanging out at her house.

‘My place sucks. Why do you even want to go there?’

‘Ugh, there’s nothing at home, let’s just go to this cafe…’

‘We literally can only hang out in my room, it’s too cramped. Let’s just go to your place!’

I was starting to interpret that by saying, ‘my house sucks’, she actually meant, ‘I can’t stand being at home’.

She had a younger sister, but they weren’t that close, both in age and in general. It seemed that her sister was more tolerant of their house. I also noticed that her sister didn’t have a variation of things like she did. Was she assigned different kinds of errands? Or maybe she was just better with money.

In any case, I learned from our friendship that she didn’t like to talk about her family, or going home. So, I tried my best not to bring up those topics.

We became close as time went by, and we started to share a circle of friends. We would hang out after school or go out on the weekends.

And there was this weird thing that happened every once in a while.

We would always go together when we went out, but more often than not, she would go home separately or earlier than the rest of us.

One time, about five of us went to a cafe afterschool. We ordered drinks and did our homework for a few hours. The plan was to go to karaoke once we were done.

But, then.

TRRRRRRINGGGGGG!!!

“What the hell.”

“A fire alarm?”

“An emergency?”

She silently reached her hand out and flipped her phone over to turn it off.

I gave her a look.

“Why do you have an alarm at… 5:42?”

She was typing something on her phone and replied to me nonchalantly.

“It’s not an alarm. It’s my ringtone.”

“Why the f*ck do you have an alarm sound as your ringtone?”

“I gotta go, guys!”

She grabbed her notebook and her bag, and was about to leave.

“What? We haven’t even had dinner yet.”

“What about karaoke?”

“Did something happen?”

She only waved her hand and explained shortly.

“I got some errands to do. I’ll see you guys tomorrow!”

And she left.

I thought maybe something urgent came up, like someone in her family got sick and she was asked to buy medicine. Or something essential ran out in her house and they asked her to get it while she was out.

But, I noticed that she never seemed to answer her phone calls around us. It could have been out of politeness, but it was more like she was avoiding answering it when we’re around.

There was a time when we were in a car going somewhere, and her phone rang in the middle of the ride.

TRRRRRRINGGGGGG!!!

“God, that scared me.”

“Are you ever going to change that ringtone?”

She didn’t even take a second to look at her phone screen before turning off the call. Then, she started texting as she spoke.

“What? It’s helpful when I lose my phone, I can just ask someone to call it and I’ll know where it is.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like you lose it all the time. Isn’t it annoying to hear that every time you get a call?”

And not long after, her phone rang again.

TRRRRRRINGGGGGG-

“Geez!”

“Ugh!”

“Tch,” she frowned and clicked something, and the ringing turned into buzzing.

She had set her phone on vibrate and started texting again after turning off the call.

Then, the sound of buzzing came on, followed by a tired sigh.

“Aren’t you going to answer that?”

“Yeah, seems important if they call you that many times.”

I was sitting on the front seat, while she sat in the back with two others. I couldn’t really see her expression back there, but I could tell from the way she sighed that she was reluctant to answer the call.

It wasn’t like she could step out for some privacy since we were still driving, and there was no place to stop by.

Either she answered the phone right then, or waited until we got off.

But whoever was calling seemed impatient.

“Yeah.”

She picked up the call.

For a split second, I could hear a woman’s voice yelling from the phone call. I couldn’t make out what she was saying, but the fact that I could hear from where I was showed how loud she was.

“Mm. Yeah.”

She only gave short replies.

You know the kind of replies you give to your parents when they nag you and repeat the same thing over and over again? The one where you’d get annoyed and answer them like, ‘Yeah, I know. Yes, mom.’ That kind.

That wasn’t what she sounded like.

It was more than just being annoyed. There was some kind of hatred in her tone.

Also, I expected the call to last for a little longer if her mom was scolding her for something. Yet, it lasted less than ten seconds.

After the call ended, she sounded as if her energy had been sucked dry.

“Hey, I gotta go back once we get off.”

All of us assumed she was scolded for something and was asked to come home.

“Awww, why?”

“Should we cancel our plans today?”

“That’s okay. We’ll hang out next time.”

I felt that something was off, so I asked to be sure.

“Everything’s alright?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

She waved her hand and laughed it off.

The next day, I met her in the hallway after she got sent out by a teacher.

She was just standing, playing with her phone, with a bored expression on her face… Actually, it looked a bit like she was pissed off as well.

Before I could call out to her, she looked my way first.

“Oh, hey!”

“Ay, I was about to call you. What’s up? Why are you here? You got sent out?”

“Yup. Which is great. Class was boring anyway.”

“What for?”

She pointed at her face and rolled her eyes.

“Got caught wearing makeup. She sent me out to wash it off. Of course, I will not do so and stay here until class ends.”

At that point, I had already walked closer to her, and I could see her face up close. Sure enough, her makeup was a lot more noticeable than what she usually put on.

“Ahaha! Wouldn’t you just get sent out in the next class anyway?”

“Then, I guess I’ll skip that, too.”

Weird. It wasn’t like she enjoyed purposely getting out of class. She only aimed to get in detention. Other than that, she was surprisingly quite diligent.

I unintentionally paid attention to her face since she pointed out her makeup. There was a tiny bit of puffiness around her eyes.

Had she been crying? Is that why she wore more makeup than usual?

I wanted to ask, but she obviously didn’t want anyone to notice. Hence, the makeup.

Something must have happened the day before.

“Hey, um. What happened yesterday?”

“Hm? Oh, that? Ha, it’s nothing, just some more errands.”

I guess she hadn’t come up with a lie yet.

“It seemed to be more urgent than just errands.”

“That’s… because I was supposed to get some things the day before, but I forgot. So, my mom got mad. She also has a temper.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, this happens from time to time.”

“Hmm, alright. You know, if you need any help with your errands, just tell me. I can come with you, or remind you.”

“Sure, thanks.”

I nodded before leaving her in the hallway to continue my journey to the bathroom.

I only noticed a few things off after I left.

Because I was too focused on feeling bad. How bad was her mother’s temper to get mad over forgotten errands? To the point that she was crying.

And what is it that she had to do that was so urgent that she had to leave immediately everytime she got a call?

In fact, didn’t she just tell another lie?

From what I know, she’d do her errands immediately the moment she got a call. And there was no way she could miss it, considering how f*cking loud her ringtone was. If that was the case, then it was a lie that she forgot.

Did she really get scolded? What did she even do?

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