Dinosaur Sneakers

The alarm rings – piercing through the dull thrumming of sleep with its shrill blaring. Steadily, and somewhat begrudgingly, the world comes into focus. A long smear of grey blurs my vision as I rise into a comfortable sitting position.

My brain pounds in its skull casing, this morning’s headache is an unwelcome wake up call.

What a great start to the day.

I manage to drag myself from bed, eyes heavy as I peel the cocoon of white, fuzzy blanket from my skin. Warm amenities drift away with ease, leaving me with a feeling of malevolent barrenness.

My PJ’s, covered in miniature caricatures of dinosaurs, are only the slightest bit too big, the shirt hanging loosely on my torso.

Just how I like them.

I slip the enormous nightshirt off, not bothering to smooth the wrinkles out as I toss it onto the bed behind me.

Beneath it: my binder.

Black and smooth, but tight on my chest, most importantly. It’s like a portable safety vest, embracing me in a secure and constant hug.

I dress swiftly, khaki pants and a white shirt clinging to my olive skin. I snap a bead bracelet around my wrist, a small, wooden raptor charm swinging lazily from its suspended position. I’d affectionately named the dinosaur “Roufus”, though for what reason I’m not quite sure. I grab two white socks from my bedside drawer, one barely longer than the other, reaching just beyond my ankle.

I only pause to stare into the lengthy mirror connected to the front of my bedroom door.

She’s there again, haunting my reflection.

She’s in my hair - how it curls as it reaches my ears. She hides in the dark coils, a snake baring her hateful black fangs.

She’s there, in my eyes, too. Imprinted in their brown sheen.

She’s always been bothering me, since I left her.

She lies in the tongues of others: her name, a harbinger of dread.

A ghost is the last thing I want in my reflection.

Maybe, after a while, she’ll leave. Move on to another victim.

Maybe I’ll finally see a boy in the mirror.

I feel my stomach churn, anxiety settling in.

“Jasmine, breakfast!”

I cringe at the name, but take this excuse to stop staring.

I pad down the stairs, each step sending a creak down their wooden spine.

“There you are.”

My mother waves me over, handing me a cool plate of lukewarm toast.

“Bus’ll be arriving soon. Eat.”

With only a brief moment of one sided conversation, I stuff the bread into my mouth, the taste of buttery spread smooth on my tongue. I let out a muffled:

“Fhanksh.”

And grab the backpack resting on the kitchen countertop, swinging it around my shoulder.

I feel like I’m forgetting something.

Am I?

I create a mental checklist.

Bracelet? Check.

Breakfast? Yup.

Backpack? How could I forget?

Shoes?

I nearly smack myself.

With a mental scolding, I jog back up the stairs, backpack bouncing up and down in a thumping rhythm. I open the white door.

There they are:

The dinosaur sneakers.

Tucked just beside my drawer, the shoes rest neatly beside each other, smiling, multicolored archaic reptilians sprinkled throughout a background of light green.

They seem childish, yes, but I have no friends to judge me for my poor fashion choices. And I’ve learned to ignore the judgemental stares sent down to my feet as I walk past.

I shuffle them on, not caring to untie the secured knot on either shoe. I let the ends of my pants fall over the hood of my sneakers, just barely concealing them.

There.

“The bus is here!”

Mother calls from downstairs.

“Coming!”

I hook both arms of my backpack around my shoulders, plodding my way down. The bus waits just outside my house, the color of yellow, though rusted over time. Dried mud has caked itself within the crevices above the wheels, patterned in splatters from rainy days.

The mechanical door to the bus drifts open as the driver sees me come close. I step up, planting one foot on the black floor. The door shuts quickly behind me.

There were few people dotted around the torn leather seats, little enough for me to have a pair of them to myself.

I set my backpack down on the seat next to me, staring out the large window.

It's not a pretty view, but it's something to look at.

The dull, pre-fall sky is clouded with the remnants of summer storms; a perfect company to the dismally brown grass speckled throughout the landscape.

I could’ve sworn we passed a dead squirrel or two along the way. Hence, I decide looking out the window isn't for me. I pull my eyes from the glass, but the inside of the bus is about as pretty as the outside.

My mother wouldn’t enter without a gas mask and an arsenal of Lysol wipes at her disposal.

I suck in a breath of stale tasting air, feeling my chest expand. Mother, being the rather straightforward woman she is, would’ve thrown insults at the old looking bus driver. Lucky she isn’t here to comment on the chewed gum sticking to the back of the seat in front of me. I think she might’ve started screaming if she noticed the lone shoe, looking perhaps even older than the driver himself, in the row behind me.

I can’t help but think of my bed, in all of its simple comforts, why must the alarm take such pleasures, mundane as they must be. A faint sigh escapes my lips, but no one turns to look.

Maybe if I try hard enough, I could sleep through the bumps.

Though I doubt it, as the driver seems to speed up on every rise and ditch in the road, as if they’re a challenge from the road itself. And after both me and my backpack are jolted into the air for the third time, I decide rest isn’t much of an option.

Pink heels flash, glittering even in the dim light. They hide away, enfolded within a mess of khaki pant fabric. The wavy hair of the wearer, just barely shoulder length, covers bits of her face. I can’t quite tell where she’s looking, her eyes concealed by flowing, tawny strands.

Mother’s voice shimmies its way into my thoughts.

It’s rude to stare.

I avert my gaze, deciding to fixate upon the empty candy wrapper draped along the floor.

And so I sit there, counting the wrinkles in the foil.

By the time the bus stops, I’m at 34.

The screeching of tires against black asphalt sends my stomach upwards with a quick jolt.

I stand, knees wobbly after struggling to unbuckle my seatbelt, and walk to the bus door. With my backpack slung over my shoulders, I can only feel sick.

School was never a fun place.

Not for me.

Stress and homework compile into a mess of halfway finished math assignments. Teachers who won’t take ‘I forgot’ or ‘Things got it the way’ as lackluster excuses for missing out on work. Their stares, lacking in assent, send the hairs on my neck flying upwards, as if pulled by an invisible magnet.

I find myself fidgeting with Roufus, the raptor a comforting sensation, smooth as most wooden things are. I fiddle with him even after the bus is gone, twiddling his small oak body between my fingers.

School smells of the wild and unfamiliar.

The only building where pallid, beige tiles and a minimal amount of windows would ever be considered a learning environment.

A standardized machine, belting out a film of stormcloud black. A few cogs fall out here and there, but no one cares to pick them up and slip them back into their spots.

A class goes by, then two. Followed by a monotonous amount of lecturing after two boys threw a flimsy paper airplane at Mrs. Russo, the wrinkled old crone who teaches math.

At least it was halfway done.

Lunch was no good today. Mystery cheese, tasting of plastic, loaded into soggy slabs of wheat bread. The ashen tray sits before me, a single, daring bite stuck in the border of the sandwich. The attempt at a classic grilled cheese had clearly gone horribly wrong.

“Can I sit here?”

The words hit me faster than any bullet. My head shoots up, eyes widening as Heels Girl stands before me, grey tray in hands.

“Oh- Yes, of course!”

I shuffle my own tray to the side, making room for her beside me.

“You’re sure you don’t have other people to sit with?”

I poke absentmindedly at my sandwich.

“Why, do you want me to go?”

“No, no, you’re fine!”

“Thanks.”

She smiled.

And suddenly,

I smiled, too.

Free of worry, the constraint of a tired boy.

I don’t think I’ll be seeing a ghost in the mirror anymore.