Thrust Into His Arms

He said, giving me a keychain. I was about to take it, but stopped, seeing that is made with a small robotic doll hanging off a silver chain with lots of ornaments. It looks more like a boy type, not a girl’s.

It is not mine. While I do have a habit of collecting keychains and designing my school bag and phone with them, I do not have one like this.

"It’s not mine." I say.

"It’s not? I made a mistake then. Sorry." He apologizes.

I barely nodded in acknowledgement and resumed my trekking. I don’t know what prompted me to look back after a few steps. I did not catch sight of him.

I wore the cape of my hoodie over my head and kept walking. Trying not to let myself overthink that.

***********

Mom and Dad came home early from work. Mom asked to be transferred back here so she could keep on eye on me. She said she knew that I would play truancy with school and Dad would not be able to do anything about it. So uncalled for. "How was school today?" Mom asked, observing me closely. Perhaps watching out for any lying.

Right, they had also made me promise not to hide any bad thing and keep it a secret to myself like I did in Krohns.

"Good. Way too good." I wanted to hit my brain for answering truthfully in that moment. The plan was to say that school was fine and not say anything about the clique. Keeping it secret and short. I did not know that I was speaking the truth until it all came out. Damn it!

Mom throws me a puzzled, questioning look. "Care to elaborate?"

I inwardly sigh, and curse myself. I really am not in the mood for discussions. How can I keep it short? I started, moving around the dirty rice on my plate.

"I met two girls. Those girls introduced me to their group of friends."

"Were they bad? Did they bully you?"

Dad asks keenly.

"No. They are way too nice."

"You make it sound like a problem."

"I know it’s not. But then at the same time it is." I reason, and then threw out the question.

"What do you think the most dangerous weapon on this planet is?"

"Guns. Missiles." He answers. I glance at mom next. "Atomic bombs." She knowingly adds. They are not wrong. It’s just not the answer that I am looking for. I let seconds pass before I correctively answer, "It’s a smile."

"A smile?" They both blurt out at the same time. I would have found it a little funny if I wasn’t having a serious conversation.

"Yes. A smile." I emphasize. "If a person points a gun or a knife at you, that instantly tells that that person is an enemy. But what if the person shakes your hand, speaks nicely and smiles at you all the while hiding a weapon behind them and intending to kill you with it?"

They both do not say anything for a while. Dad wears an understanding look. "That is deep kiddo. That’s like a poison coated in sweets."

"Exactly! It would come from someone you have learned to trust and be comfortable with." I add, making known my point. "That is what I’m trying to say here."

"Well maybe you are the one just seeing it that way.

Expecting the worsts where there might not be a single trace of bad." He states.

I blink, thinking the words over. He is right. If I did not go through that bad experience I would be cynically suspicious of good.

It now has me seeing people and things through thorn-made glasses. "Can you blame me for that?" I croon.

"No. Never. But not everyone is bad. You shouldn’t close yourself up." He advised.

"That is right. Not of all the fishes in the sea are harmful." Mom added her two cents.

"Name another nice fish apart from dolphins." I say, squashing mom’s opinion. She must have thought it to be insightful. Quite funny. "You can’t right? Because there are none." I point out.

"But there are dolphins at least. That tells you that not everything is bad. You meet bad people and good people. It’s all part of living."

Whatever. I sigh resignedly. Lifting a spoonful of rice into my mouth.

"You mentioned something about a friend group. How are they?"

"They appear nice. They even invited me to a party." I muffly respond.

Dad beams, "Ohh. A party! You are getting popular already."

"Don’t sound joyful. It is not a good thing." I say dolefully.

"It is. Not everyone gets that on a first day."

"If you want to have a boyfriend, you can. But do not hide him this time and play hooks around the neighborhood okay?" Mom tells me. "And ohh—he should have a nice car and be even more handsome than your ex." She never met Rex. Dad told her.

I became tired of the dinner in that moment.

Did she have to remind me of that? I forced myself to quickly finish my plate before I left for my room. Curling up like a foetus under the comforter. My number one safe sanctuary.

They will not let me hear the last of it otherwise as they are already on my neck with complaints about me not eating as much I used to. My appetite has greatly reduced.

If it was up to me I would not be eating at all. I would be skin and bones. Starved to the point of death.

Less meal portions means less vomiting when that day decides to visit my mind in my dreams, causing me to be bullimic and distressed. There is also the anxiety that everyone who sees me probably knows me because of that.

They keep bugging me to go see a doctor and get multivitamins. Or seek mental help from a psychiatrist.

I tell them that there is no way that would work because I am sick in the soul. Doctors can heal body and mind but not the soul.

If perfect healing and clearing the mind of horrible experiences were possible, Maya Sawyer would not have killed herself as she was a psychiatrist. Even her could do nothing to help herself.

I don’t need doctors and shrinks. Time is the only thing I need. Perhaps.

Scars fade away with time. I just hope the same goes for deep, emotional scars. I really hope there would come a time in the future where I would not feel angry and sorry for myself anymore.