Inside Me: C01

Inside Me

—– 1 —

Why is it that in all the good stories, the guys are the protagonists? They’re the ones you cry over. They’re the ones with the emotions. The girl is always their support. Support. Their strength. Never them. Never the Protagonist. When the girl is in danger; when she gets hurt; why do we cry for the guy? When he’s sad because of her, why do we feel for him? Why not for her? Why do I weep when the guy gets hurt; regardless of whether the female is sad, regardless of whether she even knows about it? Maybe it’s just me though. Maybe, it’s just the stories I read. Maybe that’s why I think they’re good in the first place. But I’m a girl. I want what the guys have. I want to be the protagonist. I want people to feel for me.

I closed the book in my hands after staring down at the last page for a few seconds. Mom looked over from the driver’s seat to my lap while she waited on the vacuum tube to return with her money. Visiting the bank with mom before grocery shopping; my life was on the verge of explosive excitement.

“Isn’t that book a bit mature for a fourteen year old?”

“I think I’m a bit mature for a fourteen year old, mom.”

“Not according to your first period a few months ago.”

“Moooom, that was over half a year ago, and my body has nothing to do with my mind. I could have skipped a grade if I wanted to.” I would have if I wasn’t so scared. I didn’t really have friends per sey in my current class, but I at least knew them as acquaintances.

I tossed the book into the backseat of the car hoping to prevent further questions about it. The suction and thump of the capsule returning sounded. Mom opened the small door and retrieved it.

“Only today, I’ll let you pack the cart with junk food. Try to get the kinds your brother likes,” mom said as she pulled out the bank envelope.

I knew she would somehow bring him up that day. She chose to put a positive spin on it at least. Instead of saying that my manically depressed older brother would be returning for the school year to seek seclusion in his room while he moped over his dead girlfriend, she gave me permission to buy junk food. I wasn’t about to sneer a smart remark though; my high metabolism would never forgive me for it.

Mom returned the capsule to its tube, closed the door, and pulled out. Off to the grocery store. Truly a day for the history books.

I couldn’t complain too much though. The first day of high school was coming up. I would walk into that school with no friends. Alone. Scared. A freshman.

In fast-forward, as I lost myself in my imagination, the rest of the day flew on. Mom and I went grocery shopping, returned home, unpacked the groceries; I retreated to my room with a bag of chips to search online for reviews on another good book I could soon read. I stumbled upon blogs and forums – conversations between friends; I daydreamed, I wished. Depressed as my window turned into a mirror reflecting my bedroom light, I moped into the bathroom to get dressed for bed.

I walked from the bathroom in my nightgown to meet my mom.

“Did you get something to eat yet? I was lost in research and forgot all about dinner. I was going to throw something together real quick.”

“No,” I replied, “but I’m not really hungry.”

“Ok than sweetie. Don’t forget to set your alarm clock.”

“I already did mom.” Apparently my drowsiness began showing; mom began moving back down the hall toward the kitchen.

I walked into my room, closed the door and dropped onto my bed.