Becky sat alone on a crowded, stuffy schoolbus full of immature high schoolers. Sometimes they were her friends. Usually they were her enemies. Every now and then she could connect with them, talk to them, know them, love them. But she could always see that she was seperate. And there wasn't a way for her not to be alone.
Well, she wasn't technically alone, but... she just was. There was a girl in the seat next to her, staring out the dark streaky window, sometimes pretending to sleep. She glanced at the two junior boys behind her. They were watching a movie on an iPod, muttering stupid comments about the female actors and sniggering at their stupid jokes. Stupid guys. There was also a girl, one seat up and in the aisle opposite, alone. Becky had once been the girl's friend, but they didn't have classes together this year. Darn. And Becky had liked her too.
She looked at the girl again. Once, she had meant much to Becky. Maybe something close to love. For a while, Becky had wished she wasn't the way she was. But she was, and all 'being herself' had done for her had made her completely alone. She could see that girl, sitting alone. Looking beautiful, but alone. The girl had never given a thought to her. She meant so much to Becky, the only person on this bus who ever gave her the time of day. But the girl didn't truly care about her. No one cared about her. Not even her own mother, really.
She was alone, too different from this busload of careless teenagers to be loved. She fell for people too easily, too quickly, and too deeply. It just wasn't possible to connect with them. She was alone, and they were all alone, too. But they were all too busy being lonely to try and connect with eachother. The distance between Becky, the girl next to her, the bastards behind her, and the girl across the way was unbelievable. She could reach out and touch any one of them right now, as easy as taking a breath. But they would still be all alone, trapped within their own minds, their own ideas.
No matter if she grabbed one of them. Shook them. Kissed them. Punched them. Killed them. She would still be Becky, and they would still be... whoever the heck they were. They could all love eachother so easily, hold eachother, cry for eachother, live for one another, but they would never realize it. Becky just thought too differently from all of them.
So she was always alone. On a dark, foggy bus, in a stuffy, boring classroom, at dinner with her dysfunctional family, and even making out with whoever-it-was-this-time. Alone. Always.
And as she looked at everyone around her, who meant so much to her, she could see that she meant nothing to them. Nothing. She could think for herself, she could laugh, she could cry, she could hate, love, kill, speak, and yet she was still so worthless as she rode along through the dark. How could she be so close and yet... so terribly, terribly seperate? So unbelievable alone?
She tried to withhold it, but it didn't work. She began to silently sob anyway. She noticed the girl pretending to sleep shift in her seat to glance at Becky. She wished she wouldn't. Don't glance, don't ignore, please. You can stare, or hug me, or sneer at me, or cry with me, just don't ignore me.
Why ignore me?
Wasn't crying a natural human sign? Didn't tears mean 'something's wrong'? Why did everyone ignore her sobs? They were obvious, weren't they? Didn't anyone care at all?
Her sobs were loud enough to carry down the aisle now. The girl Becky had liked turned around in her seat. "Are you alright, Rebecca?"
Becky turned away from her. She couldn't bear that question.
"Sorry, I guess you're not okay, that's obvious. Do you want to talk?"
"It's not... It- It doesn't... matter."
"You can talk if you want."
"No-it's-it's just not... not your problem."
Pause.
"Okay. Becky, I hope you're alright eventually. You will be. It'll all work out."
Becky wanted to ask her, come to me, hug me, kiss me, weep with me. But she couldn't. They would only tell her, "What's wrong? Talk about it. It's good to talk about your problems."
No, it's not good for me. She wanted someone to hold her, cry with her, talk with her, stay with her. But without forcing her to talk about her 'problems' or look them in the eye. She didn't want to 'talk about it' to these mindless children she was stuck with, nor her therapist, nor her stupid mother. She didn't want to be ignored to the point of madness, either. But it seemed the only escapes she was offered were the two she hated most.
She wanted it to work exactly the way it should, but it wouldn't. The world didn't revolve around little Rebecca, after all.
It revolved around each and every one of these lonely children on the bus.
The seperated, segragated, fallen for, loved and hated,
children
on
the
bus.