I didn’t know this girl we are writing about very well. Well, actually, I went to school with her since preschool, but, I mean, I never really knew her. Our English teacher, Mr. Segal, told us about her though; about how she slowly faded away. Her name was Michelle Roberta Anderson. Michelle was sixteen and went to Monrovia High School. She wasn’t into brand names and designer jeans like all the other kids. Instead, she always wore a red sweat jacket with holes in the elbows and blue jeans that didn’t get washed very often. When kids at school walked by her, she kept her eyes focused on the ground and prayed quietly to herself that they wouldn’t tease her again. She told herself that if she prayed hard enough, one day she would just fade away and never have to face these kids again.
Ever since Michelle was in Kindergarten, she was known as an outsider. She was quite, shy, and kept to herself all of the time. I mean, she must have been a total loner, because I would have noticed her… wouldn’t I have? Why didn’t she even try to make friends? Anyway, as she grew older, she seemed to distance herself more and more. During class breaks and lunchtime, Michelle would sit by herself under the shade of an old oak tree, writing in a book, which must have been her journal. She would write in that book for hours sometimes, pouring out her heart and soul, as if it were her only lifeline and her one true friend.
Michelle must have gotten sick a lot, because she missed a lot of school. Sometimes she wouldn’t come to school for days, but when she finally returned, she would be wearing that same red sweater and old blue jeans. One of my friends said they heard she was just being rebellious against her parents. That she was one of those rich kids that had everything, but she refused to wear the clothes her parents bought her. I thought that was just crazy. Could someone hate their parents so much that they would walk through life, day after day, wearing the same ugly clothes?
Sometime in the middle of our Junior year, Michelle started missing school more and more, until eventually, she stopped coming at all. It took a while before anyone noticed. Her teachers were encouraged by the school district to mark everyone in attendance so they would get the money for each student, so they never really took a real roll count. So even though they should have noticed she wasn’t there, it didn’t seem to make a difference. Michelle didn’t have any friends so there wasn’t anyone to report her absence. Then, one day, the gardeners found a book under the old oak tree where Michelle used to spend her time. That book was Michelle’s journal and in it were these words written over and over again.
Can’t you hear me screaming?
Don’t you see these tears that stain my face?
My body has been broken and bruised,
I’m so tired of the human race.
Will anyone notice if I loose this fight?
Does anyone hear these words I pray?
Can’t you hear me screaming?
Can’t you help keep me from fading away.
By the time that journal was found, it was too late. Michelle’s tired and broken body was found in a make-shift forte, where she had been living under the freeway. She was still wearing that red sweat shirt and those old blue jeans. The outline of her body was spray-painted on the cold cement ground where she slept every night. Sad thing is, after just a few short weeks, even that is slowly starting to fade away.
KA
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