• At the Edge of a Smile
    I walk down the hallways with the same shuffling tread I am used to, my eyes up but my head down, the perfect way to watch people and yet have them believe that you are invisible.

    Invisible.

    The word stings on my tongue, even though I didn’t dare to say it. There’s always the pain of not being seen, the knowledge within that you are so insignificant that even the lowliest don’t even care that you exist. You’re just a brick on the wall. And yet as useful to me as being invisible can be, it hurts.

    Because of her.

    Yes, because of her. Her. My old friend. And she appears at the other end of the school hallway, her head up high, her eyes down low, the pose that speaks to crowds, the stance that says, “I don’t care if you see me, you’re just a peasant, if not, even less.”
    I avert my eyes, turning them down towards the tiles, trying my best to look interested in the black marks that trace the blinding white of the floor instead of those scissor-like eyes of hers that slice through the heartstrings as if they were paper dolls.

    Heartstrings.

    They say that people are bound by heartstrings, wrapped so tightly around another’s soul until an imprint is left on them forever. Tied together
    .
    They were cut.

    A quick glance upwards and I see her face. Our eyes freeze into one another’s. Her mouth tightens slightly, but the expression does not change. She is a walking block of marble. I am a puddle.

    But, why?

    Why? I want to scream out to her, but my throat has long shriveled to use any words. I can only think them as hard as I can, and hopefully fling them through her proud skull.

    Should I smile?

    Should I acknowledge her presence in front of me? Or should I simply pass by and treat her as if she was an invisible being?

    But she’s not invisible.

    No, she’s not invisible. I see her. She sees me. So I’m not invisible either.

    But she can still treat you that way.

    Yes, yes, yes she could. But, she wouldn’t, would she? Not after what she had already done to tear the still fragile chords of my heart straight out of my chest.

    She’s smiling.

    Her eyes are riveted to mine; her teeth are flashing in my direction, her fingers halfway up and bent in a wave.

    Smile back.

    My lips twitch, spreading upwards and across, the corners going into spasms. There’s something blocking me, a barrier, a cast of iron that prevents my lips from spreading all of the way. I’m at the edge of a smile, at the edge of noticing her, at the edge of acknowledgment.

    But don’t you remember?

    Yes, I do remember what she did. This is what’s stopping my mouth from forming a true symbol of happiness: the smile.

    She’s coming.

    The tiles of the floor are blinding me. People around us are washed away, their lips moving, but their voices are no longer heard to my ears.

    Clack. Clack.

    The sound of her dark-colored flats are the only sound ringing on the empty floor, that, and the taunting laughter I still remember years from now.

    I can’t see you! I can’t see you!

    These words, chanted in a singsong manner pierce through bone, a fifth grade song used to taunt an invisible girl…

    Why were you singing? I thought you were…

    Our paths cross, our toes tread the same tile. She’s still smiling, a confident, shameless smile, a smile that says she doesn’t regret being the one that led the chant of the song.

    Why? Why?

    I’m still at the edge of a smile; my eyes are frozen into hers, only a welder’s torch could tear my gaze now. My blood is jelly, no longer moving through my veins. My heart. Nonexistent.

    Just like me.

    We pass. The moment ends. The carousel that has become my world slowly spirals to a halt. Liquid flows through my body. I move. I breathe. I survive. It's over.

    But then, why is she still smiling?

    I turn around to watch her retreating backside, to see her walk over to one of her friends, smiling and waving. Her friend smiles and waves back without hesitation, and the two walk away without another glance in my direction.

    The smile wasn’t for you.

    I lean against the white-washed bricks, my feet like two cold, heavy stones pulling me deeper into the ground.
    My breath is steady, my heartbeat, even. I press myself in, melding into the school, melding into the wall until I’m nothing. Nothing. That’s what I am.

    Just another brick on the wall.