I hate baseball.
I’m walking over to my school right now, and catch sight of a young father showing his little son how to swing a baseball bat. The father laughs when the son accidentally hits him in the stomach. The son tips over himself at the impact, and the father rushes over to pick him up. The father catches my eye, and I look away ashamed.
My father always insisted that I played baseball as a child, even though I told him I didn’t want to. He wanted me to be a boy and he never failed to mention that. I can’t express how happy I am now that he’s gone.
Father disappeared about 8 years ago. He left for work early in the morning, like he always did, except this time he never came back. I was only 8 myself, but felt unbelievable hate towards him. Towards the man that made my mother cry because of the words he used towards her.
The cold rain trickles down my shirt and causes me to shiver. Why didn’t I bring an umbrella? I think angrily. It’s just my luck to have to walk home in the rain while wearing my favorite Nirvana shirt. I zip up my jacket and pull my hood up over my head, staring at the ground and trying to avoid all of the puddles.
I walk through the vacant parking lot as the rain hits my shoulders, pulling my backpack straps tightly against my arms and accidentally step into a water puddle. My sock and shoe instantly get soaked.
By the time I arrive at my school, I’m absolutely WET. My shirt, jacket, shoes, and socks are all drenched in water. I look up at my school, and scowl. Yet another day in prison, I think to myself.
Jefferson High is a private school about 3 blocks away from where I live. Most of the class are indoors, so at least I won’t have to worry about walking much outside during passing periods. The walls of Jefferson high are brick red, and the roof is lines with a clean white strip because God Forbid should it get dirty.
And you’d think that the kids would be good mannered and polite since they are rich, right? Hell no! The kids are mainly snobs because they think that they’re all high up on a pedestal and expect everybody to bow down to their every whim, (although most of them are rich so it’s like being locked in a room with hundreds alpha lions and only one female in the room.) My family is not rich, if you were wondering. My mom just has a very wealthy boyfriend, so we moved to a bigger house, and he insisted that no “daughter” of his will be going to a public school with all the other basic kids. Well... he didn’t actually say that but he might as well have.
I step onto the freshly cut grass, which results in my black and white converse getting covered in mud. I stop walking, and try to wipe it off on the edge of the concrete when I make it to the sidewalk.
“Hey look, Robby, an overweight band member named Kevin says, before letting out a snort of laughter and pointing at a wet spot on the front of my jeans. "Madelyn still isn’t potty trained." Boys are so annoying, I think to myself while kicking at a rock on the side of a curb. No wonder women live longer, I think to myself. They probably kill their husbands by the time they’ve spent many years with them. Maybe that’s why older couples fight so much. I continue walking to my first period, and ignore the laughs. I soon forget about Kevin, and I continue thinking about that little boy and his father.
When my mother had called the police and told him of father's disappearance, they asked me if I was OK. I looked them squarely in the eye and said clearly, “I’m glad he’s gone.”
My mother insisted that I go to therapy after that. Whats the point? I whined. Talking about my feelings never helps, I told her. She forced me to go either way.
“Madelyn,” he said every time we met, “How are you?” I refused to speak at any of the meetings. I sat in silence, glaring at him, until he became uncomfortable and said that he would call my mom to take me home.
“I just don’t understand you, Madelyn," mom would say. “Why can’t you just act your age?” I knew this isn’t what she meant. She really meant, Why can’t you just be normal, Madelyn? It isn't my fault...
I make it to my 1st period, taking a seat in the farthest possible row, and practically throw my backpack on the ground, and slump in my chair. Putting in my earphones, I close my eyes and ignore all the students around me. It’s stupid of me to think about that stuff at a time like this. On the first day of school. The torture hasn't even began. I take a deep breathe in, and pretend like I'm all alone, which isn't so hard for me.
I pushed everyone away after my father's disappearance, because everyone thought poorly of me. I enjoyed being alone. Alone with my thoughts that never betrayed me, and now that I’m 16 years old, I’ve grown accustomed to being unloved. “Unlovable” as my mother says. And now that I have a new brother, now 8 years old and absolutely amazing, Mom doesn’t pay me much attention either. He’s the baseball lover, and everything I never could be.
My escape is music. The words crawl into my mind and spread through me like fog, until even my darkest thoughts are covered up. Until I actually believe that one day everything will be OK. But then I realize how foolish I am to think that. Hope is for the weak, because life is hard. And we all end up dead no matter what we do.