There Must Never Be Just One
by
T.M. Stielow
“What brand is that backpack anyway?”
It was always—or usually—a cheerleader. You know, with some other kid with dyed hair. I mean, we didn’t have cheerleaders, and well, no hair dye back then, but you know what I mean. The type.
“Did he even get a new one after he left that last school?”
“I heard he goes shopping with his dad in the mall.”
And who says what really starts to blur. But it doesn’t stop.
Like: “His clothes aren’t even new. No way THAT guy was at the mall this summer.”
And I am walking and getting closer and it just hits me all over again. I was NOT going shopping with my fricking Dad: no. But now here I am and I am fighting in my fricking brain. Like: “You won’t go shopping with your goddamn dad, eh!!?? Well eat shit asshole because you are walking into the biggest fucking school in your whole goddamn world and guess the fuck what?”
Yeah. Sorry. Such is my brain.
So this is the first day of school and well, I guess, it’s every day at school. And I remember. Mostly. Or maybe even exactly, I guess. I feel it. I still feel it. Obviously.
And well, back then it is all eyes. Everywhere. On me. Or I thought. I felt. I knew. Okay, I guess I imagined. I don’t like to say that though. And the bus arrives early. Like really early, you understand? Like twenty three minutes and what the hell am I going to do for all those minutes?
I mean I could stand, but where? Lean? Is that what people do? Do people fricking lean these days? I don’t know. That’s the problem.
No I can’t lean, or even stand, obviously. What am I even saying?
The only quiet is in movement. The only anonymity is in the crowd.
So I walk and I know to just walk and shut up in the brain already. Okay? Just walk. And I am not looking at the people in the hallway except—duh—I am looking at their feet but feeling their eyes and their eyes are everywhere—even in those feet—and there are like a thousand kids in that school.
I walk.
If you stop you become a person. You see that right? You are there. You are in focus.
There must never be just one. Do you get that? That is exactly what we do not want. Every kid knew that, by instinct. I know they knew. Everyone knew. Some people knew. They must have known. Did they know? No. They didn’t. But I knew. It’s so clear to me. There must never be just one. I must never be just one. So you move. I move. Moved. Silently.
But this part is just the bus ride. The kid ahead of me rings the bell and it’s time to actually leave my brain and enter the school. It never slowed down.
It was always—or usually—a cheerleader. You know, with some other kid with dyed hair. I mean, we didn’t have cheerleaders, and well, no hair dye back then, but you know what I mean. The type.
“Did he even get a new one after he left that last school?”
“I heard he goes shopping with his dad in the mall.”
And who says what really starts to blur. But it doesn’t stop.
Like: “His clothes aren’t even new. No way THAT guy was at the mall this summer.”
And I am walking and getting closer and it just hits me all over again. I was NOT going shopping with my fricking Dad: no. But now here I am and I am fighting in my fricking brain. Like: “You won’t go shopping with your goddamn dad, eh!!?? Well eat shit asshole because you are walking into the biggest fucking school in your whole goddamn world and guess the fuck what?”
Yeah. Sorry. Such is my brain.
So this is the first day of school and well, I guess, it’s every day at school. And I remember. Mostly. Or maybe even exactly, I guess. I feel it. I still feel it. Obviously.
And well, back then it is all eyes. Everywhere. On me. Or I thought. I felt. I knew. Okay, I guess I imagined. I don’t like to say that though. And the bus arrives early. Like really early, you understand? Like twenty three minutes and what the hell am I going to do for all those minutes?
I mean I could stand, but where? Lean? Is that what people do? Do people fricking lean these days? I don’t know. That’s the problem.
No I can’t lean, or even stand, obviously. What am I even saying?
The only quiet is in movement. The only anonymity is in the crowd.
So I walk and I know to just walk and shut up in the brain already. Okay? Just walk. And I am not looking at the people in the hallway except—duh—I am looking at their feet but feeling their eyes and their eyes are everywhere—even in those feet—and there are like a thousand kids in that school.
I walk.
If you stop you become a person. You see that right? You are there. You are in focus.
There must never be just one. Do you get that? That is exactly what we do not want. Every kid knew that, by instinct. I know they knew. Everyone knew. Some people knew. They must have known. Did they know? No. They didn’t. But I knew. It’s so clear to me. There must never be just one. I must never be just one. So you move. I move. Moved. Silently.
But this part is just the bus ride. The kid ahead of me rings the bell and it’s time to actually leave my brain and enter the school. It never slowed down.