1. I have a Dream.
I have a dream. I have a dream among many others. I don't understand why I cannot accomplish this... my dream that haunts me every day, tortures me, and makes me dream even more. Faint dreams. Impossibility. Fiction. I lose myself in the middle of illusions and imagination, losing track of the real. It's something that I can no longer control. It's something I don't already know how to live. I got used to it. I got used to be unique. I isolate myself in the midst of this loneliness that consumes me. And this is my life. Am I so different? Am I so different that make people not want to be with me? Is my lack of confidence so perceived by others?
This hurts. It hurts a lot. How people don't understand how much it hurts?
I always wanted to be different and always saw myself in a different way but now I just want to be equal. I just want to be like everyone else.
I spend my days locked in my house like an ant in winter. I just went out only to go to school. Come the end of the day, I return back to my hiding place. In the beginning, I was used to take a walk around the city, went to see museums, going to the cinema, talking with neighbours... but now none of that makes sense. I do not make sense. I am a shadow in the midst of many. I'm a multifaceted person that fits with different situations but she vanishes behind her insignificance. I'm insignificant but at the same time noticed by everyone. I notice the way people look at me and try to approach. But when it's me who try to approach, it's like I'm something that people avoid. Like a dead animal on the roadside, starting to decompose and full of flies around it. Yes, violent language. It's what I use daily. After all, there are no better words to describe my life. If this is a life.
It's 4 am. I'm sitting on my bed lit only by the light of the street lamps. The light is so weak that only part of my body is visible. Small and mere parts like my inside. I hear the ticking of the clock I have on the nightstand. That sound worried me. Annoys me. But what can you do? That is the only object that controls me and I cannot undo it. I step awake at night, sitting on my bed staring at nothing that is my life. I prepare mentally for the day of tomorrow. It's hot. It has been very hot these days. How will I continue to hide these scars on my skin? Each scar has a history. Stories that summarize my life. I'm not experience anything at the moment but I have lived both in the past. And I miss that despite having cried for years. But at least I learned something from it.
I feel a huge weight on my eyes as if they were about to paste. My body swings back and forth as if it had given up. I gave up, too, unconsciously and I came into a deep sleep, dropping my body back. Waking up two hours later, with my alarm clock, I feel as if I had slept for a straight month. I feel even more tired. My whole body is sore. My arms hurt; my back hurt; my legs hurt... my head is bursting. I open the wardrobe, take a sweater of any Rock band and a black pants, worn, ripped on the knees because of a fall. I wear myself very slowly like a zombie. I take the eye-liner and I put it around the outline of my eyes, carrying quite pencil to stay well marked my gaze. For people to understand once and for all the evil that they do to me.
It's almost 7:30. The bus is almost here. I picked up my notebooks and books along with my bag, now also with its death signals and I walk to the door. When I went out, I came back quickly to get the house keys. Of course it was difficult to find them. I dumped my bag taking out all that stuff was there: my pens, wallet, glasses box, the tissues and packet of cigarettes. As the key was not there, I put everything inside the bad again and walked to the living room. I pulled my guitar up on the couch, along with clothing piled that was protecting it, and nothing. I looked around and decided to go to the bathroom. And there they were. Over the sink. It's at these times that I realize that I am not well. Sometimes, I act as if I'm insane, as if I'm not part of this world. And that's what worries me.
Well, I took the keys, and went back to the living room, grabbing my bag and my books. I think I have everything ready. I walk towards the door and it's time to leave my hiding place and get ready to live a new and "exciting" day. My days are all the same. I live them as if they were copies. It's like I'm watching a movie the DVD is always showing me the same scene. But today my day started in a completely different way. No, I'm not talking about the alleged disappearance of the keys, because it happens every day. I'm talking about a note that is currently under my door.
'You're not alone.'
I'm not alone? What does it mean? I shivered when I read the note. I don't know anyone here. I mean, I know some people but they don't even know where I live (I guess) and I only talk to them about college affairs. It makes no sense. Sure! Nothing in my life makes sense but this is quite strange.
But I have to hurry. I cannot miss the bus.
Half an hour later, I get to college. I step unnoticed in the middle of dozens of happy young people with their academic life, with laughter hearing one more adventure of a friend who got drunk and didn't know where he was, or discussions of a working group. It's almost 8am and I'll have a class of American History and Culture with Professor Zachary Baker.
He's a man who looks very trendy and for who look at him doesn't say he is a teacher of languages and literature. Inside the classroom, he is a very serious and demanding man. Outside, he's completely crazy! I don't know him. I know anything about him. Anything! All I know is rumors fueled by desperate girls who fall in love with him and do everything to seduce him. And they are succeeded. Let us say that Prof. Baker is a serious man but he can't resists to youth and sensuality of her students even being married. In this regard, he never noticed my existence.
I walk into the classroom and some people are already in there. They look at me with contempt and with a kind of disgust. It doesn't bother me, quite honestly. Two years living this... anyone could get used to it. I sit in the bottom of the classroom, as usual. I open the book and my notebook, I take a pen and start to make a short summary of what we would consider today, which wasn't successful because the teacher just entered.
"Good morning, Professor Baker." - The seductive tone of his five favorite students stands out among the poor and sluggish compliment of the most of the students. I picked up the pen and watch each teacher's attitude that while he's taking out his books and notebooks of his briefcase, looks and smiles at those bitches who need affection drooling themselves just looking at him. But I notice today everything is different and it hard to explain why. Professor Baker is avoiding them. He's not giving them the attention that he usually gives, praising them and stroking them discreetly in their faces. He sat down, opened the book and he's a few minutes looking at it. I am mesmerized looking at him. I'm the only one looking at him right now. I feel my body freeze despite the terrible heat that is in this classroom.
I look inside my back and there's the note: 'You're not alone'. Is this some kind of witchcraft? Am I being chased by ghosts? Or was I abducted by aliens? Come on, Natasha! You're 20. You look like a child imagining things. But the truth is that you live in imagination and illusions so you cannot complain too much.
Professor Baker crosses the room with his eyes as if he is counting the number of students present in the room until his eyes meet mine. My whole body trembled at the moment. Quickly, I look away, pick up the pen and start writing barbarities in my notebook trying to show him how much concentrated I am on what I'm doing. Discreetly, I try to look at him again and I notice he's taking out the tests of the one of his folders. He gets up, picks up the tests and start distributing them without saying a single word, which is not very usual because despite being serious and demanding, Professor Baker has sense of humor and he's always talking. He's closer to me this time. I look at my arms and quickly, I pull the sleeves of my coat so as to hide all these scars that involve them. I look at him with fear but to my astonishment he is smiling at me.
"Congratulations, Natasha. You got an A."
"Really? My God! I thought it was terrible..."
"You have to learn to trust in yourself and your abilities. You are very smart and you know that."
"Thank you Professor."
"By the way... this note was left on my desk but it's for you."
Once again I felt my whole body freeze. He gave me a small piece of paper, very similar to that I found this morning. I look at him again but Prof. Baker doesn't say anything and keeps distributing the tests. The paper is folded in two and I'm not daring to open it and read it. I put it in the middle of the book and pay attention in the class. At least I tried. Professor Baker spent the whole class looking at me which made me very uneasy for several reasons. Does he read the note and he's worried about me? This justified his actions with me. But if he is worried because what is on the note is not a good thing. I still don't dare to read the note. I think that neither I will read it. I think I prefer my quiet and unexciting life than a word game that has just begun, which don't have any information about the sender and what is his or her purpose.
The class is over. And now? I confess that I am scared about all this. I don't know what awaits me, seen that something is going on in my life and I cannot control it. I packed my stuff and when I got up, my eyes met Prof. Baker packing their stuff too. I approached him slowly, lost in thought and illusions that, this time, I'm not able to understand. He noticed my presence and looked at me, smiling, without saying a single word. Should I ask him something about the note? If he has read it or know who left it on his desk?
"Natasha, do you need something?"
"Yes. I mean, no. No. No."
"Are you sure? It seems to me that you are with some doubts."
"No. I had studied the subject before. I got it all."
"I'm not talking about the subject we talked about today, Natasha. What's wrong?"
"It's everything fine, Professor. I... I gotta go." - I leave the room running as if I was in danger. I leave the classroom so fast that I only stop when I feel my body crashing into someone else. I look up and see Professor Haner, my professor of Languages and Literature. He grabbed my arms pulling me away from his body and looked at me, angry, but when he sees, I feel that he becomes calmer but at the same time even more nervous. He's a very shy person and doesn't talk too much. He is a very quiet and spends a lot of time at home or in the library studying. In some ways, I identify myself with him, but he has friends and we can have fun with them. But in my case...
"Oh, Natasha! What are you doing here? I mean..."
"I'm so sorry, Professor Haner. I'm in hurry."
"Hurry? Will you be with someone? "
"No. Why do you ask that?"
"Nothing, nothing. Sorry. It's just... I was thinking... Nothing. I just...thought that... you aren't alone."