That thought makes my eyes spring open and I begin running from the bench on which I sat. I feel as if I'd been bitten, eyes in front of me, I can't remember whose and what colour as it lingers away from my mind. I am not late but I can easily, be. I can’t shake that thought off as it is sadly or not true, it's there with the handcuffs between my back and theirs, I feel chained with fear and the blindfold held in my hands, as it fell down and I had tied it around my eyes just to feel the adrenaline.
Some people are afraid of losing their virginity, being a father, jumping with a parachute but I had something else that terrified me. I always stared at my teachers praying that I would never look like them and yet here I was. I feared their melancholy, as they'd ignore the rotting bodies with bags under their eyes, looking at the window waiting for something which cannot be saved.
Teacher Roman.
That thought terrified me and the fact that I shall now be known as Mr. and my last name. But then I can ask them to simply call me Roman. That’s it.
I’ll write my name on the board and that will be enough, after all I’m not that much older than them. Three years? Two? One? Four?
With that easing thought of getting compared to my previous teachers I walk inside the rather modern looking building, which now was where I would work from now on. I can't really collect my thoughts as they are scattered in my mind, like marbles. I can't touch them and don't feel the need, I just watch them roll by, some would brush me gently, barely touching me while others left bruises. But then it seems exciting. I am a teacher. Can I change their lives?
Can I yank them by the hair and throw their empty heads against the desk, cracking thier skulls to see a pink liquid immerse in a foggy cloud? Drugs.
I feel a light tingle of revenge. I could show them what I felt, like my teachers would give endless homework, the reason to my split personality, even if I knew what the real reason once was.
I can shift onto another thought, try to forget that I'm the only one in this body. I am the intruder? I have too many memory gaps. How much does he have, as he lays consciously in front of the scream, laughing with popcorn flowing out of his mouth. I want to gag. How come I ended up so close to Kayleen then? But then he thought differently, if he smoked that didn’t mean that I did as well. He did smoke, I remember waking up in my mind, an empty box and a name scribbled on the lighter with a brief yours before it, the name had started with
with
He had snatched it, yelled and thrown me backwards into myself, I couldn't wake up, I was suffocating, water in my lungs, as he massaged my neck, biting my neck, scarf gone, nothing sexual, just a way to make it end.
We are different. I am different, but then we are alike, like that damned reflection in the mirror. So much fuss about that, what is that looking at you from behind the mirror, isn’t there? I don't understand the commotion around it. Maybe because now that wasn’t just my reflection. I don't bother because my reflection is alive. I don’t just see that copy of me.
I feel him.
And he takes over me.
And I can’t do anything about it.
He’s not the evil twin, he’s the lookalike only corrupted or in other words the real me.
But despite whoever I am, I walk in. Much to my dismay, of course, there are no marble walls. I pout, smirking that it is not that fancy on the inside unlike the outside. As if it were a big strawberry sweet wrapper and it's peppermint inside. I walk on, seeing that this could have possibly been some university or school before it was taken over by corruption or whatever the generation believes in. I feel a light numbness as I feel the numbers drawing nearer to one I need.
The big moment arrives.
I swing the door open, as I peek in. Maybe they notice me, maybe they do not. Instead I just swallow heavily, as I might add loud. I don’t see many people crowding the class. I am early, early for an art club, as I have been in some up to this point in my life. So basically what I see is one really tall guy leaning against the desk lazily, iPod headphones in his ears the white wire repeating the path of his body and into his right pocket. He opens one chocolate eye lazily, as the other follows. Maybe he was day/morning dreaming. His hair is shorter than mine and a sort of slightly faded away deep brown. Hazel eyes shows no interest in me, mouthing some curse in a proud way.
“I am your teacher.” Jesus. That sounded lame, so thankfully, I believe that he didn’t hear it as he pulls out one headphone and stares at me. The awkward silence pierces the air making it amazingly intense as I dare not to move. The he nods, crossing his arms on his chest, raising an eyebrow, not taking me seriously. I blink and feel annoyance hit my body like a sudden wave, an unwanted tsunami.
He nods, taking an arm and scratching his head in a light ruffling manner. Hair on the back of his head sticks practically vertically, hinting the fact that he used gel or he has the nice gene going from generation to generation which is called ‘my hair is weird, deal with it’. I examine his nod as a muffled or mute phrase with the ‘who the hell are you? Jesus Christ, you are two heads shorter than me. So who the hell are you?' context.
“Hello.” Fuck you. “My name is Roman. I am your teacher.” Chin up. “You’re in my class.” Stand on tiptoes, he doesn’t see behind this dumb reeking of school presence, not literally, desks. “Your name is?”
He quickly eyes me, before taking off the second headphone, but it takes less than a minute and soon enough, his chocolate eyes bore into mine in an unfriendly way. Then he quickly says his name and I catch it.
“Richard.” Is his name. I get several associations, followed by another but somehow I feel that he’d be the next association I’d ever get now. I stare at him for a while before several more students follow. I never leave him in the lack of my attention as teenagers walk in, chatting, bragging, hum to music. Soon enough I take a big black marker next to the whiteboard and I write my name on the whole board, such ego, such desire as I feel the decease of a teacher bore inside me, as I lean my head back, long fingers stroking it and sticking inside, as if my skin were goo from the touch, as I see two coloured eyes. It made me feel as if I had a big ego, a huge one, but I can't just rub it off. I can't lick it off either even if I want to, it would taste like cherry. Allergies. I feel uneasy as the letters dig into me.
“Right.” I say clearing my throat loosening my scarf a bit, letting it hang rather useless around my neck. I walk in front of my own desk and lean against it, crossing my legs. It all feels so formal, the way the desks are positioned. I ruffle my hair, trying to focus on my next phrase.
“I am your teacher. As you can see I’m-“
“Ro-man.” A jumpy looking guy yells out as Richard elbows him, leaning closer to the poor guy and giving him that deadly jab. He pouts as he turns his blonde head towards Richard showing him his tongue. I hold myself from a surprised expression and showing worry that chocolate eyed could easily break jumpy-blondy’s nose. Instead Richard shrugs with an eye roll, pressing his chin against the desk, letting his mimic muscles rest from further hints of disgust.
I let my eyes rest from that sight which calls himself Richard. I switch my gaze to the next row of desks, getting nearer to me as Richie is sitting in the back. They resemble Melvin and Frankie, only no bromance between them, as Richard looks pissed and the blondy doesn't give a damn. I look at several dyed hair kids, I don’t count making sure that the gender ratio is even. Then my eyes stop on a black haired girl. She looks at me with interest her face in her palms, as she brushes several pitch black steaks from her oval face, giving me a small smile. She straightens up, revealing her different coloured eyes. Lenses? One, her left was an intense emerald green as the other was some sort of bleached out violet.
Her nails were dyed a dark blue, the nail varnish looked new, maybe she had done it today. I remember Lola's bright colours, as she'd never bother to recover, the dye sometimes gone of the tips, as mascara would be lightly smudged, by the time we should both stand from the bed, as she sat, asking if this were forever.
But then there was no special occasion, was there? Plus dye your nails for your art class where you can easily lose that intense blue. Gone. I could see myself taking the dark haired girl's arm, kissing her fingers, watching her eyes react to my actions.
Stop.
I shake my head, realizing that I have held the pause for long, everything started, as the clock start to tick, counting what's left, stare at her and possibly and most likely give out myself. I press myself heavier against the wooden-like desk, feeling a sudden ping of pain in my back. I tear my eyes off her, still having a ‘teacher for dummies’ guide in my head. I need to find out about the students, even if I had to listen Richard introduce himself all over again, as Frankie seems like Melvin to me now.
I want to know about her. Stop.
“Right, so everyone tell several phrases about yourself.” I scratch my head, calming myself down. “And your possibilities, what exactly are your interests in art, so that I can know your passion.”
Fuck, I sound like a professional wannabe. And now dresses off, ladies.
Professor Roman, please to meet you.
Oh, God.
“Can I start?” My thoughts break as I see a hand bolt up and wave at me in a maniacal friendly way. I give a small nod, noticing a familiar blonde head. He jumps up, his hair jumping up as a grin appears on his face. I smile at him back, knowing that I cannot answer a smile with a frown and with the fact that I am the guy’s art teacher. His light at the end of the dark tunnel called school days. A fighting veteran, just like I was, against the monstrous teachers and useless lessons.
“Antony. Tony. Sixteen. Sculpture.” He says quickly with a nod at the end, his hands against his desk, as I wonder if he wants someone to pin him against him, if he has a girlfriend, as I had wanted that colour at his age instead of my light brown. He wears a white button down shirt with the sleeves pulled up, revealing his skinny elbows, and several bracelets on the right hand while the other had dark spots on the nails which I assumed to be black nail varnish once, as I see Lola dying my own, blowing, blonde on her lips, as I pull her up into my lap and kiss her.
I give a nod, praying that soon I’d see the black haired girl stand up, her eyes fixed on mine, with that mischievous grin spread on her angelic face. I gesture for Antony to sit down, as he flopps down with a thud, leaning his head back, staring at the ceiling. It lasts only for a second before he sits up straight, looking at me then at Richard, who by the rules, if starting from the back should have been first.
He stands up, headphones hanging lazily around his neck, as he speaks for the rest. I don't concentrate on his words, stealing several glances at the different eye coloured student. She couldn’t help but glance at me several times as well, her eyes locking intensively into mine. I loosen my scarf more, gesturing Richard to sit down for the sake of all humanity. Right, he preferred classical pencil drawings. I caught that last bit ignoring how he introduced himself, as I didn’t bothered if he preferred to be called Richie or Richard.
Screw. Him.
Ta.
“Yeah, you.” I smile, as a girl gestures at herself, hiding her face behind her chestnut brown hair. She stands up revealing a face full of naïve freckles. A hand was ruffling her hair as she spoke, the other with her nails digging into the table. Her face a bright red of the embarrassment and the amount of attention she was receiving. “Nadia. Nadine. Nad. Doesn’t… really matter. Oil. Seventeen.”
So, I had a seventeen year old. I smile at her, so she’s at ease, after all I knew what it was like if on your first day the teacher glares at your attempt to smile and look all proper student smile thing crap. I nod for her to sit down and she exhales, bringing a hand to her forehead closing her amber eyes in defeat. It's all ahead and I'm glad that's not for me.
“Miles. Just… Miles. Oil, pencil, pastel, water colour? Basically everything, just… Fifteen.” He shrugs under his chin length or even longer jet black hair which seems dyed. He doesn't bother to shrug his hair off as it even covers part of his mouth. He has a lip ring, his ears pierced and I think I can make out a tongue and eyebrow ring. Silver crosses are as rings in both ears along with different hoops and plain circle or other shape ones. He brushes a steak of his hair revealing a piercing baby blue eye with kohl for a single second before his hair falls down again covering it once more.
“Joanna.” A girl stands up, tearing herself from a conversation she was holding with her friend. Her light hair is held up high in a ponytail so neat that I can't see a steak sticking out. I see her morning, as she combs it, her face concentrated on the awaited long gone day. Her lips are a heart shape and her applied lip gloss makes a rather heavy 'look at my lips' accent. Then she smiles, revealing her teeth in a friendly, un-Hollywood like way unlike her neat hairstyle. “Seventeen. Pencil lately, since I’m not really got at it, I’m kinda practicing, y’know?”
I give a nod and a sign for the next girl to stand up. She stands up, giving a quick eye roll to Joanna, fixing the end of her baby doll dress. Her dark blue eyes look around for a while, scanning her surroundings. “Melee. Yes, that’s my name. Sixteen. Oil.”
With that she sits down, fixing her dress again and returning to her conversation with Joanna. I wonder if me and Lola looked like twenty when we were their age. Her dark brown hair is neatly cut and arranged that it looks straightly from a stylist or maybe I got it right. She laughs from while to while ignoring my gaze and soon enough I drop it, knowing what exactly art lessons are always like and I usually am dragged into or make the conversations myself.
Then I look back at her, her gaze fixed on something else, something behind. I watch her turn back, giving out a small fascinated smile. Then she looks up, watching the top of my head, her eyes capturing,
Searching for my
brown roots.
Chapter 20
