I guess you could say that I'm one of those people who always finds themselves stuck. I find myself plotted down into a rich soil, left in a storybook cliche, and desperately clawing at the walls in vain attempts of escape. My first love, my first boyfriend, had betrayed me with another of my peers, and it tore up my insides. My body felt as though it was on fire, the fire that he left inside of me. I could feel him in my lungs, to my limbs, burning me up.
I coughed, as the bus I was on ran over a pothole. Coughing up my lungs. Coughing out his smoke. I wanted so dearly to get his taste from my mouth. I wanted to wash him from my body, from underneath my skin.
I lingered on the walk home, stopping at a few downtown shops, as was a rare action of me. The only solutions I could think of were distractions, and that's all they were. Unfortunately, distractions have a way of winding themselves until they break, and then you are left with nothing. Distractions have a way of slowly weaning out of you, until you are left swimming entirely in your own thoughts, with nothing left to distract you.
And that is exactly what happened. I thought about me and him, about our time together and our separation. I thought about how I shouldn't be feeling so badly, and I though about how badly I continued to feel regardless. I popped in some headphones, closing my eyes while leaning against the side of a building. When I opened them, nothing had changed. Nothing at all had changed.
I had found the problem.
Nothing was changing.
Well, more specifically, nothing was changing about me. This was both an amenity and a frightening inconvenience. My life had changed, yet I still felt as though I personally had not changed. I had to change myself, I had to get away from him and rid my body of him. I had to create a new self that he had not tampered with. My own fire, instead of his, began to burn through my limbs, and I pepped up my pace until I found myself at the local barber shop.
It seemed reckless and adolescent enough to fit my cliche, so I found myself walking in, pressing the volume up on my headphones. I didn't so much tell the hairdresser what I wanted, rather than just smile as politely as I could with my earbuds still in. It might have been unnecessary and rude, but I wanted to be in control of the sounds I heard. I sat in the chair, and pointed at a picture of a smiling woman sporting a flamboyant, bright-colored hairdo. The woman just nodded, unsmiling, as my grumpy behavior made things especially difficult for her.
After a while, however, the woman just launched into it. I think she lost patience to care if I wanted her to stop her art. She cut layers and swooping bangs into my hair, stopping every once in a while to adjust some tidbits. My hair went from waist-length blonde to shoulder-length layers in a matter of minutes. She reached for the dye, and her eyebrows went up, asking what colors I wanted. I picked some of everything, but predominantly I choose a crimson red. 1356Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdcVem8Qlxk
I tipped the hairdresser with everything I had in my school backpack, even the "emergency" money I always kept with me. She seemed confused, but definitely not upset. When I got home, I immediately dropped into bed, and fell asleep.
Upon waking the next morning, the aura of recklessness had dulled, though it had not burned out. I felt regret, but not enough to make me wish I hadn't changed my hair. Between bunny blonde and rugged rainbows, I certainly felt the latter matched me more now. I meticulously dressed and made myself up. I dressed in reds, headphones blaring, eyes tired. I dressed for myself, not him.
I looked differently, confidently, as I judged my newfound style in the mirror. Red dye had run into my skin, just below my hairline. It trailed from my ear down through my jawline. I left it there, I kind of liked it. I liked how I not only felt like i was bleeding, but I also looked like it. I wanted to project the rotting, charred feelings I felt settled deep into my rib cage. Though the feelings I experienced were not amiable nor welcome, I accepted them and choose to ignore them. I had more important things to think about.
Those feelings were the distractions now, rather than something to distract from. I took a final, admittedly long and vain look into the mirror.
"Nice..." I whispered to myself, and laughed at my own comment.
I ran the whole way to the bus stop, and arrived sweaty and dripping red. I was oozing energy. It ran through my veins and I could not help but to move. So I moved wildly and quickly, recognizing but not caring that my manic bout of confidence would eventually run out. I let myself feel it, shamelessly. I let myself be happy even though I knew it would run out later. What was the point of stopping myself from feeling?
I sat on the bus, waiting for my friend to get on at the next stop, hoping that she would react graciously to my extreme and sudden transformation. She sat down, and did a double-take, and then broke into a smile.
"Glad to see you took it so well..." she said cautiously.
I nodded, and smiled at her, hugging her. I was lucky to have her, and I was lucky enough to realize that she loved me enough. I didn't need anyone other than myself and my friends, and although I had built a barrier around potential relationships then, I didn't care. Romance was dead to me, friendship began my new big hobby.
"I kind of like the aesthetic, you know, the whole bloody sort of thing," I explained, "Feel like you're bleeding, look like you're bleeding." 1356Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8CgsCicEa3
It felt awkward to say, but it was true so I might as well have said it. She seemed startled, and shook her head. 1356Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkKpUV5qwCV
"I don't think so, it doesn't look like you're bleeding. More like you're burning," She said, respectfully and as if she were searching for words, "More like you set a fire."1356Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQDMtQCAiJ9
I smiled. A fire. It seemed appropriate. I had self-anointed myself with a fire of my own creation, rather than one he had left me in. I had decided that I would trail my embers along the floor, burning my past and allowing a new one to grow upon the ashes. I had changed, been changed. I had been burned and emerged stronger from the fire. Not bleeding anymore, because I had cauterized my wounds with red-hot flames. I smiled and my friend pinched my cheek and pulled one of my earbuds into her ears before staring out of the window, seemingly ignoring me for now.
As the bus groaned to a stop and we were preparing to get off in a few minutes, she turned to me and tapped on my shoulder to signal she wanted my attention. I was a bit annoyed, but then she ran her hands through my hair a bit, fixing the fly-aways and humming to the music.
"It's big, I like it..." she droned, carding her hands through my bangs one more time and laughing, "It's nice..."
I smiled, and then the bus doors opened to let me and the rest of us student out. I descended the steps with my head up, my changed self holding both more confidence and regret than I ever could have held in my past. I found that I was okay. Not exactly happy about what had happened or how I was feeling, but okay. Everything was okay. Everything was...in an odd sense, nice.
Nice, I repeated to myself as I walked towards the school.
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