A new beginning
 

He has gone, forever. I will never see him again. Never.
What should I do? I can’t get up, my body is so heavy. I feel as though I have eaten stones. They are now in my stomach and I have no idea how to get them out again. Maybe never. Maybe I will die today in a car accident, or a flash will hit me.
I should probably stay home the today. I do not want to go to school where everyone stares at me, where I have no friends, but all are nice to me. I tell mom that I feel sick. She will believe me. Why shouldn’t she? Mom knows that I could not sleep last night and that I’m lieng awake for hours. I am so tired, but it’s not my fault that I can’t sleep. Every time I try to, or even when I close my eyes only for a short moment, I see his face. Over and over with blood, he is in pain I can see it but he smiles at me, like always. Sometimes you don’t recognize what you have until it’s gone. It’s not so sad when it is an object, but when you loose someone you loved, someone who was your best friend, who always smiled at you even if he was dying, someone who was just there. That’s like falling in a deep dark hole. I fell and fell, deeper and deeper, till the ground came. I landed on the ground of the hole and it damn well hurts. Sometimes it hurts so much that I can’t breathe. Then I open all the windows in my room and I have to lie down on the floor, because I’m so dizzy and faint.
James runs into my room, I close my eyes quickly. But he comes over and starts shaking me; what a foolish little boy.
“Leave me alone. I need my sleep.”
“No, mom said that you have to come and eat breakfast. And she said that you go to school today, whether you want to or not. So get up,” he says. His little face floats over me. He is very tan and his green eyes are the perfect contrast to the fine, red hair.
I grumble silently “asshole” and push James away. He screams something, but I don’t hear it; because I’m already on the stairs.
My mom is already in the kitchen. She makes pancakes, my favourite breakfast. The smell is dazzling, as always when my mom cooks. She is a real food-fairy! Her blond hair is tied into a messy pony tail. She turns around and fixes me with her green eyes, the same color as James’. I’m the only one who doesn’t fit in the family. I have brown hair, brown eyes and my skin is as white as snow. But also emotionally; I am not popular or funny. While everyone is smiling, I am usually the one who does not.
“Come on sit down and eat,” mom says.
“I don’t want to go to school. I’m sick,” I answer.
“I know. But today is a new day. It’s a new beginning.”
“No, its not. People are ignoring me and at the same time they stare at me like I have an illness. I am not going to school.” I am almost crying. The reality is hard.
“You will, and I won’t argue with you. You go to school and smile, and then everything will be alright. Now go, dress; in ten minutes the bus will arrive.”
Angry, I stamp up the stairs and start changing from my warm, fluffy pyjama into a simple black shirt and jeans. I hear the bus coming, grab my bag and run. I have no idea why; actually I really don’t want to go to school.
The landscape is passing the window and the bus is getting really full, but I’m still feeling lonely. I remember the first day I met him. It was after summer break. He was sitting in my place-at the back of the classroom, next to the window. He had tan skin and dark brown hair, which flowed like silk. I sat down next to him, a thing I normally never do. But he was new; at the latest after two days he would sit by the others. I tried to guess where he would fit in best- jocks, artists, smartasses, or emos? I had no idea. He turned his head, now I could see his face. I was sure that he had Native American blood in his family, but his eyes were piercing blue. After an eternity, it seemed to me, of just staring at me, he said:” Hi, I’m Chris.”
“Summer.”
“What? Ohm, was that a question?”
“No, my name is summer.” O god, I thought, that is so embarrassing. Why does this always happen to me?
“Are you new here too?” he asked curiously.
“No, why?”
“Because you sit at the back of the class, next to me. Normally people sit with their friends.”
I knew that I would have to tell the truth now, if I didn’t the others would tell him.
“I don’t have any friends. I had one last year, but her family moved to Moscow and she had to go with.”
“Oh, so we both don’t any have friends. Well, then we match well together.” He flashed a cheeky smile and against I smiled back.
Then at the end of the day we had a class together again and he came to sit next to me.
“Hi, Chris, how are you?” I said.
“Oh, you remember me! I’m good, very good.”
“Why shouldn’t I remember your name?”
“Normally people don’t really remember me. And most people never learn my name. I don’t really know why that is. Probably my appearance is so uninteresting or something, but sometimes I feel like I am invisible.”

I shook my head. I couldn’t believe it. He was so nice. How could he be invisible? But over a few months we got to be really close friends. And I realised that he was right. Everyone liked him, what wasn’t surprising, but on and off I got asked who the guy was that I was hanging out with. Or what his name was. Also teachers always forgot his name or sometimes thought that he wasn’t there and asked me if he was absent. For many people this probably would be painful, for example me. But Chris didn’t really care; he called himself the invisible man.
I have to smile. It’s always so nice when I remember the good things I did with Chris: The days in the shoppingmall, our movie evenings, the many hours we just spent lying in the gras, starring at the clouds and telling each other what we see.

“Step out, please,” the bus driver says through the microphone.
I practically have to jump out of the bus, because everyone behind me is pushing. I’m lost in a crowd of students, and again the cold feeling of loneliness comes over me. I’m freezing.
The school door is wide open, like a huge mouth which eats all the students. Everywhere I can see kids with their friends, at their lockers, talking with teachers or eating the leftovers from their breakfast. The smell of my school is unbelievable: a bit like old sweaty socks mixed with disinfectant spray, food, make-up and old, cool stones. I realise all these things, but I’m not a part of it. I am only an observer. Watching the American teenagers’ everyday life. I come into my English class. Right there in the corner, on my place at the window. There sits a girl with dark brown hair.
I try to smile and go to sit next to her. Mom is right, its time for a new beginning. Chris death is now six months past. It was a car accident and I was with him. I saw him dying. I think when someone you loved dies, a part of you dies too. But the other part of me is still alive, even if it doesn’t feel like that at the moment. I have my whole life in front of me.
“Hello, my name is Summer,” I say.

I hope you like it, maybe it is a bit too morbide and I guess also a bit unusual and very selfconnected. whatever, enjoy it :P .