“Hey! Emo girl!” a guy in the hallway yelled, jumping out in front of me. I dodged him and kept walking, listening to Daggers Speak Louder Than Words by Alesana on my iPod. I had a lot of music on there, mostly by Alesana. I have OAD, which to me means Obsessive Alesana Disorder. OK I’m getting off-topic and that’s not the point.
When I got to my eighth-period class, Reading, I grabbed a book, stuffed my iPod in my bag, and took a seat in the back. People stared at me and snickered.
“Hey, are you supposed to be here?” the teacher asked me. I nodded and brought my schedule up to her. She took it, looked at it for a moment, and handed it back to me. I walked back to my desk.
I was too busy putting my schedule in my binder I didn’t see this one girl’s foot poke out in the middle of the walkway. Of course, I wiped out. People laughed.
“Ha ha, emo girl!” the girl said.
“Hey, Ms. Bufton! You should give that girl a Wing. That was a good one!” a boy in the front yelled. I gathered up my stuff and ran to the back of the room.
At the end of the day, I walked home in the pouring rain. I lived in Oregon so it rained 24/7, 365 days a year, 366 days on leap years. I turned my iPod up to full blast and sang along to Suicide Season by Bring Me The Horizon. They’re another screamo band. I guess I didn’t mention that Alesana is a screamo band.
People stared at me and I walked down the sidewalk. I guess I did look kind of stupid, seeing as how I suck at screamo.
The song ended, so I took my iPod out of my pocket to choose another song. While doing that, I bumped into someone. Figuring it was another person getting ready to hate on me, I got up off the ground and started to walk past him.
Oh my gosh, I thought, as I stared at him, dead in my tracks. He was the most gorgeous emo boy I’ve ever seen!
“Sorry about that, my bad,” I said, looking down at my neon green and black Converse because I was sure that I was blushing.
“No problem. I’m Damien. What’s your name?” he asked me, picking my iPod up from the ground and handing it to me.
“I’m Erickka.”
“Cool name. Nice shirt, too. Dashboard Confessional is a good band. I like the song Vindicated. ‘Vindicated, I am selfish, I am wrong, I am right, I swear I’m right, swear I knew it all along,’”
“I love that song. Hey what school do you go to?”
“Reynolds High. What about you?”
“H. B. Lee.”
“Nice. Wanna walk?” he asked, putting his arm around my shoulders. I nodded, blushing again.
“Emo kid!” someone yelled, standing up in the backseat of a convertible that was driving by.
“Ugh, I’ve been getting that all day. Someone in eighth period tripped me, and in ninth period, FACS class, someone dumped cookie dough all over my favorite hoodie, which is why I’m walking down the street in the pouring down rain in a tee shirt. He laughed.
We walked for about 20 minutes, until we reached my house.
“Can I have your number?” he asked, taking out his cell phone. I gave my number to him, then he handed me his phone so I could take a picture of myself to put with the number. We said goodbye, and I walked in my house.
“H. B. Lee is full of preppy kids who hate emo kids,” I told my step-mom and went to my room. I looked around at all the boxes that I needed to unpack, turned my iPod on, and opened a box up. It had all my composition books I’ve kept since I was 12 (I’m 14 now), which had poetry, music (bands I’ve written down to add to my iPod) and lyrics to some of my favorite songs. I put the composition books on my shelf and took the box apart and put it in my closet. I picked up the next box, and I heard knocking on my window, dropping it, I looked up. It was Damien.
“What the freak? You scared the crap out of me!” I exclaimed, opening my window.
He laughed. “My friend is having a party, and told me I can bring anyone. Do you want to go?”
“Uh, yeah!” I said.
“Cool. We’re going to be driving there so I hope you trust a seventeen-year-old behind the wheel. Don’t worry I have my license.” He held it up.
“You look hot in that picture,” I said.
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO
“Damien, you never told me that there would be drinking at this party. You know what, screw it I’m not even going to let you drive me home, because you’re as drunk as a horse.”
“No I’m not, I’m just buzzed,” he said, tripping over the flat ground.
“Uh-huh, sure. My parents would kill me if I were in a car with a 17-year-old who is drunk. Look, I don’t have anything against you,” I said, helping him up.
“Look, Erickka, I really do like you. And I know you like me too,” he said sympathetically, “So trust me.”
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX
“Slow… Down… Before you get us killed. What are you, suicidal or something?” I yelled. About 100 yards in front of us was the railroad tracks. He sped towards them, trying to beat the Union Pacific train that was coming down the tracks.
“You’re not going to beat the train, Damien. The train always wins. Always.”
“Okay, you know what, you drive,” he yelled, stopping in the middle of the railroad tracks. The train was about 300 yards away, coming at 55 miles an hour it looked like.
“You moron! You are trying to kill me, aren’t you?”
“No, oh my God, we’re screwed,” he yelled, finally realizing what he was doing. He floored the gas but ended up running into the bar that’s supposed to keep cars from getting hit by the train. He cursed under his breath.
I jumped out of the car and ran over to Damien’s side.
“I’m not getting out. Go. If you try to get me out then we’ll both get killed. Something’s wrong with my seat belt, sometimes it gets stuck and you have to pry it open—“ he was cut off by the trains whistle.
“I’m not just going to leave you here, Damien!” I yelled over the train, which was 100 yards away now.
“If you don’t get out of the way I will never forgive myself. Just go. Don’t worry about me,” he said, looking me in the eyes. I hugged him tight, and jumped back when the train blew its whistle again.
The train was fifty feet away. “GO!” he yelled. Trying to hold the tears back, I jumped over the bar as the train comes thundering by, smashing the car, and killing Damien. A piece of sharp metal flew out from under the train, almost hitting me.
I burst out crying and couldn’t stop for two hours. Once I was done, I reached into my coat pocket for my cell phone, but I found a folded up piece of paper instead. I took it out and unfolded it.
“Ericka, I’m very sorry for what happened. I never meant it to be like this, this was supposed to be a fun night. Sorry if you can’t read it, if this note is messy, I just wrote it really fast while you were busy yelling at me. But I really, really like you and always will. And I hope some day we’ll get to see each other again. I didn’t know this was going to happen. I just wrote it incase something did happen but hoping that it wouldn’t. I’ll miss you. From: XxXdamienXxX.
I folded and opened the note about a million times before it finally hit me. He didn’t even try to get out of the car. I should have pulled him out. He’s dead because of me. I started crying again, not sure of what I was supposed to do. I found my cell phone and noticed that it was 11 o’clock at night. I did really like Damien, and now he’s gone. I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t know if I was dreaming or not, but I didn’t feel like pinching myself or kicking myself, like a lot of people I know do.
Instead, I picked up the piece of metal that had landed next to me, closed my eyes, and stabbed it into my chest.
dope
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