Sky's View

Sorry

Skyler

School started a week ago. Today is my first day at school.

I'm sitting in the hard wood chair, waiting for the reception to call me into the councilor's office. I'm staring at the ceiling; my mind a blank space. A blank canvas. An open book lacking words.

"Ms. Belafonte, Mrs. Baker is expecting you in her office," the receptionist mutters, holding the telephone inches away from her ear.

I heave from my seat, and start towards the transparent glass door. The door senses me approaching and slides open an elevator.

Every time I head towards this door, I imagine it as an open portal to a parallel universe where Greek Gods exist.

I glance down at my tiny feet in my ankle All star sneakers, and count my footsteps when I step in the hallway teeming with offices of different departments.

The offices are the aliens in charge.

I already know how many steps it takes to get to Mrs. Baker's office.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thir-

I bump into something hard. The force is equivalent to slumping against a wall, that I... That I gasp. My head c***s to the side, my head shifts from the ground, and I'm staring at a boy. However, he is not a stranger because I've seen him in common classes we shared last semester. I've seen on Wednesday, when he and his friends tried throwing me off a cliff.

"Sorry." His voice comes out mellow; still like soft-spoken like I remember it as being. However, his face, they say something else. Tragic lines form between his brows, and there's smoldering fury showing in his light brown eyes like a swarm of angry bees trapped inside a jar.

I'm punch his number four football shirt clad chest, when I realize he has his hands on either side of my arms.

The fury in his face dissolves, and replaces with confusion. Within the next second, he disappears through the door that takes him to his life outside the office building; yet his cologne, masculine and savory, wafts through the hallway.

In the counciling office, infront of me, sits Mrs. Baker in her red rimmed glasses and smile, both too big for her face.

She scribbles on the book in front of her really quickly. I wonder if it's her way of mentally dealing with a mute kid, like how a over throws punches in the air before he is about to face his opponent.

This is how we start, "How are you, Skyler?"

I stare at her certificates pressed on the white wall behind her.

"Remember, if you don't want to speak, what did we say last semester?" She hoists her lpeft hand up- revealing a mark on her wedding finger of where her ring used to be. She starts wriggling them. "Show me a sign that you're aware of my presence, by wriggling your fingers like this."

She's still smiling, I wonder how she does it. If I was her, I would have given up on myself on the second meeting.

I shift my gaze to the left, where the wide window is.

She scribbles something down.

"Have you done any extracurricular activity since the last time I saw you? I'm sure it wasn't within school property because I've been told you haven't been attending since last week," she sighs. "But that's not the point. All that matters is that you made yourself here on your own two limbs today. It tells me that somewhere deep down, you want to reach out..."

I blink, then sit on my hands.

"How do you feel about cooking, Skyler? Emily tells me, you used to be quite a fervent chef. Is that still one of your hobbies because I think you should try it again."

I feel like I'm being stripped naked in public. It's sounds weird because I can't seem to remember that side of me, but I know there's a tab Somwhere there open. However, it seems frozen. Along, with every other thing about me.

Mrs. Baker slumps her glasses up. "The brain is an equivalence to simultaneous applications open on a computer desktop, that's why some of us crush- unable to communicate the way we used to with the primary mode of input to say what we deeply feel," she explains, shifting closer in her chair. This time, her smile is nowhere to be seen.

Does this mean she's giving up on me?

"However, unlike a computer we have control. We can rewire our neurons. Shift to a different perspective. As humans, we get scarred, but we are never end up as damaged goods. Remember that."

She smiles.

For the rest of the session, she continues with mundane questions I never answer, and the random scribblings. In conclusion, she reminds me to not miss tomorrow's group therapy session.

She expects me to nod, or smile, or show her a sign, but I'm me. I'm Skyler.

When I'm dismissed, I stroll out of her office, exiting the hallway, and the main building. At this point, my mind veers off to that indignant boy who bumped into me earlier.

He only caught me because my weight went off balance during the collision. He really didn't deserve that punch. Anyway, I don't feel bad, because he is the reason I lost my notebook.

L