Have you ever stared into a mirror long enough that your own reflection becomes an unrecognizable silhouette of flesh. It’s as if for a moment you’re out of your body and you see yourself the way strangers do. It makes you wonder who you are without all that skin.
After Nathan’s death I started thinking more about who I really am and what I’m doing here. I mean, why are any of us here? Of course there are the obvious theories to consider like the religious and scientific possibilities. But the truth is I really don’t know what to believe. I’m still trying to find out if I’m capable of believing anything anymore.
So at the prime age of seventeen, approaching a sophisticated eighteen, I feel like I’m ready to find out what life is all about. I want to get out and see the world and all it has to offer. Unfortunately I’m still tied to adolescent responsibilities like graduating high school and proving to society that I can become a useful human being.
Today is my first day at Saint Esther’s Catholic School. Since I was given an ultimatum at my old school for embellishing I now have to suffer the consequences of my choices.
I’m dressed and ready in my new Catholic school girl uniform with a white, short sleeved top and a blue, black, and gold plaid skirt that falls just below my knees. I don’t think I could be more uncomfortable right now if I tried. My mother used to watch a music video with a pop star suggestively dressed in one of these outfits. No matter how modest this outfit may appear, now I feel like it ironically screams “harlot.”
When I arrive at the campus the assistant headmaster, Mr. White, greets me inside the front office. He is a short, hairy little man with an interesting hair piece that seems to rest on the side of his head instead of the middle.
“You must be Zenny Moone?” he asks.
“Yeah, that’s me,” I say timidly.
“Welcome to Saint Esther's,” Mr. White says while smiling. “I’d be happy to give you a quick tour of the campus. We have about fifteen minutes before I have to run to a meeting.”
“Great,” I say unexcitedly.
Mr. White proceeds to walk me around the campus that is adorned with steel crosses and granite statues of saints I have never seen before. The school grounds are very well-kept and the buildings share similar architecture of a Roman cathedral. I wonder how my mother could afford to send me here.
As we walk around the courtyard Mr. White continues to tell me more about the school, its history, and all the extracurricular activities. I try to focus on what he’s saying, but his excessive arm hair is distracting me. Before I can outline a story in my head about him becoming a werewolf at night and having supernatural strength, the tour is over and I still have no idea where I’m going. Luckily Mr. White leads me down a hall to my first class, and as I walk in every head turns to stare at the fresh meat (me).
My new English teacher is at the front of the classroom and introduces herself as, Ms. Aldridge. She is an older lady. The grey in her hair is slowly taking over her head and she has smile wrinkles; which actually makes me feel less uneasy. She guides me to the center of the room where I stand awkwardly in front of all my new classmates.
“Class, I’d like to introduce our new student,” says Ms. Aldridge, “her name is Zenny Moone.” Laughter spreads throughout the classroom when she says my name. “Quiet down everyone. That is an interesting name Zenny.”
“That’s a dress code violation!” I hear someone shout out from the crowd. I search for the face of the speaker and see one girl in the crowd with her hand raised and a smile across her face. She is a thin girl with blonde hair and a seemingly orange body tan.
“Sorry to interrupt Ms. Aldridge. I was just saying her shoes are violating our dress code, but I do have a question for Zenny,” says the girl.
Ms. Aldridge looks down at my feet and her face became stern. Her smile wrinkles practically disappear and now I feel even more nervous.
“Go ahead and ask Lindsay,” says Ms. Aldridge with her gaze fixed on my sneakers. I look down and completely forget that I had decorated my new school tennis shoes with different colored sparkling jewels and on the sole I wrote the chorus of my favorite song.
“I heard you got kicked out of your last school. Is that true?” asks Lindsay. I look up to observe Lindsay once again; she is apparently my new nemesis. She has short blonde hair, big gray eyes, a blindingly white smile, and the face of a movie star. Of course she had to be stunning; she looks like a Disney princess.
“Really? You heard about that?” I ask purposely sounding bothered. “I didn’t know they made such private information public to the students.”
“They don’t. My father is the headmaster here. I’m sorry if my sharing this information with the class seems rude, but we all have a right to know if you did something dangerous to have yourself kicked out.”
“Yes, I shanked a girl with an overly sharpened number 2 pencil,” I joke. Shocked gasps spread among my peers. I start to laugh but no one else does. “I was joking,” I say aloud and look over at Ms. Aldridge whose dubious expression reveals her shared unfamiliarity with sarcasm.
“Zenny, that isn’t something to joke about. We take violence very seriously at this school. That comment was as inappropriate as your ostentatious shoe décor,” says Ms. Aldridge.
And it looks like we’re back to the shoes.
“I’m sorry about that,” I say. “I just thought I would let my personality shine through somehow since we're forced to wear uniforms.”
“Those shoes are unacceptable. We only allow plain white tennis shoes with our student uniform. If you fail to adhere to our standards you will be placed in detention or possibly suspended. Understood?” says Ms. Aldridge dismissing my defense while she glares back at me.
“Gotcha,” I say and I look up at Lindsay who is smirking.
“Good. Then why don’t you tell the class a little bit about yourself,” says Ms. Aldridge.
This is an opportune moment to accentuate every aspect of my life, emphasizing the good (the small amount of it) so that my existence doesn’t seem so pathetic. But for some reason I can’t bring myself to exaggerate the truth this time.
“I’m just like everyone else,” is all I manage to say, and a sad feeling sweeps over me as I start to believe that this is true.
“Obviously you’re rebellious, which would make you different from the rest of us,” Lindsay speaks out again.
I’m starting to find her as a threat. I’ve barely been in this classroom for five minutes when she started with the attacks. I’ll have to stand my ground.
“Thank you for another observant, yet completely unnecessary comment, Lindsay,” I start. “Maybe I don’t want to be like everyone else, but I don’t think I have a choice now. Unfortunately I’ve landed myself in a classroom with Nazi-like tendencies so to make my life easier I’ll just, “adhere to the standards.”
Lindsay looks pleased as if she knows what is coming next.
“Please make your way to Mr. White’s office Ms. Moone,” says Ms. Aldridge. “I think you should have a talk with him before you start class today.”
***
"Zenny, did you compare Ms. Aldridge to a Nazi?” asks Mr. White as I sit in his office trying not to stare at the hair protruding from his arms.
“Of course not,” I respond, “I simply hinted that the way she runs her classroom was Hitler-esque. You should really have a talk with her sir; she obviously has an issue with relating to her students.”
“Well, I don’t think suggesting she may be a part of the Third Reich is the best way to introduce yourself, Ms. Moone,” he says.
“Now wait a second it all started with the shoes and went downhill from there. If she can easily decide to hate me because of one mistake, then she should not be a teacher.”
Mr. White shakes his head and lowers it and I swear I see a hint of a smile. Perhaps this is not the first complaint he’s had about Ms. Aldridge.
“Zenny, I know transitioning from a public school to a private school may be a big change for you, but nonetheless our rules have been put into practice for a reason. I would appreciate if you at least try to make this easy for the both of us. You’re lucky the headmaster Mr. Bowen is not here today to handle this. You would most definitely be assigned to afterschool detention for a week for a dress code violation. Since it is your first day I’m only giving you a warning.”
“Mr. Bowen. That must be Lindsay’s father?” I ask.
“Yes, Lindsay Bowen, have you become friends with her?”
“Not exactly.”
“Well she is a very prominent student. You could learn some things from her. Zenny, you should also know that I’m aware of the details of why you left your last school,” says Mr. White. “None of your teachers know about this. I prefer to let you have a fresh start without there being any preconceived judgments, but do me a favor and hold back from enhancing the truth. Focus only on what is true and virtuous. And it wouldn’t hurt to explore your spirituality before your senior year is over.”
I have to admit I’m caught by surprise from his admission. I figured he would most likely be aware of my student record and wouldn’t hold back from sharing his findings with the rest of the school staff. The fact that he didn’t has lead me to a newfound respect for him.
“I’m honestly not sure if I can commit to a spiritual quest, but I will do my best to find the goodness,” I say.
Mr. White smiles humbly. “That’s all I hope for.”
Before I can thank him I glance upwards and notice a picture hanging above his desk. It is the one with the smiling fish swimming upstream.
“Okay,” I chuckle, “I have to ask. What is with that painting? My psych— I mean my doctor has the same one in her office. Is there like an underground world of creepy fish art circulating the globe?”
“Oh my fish painting?” Mr. White laughs seeming excited that it has been noticed. “It was actually a gift from an old friend. I thought it was odd at first as well, but did you know that fish are actually quite intelligent? They have the ability to learn from their mistakes and even have more than five senses. Among many of God’s creations they’re capable of sensing things that other living species cannot,” he says.
“Interesting,” I say honestly amused.
***
After my meeting with Mr. White I stroll into the girl’s bathroom before heading back to class. As I walk in I discover two girls snorting lines of cocaine off the sink.
Sadly this doesn’t surprise me. They both turn to look at me and appear mortified as I discover them, but they suddenly become very hostile.
One of the girls was very big, in both height and girth. “If you tell anybody about this you’ll be sorry,” she threatens.
I smile peacefully and slowly back up towards the exit door. In situations like this I really have to pick my battles, and if the person who is threatening can snap me like a twig I will always choose a graceful flee.
“It’s not like we’re the only ones doing this either,” says the other small blonde girl who is wiping traces of the white powder off her nose, “so you could get a lot of people in trouble and we can have the whole school turn against you.”
“I won’t say anything, calm down. Have fun girls,” I say. Before I turn to make my way out I can’t help but notice the chains around their necks adorned with a gleaming cross. “Praise Jesus!” I shout before flashing them a smile and walking out of the restroom.
This is when I realize the last few months of my senior year of high school might be the most torturous days of my life.
Dear Diary,
A couple weeks have gone by of a draining repetitive lifestyle that I’ve been unwillingly pursuing. The only good thing time has done at this point is allow me to blend in more with the people at my school. And I don’t mean blend as in fitting in or relating to my peers in any way whatsoever. I mean more in a sense that I have become just another face in a sea of people. I like being able to swim by unnoticed.
I’m finding it hard to relate to any of my classmates. After my run-in with the snow queens snorting lines in the bathroom (so unsanitary), I started to wonder if people can ever be truly genuine. It’s depressing to know that a school where one could assume they would be able to find spiritual relief is filled with hypocrites. I saw one girl praying diligently during mass service. Then the next day I caught a glimpse of her and another girl sneaking pills during study hall. The boys are no better. Not a day has gone by where I don’t hear one of them talking about which girls are easy and who their latest conquests were.
Then there’s Lindsay, my arch-rival, who never stops trying to make me miserable. Every day I walk by her it seems she comes up with a new nickname for me. So far this week she’s declared that I am a freak, a loser, a piss stain, an idiot, and a whore.
At first I was annoyed but now I’m just getting bored with her inability to come up with an original insult.
I thought these people were Godly and lived happy lifestyles. If this is the type of person I would become in my walk towards spiritual maturity then I want no part of it.
If I can’t find out what I’m living for and I don’t even have anyone here for love and support then what’s the point? I doubt anyone would even miss me if I was gone; maybe the wrong Moone child was buried. I’m starting to wonder if anything can save me.