A gentle breeze cusps the knuckles, where flesh lay deadened and numb. Sucking in air, as if for the first time. I raise my left hand with fingers apart. Observing the texture of the back of my hand, I look carefully; hair, redness at the balls of the joints, and the cracked lines.
“So . . . This is what life is huh?”
I look to the sky with feeling between dread and hope
. . .
Waking up like usual, groggy as ever. Mornings are blurs for the most part. Shower, getting dressed, brushing teeth, etc. Looking to the mirror, I inspect myself. Somewhat skinny, average shoulders, and messy brown hair. “Well, guess I can’t do anything about my mop of a head.” I chuckle. Out the door, walk a few blocks, and there I’m at the bus stop. It’s a brisk, cold January morning, with a clear sky and the sun slowly rising. I see Ricky, the only other guy who goes to the same bus stop.
“Sup Ricky”
“Sup Jace”
We both sigh
“Just think man, you’re graduating this year,” I chime. “Lucky”
“Yeah I know, not soon enough though.”
“Can’t wait till I graduate”
We share this bit of humour, like we always do. I’ve always enjoyed Ricky’s company. Great at cracking a few occasional jokes, and being relatable. Ever since knowing him in elementary, we’ve been sort of rivals. We were both the “smart kid” of our class, except that he was a year above me. He’d often tease me about things he knew that I didn’t. But now, he’s turned much more friendly and outgoing. I have to admit though, there is a bit of jealousy. Even though I turned out to be “smarter” later on, he had a lot that I wanted; nice looks, friendly aura, and self-confidence. Though once the bus arrives with a screech and we hop on, those thoughts fade.
I blank out on the bus, and sleep for a good half hour before arriving to school. Disappointingly, I’m even groggier than before. “Whatever,” I mutter. I grab breakfast, eat it, rush to class, sit down and go through the motions. The first couple of periods go by smoothly, with nothing particularly interesting about them. I greet friends, acquaintances, and teachers as I walk by them in the hallways during passing period. But, third period comes along.
“Ready for the test?” a friend asks.
“I guess so.”
“Did you study?”
“You know me, I study when I need to.”
“So you didn’t study?”
“Yes and no, I studied a few days ago.”
“Sure,” he jeers at me sarcastically
I enter the classroom, get the materials, and sit down in wait for the test. The test gets passed out as I mentally prepare myself. I go over the important parts that I learned in class. Finally, the test is in front of me. But . . .

I feel apprehensive, like I’ve been just bit by a snake. Come on, I know this. Starting to write, I put my thinking down. Except that I don’t have any, and I try to make sense of this. What is up with me lately?
I fumble in key parts, filling up with anxiety. I know I studied for this, but is it enough?
I get it done, though with a large feeling of uncertainty.
A sigh of feigned relief, trying to convince myself it went well.
It’s lunch now, and I head towards Mr. Benson’s room, where my friends and I hang out. I say hi to all of my friends, Monica, Rachel, Jack, and Franky. It seems Monica and Jack are debating about something, but I could care less. I eat my lunch quietly, not paying much attention.
“So what do you think?” Jack interjects?
I reply something, still not comprehending what they are talking about. The conversation goes on as almost everyone discusses about the topic. It makes me feel sick, and annoyed.  I feel all caught up in my throat, like choking. I get up confused, feeling the need to be somewhere else.
“I’ll be back”
“Are you getting lunch?” Rachel asks curiously.
“No”
“Where are you…”
“I’m not sure” I interrupt rudely.
Rachel gives me a slightly hurt look but resumes with the chatter in the room.

Walking to the school entrance, I feel a burden on my chest. I walk around the halls, just observing any and everything. What is this? Come on, you have things to do . . . Getting angry, forced determination prevails. I finish the rest of the day without a hitch, though the oppression that I hold still remains. I stay after school like normal, because it is too difficult to study at home. I sit down next to Monica and Jack, who stay as well. We talk while we work on homework and projects. The average high school conversation; complaining about a teacher, cool ideas for a hangout, and random tangents. Though for me I find myself talking more than working. As we laugh about some lame joke I tell, I unconsciously start comparing myself to my friends. I think about how nice Monica is, and how she does so much community service, and how Jack is smarter than me, that he is able to put so much more effort than me academically. Catching onto that, I stop contemplating about that, and curse this overthinking. Then, the dread comes back, or rather, I stop ignoring it.
A sigh, with a slight crack in my voice, but my friends don’t hear it
“Alright see you guys tomorrow,” Jack cheerfully exclaims
“See ya, and don’t remember the thing on Thursday.”
Monica laughs, “Yeah you forgot last time!”
Those who remain resume with doing work. At this point, I’m only holding my pencil, somehow unable to do more than that. A few minutes later I get up, and she looks at me. Her eyes glint, asking me what I’m doing.
“I’m going to . . . Yeah”
She gives me a concerned look, but lets me go.
Out to the entrance, outside, and into the suburbs. For a solid hour, I walk. My head an avalanche of thought, I go to and fro inside. Thoughts of home, thought I don’t want to remember, and thoughts of dread. Starting to twitch, I feel ashamed, crazy. The pain swelling in my chest becomes unbearable. Screaming, raging, shouting, I let it out. Frustration, dissatisfaction, and incoherency erupt violently. Soon, my throat becomes soar, and my body weary. Utter confusion and nothingness overwhelm me. At that point, I head back to the school, and find Monica still patiently working away.
“Man this math is confusing, mind helping . . .” she begins, but notices something off about me.
I feel the urge to twitch again, but suppress it.
“What’s wrong?”
I hate it when people ask me that. It brings up feelings that I don’t want, and then the person who asks has no idea how to react. It tires me, answering such a stupid question. It gets me nowhere. How is a person supposed to help me when I can’t even express ‘What’s wrong?” to myself. I swell with anger briefly, but see in her eyes sincerity. Then, the anger quickly decays into exhaustion.
“I . . .”, my voice hoarse.
Silence for a few moments.
“I’m tired of feeling empty when going home, and having to pretend I’m not so at school.”
“I don’t know why, but lately I’ve not been able to get things done. I try so hard just to end up not being enough. I’m losing myself and don’t know what to do.” My voice cracks, my tone getting heated up. I start ranting about everything that I feel like is bothering me; trivial things, Important things, and everything between. All of them are problems that add to my depression, but none of them the source of it.
“Jace stop, what’s really bothering you?” she demands
I sit down at the table, burying my face in my arms.
“I still don’t know why she left us, why did she leave?”
“I don’t know, but at least you have your dad still.”
On the back of my head, fingers slowly stroke my hair.
“I think you’re one of those people who really knows what they’re doing, I mean just look at the sort of classes you’re taking.”
“But there are people taking higher . . .”
“Jace, I told you stop comparing yourself to others. I know it’s tough, but it’ll be ok. You wanna know why I’m so sure of this?”
“Sure” I laugh weekly.
“Because you keep trying, and you give your best. That’s all that matters.”
“Yeah . . .”
. . .

Breathing in deeply, the weight slowly evaporates, and the cloud gradually lifts. Though neither entirely.
“I just gotta remember to take it one day at a time.” I croak to myself, smiling at my favourite quote.