"Grinner!" Mr. Cuchek called out to the entire field. "The hell'd that spark go?! Move, move!"
PE was a lot more lively than yesterday, for some reason; maybe because of the fact that it was our turn outside. Nonetheless, the air about the field had changed, an air of anticipation, especially from Cuchek's direction.
We were doing laps around the field, something we always did before playing a game of whatever our drill sergeant teacher had in store for us, but as per usual, I was struggling to keep up pace. My breathing heavy and labored, I just tried to keep jogging for a second more than the last, slowly losing speed in order to keep the illusion that I was running.
Tora, Baun, and I ran side-by-side, myself in the middle of our makeshift line. To be honest with not only myself but my classmates, Tora and Baun definitely held back their pace, just to stay side-by-side with me. It was relieving but, all the same, shameful having to be babied that way.
"Spark?" Tora looked at me, half laughing. "The hell's Cuchek on, today?"
"Well--" I started.
"You should've seen it, T." Baun interrupted excitedly. "Amson fucking punted the kickball on Friday, leaving everyone on our team speechless."
"Really?!" Tora seemed just as excited by the revelation. "I wish I would've been there, myself!"
Tora reverted to sulking just as quickly, and I tried my best to play it off.
"It was a lucky spot; I told you, Baun." I said, embarrassed. "You're exaggerating, big time."
Baun nudged me, a smirk on that punchable face of his.
"Am I really, though?" He teased.
"Y-Yes." I nudged back, nearly toppling over. "Yes you are."
Baun kept eye contact with me, a grin along his face as he returned to his normal running position. It was true that the kick was intentional and that it scaled the fence and then some, but I had trouble associating those things with myself, much as I'd be apprehensive to admit, anyways.
That face, the unnamed face from that day was only a fickle mood, a happenstance that'd likely never resurface again. It was only due to the fact that I was unsatisfied with the direction my life was going because of allowing my faces to dictate my actions and mood, and to be frank, I still am.
But I couldn't bring myself to be like that, again.
I'd brought too much attention to myself, even got into a fight with some idiot under that delusion, the delusion that I might just throw caution to the wind, sacrificing my friends in the process. I could never do that; I silenced that thought the second I had the chance. It was likely during our time before the start of the party that I felt it, the realization of what I might lose for giving in and doing whatever the hell I wanted.
What would they think, knowing their friend was no better than those mindless sheep? I'd gotten into that meaningless scuffle for what; my image? The truth was that I had a choice and the power to escape that situation. It was that face, that face I'd never show to anyone but myself, that clouded my judgement, giving me the illusion that I had no choice when I did.
I'd only sullied that gift of choice, only my own mind to blame.
That video was likely circulating online, but I would do my best to make sure it doesn't reach Baun or Tora. I haven't made a single friend on my own: with Baun, it was probably the biggest stroke of luck I had in my life, making a true friend during middle school. And since I met Tora through him, there was only one conclusion:
I'd be stranded and lifeless without them. One wrong step, and this life I was blessed with would be over.
In order to maintain that livelihood, I would become invisible again, all that internal struggle in vain, but it was worth it, worth the world that I created inside my head where I would be happy. If I couldn't even stomach my pride, my revenge, and my mind, I wasn't deserving of their friendship to begin with.
"Can you show me?!" Tora thrust me outside of my own head. "Please~?!"
I was too bewildered to make any coherent statements or objections.
"I--I uh..." I stammered.
"Just let the man be, T." Baun came to my rescue. "It'll come out when he's ready."
He spoke with that grin still plastered on his face, and after examination, I realized the suggestive conversation he'd thrown me in.
///
"Let's go, Amson!" Tora screamed from the wooden bench as I stood before the enemy pitcher.
What the hell was I even doing up there? I could've just walked away like I always did, but something dragged me to home plate, an urge to replicate what I'd done, Friday. But, why? What was there to gain by doing it again? That anticipation from the crowd and Cuchek was palpable, and I felt it through the air that they wanted me to even-out this game.
The thing is, I knew in my heart that I could, but my mind, always there to set me straight, held me with that apprehension. Still, I couldn't just sit there. He was going to pitch the ball, and whether I was ready for it or not, I would have to make the conscious choice.
Would I hit this ball or allow it to roll past me?
Eventually, the ball rolled, and I was still there, standing in the turf-like grass, still finding my answer as I approached, pursuing it as it rolled. The closer it came to me, the more I wanted to step back, allowing it to roll past me, but once we met at the plate, I put all the force I could into the swing, my knees bracing for impact.
"Are thee truly going to sitteth back and gaze as thy life unfolds bef're thee?" A lazy yet regal voice called inside my head, invading my mind. "I guesseth such is the crit'ria f'r the scaveng'r. What a pitiful existence we art; I understand thee not?"
I felt air beneath my swing, and I stumbled, nearly falling over.
"Strike one!" Cuchek yelled to the field.
I stopped, standing where I ended up.
"I give my turn." I said, just loud enough for Mr. Cuchek to hear.