Forgotten

As you walk down the deserted sidewalk while the bustle of day fades away to be replaced with the stillness of the dark, only broken as the occasional train passes you on its tracks just beyond the fence and the rain struggles to become something greater than a light sprinkle, you begin to notice an unusual occurrence.1

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There is a shape, you see. A figure in a place where no shadow has been otherwise observed, a dark outline beneath glaring lights from a concrete car shelter. The sheer unexpectedness of it all stops you in your very tracks and you stand there, gaping at this sight. Several moment pass and you gradually realize what it is you're actually looking at.3

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There is a boy. At least, you're pretty certain it's a boy. You admit to yourself you could easily be wrong, once you begin to cautiously step towards the sitting being. You take in the features and decide you were wrong at first and the person is, indeed, female.5

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All the while you've been approaching, the girl has silently refused to turn her head and look at you. When you reach her side, you stare down at her, still astonished. Several long moments pass and you fight the urge to look at your watch, on the grounds you aren't wearing one, or indeed in possession of one at all.7

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Still the scrap- for this person could hardly be called a lady, and you aren't at all sure of her age- has not even acknowledged your presence. You decide a few more moments could be allowed to pass as you inspect her clothing.9

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Her hair is long and pulled back to one side, held in a sort of ponytail with what seems to be several torn strips of brightly colored, transparent cloth. You can vaguely make out the patterns that once adorned the faded ribbons. There is a long, thin strip of sequined something or other covering her neck and falling down to hang in a knot at her chest. Several beads are strung upon this fabric, sparkling merrily in severe contrast to the rest of her apparel.11

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Her coat is long and tattered and her old, faded jeans contradict the warm season. If you were caught in those garments whilst still living with your parents at a younger age, you idly observe, you would be put out of your house and ignored by your family until you finally came to your senses. Despite this, it's her socks that draw you away from the rest. They're knee-high and striped, but fuzzy as well. Dirty and wet, you notice with distaste. Her socks are dirty and wet and full of holes. And...are they mismatched? But none of that is why they draw you closer. No, it's the patterns and colours used. They're different from one another, one all in swirls and blues and greens, the other reds and violets and black. They're beautiful, in a grubby sort of way.13

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Staring at this guttersnipe, you feel an unexpected, unexplainable feeling of longing and sympathy. This girl is all you've ever wanted to be. She's obviously free to make her own choices and unafraid of what others would think. But you feel sorry also, because no one is that self-confident and she must be here for a reason. Perhaps she has no home?15

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You begin to speak, but quickly realize, with much embarrassment on your part, that your voice is very squeaky. You clear it quickly and go on, hoping she didn't notice. "Excuse me, but why are you here? Don't you have a home to go to to get out of this rain?"17

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"I ain't sittin' here 'cause I'm homeless, I'm here 'cause it's a cool place t' get inspired with pretty words, y'mewling, dizzy-eyed strumpet!" the girl snaps roughly, jerking her head to scowl at you. "Tha's what I do. I'mma writer. An' furthermore, I'm perfec'ly dry under this here covering, thank y'very much, so you can piss off!" Her voice tells you that she's older than the girls you go to school with and you find yourself vaguely surprised.19

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You stare at her, clearly affronted. "Well, I'm sorry for making an effort to be nice to the garbage littering the streets because they're too incapable of getting a job anywhere!"21

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"Didn' you hear me? I gots me a home an' a job! I'mma writer," she repeats forcefully. "An author. 'Ve been published 'fore. Now good bye." She waves her hand dismissively in the direction you were headed before you had the mischance to stumble upon such a rude creature.23

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You ignore her signal, against your better judgment. "So why don't you go home?"25

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"I already tol' ye! I don' wanna an' this's a good place t' be." She sighs. "Why d'y'bother wi' me, anyway?"27

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The answer immediately comes to you and you know it's right, but you won't say that. You never were one to speak your feelings or thoughts aloud. You learned at an early age that, when you tried doing so, you only sounded like an idiot and were given nods and smiles full of false understanding. So you stopped and tried for years to find other ways of expressing yourself, to not be part of the norm. But you failed, because that's what everyone wants. You gave up and submitted yourself to the doings of others and fought for your place in your community. And, they'd never tell you this, but all of your relatives sighed in relief and laughed nervously about how misguided you were as a young child and how happy they were when you grew out of it. You knew that, even without them telling you.29

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Realizing you've been silent for too long and she's given you a look as though she's questioning your mental capability, you straighten a bit, thankful for the lighting to be horrible enough to hide your flush. "Do you happen to have a piece of paper and a pen or something I could borrow for a moment?" you say instead.31

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She raises an eyebrow at you but is already patting around her pockets to see. A few muttered curses later, she presents you with all the requested and you gratefully take it, trying your best to recall what the voice told you and you begin to dictate your answer.33

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"Because she's different," a voice told me when you asked the question. "Because she's everything you're not, and everything you want to be. Because she inspires disgust in the people you pretend to like so much but secretly hate. Because she represents every carefully hidden desire anyone born in this town harbors. Because you know you were wrong to feel sorry for her and she's so obviously happy with herself and you want that. You want that so much, you'd risk everything to know the feeling, if only for a short while. Because, though she's overlooked by the rest of society, she is what makes us who we are. She is the heart of it."35

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You finish penning your thoughts, word for word as they came to you, and nervously hand the paper back to her for her to read. Her eyes swiftly scan over the proffered answer, her eyebrows raising higher and higher with every line, and you get the feeling the woman before you decides your fate. She can accept your answer and yourself or she can call it nothing but words and cast you away from her sight.37

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But you want this girl's approval, as much as you want to be like her. Or perhaps because you want so badly to be as brave as her. Every second that passes as she reads is another moment of trepidation and possibilities of the one thing you fear the most: being rejected by those you look up to39

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An eternity passes in the form of minutes as she reads and rereads your response over and over, as though she's also trying to form a reply. Finally she raises her eyes from the paper you've given her and looks at you in appraisal. You hold your breath as she scrutinizes you, the idea of her being the decider of your fate appearing in your mind once more. Another few minutes pass and when she nods, slowly, carefully, thinking to herself, you gasp for breath you've finally allowed yourself and she smiles at you.41

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" 'M Tru." She offers her hand, her smile growing ever broader as you accept it.43

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You tell her your name and she nods again, sounding it out. She tells you she likes it, that it suits you. You're not certain how she means that, but you make a note to look up the meaning again later in case. Already you like it more, just because a ragged slip of a girl with a horrible manner of speaking- it's not really so bad, you decide. It could definitely grow on you- told you she likes it. And though everyone lies, you decide she means it because she doesn't seem much like one to hide herself.45

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You think of your friends from school, your family, your neighbors, your teachers, and everyone else you've met. You think of how they would react to this shocking union and suppress a giggle.47

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You think of this girl and all the possibilities she's opened to you, all the ideas and feelings she's let you acknowledge again. You're certain that, if she were to meet the others and hear their opinions of her, she would give them a thorough tongue-lashing and leave them speechless as she struts off to do her own thing, whatever that may be.49

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Already your world seems more interesting. 51