The Girl You Never Knew

The Girl You Never Knew1

The highway stretched out for miles, carrying telephone poles and snug houses on both sides of it. The suburban houses were nearly all the same–cloned in a ranch tint–and they seemed to reproduce themselves every mile or so, as if trying to imitate the grey sky that hung over head.2

Eventually, the highway stretched out to the skyscraping-city, adorned with spectacles of light and hordes of people.  There, embedded within the bustling metropolis, was a small, unattended road, dusty and unrefined.3

There were no trees, no shrubs, not even a grassy median; there was only dankness. A type of longing--if it could be called that--a dampness brought on by the cool wind that echoed in from the city’s towering buildings. Surprisingly, to some it seemed, there were indeed people who lived on such run-down streets. Indeed, a person whose purpose was to contribute to such dankness, a girl without a soul?4

The people who lived in the city didn’t take notice of her. Too dull to be beautiful, too plain to be popular, and just strange enough to be an outcast even to those who were cast out.5

Only the teachers and professors who had to know her name even spoke of her. “The quiet girl with the pale complexion.” They’d say. “The girl from the projects.”6

It was in those darkened streets and run down houses, that the girl could find any solace. Drawing, thinking, writing, it seemed she had little time for anything else, concerned only with what she could create. Or perhaps, it was because of her fear, what would happen outside her world of sketches and sonnets? Would she be able to withstand what the others held for her? Could she cope with such things? She asked herself many questions, but rarely provided herself with the answers, and so she stayed in her dark world, never speaking a word to others and always slinking in the shadows, sketching the figures that danced around her.7

It was odd, that such a girl would observe so many things. Never touching, always looking, glancing at the people and places that could have been, and should be. She noticed many things, students, peers, teachers, and even the occasional spider that would crawl into her room, but she never dared to go near them–not the spider or the humans. Instead, she was content on viewing the people as they lived a life that she did not, shadows of what she wished but never admitted, of what she longed for but never dared say.8

She would be in class, and see a group of girls giggling and laughing. Girls talking about what girls talk about, and tossing their beautiful hair behind their slender shoulders. Other times, she would see the boys talking amongst themselves, handsome in their own right, but noisy and careless as well. She had no careless boy by her side, no handsome faced man to comfort her, she was alone.9

Still, she continued to seclude herself, committing her energy to her art. Pictures took the form of what she saw, and what she saw took the form of what she wished. The city around her became etched in cheap graphite, and the people she never knew became drawn in light charcoal. Living this way-- instead of feeling the real world--was what she wanted to do,  the girl thought, what she needed to do.10

The seasons changed, and the people grew, the studies altered and the teachers became sterner. Yet, all the while, the girl remained the same, or at least she told herself as much. She would now often see people who would go out into the city and party, dancing wildly with each other and mixing their excitement with a lust for fun. Other times, she would catch a glimpse of a couple in the park. They would hold hands and kiss beneath the moonlight, as the breeze blew around their blissful meeting. 11

“I am . . . half-sick of shadows.” Thought the girl as the lovers kissed again, their chests alive with airy love. 12

While she sat inside her dark world–in the small table she assumed as her prison–she caught a glimpse of a young man talking with his friends. An athlete, perhaps, by the way his body moved. Or maybe an intellectual by the way he charmed the others with his speech. He smiled and spoke with words the girl couldn’t really hear, moving with a charisma she couldn’t understand.13

The man, so young and handsome, so happy and magnetic, was so far away from her. His hair was a hew between blonde and brown, contrasting the emerald-shine that emanated from his eyes. He was obviously popular and well liked, because while the men laughed at his jokes and admired his strength, the girls thought him handsome and were impressed by his charm.14

The boy, called Devon by the others, seemed full of life and youthful energy. His pearl-colored teeth shone through his small smile, a grin perhaps, and that smile seemed to follow the girl home.15

Now inside her darkened room, away from the people and the views, the girl began to sketch again. At first the figures came easy, as always, but soon her mind was filled with the face of the handsome Devon. Kind, charming, warm, energetic, a smile that seemed to light the room.16

The girl stood up, dropping her pencil to the floor. She left her book behind–taking only a small note and a rope--and walked around the room nervously. It was now. She thought. It was now. 17

She ran out of the house, and across the roads, feeling the sting of her accursed mind. Anxiety, nervousness, panic, it struck at her like knives, and began digging into her mind like a drill. She hadn’t much time left, she thought, it was now time to break away or die in darkness.18

She ran across the fast paced roads, causing cars to screech. She then darted passed the empty school house, her heart jumping into her chest, and her hand clutching a note she had written for herself earlier.19

When she finally reached the darkened park–just outside the school house–she swung the rope around a branch, and looked up into the moon. Her panic was catching up with her, and her heart began to get heavy, but she climbed up the trunk and slipped the rope around her neck, and peered down at the ground once more.20

She looked to the towering buildings of the city, she looked at the vacant school house and the darkened alley ways, and then she thought of the smile. A smile like a beam of light, she thought, like the sun in mid-December, and on that thought she jumped from the tree, her body swung with morbid rhythm as if dancing in the night with a well-deserved freedom.21

The crowd began to clutter together the next morning, when the sun began to shine. Teachers first, then students too, and finally policemen, they all gathered below the old tree. Below the feet of the dead, they saw a small note written in dark charcoal, and on it they read her name. “The girl you never knew”22

“Who is this?” Asked some teachers. “What happened here?” Asked the adults and police. Soon a panic ensued around the school, with concerned students up in arms. But out of the crowd stepped Devon with his golden hair, and he pushed aside the others and worked his way up to the tree. “I had seen her before.” He muttered to himself perhaps. “Such a beautiful face, I can’t forget.” Then he shook his head and turned away. “God help her.” He said, unbroken in his speech, “The girl I never knew”23