“Each morning I get up, I die a little, Can’t barely stand on my feet! Take a look in the mirror and cry, Lord, what you’re doing to me?”

- Somebody to Love, Queen

Waking up always starts with the realization that this is real and that I’m still alive. I know I am awake, but not entirely sure why I woke up again, and even though I’m awake, I stay in bed staring at the ceiling because I haven’t figured out exactly why.

I’m only fifteen years old, but I know someone my age shouldn’t be waking up every wondering why they’re still alive. Of course, I won’t tell anyone this. I’m not suicidal, I just don’t know what I’m doing here.

I am kind of a loner. I don’t have any friends. I haven’t for a long time, it feels like.

I still haven’t figured out why I woke up for today but it’s here, so I decide it’s time to get out of bed.

I throw off the blanket and as I get up, I can see out of the corner of my eye the reflection in the mirror and remember that this is body that I have. I don’t like my body. I know most people don’t talk this way about their bodies, but most people also like their bodies. I hate looking at more than I have to. I have short cut brown hair that’s shaved on the sides which makes my round face look even bigger than it actually is. And with my rosy cheeks, I look more like an American Girl doll than a fifteen year old boy. It doesn’t help that I don’t have a great body either. I don’t have any muscle like any of the football or soccer players at school and I have a belly that sticks out because I slouch my shoulders when I walk.

I shuffle my way into the bathroom, which is just outside my bedroom door, and quickly lock myself in. I have to be quiet in the mornings because my dad works nights. He’s a cop. If I make too much noise, my step-mom will snap at me for being too loud.

I live with my dad. My mom died when I was a kid. I really don’t remember what she looks like outside of pictures, but she was beautiful. She had long brown, wavy hair and the deepest brown eyes I’ve ever seen. My grandma told me when I was five or so that with my dad’s face and my mom’s eyes, I am going to grow up to be one handsome man. I didn’t believe her, but she did, so that’s what counts. Anyway, my dad ended up remarrying a few months later to my step-mom. I’d tell you more about it except I don’t remember much. All I know is that since then they barely seem to notice or care what I do as long as I don’t cause any problems and keep to myself.

I know I said I don’t like to look at myself, but every morning I always start out by looking myself right in the eyes. This is going to sound corny, but every morning I look at those eyes in the mirror and imagine that the ones that are looking back at me are my mom’s.

I have this fantasy that if she were alive we would start every day just looking at each other and smile to remind each other that it’s us against the world. I think about her sometimes and what it would’ve been like growing up with her. We would live together, just the two of us, in the tiny rundown yellow house just outside town. She and I would’ve fixed it up, next to the front porch we’d plant a vegetable garden, and every summer we would pick all the vegetables and cook them together. We’d have all of her friends and some of my friends (if I had any) over and laugh until the sun went down. During the school year, she’d work (she was a teacher) while I was in class. At the end of the day, we’d both come home and have spaghetti for dinner and she’d give me a little bit of her wine, but she’d tell me not to tell anyone. That it’s just our little secret. After that, we’d play card games, or maybe I’d read her something I wrote. But on some nights, we’d just turn on the stereo and listen to our favorite rock band, Queen, belting all the high notes like Freddie Mercury.

Now there’s a man! I don’t know much about him other than my dad called him a queer once and that he’s dead. But every time I listen to Queen I feel like I am getting to know him. He wasn’t afraid to be himself. I bet he had a lot of friends when he was alive. People like people who aren’t afraid of themselves.

I grab my toothbrush and start my morning transition to high school freshman. Usually, I zone out and let my mind wander while I get ready.

I think a lot, probably more than I’m supposed to. Right now, we are reading this book called The Outsiders in English class. If you’ve never read it, it’s this book about this guy whose nickname is Ponyboy. He’s part of the Greasers, who are basically a gang of guys who live in the rough part of town. But at least they’re better than the Socs, which were basically the popular kids in school who think they can do whatever they want. So far I really like it. I feel a lot like Ponyboy. He’s “book smart,” like me, but he doesn’t seem to really know what he wants either.

I spit and rinse my mouth. I don’t touch my hair because it’s too short to anything with. Quietly, I head back into my room to change clothes. Most of my clothes are second-hand from my dad. He doesn’t like to buy me clothes, so he gives me the clothes that get too tight on him or don’t fit him the way he likes. I pull out a button down shirt that is blue checkered, some khaki pants, and a brown belt. Since my dad’s clothes are too big on me, I like to wear the button-downs because I can tuck all the extra shirt into my pants and then pull my belt really tight so that it all stays while also making sure that the pants stay up.

The clock on my bedside table says 7:14. School isn’t too far from my house so usually I walk there every day, unless it’s raining or snowing, then my step-mom has to drop me off. I look out the window and it looks cloudy, but it doesn’t look like it will rain. I grab my bookbag, which is next to my bedroom door and stuff in my notebook behind the book I was telling you about. Then, I open my desk drawer and pull out my red CD player.

I open it to make sure the CD is still there, and it is: Queen’s Greatest Hits. I found the CD in my dad’s collection and stole it. I’m always afraid of the day he finds out and takes it back from me. I take out my headphones and put them in the CD player before I put them in my ears and hit Play.

At this point, I have to start heading to school. My step-mom always leaves lunch money for me on the counter, though she never leaves me anything to eat for breakfast, so I grab a banana and toast some bread before heading out. Sometimes I’ll have some coffee too, but only if there’s some left in the pot. This morning there isn’t any. I step outside and shut the door softly behind me.

It’s a bit cold this morning, but this is one of those mornings where the dew on the grass feels crisp when I breathe it in, which feels nice.

The street that I live on is quiet, but it’s close to everything in town. Our town is really small. I’ve only been out of it once and it was when my dad had to go to the city for the day and couldn’t find anyone to watch me, so I rode along. I never got out of the car but I couldn’t believe there were places with such big buildings. I keep telling myself that someday I’ll get out of that car and that someday, I’ll be free.

The walk wasn’t more than five minutes but as I started walking up the steps to the entrance of my high school, I didn’t notice that someone was coming up to me. It wasn’t until he’s right next to me that I finally see him, which is when he yanks the headphones off my ears.

“Well hey there, Kid. Been shouting for you. How you been?”

Right in front of me is a boy who is smiling. I feel my face flush red. His name is Guy, and he’s bad news.