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PAPER HEARTS AND COLD METAL DOORS
She hurried into the girl’s bathroom, her head cast downwards,
and slid into the stall furthest from the door, furthest from the world
that she could get at the moment. As the door slammed shut she felt
her face collapse, her heart crack a little wider, and hot tears pour
down her cheeks. As her whole demeanor surrendered to whatever force
was trying to break her, she let the weights on her shoulders sink into
her stomach. High school wasn’t always a piece of cake.
Was she miserable? Well no, she could still smile and laugh freely.
Was she hurt? Probably not, she always walked with her chin up. Desperate?
Aren’t we all? Maybe lonely? Well, she couldn’t deny that
one. She knew what her problem was. She was injured too easily, but
never broken. Like a piece of metal or plastic that’s been mutilated
or torn, she remained bent, not easily fixable, holding firm in her
stride, but her heart lay in pieces at her feet.
End it all? Well what would that prove? If there was ever any purpose,
if there was ever anything that made her trudge on along this weary
path, it was to prove them all wrong. To prove to the world that she
was something, that she really was talented. They all admired her for
following her dream, but what they didn’t understand was it wasn’t
a dream at all. It was a way of life, her only choice. She needed to
sing in order to breathe, to act to find herself, to be on stage to
prove to them all that she could stand on top of the world and not fall
off.
As she studied the familiar back of the bathroom stall, she knew that,
once again, she would pick up the pieces of her broken heart and mend
the cuts in her broken spirit. Her will would falter, and then become
stronger than ever. Her heart would turn to mush, and then harden stronger
than before, hopefully becoming unmoving stone in the future, because
paper hearts wouldn’t do a girl very good in this business.
Her breathing became steady, and she stepped out of the stall and over
to the sinks of the empty lavatory. The mirrors reflected something,
though not totally unusual or unfamiliar, somehow less human. Pain is
supposed to be one of the main factors that connects us with the rest
of humanity. Maybe you should tell that to her, and have her believe
it. Because as she stares into the mirror at her sullen, blotchy red
complexion, she feels more tied off from the universe than ever before.
But instead of crawling into the stall again and sulking in self pity,
she smiles widely, chin held high, and walks calmly back into the hallways,
back among her chattering classmates, back into the lonely universe.
- Sarah Provencal
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