Poor Reflections

The alarm klaxon goes off. I succeed in waking up long enough to hit the snooze alarm, then collapse back into blissful unconsciousness.

The hateful alarm cries out once again, and this time I concede, sitting up with my eyes still closed, trying to remember why it was I felt like setting an alarm for the last day of summer vacation. I think it’s at least partially out of spite – Past Me’s kind of a bitch like that. Then I look at my phone to silence it, and see that it's actually the first day of school.

I forgive you, Past Me. This time.

I swing my feet over the edge of the bed and lean forward slowly so I can see how off-balance I am from last night’s sleep aid. I find mobility is barely compromised as I get my feet underneath me and stand up tall, stretching away the kinks that always come from a motionless slumber.

I grab my morning wake-up call from the secret-secret place behind the kinda-secret place in my closet and rub most of the sleep from my eyes so I can see who else is awake. Finding the hallway empty, I shamble into the bathroom. With something approaching reverence, I take the necessary step to chase away the blear from the night before.

*snrk*

I stare at myself in the mirror, contemplating my wavy, unruly hair. It’s bleached a platinum blonde, but I can’t remember why. Again, Past Me showing her true colors, or lack thereof in this case. I've dyed my hair thirty-seven times in the past three years. The fact that I can remember that means the drugs haven't kicked in yet.

Something catches my eye, and I lean closer to my reflection. Two, four, seven, ten, twelve… When did I get a seventeenth ear piercing? I stand back up straight and reflect for a moment. The fact that I honestly can’t remember brings a crooked smile to my face. My routine is doing its job.

It starts with a beat, one I barely register before my foot does, softly tapping itself along for the ride. My hips start to sway, and soon enough the vocals fade in. I sing along as I hop in the shower.

“People won’t be people when they hear this sound
That’s been glowing in the dark at the edge of town”

Time starts to do that thing that happens when I stop paying attention to it, and I sing the next line as I’m pouring myself a bowl of the most vibrantly colored sugary cereal my little sisters could convince my parents to buy.

I lose another few minutes, and I’m staring at myself in the bathroom mirror again, trying to figure out what to do about my hair. Platinum blonde is unacceptable as a first impression, I think. I look underneath the sink at the small smattering of colors from the visual spectrum. Most of them are on the warm side. I think that says something about me, but I don't know what. This pleases me – the not knowing, I mean.

I spy a hot pink towards the back, and with a rallying cry of "fuck it," I set to work. My younger sisters are shouting at my older sister about something in the hall, but before I can really tune in–

–suddenly I'm downstairs again. I look at my hands, and it looks as though they're really badly sunburned. I guess that's from the dye? I sure hope so. If they really are burned, I can't feel it. I'm pretty sure I didn't take that much today.

I sing quietly to myself as I hop into the kitchen, feeling like a much more acceptable version of myself. I start to pour myself a bowl of technicolor sugary nonsense when I see I already poured one from before. Curious. With a shrug, I empty the second bowl back in to the box and SUDDENLY a flash of (rainbow?) light and a crack of thunder come from the southern windows of the house, and reflexes honed from years of 3rd-person shooters send me diving behind the couch in the living room, scattering cereal everywhere. Briefly rooted in reality (at least, I’m pretty sure it’s reality– man, how much did I take today?), I peek over the back of the couch and through the patio door. A faint trace of non-dawn colors fade from the morning sky, and for the briefest of moments I feel really, really giddy, like something amazing is going to happen and I can’t wait for it to happen like it’s Christmas morning or more like Christmas Eve and I can’t open any of the presents and the anticipation is killing me and oh my god is this what ODing feels like fuck I bet this is what ODing feels like oh god oh god fuck me what is going–

“Penny?”

“WHAT?!” I nearly jump out of my skin as I whirl to face the young girl who addressed me. I blink, and suddenly I recognize it’s my little sister, Molly. “Oh, hey, sis! What are you up to?” I force a grin to my face, and it comes out nervous. Fortunately, Molly's too scared to notice how jumpy I am.

“Are you okay? What was that noise?”

“Oh, ah, I dunno, little bug! Seemed like it was far away, though, to the south. Nothing to worry about, I don’t think.” I give her a reassuring hug. “I’m fine, though, are you okay?”

“Mm-hmm.” She nods her head, and I hold on to her a little longer. She grounds me more than I think I should let her. Something within me stirs, and I consider this small person wrapped in my arms, whose arms are wrapped around me in turn, and for the briefest of moments I doubt everything I’ve done over the past three years.

I remember the rain, and the tears, and the lack of tears, and my doubts vanish. No compromises. The cycle must be maintained.

My face set to "reassuring smile", I pat my sister twice on the back and let her go. She seems reluctant to return the favor, so I tousle her hair and pour her a bowl of cereal too. We join our other two sisters at the breakfast table while our parents fuss over their laptop trying to find out more about the explosion. I share a grin with my sisters as I dive into the sugary delights in my bowl–

“Kitchen is the cook
Whoa-ey-oh
Scissors are the barbers
Whoa-ey-oh
Singer is a crook
Whoa-ey-oh”

I must have lost quite a bit of time, because the clock on my dashboard says I’m just a little early for my first class of the day as I pull into an empty parking space in the middle of a vast grid of cars. I grab my backpack and double-check what my first class is – Homeroom, O’Brien, Room 104 – then stuff the paper into the pocket of my vest and get out of my car.

I take a moment to review what I’m wearing, because the vest part threw me, too. Tight white t-shirt, black vest, mm-hmm, over a black mini-skirt and black-and-pink striped leggings, pink fingerless gloves a couple of shades away from the dye still on my hands, with my black no-nonsense combat boots. Not terrible, but not great. I really need to start laying out my clothes the night before, ‘cause Autopilot Me just doesn’t have much in the way of taste.

I sling my backpack over my shoulder with the gravitas of a soldier shouldering her rifle and take a deep breath as I look at the sprawling high school building.

I blink, and I’m standing in the main hall, looking up at a banner that says in huge block letters, “WELCOME TO CENTRAL HIGH”.

“Chorus full of actors,” I sigh under my breath, as a sea of teenagers rush to and fro around me. Gotta get through the day, one step at a time. I vaguely recognize a bunch of people, and I'm pleased that the usual roar of memories is muffled to a background hum.

I think I'm getting ahead of myself, though. I put on my best, most winningest smile, and head to class.