Home > We, the Wildflowers(9)

We, the Wildflowers(9)
Author: L.B. Simmons

I swallow hard and nod once, her question rocking me. I’ve never discussed the voices with anyone. But with that acknowledgement, I realize I might not be the only one who’s fought against them. Or who’s given in to their taunts.

A sad smile curves her lips. “I tried unsuccessfully for a long time.” She gestures at her marred arm. “The drugs didn’t work, though—they only softened them to a dull roar. It wasn’t until my mind was clear, and my body clean, that I was finally able to grasp the truth: the voices were my hateful voice sounding my fears. I was projecting my anxieties onto others, and giving them the power to dictate how I felt about myself. When I was finally able to grasp that, to understand that it was me running my own soul into the ground, I took control of the voices. I silenced them. No, I owned them. After that, no one could make me see, or hear, or feel anything about me that wasn’t my own true perception of myself. And let’s be honest”—she grins widely—“we both know I think I’m pretty fucking awesome.”

A burst of laughter bubbles up in me and I can’t help but snort. “You make it sound so easy.”

“Well, it’s definitely not easy, but it is possible.”

After a lengthy look, she drops her hands, and I watch as she leans in to retrieve my stained clothes and shove them into her backpack. After slinging hers over her shoulder, she hands me mine and opens the bathroom door. I turn, successfully avoiding my reflection, and my eyes narrow on her backpack. “No books today?”

Genny’s face pinches, her expression horrified. “No books ever. How else would I be able to make room for my expressive attire?”

“Right, because one punk outfit a day clearly isn’t enough.”

Her brow arches and she angles her head. “Clearly.”

I roll my eyes, sulking theatrically as I pass her.

She laughs, then bumps my hip with hers as she falls into step with me. The boots she gave me are heavier than I expected. I feel as though they’re going to fly off my feet with each stride I take. And with the luck I’ve been having today, I wouldn’t be surprised.

“Dude!” Genny exclaims when we’re almost to class, causing my heart to seize. I frown in her direction, but the effort is wasted because she doesn’t bother looking at me. “I was going to tell you this at lunch, but we all know how that ended.”

I scowl.

She beams back, taking in my new ensemble. “Too soon?”

I remain silent.

She continues, unfazed. “Our wildflowers are in full bloom, my friend. I know this because I ditched third period today and visited to the pond instead. Honestly, who cares about covalent bonds?” She jerks two thumbs toward her chest. “Not this girl.”

“Genny, point?” I urge, half laughing, half groaning.

Her eyes flash. “Wildflower ceremony, tomorrow.”

I stumble, but luckily, I stay upright. Not that it matters much. These stockings are ripped to shit anyway. “Really? You think Lukas is ready?”

Genny nods. “I do. And with the wildflowers now in full bloom, I believe it with absolute certainty. They’re telling us it’s time.”

Highly doubtful, but I decide to forgo the nature lesson for the time being, only to feel Genny grip my arm, bringing us both to a stop. Seems I was once again off balance and about to fall over my own feet. I’m seriously contemplating a self-inflicted face-plant just to get it over with.

“He’s right, you know. You do need to look up when you walk. If nothing else, it may help with your tragic inability to get from point A to point B without catastrophe striking.”

My face heats. “You heard that, huh?”

“Duh.”

“Adam?”

She nods. “Don’t you see? Lukas is changing, Chloe. And I can’t think of a better time to give him a reason to continue doing so. He’s one of us, and we take care of our own. So tomorrow, we share our stories with him, and whether or not he chooses to shed light on his own, we use the ceremony as a way to help him understand he’s not alone.”

I grin—her belief in the Wildflowers is extremely contagious. “So, like last year, when you and Adam took me in.”

“Exactly.” Her expression turns whimsical. “Except this year, s’mores.”

I crinkle my nose, confused.

“What? I’m hungry. I didn’t get to eat lunch.”

I glare at her.

“Don’t you want some s’mores?” she inquires innocently.

My stomach grumbles, because of course it has to right at that moment, and Genny barks a triumphant laugh.

“Sounds like we’re in agreement—s’mores it is!”

 

 

7


Looking up from the ground proved to be an exercise of will I just didn’t have the energy to attempt today. After Genny and I parted, I kept my head down, eyes locked on my borrowed combat boots. I didn’t need to see the people around me to know they were gaping at my appearance. Their snickers clued me in to that right away. So, I did what I do best. I counted the tiles as I walked the hallways attempting to block out their murmurs.

When that didn’t work, I hummed various theme songs in my head. It started with Star Wars and Superman, but when I briefly glanced upward to see Leah and her herd of followers on the opposite side of the hallway, it quickly changed to Jaws. And as I imagined a great white launching from the crowd, its mouth wide open right above them, I managed a smile, successfully sidestepping them without being seen.

Now, it’s last period, and I’m exhausted. Mentally. Physically. Emotionally.

Slouched over my desk, I scribble various geometric shapes on a piece of notebook paper, successfully tuning out the physics lecture about circuits.

Seriously? When the hell am I ever going to use mega ohms in real life?

Try never.

So I doodle, because doodling will maintain my basic brain function during this mind-numbing class, said basic brain functions being essential to life.

Unlike circuits.

I’m finishing up what could be the world’s most perfect octagon, when out of the blue, Genny’s words echo in my mind.

“It’s what you leave behind for others to carry forward that should define you…”

My pencil stops, and I contemplate the harsh truth behind her statement. What’s the point of our existence if we leave nothing behind to signify we were here in the first place?

I mean, it all seems kind of pointless otherwise. Which leads me to wonder, is there a specific reason for our existence? Is every life granted for a reason? Or are we meant to be nothing more than insignificant pieces of a never-ending puzzle?

I nibble on the end of my pencil, shredding the eraser between my teeth.

If we are all pieces of an endless puzzle, do we have to be insignificant? Do we even have a say in whether we are a defining part, distinct in our edges? Or is our existence chosen for us, and if so, does that mean I’m destined to be nothing more than some filler piece?

Rapid-fire questions come one after another, creating a whirlwind of thoughts that cloud my mind. With each new thought, the truth of my meaningless existence looms. And my truth, as it becomes clear to me, is more wretched than I could’ve imagined. Because by my own volition, I have cast myself as a spectator of my own life.

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