It was the tenth time this week that this had happened. Ten weeks of torture and ten minutes of sitting in this trash can. I know what your thinking. How could I let someone put me in a trash can? Well it’s simple. I was never the type of girl to get bullied. I was the one who stood up for myself. I stood up for everyone. But that was before…before she left and way before he left.

When my mom died it was like a punch in the stomach. A sharp pain in the heart. It was unexpected. Her appendix had burst. She never complained about her side or once said anything to us about the it. That’s the type of mother she was. She always held our needs and wants above hers. Always. But the ultimate pain. The knock out punch was not when she died. He left. He was the one who held me at the funeral while I was kicking and screaming. He’s the one who took me in the bathroom and pressed a cold rag on my face while I passed out from exhaustion. He had always been there for me and I for him. 

So imagine my surprise when he rang my doorbell the next day with a grim smile on his face. He never rand the doorbell. He had stolen  my house key from me years ago back in Middle school and made him a copy key. I had locked behind him to see a moving truck in my drive way and back at him. He was looking down at his feet. He was never the shy type. He was always the tallest in the room and his presence demanded everyone’s attention. Even at 16 he was 6’4 and still growing. So to see him hunched over looking down at his feet. I was thrown off.  I looked back at the truck for the second time and then back at him.

“How could you?” I asked. He didn’t move. I could see him open and close his mouth a couple times then shut it. He continued to look at the ground. 

“How could you!?!?” I shrieked. He looked up astonished. I’d never yelled at him when I was angry. 

“Mariah?” He pleaded. I stepped back across the threshold of the door and slammed it shut.

That was the last time I saw him. That was about year ago. He stayed pounding on my door demanding that I let him in to explain to me what’s going on. I didn’t open that door and I didn’t move from my bed. I laid there and cried. He called and text even emailed me for about a week then he gave up. I cried myself to sleep that entire week looking at the picture of us I kept on my desk. It was a picture of when we had went on a lake trip. I remember telling him that I wasn’t getting in that germ infested water. In the picture he had me in his arms like I was a princess. He was looking down at me smiling while my face was the picture of terror. 

I told him I would never talk to him again. That last about 30 minutes. We could never stay mad at one another. That was in the past. I was 16. He was 16 then. I’m 17 now. When I came back to school for junior year and didn’t say a word everyone thought it was just a phase. That I’d get over it. But after 6 months of not talking they became angry. Upset that I wouldn’t talk to them. They said I didn’t talk because I thought I was better than them. That they didn’t deserve to be spoken too. That wasn’t true, I had never said that. Never thought that either. But people believe what they want to make themselves feel better. 

It soon became a game of who could make the mute talk. It started off as little things like tripping, bumping, kicking my chair repeatedly during class. Then it started getting worse. Pushing me into walls, downstairs, pulling my hair, dumping my books out my hands right before the bell rang, throwing food at me. I even think they’re making bets on who can make me talk. But it wasn’t their faults. Well not all of it was. I let them. I let them kick me and punch me because I simply didn’t care anymore. I was just tired. Tired of everything.

I ducked deeper into the trash can. Waiting for the bell to ring. I didn’t want any of the students to see and I didn’t want teachers asking questions. The bell rang and I waited three extra minutes. Crouched down in the trash counting slowly to sixty, three times. When I was done counting and I was sure the coast was clear I opened the lid of the bin and slung myself out.

I raced down to the locker room and into the shower. The first time this had happened I’d spent the whole last period

Scrubbing my body till it was red and raw. Trying my hardest to get the stench off of my body. The first or second time I wasn’t expecting it. I’d thought nah they wouldn’t do this to me again. They probably feel guilty. People couldn’t possibly be that cruel, right. Right? Wrong.

Not even a week later I found myself back in that same dumpster waiting for the bell to ring. After that I came prepared. I carried a bottle of body wash, and perfume with me in my bag. And I kept a stick of deodorant and a change of clothes in my locker. Once I came out of the shower I pulled my clothes on and grabbed my backpack. 

On the way out I looked at myself in the full body mirror against the wall. I had thick,  black, curly hair that reached mid back. My eyes were almond shaped and grey. I had full lips and a beauty mark on my left cheek. I was short too. About 4’11. I knew I wasn’t ugly. That was one thing I wouldn’t let them take way from me. I may be the mute but I wouldn’t ignore the fact that I was wanted by many. I still have my legacy from freshmen and sophomore year. People still remember who I used to be. I didn’t.

I crept out of the locker room and went on the journey to my class. On the way there I saw that I was 25 minutes late. Oh well. When I reached my class I opened the door and slid in. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked towards the door. When they saw it was me I saw their eyes lit up. 

“Miss. Mariah. Nice of you to finally decide to grace us with your presence.” Mr. Claus voice boomed across the class from where he sat at his desk. I didn’t say anything , I just screwed up my face at him and rolled my eyes. I didn’t need to talk. My face said everything. Even when I did talk, it always got me in trouble. 

“Well do you have a note?” His tone suggesting that he was talking to a 5 year old. I raised my eyebrow at him. He already knew the answer. 

“Just go to your seat. Damn kids!” He sighed exasperated. I swirled on my feet and marched to my seat. The class began to talk once again. I looked up from my seat to Mr. Clads desk. He winked at me and smiled. I smiled quickly and put a finger to my lips. Our little secret. He was my favorite teacher back in the day before I became silent. I knew he wouldn’t write me up as tardy. He never did. 

I sat at my desk and started on the worksheet that was placed on my table. I kept my head down while I worked concentrating hard at the task at hand. I heard the door open then shut with a click. Whispers began to sound across the room. I didn’t look up. 

“Well hello. You must be thee new student I just got emailed about from Principle Ellen. He said to take special care of you because you were an old friends of his. Have we met before? You look awfully familiar.” Mr.Clad asked,

“If Ellen told you that, that old peanut head basted is eating more than that box of twinkles he has hidden in the drawer of his desk.” His voice was deep and smooth. He had a slight accent. 

“Nah I’m not new. You really don’t remember me Mr.Claus?” I dropped my pen. There’s only one person I know who has ever called Mr. Clad that name. 

“It’s Me. My names-“ 

“Julian” I gasped.