I stand outside in the cold. The bus is late for the first time in my high school career, and my peers doubt it will ever come. I watch the cars lazily speed up and down 42nd street. I try not to think about the significance of where I'm standing. I'm one of a few outliers of the group; I stand away from the mass of huddled teens blushing from the cold.
I can't talk to anyone due to social norms and my own antisocial qualities, and I can't drown myself in a loud song because I left my beloved iPod at home to charge. I'm left alone with my thoughts, watching the last bus to arrive punctually slide away.
Snow begins to fall, and the annoying chatter of the group roils into "f*** this!" and "God, SO unfair." It's not enough to stick to the ground or even be plainly visible. If it was warmer, it'd be drizzling and equally despised due to its extreme hair-frizzing capabilities.
I tried to keep myself occupied as I waited, and tried to compare myself to the inanimate things around me. It was a game I developed to test my creativity and secretly search for the perfect metaphor.
The new shoots of grass wouldn't do; I'd never be tiny, and that thought had already put me off. Next, I tried the snow, but it made me sad. I had no idea why, and had no desire to delve into my personal feelings in front of all these onlookers. I didn't dare try the omniscient wind throwing my hair around. It traveled all over, touched almost every crevice on earth, tasted and smelled and heard all there is and has been. I gave up on my game.
The bus finally came, and rolled to a stop in front of us. I stayed behind, not wanting to get trampled by the chaotic rush toward warmth.
I was about to get on when I saw the outlier to the north of the group about to get on as well. He looked at me, and solemnly said, "You can get on first." I looked into his eyes and replied, "Thanks." I meant it, and he looked surprised.
I looked over at T.J. and watched him watching me. Wait, what? I glanced at the black pavement to compose myself, and looked back up. His gaze had already passed, and it didn't return again. He was too busy being obviously infatuated with the girl who bullied me in middle school. She still acted as conceited and nasty as always, but she only got prettier. He deserved so much better, but when you could look at someone as beautiful as Jasmine, why look at me?
I was exhausted and stressed, so it was hard to control my thoughts. I skipped back and forth from love interests, being depressed, feeling guilty for nothing and big somethings, and wanting desperately to scream and cry and hit something. I hated that my only guy friends were Kyle, Carter and Jacob. Jacob was confusing, and both Kyle and Carter only talked to me because they lusted after me. Maybe I just needed to lower my standards. It's not that I can't get guys, it's just that the guys I want could never like me. Why am I so picky? I'm not that picky, right?
Just lonely. I hugged the backpack in my lap tighter and my eyes were filled with tears before I felt the tiniest prickle in my nose. I immediately focused all my effort on drying my eyes, and I was fine by the time I got to my stop.
I got off with T.J. and walked silently down the hill. I usually take pride in each silent step, but today I felt like it was a reminder that hardly anyone would care if I was gone. Certainly not T.J.
Suddenly, I was realized why comparing myself with snow made me sad. I felt like I wasn't needed, and there is never any need for snow in spring.