The Beauty of Solitude
CHAPTER 3
"Shane..."
The sound of my name sends icy shards through the thin veil between dreams and reality, gripping my mind in a desperate attempt to bring me back to consciousness. Cold claws slowly tear me away from my confinement against my will, silently bringing my five senses back to life. I tightly squeeze my eyes shut, ignoring the voice and what it brings into the realms of my subconscious.
"Shane..." the voice repeats.
A pursuit in any further sleep has been taken from me with my name being repeated a second time. Familiar smells of the morning begin to seep into my brain through my nose making my return into my sleep mpossible; I recognise the scents as breakfast coming from downstairs. My eyelids open a crack, sending rays of burning light into my pupils as they try to adjust to the sudden burst of unwanted sunlight. Every muscle in my body begins to awaken; my legs stretching out towards the bottom of my bed and my arms extending into the air above me. A cold breeze sweeps through the room sending goosebumps crawling across my skin as it flows out of my bedroom through the open door and into the hallway. My eyes finally adjust to the light of the room and focus on the figure standing in the doorway; my youngest brother, Jonathan.
"It's time to get up," he says with a smile. "We have school today." I can sense the excitement in his voice, something I've never heard in my own voice when it came to school. He is already dressed for the occasion, wearing a brand new pair of jeans and a light blue t-shirt that seems to magnify his blue eyes. Wet, wavy blonde hair gently falls around his face, stopping just above his eyes in the front and below his ears on the sides. His jeans are much too big for his slender frame, his style of clothing coming from my other brother, Matt. Surprisingly, that is the only trait Jonathan has received from him.
"All right," I manage to say after a few moments. He turns to leave the room, leaving my door open as he walks down the hall and disappears down the stairs.
I stare up at the ceiling, waiting for my body to return to complete consciousness. Just enough of the sun has risen for direct rays of light to pour into my bedroom and onto my bed, shining across my face. The familiar sound of cars driving along the street on the other side of our backyard follows the sunlight; the world is coming to life. Trees stand nearly leafless in our backyard, their branches reaching into my line of vision like thousands of bony fingers as I tilt my head to look outside. Few clouds litter the morning sky with no indication of the previous nights' storm.
Slowly sitting up, I stretch once more at the request of my muscles. I let out a long yawn, planting my feet firmly on the floor before standing up. My clothes for the day have already been chosen and lay on top of my dresser folded neatly, adjacent to my brand new binders and notebooks. I can hear laughter coming from the first floor, the voice recognisably belonging to my mother. Ignoring it, too, I pick up my clothes and leave the room, turning to the right.
The newly tiled floor of the bathroom is cold to the touch, each step sending an icy chill through my feet. Hunter green shower curtains border the bathtub on the opposite side of the room, with matching floor mats placed on the floor in front of it, as well as in front of the toilet, where a hunter green seat cover is spread. Navy blue towels hang from the towel rack on the wall across from the toilet, a nice contrast to the green that is the dominant colour of the house. The air is humid and warm, a dense fog completely coating the mirror above the sink to the point where a reflection is barely seen. Reaching the bathtub, I pull the curtains back. Drops of water roll down the tile wall and across the porcelain bathtub, unable to prevent the natural flow of gravity that takes them to the drain.
I turn to the right, grabbing a towel off the rack and wiping the surface of the mirror clean. Hair falls in random strands around my face; I can feel the end of my hair brushing against my lower back with each swing it takes. I removed the ponytail before falling into slumber, leaving my hair in a mess of tangles when I woke up. Dark circles have formed below my eyes from my obvious lack of sleep, the colour drained from them making them a cold, stone-grey compared to their normal ice-blue. My eyes are such a peculiar part of my body, their colour altering to suit my mood.
I return to the bathtub, water coming out of the faucet at my command. Adjusting the temperature with a few small turns, I pull my boxer-briefs off and toss them in the corner of the bathroom, stepping into the bathtub and pulling the curtains shut behind me. With one quick turn of a third knob, a stream of water jets out of the shower head and hits my body. The blast of cold water is unexpected, causing me to take a step back, but it changes temperature quickly, matching what I set it to moments before. Steady streams run down my bare body, dripping off and hitting the porcelein beneath my feet, following the rest of the water into the drain.
The warm water feels wonderful against my skin, each stream washing away more than just any dirt, it seems. I find the water takes away any negative emotions or thoughts I may be having, the heat putting my mind at ease and the water relaxing every muscle it touches. Often, I can find myself getting lost while taking a shower, the relaxation enveloping my body like the steam coming from the hot water. My hair clings to my back, straightening out as more water runs through it. Each strand that had previously framed my face had now joined the the rest of it, giving me ample room to shave without fear of slicing through any hair with the razor.
Twenty Minutes pass, my body now completely scrubbed clean and my hair thoroughly washed and conditioned; my face now smooth from shaving. The water slowly gets colder with every second that passes, every drop of hot water being emptied from the tank in the basement. Before it gets too cold, I turn off the water and open the curtains once more, grabbing another towel off the rack and drying myself off. The towel joins my dirty boxer-briefs in the corner as I pull on a fresh pair, followed by a clean pair of jeans. I make sure to put on my deordorant before my black t-shirt. Picking up the brush, I take it through my hair in slow, even strokes, all the tangles gone. Reaching behind me, I take it and put it in a ponytail, a sure way to keep it from falling in my face throughout the day. I can feel the dampness seeping through from it onto my shirt, leaving a line of wet cloth clinging to my skin. The blue has flooded back into my eyes, replacing the grey, the shower dinstinctly rejuvinating me and erasing the dark circles that had been beneath my eyes; my face is now full of life.
I grab my toothbrush from below the mirror and squeeze toothpaste onto the bristles. Turning on the cold water and letting it splash into the sink, I place the head of the toothbrush underneath the clear liquid for a brief moment, just long enough for the water to soak it. Putting the toothbrush in my mouth, I gently scrub my teeth, taking extra time to make sure I have reached every area and every crevice. Brushing my teeth is quite meticulous, always taking my time to make sure they are thoroughtly cleaned. I can taste the spicy cinnamon of my toothpaste burning against my tongue, killing any traces of bacteria that may have made residence on the muscle and anywhere else in my mouth for that matter.
"Shane!" I hear my mother shout from the bottom of the stairs. I quickly spit the now-foamy liquid into the running water and watch it disappear down the piping.
"What?" I shout back, matching her tone and her volume.
"Hurry up! Matt needs to get a shower and you've been in there for an hour!"
I shake my head and roll my eyes simultaneously, knowing well that I have barely been in the room a half an hour, let alone a whole hour. Jonathan must have been in the shower before me, which would explain why there was water on the walls around, as well as in the bathtub when I pulled open the curtains. Picking up my dirty clothes from the corner, I open the bathroom door and toss them into the hamper on the other side of the hallway. Matt is standing in the doorway of his own bedroom at the very end of the 'L' shaped hallway, his arms crossed and his face staring at me with an annoyed expression across his face. My showers are nothing compared to the ones he takes.
Laughing softly to myself, I turn and head back into my bedroom, scooping up the binders, notebooks, and writing utensils off my dresser and placing them in my backpack. Behind me, I hear the bathroom door slam shut and lock. Had that been me, I would have surely gotten an earfull from my mother. Oddly enough, I am the oldest and the most responsible, and yet, if I do anything wrong, I get the highest degree from everyone around me. My brothers would be able to get away with murder in this household.
The zipper slides closed easily, securely locking all my school materials inside. I swing it over my back, closing the door behind me as I walk out of the room. Stopping, I make sure the door is locked before heading down the hall. As I pass the bathroom door, I can hear the shower running, just enough hot water to last a few minutes more before the water turns ice cold. Another laugh escapes me as I can only imagine the scream of anger and frustration coming from the bathroom when the water changes temperature so drastically.
Voices gain volume as I make my way down the stairs to the first floor, my mother's the most distinct and frequent; the smell of pancakes and bacon becomes clearer the closer I get to the bottom. My mother is standing, leaning against the kitchen counter with a spatula in her hand. A navy blue skirt and blazer hugs her fragile body, brunette curls falling around her face; a nice variation to her naturally straight hair. Her lips are disguised by a gentle shade of red, forming a soft smile. She turns around quickly, using the spatula to flip a pancake before facing the kitchen table once again where Jonathan is seated across from my step-father.
"Shane, your breakfast is in here," I hear my step-father say when he finally notices I am standing at the bottom of the stairs. He watches me intently, obviously waiting for a response. His shortly trimmed hair bends vertical where his forehead meet his hairline, the sides kept shorter than the top, cropped evenly around the ears and back of the head. Petite glasses sit evenly upon his nose, lightly reflecting the sunlight that shines from behind me. A dark jacket lays over the back of an empty chair, matching the colour of his dress-pants, a red tie hanging from around his neck over a sky blue shirt. Glancing over to my mother, I meet her eyes.
"I'm not hungry this morning," I mutter, searching for my boots to avoid any further eye contact. I find them almost instantly, sitting next to the door where I had left them the night before, below my jacket that I hung on one of the hooks. I quickly pull it on.
"Well, don't bitch because you're hungry when you're at school," my mother says coldly. I can still feel her gaze trying to burn through me. Keeping silent, I pull my boots on while I'm standing, grabbing my backpack and heading out the front door.
A cool breeze hits my face, a sigh of relief escaping my lips to join it. I lean against the door, taking a deep breath before stepping off the porch. Sunlight has painted nature with colour, completely changing the soft, dark shades of the night to the bright, vibrant ones of the day. The colours melt into each other with a perfection only nature could conjure. A few children walk along the sidewalk past my house to the left towards the elementary school, indistinctly chattering. Birds chirp from the nearby trees, undoubtedly getting prepared for their journey south as winter nears.
I follow the path down the front yard, eventually reaching the sidewalk that runs alongside the street. The grass is still damp from the rain that fell the night before, dark patches of wet cement randomly spread across the surface of the road slowly drying in the morning light. I turn to the right, following my path from the previous night towards the woods, stopping at the ntersection to make sure no drivers were out of control or overtired. With no cars in sight, I continue across the road to the entrance of the woods next to the dead end fifty feet down the street. I had no reason to stop at this intersection the previous night; everyone was asleep.
The floor of the woods is still littered with leaves, few enough for me to follow the path without losing it. Sunlight pours through the bare trees, shining across the ground giving colour to the dying leaves. The ground is soft beneath my feet, my boots sinking into the soft dirt leaving deep footprints. Puddles sit undisturbed throughout the woods, some next to the path while others in the distance, all waiting to be absorbed by the thirsty soil housing the roots beneath them. The smell of pine is sweet and refreshing, memories of Kristina and I walking through the evergreen forest together flooding my thoughts as each familiar scent enters my nose. A smile crosses my face, a soft giggle following it.
I pause, glancing in the direction to the small sanctuary, unable to see past a wall of evergreens. I wonder if Dana is there... Turning towards them, I take a step forward, stopping myself before taking another. Laughing at myself, I turn back to the path and continue along it.
Lost in my own thoughts, I don't realise I have reached the other side of the woods until I step onto the hard concrete of a sidewalk. On the other side of the road is my new school, standing like a prison in front of me. A crescent shaped drive separates from the road, passing the front entrance before intersecting with the road. Students are already making their way up the stairs of the front entrance and into the building. Hedges border the crescent drive alongside small sidewalks, breaking only at the entrance to the building. A large flagpole stands between the crescent drive and the road, the bright red and white flag proudly flailing in the wind.
A couple of cars line up behind each other, parents dropping off their kids for the first day of school this year. School busses turn into the parking lot on the far left side of the building, heading towards the entrance at the rear where they will empty. Faint beige bricks extend equally in either direction, forming the walls of the school. Trees stand tall in precise positions around the school, each one standing an equal distance from the one beside it. In a various places, picnic tables are placed beneath the trees, a perfect place to eat one's lunch on the right day.
Shaking my head, I step onto the road and make my way across it quickly to avoid being hit by any drivers who may not be paying attention. Keeping my gaze in front of me, I walk up the stairs, pausing momentarily to straighten my jacket. Reaching the top of the few stairs, I pull open one of the double glass doors and enter the lobby of the school, greeted by a nice warm breeze from a vent in the ceiling. Open the second set of glass doors, I continue into the main forum, a large, circular room. A dozen convertable picnic tables lay throughout the room, each one placed next to the other forming two parallel lines on opposite sides of the forum.
A staircase follows the circular wall opposite from me, connecting the first and second floors in a elegant manner. Windows make up the walls of the second floor, giving room for sight down into the forum when walking through the halls. Paintings and murals hang from the baby blue walls, the school mascot, a warrior, the predominant subject. Students are seated at the tables, some seated alone while others sit in groups of three or four. One catches my attention, a female with long brown hair that falls loosely around her delicate face. Her eyes meet mine, the same puzzled look spread across my face duplicated on hers. She seems very familiar. After a few seconds of staring, I shake my head and turn towards the main office directly to the right upon entering the building.
"Hello," a soft, female voice says as I let the glass door close behind me. She is a small woman, short blond curls dancing around her head with each step or gesture she makes, her bright green eyes fixed on me. A black dress falls to her feet from her waist, hiding them, the top of the dress hidden beneath the bottom of her short-sleeved black shirt. "Can I help you?"
The room is rather large for an office, three desks sitting behind a half-wall that separates the room into two halves. A small section of the wall is missing for easy access to either side of the room. A bench and a few chairs sit against the wall next to me for students to sit when in trouble or while waiting for something. The same baby blue paint from the forum keeps this room softly coloured and pleasing to the eye.
"Yes, I'm here to get my schedule," I tell the woman as I approach the half-wall. My mother made sure we came in two weeks early so we could enroll and get
"Your name, please?" she says gently, sitting down at the desk closest to me.
"Shane Reeves." She starts typing something into the computer, her typing skills beyond my own. Within moments, the printer next to the monitor comes to life, a piece of paper slowly emerging from the top of it with freshly placed black ink perfectly placed on it to form words. She pulls the piece of paper out of the printer and hands it to me with a bright smile, showing beautiful white teeth the seem to shine as brightly as the halogen lights in the ceiling above me.
I return the smile, taking the piece of paper in my hands with a polite, "Thank you." Turning towards the door, I glance down at the paper. The schedule varies from the one given at my previous school, the day separated into five periods instead of eight with lunch as period three, each period twice as long as I'm used to. My first two classes are not appealing, the first one being grade twelve mathematics and the second being sociology. Period four and five, however, are the classes I know I will be looking forward to each day, period four being grade twelve english and period five being dramatic arts.
I take note of my locker number written at the bottom of the paper before folding it and placing it in my pocket. Returning to the forum, I notice more students seated at the tables than before, the small groups of three and four have grown into groups of six or seven. I follow the circular wall to my right, passing the entrance to the cafeteria before finally reaching the bottom of the stairs and starting my ascent. The double glass doors at the top open easily with a small turn of their metal handles. A hallway stretches before me to the far end of the school in the direction of the parking lot, lockers lining both sides of it with classroom doors along the way. Another hallway runs in the opposite direction behind me.
Glancing at the first locker in front of me, something tells me that I'm going in the wrong direction. Turning around, I'm met by the same, familiar eyes of the girl who watched me enter the building only a few minutes earlier, still carrying the puzzled look she wore then.
"Is your name Shane?"