Freaks and Friends
Posted: Fri Jun 29, 2012 10:39 am
Freaks and Friends
Part 1
"Welcome to the Freak show."
That single thought keeps rolling around my mind. I know it's rude, but I can't help it. This is where they put the broken people that the rest of the world doesn't want to deal with, and its all wrapped up in your standard cliché high school setting. It's like somebody's idea for a bad manga ... one I've probably already read.
It's five days until school starts and I'm looking at the room where I'll spend the next year. The pale yellow walls, beige carpet, and very plain furniture give it the dullest look imaginable. Even my hospital room had more personality. It's in serious need of redecoration, but hey, at least they provided free monochromatic sheets! Joy.
Mom, dad, and Aunt Hyatt help me bring my things to my new room. They ask more questions than I'm in the mood for before they say their goodbyes. Mom hugs me, which she knows hate, and they promise to come check up on me occasionally. Once they're gone, I bump my leg against the bedpost and go over to open my suitcases. It's time to start making this place look livable.
It takes me two tries to get the latch. I miss completely on my first try. Lack of depth perception bites.
Despite being a klutz at the best of times, and now being a klutz with only one eye, I manage to hang most of my posters. They're a mixed bag. Some are from few bands I've never heard, and some look like an anime I don't know. I've never been too curious about what they actually are. I just like the look of them. Along with these are some girlish stuff; I don't want to admit I haven't grown out of boy bands, rainbows, and unicorns but if nothing else, it provides a nice contrast. People never quite know what to make of me having girly pastel stuff on one wall and punk death metal bands on the other. Granted, I don't exactly expect to have too many visitors here, but I've always enjoyed messing with the ones I got back home. Once the posters are hung, and then rehung because I hung them all crooked the first time, the room is given a much-needed touch of color.
The next thing I unpack is my mirror. I used to love this thing. It's big and old with a decorative carved wood frame that's been chipped at and scuffed over the years. I've had it as long as I can remember. When I was little, I spent hours doing my hair in front of it and playing with mom's makeup. When I look at my reflection now, I want to punch it and watch it shatter into a million pieces. I actually tried that a few days ago, not with this mirror of course. Even angry I wouldn't want to do anything to it. It's got too much history. I guess it wouldn't have mattered much if I had punched this one. The mirror I hit didn't break. The only thing I accomplished was hurting my hand.
Why can't life be more dramatic and less lame?
… I suppose if it was, I might have a good reason for being here, something other than "running with sharp objects".
Yeah. That's me; I'm the girl who put her eye out running with scissors. I should sign autographs.
I look into the mirror out of habit, already knowing I'm not going to like what I see. My good eye is immediately drawn to where my other eye used to be and the scar that runs across my face. My eyelids were cauterized together, sealing them shut and leaving a weird looking dark line that contrasts with the brighter red scar from my injury. I remember the doctor trying to explain the procedure to me in detail, but I don't remembered how they said it worked. Even when they dumb it down, medical talk goes straight over my head. I think part of me just didn't want to hear. Not listening to it meant that I could put it out of my mind just a little bit longer. Not paying attention earned me a few more minutes of being normal.
The doctors also said they had to do some work repairing the skull around my eye socket. I was lucky I hadn't ended up stabbing my brain, they said, or something like that. I wasn't paying attention to that either. I was actually trying my hardest not to pay attention. All I know is that if there's something wrong with my skull now, you can't tell by looking.
The scar itched for about a week. I couldn't scratch it either. Why they couldn't just sever the nerves around that part of my face, I don't understand. Maybe it made sense to the doctors. There's probably some complex medical reason that I wouldn't understand, either that or they just didn't think of it.
One thing I'm looking forward to now that I'm away from home is covering up my scars with a patch or something. My parents hated when I did that at home. They never did tell me exactly why either.
Cringing slightly, I look in the mirror and try to picture what I'd look like with some "eye-wear". I suppose I could use an eye patch, but I'm a bit afraid that might make me look too butch-dyke. Another idea is just copying one girl I saw on the way in. She had her hair grown down covering half her face. It's not a half-bad idea, but I don't think I could go through with it. I like my hairstyle too much.
Bandages might just be a safer bet. I'm debating between the kind that wrap completely round your head or the gauze patch held on with medical tape. Before I can make up my mind, there's a knock on the door that quickly turns into a loud banging.
I roll my eyes… eye… and mutter a "yeah, what do you want?" to myself as I go answer it. I reach for the door handle and end up having to stretch a few extra inches to get it. I'm not sure I'll ever get used to this.
Standing outside the door are three strange looking people. One of them has no arms and one of them is in a wheelchair. The third doesn't seem to have anything wrong with her, other than being the girliest looking girl, I've ever seen. She's holding out what looks like a business card.
I take it and read it. Her hand stays up for several seconds after the card has been removed before she puts it down. Weird.
"My name is Tana Wakahisa. I go to Yamaku High School. Please don't think I'm ignoring you. I have a slight brain deformity with causes a lapse between receiving stimuli and my brain being able to process or recognize it. It can sometimes take up to several seconds. Please be patient with me. "
The card is completed with an obnoxiously cute smiling caricature of her face in the corner. Underneath it she's added “Cool! Thankies!”
"Hey, can we come in?" the girl in the wheelchair says trying to crane her head past me to see into my room.
"I guess," I tell them. "I'm still unpacking."
I step back and let them in. Wheelchair girl goes first. Wakahisa follows a bit behind. Armless girl continues to stand out in the hall making no effort to try to enter.
"Have you been welcomed?" Armless girl asks.
"Kinda?" I answer, but it's more like a question. Does this count as a welcome?
"That's good. I was asked to help welcome you and if you're welcome now, then I've done my job. I'd hate for a new person to not feel welcome. I mean a new person to this school. I'm assuming you've been a person before you came here. I might be wrong." Her mood and expression seems to change slightly with every different sentence she makes.
"Thanks," I have no other idea what to say. Listening to her talk is the vocal equivalent of watching a train wreck.
"Don't worry about it. That's just Rin. She's a bit nuts but she's cool," the wheelchair girl says noticing my unsure expression.
The girl she called Rin smiles as if she's not quite sure how a smile works then walks off down the hallway. I turn my attention back to the other girls in my room. If Rin is this schools idea of cool, it's going to be a long year.
"You get used to her," Tana says directing it to where I was standing just a few seconds ago.
Wheelchair girl notices my confused reaction and grins widely. Apparently, she's one of those types that shows both upper and lower teeth when she smiles. "It's okay. Don't worry about me. Just be yourself."
"And don't make any sudden movements!" wheelchair girl adds with a huge smile. "Seriously, just stop talking every few sentences and she can usually keep up. So, what's your name?"
"Hitomi Fuku, but--" I start.
"I'll call you, Hitomi. That cool with you? We're kinda' informal around here," wheelchair girl says.
"Nice to meet you, Fuku. If you don't mind, can we call you Hitomi?" Tana follows up wheelchair's question by asking almost the exact same thing.
Wheelchair looks over at Tana and smiles. She holds the expression until Tana's reaction time catches up. When it does, Tana gives the girl in the wheelchair an irritated look in return.
"Tana you know, but everybody calls her Time Warp," she says pointing to her companion, "and I'm Hachisame Kurosawa!" Then she stands up out of her wheelchair and holds out her hand for me to shake. I just look down at the chair puzzled. "Oh. . . Yeah … um … weak legs. "
"You're the only person that calls me Time Warp. " Tana says in faux irritation. Hachisame reaches over and playfully messes up Time Warp's hair. "Cut that out!" she says after Hachisame has already stopped. It's weird. It's like watching a movie where the sound isn't in sync with the visuals, only in this case it's a person.
"Aww. You know you love it. " Hachisame replies with an oversized grin.
Yeah, these two are going to be loads of fun . . . and here I thought my life wasn't going to get any stranger than just loosing an eye.
Part 1
"Welcome to the Freak show."
That single thought keeps rolling around my mind. I know it's rude, but I can't help it. This is where they put the broken people that the rest of the world doesn't want to deal with, and its all wrapped up in your standard cliché high school setting. It's like somebody's idea for a bad manga ... one I've probably already read.
It's five days until school starts and I'm looking at the room where I'll spend the next year. The pale yellow walls, beige carpet, and very plain furniture give it the dullest look imaginable. Even my hospital room had more personality. It's in serious need of redecoration, but hey, at least they provided free monochromatic sheets! Joy.
Mom, dad, and Aunt Hyatt help me bring my things to my new room. They ask more questions than I'm in the mood for before they say their goodbyes. Mom hugs me, which she knows hate, and they promise to come check up on me occasionally. Once they're gone, I bump my leg against the bedpost and go over to open my suitcases. It's time to start making this place look livable.
It takes me two tries to get the latch. I miss completely on my first try. Lack of depth perception bites.
Despite being a klutz at the best of times, and now being a klutz with only one eye, I manage to hang most of my posters. They're a mixed bag. Some are from few bands I've never heard, and some look like an anime I don't know. I've never been too curious about what they actually are. I just like the look of them. Along with these are some girlish stuff; I don't want to admit I haven't grown out of boy bands, rainbows, and unicorns but if nothing else, it provides a nice contrast. People never quite know what to make of me having girly pastel stuff on one wall and punk death metal bands on the other. Granted, I don't exactly expect to have too many visitors here, but I've always enjoyed messing with the ones I got back home. Once the posters are hung, and then rehung because I hung them all crooked the first time, the room is given a much-needed touch of color.
The next thing I unpack is my mirror. I used to love this thing. It's big and old with a decorative carved wood frame that's been chipped at and scuffed over the years. I've had it as long as I can remember. When I was little, I spent hours doing my hair in front of it and playing with mom's makeup. When I look at my reflection now, I want to punch it and watch it shatter into a million pieces. I actually tried that a few days ago, not with this mirror of course. Even angry I wouldn't want to do anything to it. It's got too much history. I guess it wouldn't have mattered much if I had punched this one. The mirror I hit didn't break. The only thing I accomplished was hurting my hand.
Why can't life be more dramatic and less lame?
… I suppose if it was, I might have a good reason for being here, something other than "running with sharp objects".
Yeah. That's me; I'm the girl who put her eye out running with scissors. I should sign autographs.
I look into the mirror out of habit, already knowing I'm not going to like what I see. My good eye is immediately drawn to where my other eye used to be and the scar that runs across my face. My eyelids were cauterized together, sealing them shut and leaving a weird looking dark line that contrasts with the brighter red scar from my injury. I remember the doctor trying to explain the procedure to me in detail, but I don't remembered how they said it worked. Even when they dumb it down, medical talk goes straight over my head. I think part of me just didn't want to hear. Not listening to it meant that I could put it out of my mind just a little bit longer. Not paying attention earned me a few more minutes of being normal.
The doctors also said they had to do some work repairing the skull around my eye socket. I was lucky I hadn't ended up stabbing my brain, they said, or something like that. I wasn't paying attention to that either. I was actually trying my hardest not to pay attention. All I know is that if there's something wrong with my skull now, you can't tell by looking.
The scar itched for about a week. I couldn't scratch it either. Why they couldn't just sever the nerves around that part of my face, I don't understand. Maybe it made sense to the doctors. There's probably some complex medical reason that I wouldn't understand, either that or they just didn't think of it.
One thing I'm looking forward to now that I'm away from home is covering up my scars with a patch or something. My parents hated when I did that at home. They never did tell me exactly why either.
Cringing slightly, I look in the mirror and try to picture what I'd look like with some "eye-wear". I suppose I could use an eye patch, but I'm a bit afraid that might make me look too butch-dyke. Another idea is just copying one girl I saw on the way in. She had her hair grown down covering half her face. It's not a half-bad idea, but I don't think I could go through with it. I like my hairstyle too much.
Bandages might just be a safer bet. I'm debating between the kind that wrap completely round your head or the gauze patch held on with medical tape. Before I can make up my mind, there's a knock on the door that quickly turns into a loud banging.
I roll my eyes… eye… and mutter a "yeah, what do you want?" to myself as I go answer it. I reach for the door handle and end up having to stretch a few extra inches to get it. I'm not sure I'll ever get used to this.
Standing outside the door are three strange looking people. One of them has no arms and one of them is in a wheelchair. The third doesn't seem to have anything wrong with her, other than being the girliest looking girl, I've ever seen. She's holding out what looks like a business card.
I take it and read it. Her hand stays up for several seconds after the card has been removed before she puts it down. Weird.
"My name is Tana Wakahisa. I go to Yamaku High School. Please don't think I'm ignoring you. I have a slight brain deformity with causes a lapse between receiving stimuli and my brain being able to process or recognize it. It can sometimes take up to several seconds. Please be patient with me. "
The card is completed with an obnoxiously cute smiling caricature of her face in the corner. Underneath it she's added “Cool! Thankies!”
"Hey, can we come in?" the girl in the wheelchair says trying to crane her head past me to see into my room.
"I guess," I tell them. "I'm still unpacking."
I step back and let them in. Wheelchair girl goes first. Wakahisa follows a bit behind. Armless girl continues to stand out in the hall making no effort to try to enter.
"Have you been welcomed?" Armless girl asks.
"Kinda?" I answer, but it's more like a question. Does this count as a welcome?
"That's good. I was asked to help welcome you and if you're welcome now, then I've done my job. I'd hate for a new person to not feel welcome. I mean a new person to this school. I'm assuming you've been a person before you came here. I might be wrong." Her mood and expression seems to change slightly with every different sentence she makes.
"Thanks," I have no other idea what to say. Listening to her talk is the vocal equivalent of watching a train wreck.
"Don't worry about it. That's just Rin. She's a bit nuts but she's cool," the wheelchair girl says noticing my unsure expression.
The girl she called Rin smiles as if she's not quite sure how a smile works then walks off down the hallway. I turn my attention back to the other girls in my room. If Rin is this schools idea of cool, it's going to be a long year.
"You get used to her," Tana says directing it to where I was standing just a few seconds ago.
Wheelchair girl notices my confused reaction and grins widely. Apparently, she's one of those types that shows both upper and lower teeth when she smiles. "It's okay. Don't worry about me. Just be yourself."
"And don't make any sudden movements!" wheelchair girl adds with a huge smile. "Seriously, just stop talking every few sentences and she can usually keep up. So, what's your name?"
"Hitomi Fuku, but--" I start.
"I'll call you, Hitomi. That cool with you? We're kinda' informal around here," wheelchair girl says.
"Nice to meet you, Fuku. If you don't mind, can we call you Hitomi?" Tana follows up wheelchair's question by asking almost the exact same thing.
Wheelchair looks over at Tana and smiles. She holds the expression until Tana's reaction time catches up. When it does, Tana gives the girl in the wheelchair an irritated look in return.
"Tana you know, but everybody calls her Time Warp," she says pointing to her companion, "and I'm Hachisame Kurosawa!" Then she stands up out of her wheelchair and holds out her hand for me to shake. I just look down at the chair puzzled. "Oh. . . Yeah … um … weak legs. "
"You're the only person that calls me Time Warp. " Tana says in faux irritation. Hachisame reaches over and playfully messes up Time Warp's hair. "Cut that out!" she says after Hachisame has already stopped. It's weird. It's like watching a movie where the sound isn't in sync with the visuals, only in this case it's a person.
"Aww. You know you love it. " Hachisame replies with an oversized grin.
Yeah, these two are going to be loads of fun . . . and here I thought my life wasn't going to get any stranger than just loosing an eye.
Her last name, Wakahisa, means "forever young," which I thought was nice for a girl that's living a few seconds out of sync with the world. 
), I'm enjoying this so far!