The Window | Teen Ink

The Window

November 4, 2014
By Alexandria Gentile BRONZE, Orland Park, Illinois
Alexandria Gentile BRONZE, Orland Park, Illinois
3 articles 0 photos 0 comments

As l look out the window, Death sits in the chair across from me.

Death has been waiting. He has one move left. I have none.

We eye each other.

“Would you like to move closer miss?” Nurse Joyce asks.

“No. The view is lovely from here.”

I direct my gaze at the people passing by on the sidewalk. They are unimportant. They aren't what I’ve been looking for.

A businessman passes by towing a bouncing toddler in hand. His black suit and leather briefcase scream power broker not father. He is irritated with his talkative burden as he barks orders into his Blackberry. After a swat at the head, she is silent. A stony glare etches across her cherubic cheeks.

I shake my head and Death smirks.

A small girl passes by, with what can only be a nanny. I know because the difference between mothers and nannies is the emotional disconnect. The girl steps into the street, but is quickly pulled back by the nanny. The nanny crouches down to the girl’s level and regards her as an adult with a pointed finger and stern expression. The girl primly nods her head, straightens her pressed ivory dress and the pair continues down the sidewalk hand in hand.

I look down at my own hands, neatly folded in my lap.

“So young and so invincible.” Death notes.

A mother daughter pair strolls by, their pace seemingly harmonic. But within thethere is discord. The mother, with her ivory overcoat elegantly revealing her pressed suit seems dynamic. She is an ice queen, colder and harder than the diamonds adorning her wrists. But I can see the fear of time in her eyes, the fear of the countdown until her family shatters.

The girl, chewing on her chipped black nails, clashes with her mother. She is chastised by her mother, motioning for a straighter posture. A power struggle emerges as they become locked in a iron clad glare. I wonder who will back down first. But I already know the answer as the girl straightens up.

The clouds move over the city as the pair moves on. But now the girl falls back, a rebellious attempt to shatter the illusion. Quickly realizing her mistake, she catches back up to recreate the facade her mother had so desperately created.

The window becomes blurry, the late afternoon frost settling in.

“In the end, we only regret running with the mob instead of against it.” Death says, flexing his white fingers.

Death knows but has no mind.

“Are you ready to be taken to dinner? Your medications are supposed to be taken at 5.” Nurse Joyce asks anxiously.

I laugh quietly to myself.

“No.”

“She’s refusing her medications again, the hallucinations are just becoming worse. On Tuesday the same thing happened, and I found her talking to the chair. She then quickly denied it but refocused back on the chair. ” Nurse Joyce murmured to another nurse.

“Yesterday, she mentioned going home soon. Thats why she’s hiding her visions. But Dr. Mortimer said the parents don’t even want her home. It’s just a sad situation.” the other nurse tsked in pity.

“Her dosage of Compazine is at 50 mg but we’ve seen no positive results. She’s just an upward battle, we all are  unsure what direction to take now.” Nurse Joyce whispered as they walked away.

I turn my back on the window, Death, and the nurses. It’s too difficult to see now.

I wish I could leave.

I’ve thought those words so many times. Laid in bed at night and thought them. It’s too bad I’ve alway been an acceptor, not a fighter.

I force my gaze back to the shadowy streets. 

A boy and girl pass by, hands intertwined, heads together, whispering in each others ears. I quickly become an observer in their own world. But the boy suddenly breaks away, interrupted by his phone. He moves away, a slow grin creeping on to his face as he talks. The girl looks on, the green of jealously and the red of anger coloring her face. She needs to solve this problem. He ends the call and walks back to her, arm slung casually around her hunched shoulders. She whispers something in his ear that makes his grin return. But as they leave the view of the window, I see she has been defeated.

I look on disappointed.

“Lovers make the best liars” Death remarked, tracing a circle on the armrest.

“Not necessarily. People need to learn to not be reckless with others hearts and to not put up with those that are reckless with their own.”

Death sees but has no eyes.

“Why do you look out the window instead of leaving and seeing it for yourself?” Death questions, leaning towards me.

I flinch. He asks more than anyone ever has.

“Silence is better than bullshit.”

“Interesting. Do you know why I’m here” Death asks, lacing his fingers together on his lap.

“Have you ever been asked a question that you know you wouldn’t be able to handle the answer?”

“That’s not the point.”

Death pulls a worn paper out of his duster and hands it to me as he stands up.

I look up at him as he leaves.

“The time has come for you to fill in the x.”

It’s a watercolor map with a key dangling from a black string at the bottom. No destination is given. Just colors and continents. But as I look up to thank Death, he is gone.

I stand up, discreetly scanning the day room, and start walking towards the door. But a menacing lock stops me in my tracks, and I almost abandon my bid for escape. But I have come too far to back down now. Securing Death’s key in the lock, I turn, praying for a miracle. The
door swings open, and I step back into the world.

I immediately become lost within the thick crowd. The masses move forward, as I stand frozen choking on their dust. My inner coward overwhelms me, my newfound courage quickly disintegrating. But just as I’m about to crumble, a tiny hand grabs mine. A man and a woman in suits stand behind me, looking lovingly into each others eyes, grins adorning their faces. They are not what stopped me, the little girl with chipped black nail polish, between the couple is the owner of the hand. “Don’t look back, you’re not going that way.” she says, her knowing look bizarre for such a small child. They walk away from me, the girl giggling as her father throws her onto his shoulders, the mother looking on with her head tilted back in laughter. I smile wistfully as they fade off into the distance. I turn in the opposite direction and walk down the frosty sidewalk just as the street lamps switch on. Stuffing my shivering hands into my pockets, I feel quite sure that I can’t chase a deceiving past for I can only leave it behind.


The author's comments:

This piece was inspired by not only the average teenage angst of not being understood but by the issue of teen mental illness, battles that many teenagers are fighting alone. This short story is for them, for the teens that feel isolated by their illnesses and/or the families that aren't supporting their road to recovery. 


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