17 7.1: Thirty Locker Generations (1/2)

`so this was how you died; in whispers that you did not hear`

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A very familiar, unpleasant, loud bell rings, and I snap open my eyes, and holy shitstickers, I'm back at my school. And like if there would be an eighth reason as to why I killed myself, it would be this mind-abusing organisation.

I quickly glance at the huge wall clock and notice that it's just the beginning of the day. All the students are supposedly in their classes. ”Oh hell no-” I mutter miserably under my breath as Benji barks delightfully in Tobias' arms.

The hallway we're haunting is currently empty and surprisingly clean, with sticker-decorated lockers on both sides. Tobias absently draws circles on the floor with his sneakers and grimaces.

”The floor is unclean-” He then stands still and removes his hand from my arm.

”That is not clean?” I say amusedly. He hasn't seen the floor at the end of a school day.

I look at Tobias who lets go of Benji and looks around, seeming very occupied by the school's structure. He walks around, pulls on closed lockers, shakes his head as he tries removing a BTS sticker and tsks from time to time.

”Yeah, we get it-” I tell him from afar. ”Your generation was much cleaner and more decent.”

Tobias gives me a horrified look. ”There is no comparison-” He says appalled. ”Your generation enjoys sticking girl-looking boys on their school lockers. In my days, that would cause expulsion-”

”I'm pretty sure they're not allowed to do it here either, but they do it anyway-” I say indifferently. ”And...I never liked BTS either-”

”BTS?” Tobias makes a face. ”Is that a disease?” He asks seriously in his English accent as he flicks on the Korean band's sticker.

My eyes widen, and I chuckle loudly. He narrows his eyes at me and then shakes his head.

”You can't be serious-” I then approach him, stand next to him and face the locker with their sticker. ”They're mega-famous-”

”BTS?” Tobias repeats, looking at their group picture in disgust. ”They got lipstick on-” He almost gasps at the 'atrocity' of his realization. ”I don't even want to guess what they do-”

I grin at his analysis. ”They just sing, Tobias. Get your mind out of the gutters-”

Tobias smirks and smoothens the sticker on the locker. ”Bet they sound like barfing or-or- even adverser-” He shakes his head, thinking of a worse possible alternative. ”Fangirling girls or girls talking to babies-”

I laugh and put out a hand. ”You made your point-”

”It's just absolutely revolting-”

”Okay, you wouldn't want a 'fangirling girl' to hear you-” I tell him, and he turns to catch my eyes. He then smiles silently.

I clear my throat and give him a questioning look. He waves me off and sighs.

”So-” He tells me with a huff with a final, sideways glance at the BTS sticker. ”Where was yours?” He leans on the girl's locker.

”My locker?” I ask, and he nods. ”Well, I'm not sure if it's my locker anymore-”

”Well, of course, it isn't-” Tobias says as matter-of-factly. ”You're dead.”

”I know-” I drawl. I needn't a constant reminder. ”Let's check it out-”

I turn around and hear Tobias talk to and snap his fingers at Benji. I round a corner and find the girls' washrooms on my right with the janitor's closet next to it.

I can see Joshua's locker from here and can feel Tobias' loud presence behind me. I inhale deeply and walk to his locker, knowing that my locker is right in front of his. Joshua's locker is as usual clean of any stickers, unlocked, with only a pair of his sneakers inside. And my locker?

My locker looks like a funeral.

”Your locker-” Tobias starts, and I turn to him and a panting Benji.

I touch my locker, that's like me, buried, but instead of under soil, it's under sticky notes, angel stickers and flower magnets. There are lots of RIPs scribbled carelessly if with different handwritings and Sharpies. I let my fingers feelinglessly trace some hung frames with my pictures on it as I look at the 'We miss you!' notes carved with a white-out pen.

My locker is so colourful, it's ridiculous.

”People used to love you-” Tobias remarks.

I look in his direction and roll my eyes. ”It's obviously a show-” I sigh heavily. ”You wait until the school starts putting up suicide posters about how to 'healthily' deal with your problems-” I hold my hips and shake my head. ”Then how the teachers will lecture the students about how a beautiful girl I was, and how I've so -oh, bless you, dear children- 'wasted' my 'precious' life-” I mimick a granny's voice. ”And-and the suicide hotline that'll be stuck everywhere. And counsellers grilling perfectly normal, bored students about their lives.

”And, oh, wait till you see concerned parents strut in with their mini-handbags and Gucci sunglasses just to express their -oh so- urgent worries about their normally abnormal children with issues, and then end up blaming the school for everything. Blame their terrible upbringing on the school's tolerance to bullies. When really, all the school does is provide a platform for everybody to connect. It's not its fault that parents disregarded their kids and turned them into bullies or -oh, wait- worse. Suicide cases-” I whisper the last bit and stop for a breath. ”And I honestly don't know what's worse.”

Tobias looks at me with wide, focused eyes. ”You're chatty when you want to be-”

”I'm not chatty-” I pant out. ”I'm just complaining about how all the right things are blamed for the wrong things. Which really makes us incapable of solving the root problem-”

”Parenting-” Tobias continues for me, and I nod vigorously.

”Exactly,” I say. ”And it certainly can't only be my generations' problem-”

”No,” Tobias tries saying nonchalantly. ”This problem has been around thirty years ago-”

”We're taking no steps to solve it-” I then finally say dejectedly as Benji sniffs my locker and rips some papers with his canines. And I let him as I slide down to the floor, next to him and pull out my legs in front of me.

Tobias looks down on us, then leans on my locker with his forearms, his feet encaging my legs. He drops his head between them, and I lift my head more so I'm looking in his eyes, not chest.

We stare at each other for a while. I stare at how his red hair appears a soft orange in this light, and how it compliments his nose freckles, soft hazel eyes, denim jacket and yellow shirt. I stare at him and his ludicrous smile and sigh.

”You know what I'm thinking?” He whispers from above me, and I slowly blink at him.

”Hm?”

”I think we're good people-” He tells me softly. ”We deserve a second chance.”