Just a Measurement [luke]

Cyrus tolerated school. It was a distraction from the monotony of day to day work. He shuffled in to class early in the morning, after his father had breakfast and after he had taken care of his mother. He walked with his brother to school, only to fall behind in his usual and casual pace. He would watch Naif join his friends and disappear ahead, happy to be heading off to school. The bell would ring as he was coming up the steps, and he would disappear into the throngs of people to make his way to class. It was the comforting routine that one as Cyrus enjoyed. Cyrus was of the opinion that school presented only so many challenges, most of them unappealing.

He was not one who stood out in the crowd. Rather, the further he had gone in school, the more he drifted to the margins of day-to-day life. He had been capable of playing the imaginary and pretend games so many played in lower schools, but now so many had drifted to other things that Cyrus felt left behind. The few boys that took the time to speak with Cyrus were focused much more on the opposite sex than anything else. At the age of 16, he thought they focused entirely too much on the fairer sex and not enough about the work that was in front of them. He couldn’t understand the world of girls and what they wanted. This was a common theme with Cyrus. He very much couldn’t understand people in general.

He was content with situations that went without human interaction. That way he wouldn’t be uncomfortable—this happened more and more frequently—and he didn’t want to slide out of his invisibility to become a nuisance. He’d learned that the others would leave him alone, despite his peculiarities, if he said nothing at all. He grew quite anxious when he had to participate in anything, and knew that he must have seemed strange to all the others when he was forced to show himself. He would keep his eyes down and hand in his work when it was due. He would never take too much pride in what he did—he lacked this type of passion, anyway—but instead make sure that he was seen but not heard.

Today he’d been forced to interact with others, and it was of the usual result. They were being separated, and Cyrus felt his palms grow sweaty and his heart beat faster. No one wanted to be in a group with him, much less have to work on a project. He was terrible at writing and expressing himself. When he heard his name called, he felt the eyes turn upon him and his stomach start to churn. He didn’t move from his desk, thinking that perhaps he could remain there and be ignored. Something about his eyes staying on the ground and not moving angered those around him. They wanted him to look up, pay attention. Look them in the eyes. Look at them when they were speaking to him.

He took in a few breaths, faster and faster, and felt himself hopelessly slipping into his own twisted world again. He stood from his chair and looked around. Air. He needed air. He didn’t want to talk to any of them. He wanted to hide.
He wanted to slip away. The others would go about breaking off to learn what they needed to, and he slipped out the door into the hallway, away from having to deal with others. He dragged himself along the lockers and paced back and forth. Why was it so difficult for him to have to be with them, why was it that he so readily tried to escape any form of participation? He couldn’t handle having to be here—school was too much anxiety, too much having to interact with anyone.

He at last disappeared out the front of the school to step outside and be away from anyone. He turned with his arms fold in front of his face, taking in a few more breaths to calm himself. Perhaps he would be able to return to them when they were nearly finished, and he wouldn’t have to say anything. He would stay out here, mind his own business, and he would never have to say a single word to them. Yes, he could stay out here and he would be safe. That was a wonderful plan, not to be ruined by anything.

Of course, until he felt the presence of another sitting on the steps near him.

Cyrus turned to look at Reverie, with his hands still in front of his face. She had her head between her knees, and it alarmed Cyrus somewhat. Shifting from not wanting to be around anyone, he wanted to make sure that she was all right. She was sulking in the corner outside of the school. This was not normal, no, he did not usually see anyone when he would disappear from class and try to hideaway himself. His grades reflected that he was not the stellar student (albeit his own talents belied the fact). He was torn between his own anxiety and saying anything to her. Would she wonder what he was doing there? Would she get him in trouble for coming outside? Maybe she had a reason for being outside, unlike him?

He kept his hands in a praying position in front of his face and made a murmering noise, trying to see if he could get her attention. He did not want to say anything, but he did not want to leave her here if she were hurt. Cyrus may have hated having to say anything to anyone for fear of them thinking him stupid or worse, but he could not abide someone being hurt.

“Excuse me. Are you all right? What are you doing here?” Cyrus asked matter-of-factly. His monotone drifted in the air and he blinked, looking down at Reverie. “Aren’t you supposed to be inside?”

Cyrus was never good at the interpretations of turn of phrase and shook his head in response to the girl in front of him. He was sure that he hadn’t pointed his fingers at all, but had merely stated that she was outside and that was probably against the rules. He nodded knowing that he too had walked out of class, and that most certainly was something that he wasn’t supposed to be doing. He hated breaking the rules, but he had gotten so anxious there really wasn’t any other acceptable response than to walk out of the situation. Unless they wanted to deal with another breakdown by Cyrus, who was seen at best as a distraction and at worst a nuisance for those trying to learn.

He saw the expression on her face now and moved back, folding his hands up some and staring down at the ground and back at her. He paced back and forth some, calming himself down and looking back at her. He wasn’t accustomed to anyone else being outside when he came outside. It was hard for him to concentrate on calming down when there was someone else in front of the school. He chewed on his lower lip and kept his palms in front of his face as he watched the girl begin to ignore him. He was certain that her name was River or Road or something to do with nature, but being that he rarely ever talked to girls at school he couldn’t be entirely sure.

Cyrus was a difficulty to teachers who couldn’t figure him out. He was anxious all the time, and never spoke more than a few words in class. He never stared any of them straight in the eyes. He was exceedingly shy and didn’t like to be touched. He hated writing anything and was nearly failing his language and literature sections. He excelled in some subjects, like math and science but couldn’t tolerate being made to stand up in front of the class. He would have what his teachers so affectionately liked to call episodes—times when he would get so anxious he would have to leave the class for fear of becoming disruptive to others. Many were happier when he was gone than to have anything to do with him.

He was too much work for anyone to babysit. After all, what was the point of pulling him along when he was obviously dragging everyone else down? Year after year, however, he progressed enough to move onward toward the march of adulthood, when he would never have to take classes again. That was, unless he was tapped to do math and science for the district. He was inconceivably bright in those subjects, but his introversion completely erased the thought of using his talents. He was a flower that hadn’t yet bloomed—and no one had ever wanted, nor had the time to help him bloom. And so in his disability, Cyrus had fallen to the shadows. Leaving class may have been a problem for most, but for those in class with Cyrus it was a boon.

“I am sorry. I did not mean that I was accusing you of doing something wrong.” Cyrus looked at her again, shaking his hands in front of his face. “I am Cyrus. I think I have seen you around school before. I came outside because I like it out here. I like it more than I like it in there. They don’t mind when I come outside. I do this all the time. I think they would rather that I come outside than be inside. Sometimes there is too much going on inside. I like it out here.”

Cyrus knew that his thoughts were going around in a circle, and he wondered if he had explained himself well. He often had a hard time communicating with people, and he wasn’t sure if she would get it. He also didn’t quite understand that she seemed to want to be alone. He knew now that she wasn’t hurt, so she must have a reason for being outside like he was. He could not tell that there was something bothering her immensely.

“Why are you outside? Do you not like it inside? Are you supposed to be out here now? I have never seen you out here when I come out here,” Cyrus said all of this as he moved closer to her, invading her personal space. He blinked a few times. He didn’t like to talk that much, but he found that by talking to River or Lake or whatever her name happened to be, he was taking his mind off of his own anxiety.