Disclaimer: All characters belong to David Klass.


You can't see me

You can't see me.

I'm not invisible. Everyone else can see me, though even then I'm just that quiet girl who's a bit of a doormat, the untouchable, the omega bitch. Even if you did see me, you probably wouldn't think about me because I'm plain. Boring. Dull. The amazingly unspectacular Violet.

I'm not tiny either. In fact, I'm biggish, if I'm honest. Fat. Not big boned, not puppy fat, not even in possession of a glandular problem. Don't expect an excuse. I don't have one, and I don't really see why I need one. I could make a million excuses, couldn't I? For example "I have to eat because I accidentally swallowed a hungry lizard" or "A witch cursed me so that I'll turn into a giant saxophone unless I eat chocolate cake". I could say "I'm not fat, I'm smuggling baby dragons under my jumper and that's why I look like I have a big belly". I could even say "I gained all of this weight in a horrific accident involving a satsuma, a tracksuit and a polaroid of the Queen's right ear" but I'd still be fat. Because I eat too much. So it's my fault. Sorry.

Despite the chubbiness, you can't see me. You should be able to see, because I'm sitting just in front of you with my saxophone. It's a old instrument, dented, bruised and second hand, so it wasn't even that gorgeous to begin with. It doesn't really matter, though, because when I raise it to my lips, its voice is clear, strong, sultry, and for a few minutes the excess flab melts away and I forget that anyone else is there. For those minutes, there's no one in the world but me, the remarkably mediocre Violet, and the battered old saxophone.

Even if you could see me, you wouldn't hear me over the tuba. I don't know why you come to band practice, because you don't see to like it any more than you like me. I might be looking at my sheet music, but I can see your expression in my head, your eyebrows furrowed as though someone had dropped a giant bullfrog in your lap, your hands clamped tightly on the instrument as though you're trying to strangle it. You don't sound bad, though. In fact, I bet you'd be good if you really tried. Not that you'd listen to me.

And even if you could see me, you wouldn't listen to me. That's because I'm a mouse. Not a real mouse. I wouldn't be able to play the saxophone if I was, although that would be a wonderful sight. I mean that I don't say much. I just scuttle around the school, never making a sound. Never being noticed. If I hadn't told you my name, you probably wouldn't even know who this was, would you? Maybe I am invisible. then again, I can't be, or I wouldn't have to turn away whenever you do see me to stop you knowing that I'm blushing, or that I had snatched a glance at you. Maybe I'm like glass- you can see me, but you look right through me. That's sort of invisible, isn't it? Transparent, is it? Yes. I'm transparent.

But that's not why you can't see me. You can't see me because Gloria with her brilliant blonde hair like gold tin foil and slim figure just walked past the door. Why do you like her, I wonder? Perhaps it's something to do with that stupid "queen bee" cliche. If I'm a mouse, then she's a tiger- cute enough at first, but then she opens her mouth and bites your head off. Not that you give a damn about that, though, because she flicks her hair and smiles her movie-star smile, and you drool like a dog that can smell its dinner. Then your shoulders will droop and you'll lower your eyes when she walks away, your second of happiness shattered. She's not a nice girl, you know. You'll like her face, of course you will... but that's all you'll like.

You're not even listening now, are you?