A parade of bad dreams I won't remember dances through my mind like a Mary-go-round. Warmth permeates into my pours and waking thoughts as I come up to the surface now and then, before falling fast asleep again and again. I don't move for hours after waking up the final time. I don't know what time it is. I have no access to natural light or a clock. I don't know if it is day yet or for that matter how long I had slept. My body feels impossibly heavy. I try to roll to one side in order to more easily get to my feet. I take in a quick breath in answer to a pain in my ribs that scolds me for attempting to get up. I roll again to my back and rest for a while more before working up the strength and courage to try again.
I receive the same scolding again but I don't give in. I get to my feet. I reach over and turn off the shower that by this time had nothing but frigid water left. I open the door to the bathroom and peer into the dark hall. I turn off the bathroom light. I put my right hand on the wall to guide me down the dark hallway to my room. The blinds on my window are down but the slats are adjusted so that light comes into the room. The pale greenish blue light diplomatically offers the evidence of the nearing dawn. I get dressed slowly. I feel like I’m made of glass, everything hurts.
I go back to the bathroom. I see in the mirror that blood is still on my face, dried and caked on with mud from the night before. I gently scrub my face with a wash cloth. Little by little my face becomes revealed from behind its former mask. I see for the first time how pink and swollen my face is. There are dark circles below my eyes and my hair has dirt and grease in it from not bathing. I clean off my arms of the dried mud and dirt that is still on them and go into the kitchen. I grab a paper sack off the kitchen counter that has a not on it. The note says sorry honey, I would have said good night but when I got home you were taking a shower and I fell asleep before you were done. I made your lunch like I always do. Your key is on your desk DON'T FORGET YOUR KEY I won't be home to let you in this time.
The note is signed with love from mom and punctuated with little smiley faces. I am relieved that mom already left work and doesn't get a chance to see my transformed appearance. I look at the clock on the oven and see that it is ten ‘till seven and I will have to start walking in order to get to school on time. I gingerly pull on a sweat shirt and go retrieve my key before walking out the door. I lock the door behind me and stare down the stairs that seem to stare right back at me in defiance. No matter how they look at me these stairs are not going to win! I take one step at a time and one by one conquer them all. I am dry and warm. I look at the path, the same path I walked last night. I was cold, wet, and beaten but now I was warm, dry, and sore. It seems almost surreal; it was as though I was taking a tour of an old unpleasant memory.
Everything becomes brighter as the horizon catches fire. The flames of an early sunrise lick the sky with blazing oranges and yellows. the morning's glow infects the sky and removes any hint of the night before. Everything is soggy and slick but beginning to dry out with the sun's help. I head straight for my 1st period English class. my first period has not only not started despite the snail’s pace I had walked at on the way to school but the door was still locked. There is a group of my classmates forming outside of the door around me waiting for the bell to ring and the door to open.
My body still aches and my legs are sore. I would welcome the chair at my desk just so I can rest my feet and my back. I have to make the best of it. I stand there as still as I can and don't talk to know one. My plan to not talk to anyone is formulated from the hope that if no one talks to me then no one will get close enough to bump into my incredibly sore self. Suzy Thompson, the one I had never said two words to before I saw her at the diner and mom corrected my order right in front of her, it was that Suzy Thompson that comes up to me and says
"What happened? You look terrible." I look over and see that the door shows no sign of opening so I gesture to Suzy to fallow me a few paces away from the crowed of students waiting in front of our class room for the 1st period bell to ring. She nods and follows me until I feel we won't be listened to.
"Suzy... please don't tell my mom you saw me like this" I plead
"She doesn't know? It’s kind of hard to miss."
"She got off late and left early we didn't really see each other after I left the diner."
"I can't promise I won't tell her unless you have a good reason for me not to. What happened to you anyway?"
"I was jumped by a gang last night when I cut through Gibson Park on my way home."
"Gibson Park?" Suzy asked with a sympathetic look in her eyes that made me melt. I nod gently.
"Charlie Vandigriff, It's his gang that lurks around there. I'm sorry you ran into those creeps" she says in a tone that seems to reprove Charlie regardless of the fact he is not there to hear it.
"Just don't tell my mom"
"Why don't you want her to know? She is going to find out eventually. What, are you going to try to avoid her until your face isn't puffy and swollen? Because if you are, that is ridiculous"
"My mom just got the job at the diner. It’s her third job but it gives her piece of mind; more security, plans for the future, and I don't want to take that from her. If she finds out I was jumped on the way home from the diner she will quit and go right back to worrying about what bills to pay this month." Suzy looked at me thoughtfully with a conflicted expression. It was clear that she trying really hard to come to a decision. The bell rang and the door to Mr. Wagner's class room opened and with it came the stench of grammar. Suzy looks at the door and then back to me and says.
"I'll let you know after class" she then follows the flood of students funneling into the door. I don't try to fight the crowd, instead I wait until everyone is in the classroom and then walk over, in order to prevent my being nudged and jostled. I take a seat In front because all the desks toward the back of the room are taken up. I sit patiently and hope that I will be able to stay awake. If I fall asleep in the front row there is no chance that Mr. Wagner is not going to notice.
I sit up straighter in my chair then my usually posture though not to a notable straightness. I am much to sore to slouch or to sit with my back as flexed and stiff as a board. I was really too sore to do anything but lay prostrate on a flat surface with preference for my own bed but even then I knew I would ache. I was questioning my decision of showing up today; even secret agents get a day off, at least the ones in my day dreams do.
Mr. Wagner shuffles some papers at his desk during. students talk and chatter. The giggles and gossip of thirty freshmen and a few repeating sophomores caries on at a low roar until Mr. Wagner sets his papers down, stands, and walks to the center of the room. He coughs in his hand intrusively, loud enough so that everyone is keen to the warning call and quiets or silences their conversations.
"Excellent" Mr. Wagner says in a thick Russian accent
"Here is a no brainier, what is excellent?" he asks raising his hand as if to signal participation. A boy with long hair who I have known since 7th grade raises his hand. Mr. Wagner's eyes dim with an indiscreet lack of confidence in his shaggy students answer.
"Walter, what is excellent?"
"I think, the wonderful waves in our little slice of paradise are... well, EXCELLENT!" Walter says shouting the word excellent in his over pronounced and questionably authentic surfer accent.
"No" Mr. Wagner says promptly rolling his eyes and shaking his head. Walter has a hurt look on his face obviously taking the teachers prompt rejection of his enthusiasm, as a declaration of the non-excellence of the waves in half moon bay California.
"No, that is not what excellent is" he says making the disappointment and lack of surprise drip from every rejecting syllable. Marjory, who was one of the most passionately obvious kiss ups that may have ever graced the earth, raises her hand. The teacher's face lights up with a blatantly sarcastic and falsely eager tone then says with a matching tone
"Marjory, I'm sure you know the answer" he nods with an insulting smile and waits
"You are excellent Mr. Wagner" she says beaming! while Marjory's brand of flattery won over the hearts of a few of her teachers Mr. Wagner has yet found himself to be among their ranks. He was not impressed and seemed to be gratified in his sarcasm
"No" he says. Marjory's countenance falls along with her gaze which is now planted firmly on her desk.
"No, this is ridiculous! Have you all conspired to have me die of frustration before my time, you all will be the death of me! Excellent is an adjective! It’s an adjective! Is that really so hard?" he says seeming to bubble over like a pot of potatoes that has the burner turned up to high.
He pauses and brings himself to a simmer. He dives into a lecture on adjectives and adjective phrases and something to do with punctuation but I am not really paying attention. It is clear he does his best not to solicit any participation from the class. Part way through the period Mr. Wagner gives directions to an in class assignment he is about to pass out. Its a worksheet that goes along with our grammar books. My already drooping eye lids mourn at the very concept behind the assignment. He places papers on each desk and quickly comes to my desk.
He rears back and a noise escapes his mouth
"Ooo eeuuuogh, your face is repulsive" I just look back at him with an expression intending to communicate my unpleasant feelings toward him. My face being as pained as it is, it is difficult to form the expression I end up looking queasy. I am not frustrated because I figure how he makes me feel and queasiness isn’t all that different. I sit amused with this thought before flipping through the pages of my grammar text book listlessly avoiding the assignment as covertly as possible.
Time ticks on. my eyes become harder and harder to keep open. I try actually doing the assignment with the thought that doing something more than staring off into space while and flipping pages might help me stay conscious. the worksheet is simple. For a few minutes it works. My eyes follow each line. My pencil scribbles enduringly. my focus keeps me awake but Gradually the benefits of my new strategy become less Impacting. I now struggle not only to keep my eyes open but to keep my pencil from streaking long lines across my paper every time my eyes close and my hand slips.
Eventually my best efforts fail and my eyes close. My mind seems to suspend itself as if it were a member of space ship's crew that have to freeze themselves to reach the destination of some far distant planet without having to age or experience the years it takes to get there. I had seen a movie where the characters did that. I feel like the way my mind feels must be how the characters would have felt if they had been real. I knew that time was passing but it felt like it was passing around me, not catching me in its current.
I open my eyes. I am not nearly as tired or sore. I look at my hands; flip them over and over in front of me. Was this my body? The strangest feeling is not being sure of the answer. I look around me. All of my classmates are studying apart from a select few who have finished, Marjory being one of them. Static fizzles on the intercom a few times. A voice echoes out.
"Can you please send Jacob Laugherty to the front Office" Mr. Wagner seemingly annoyed by the interruption hits the intercom button forcefully and says
"fine!" he waves for me to come and take a pass from him. I do as he indicates and walk to his desk, he waves me off like I'm a shoe fly trying to land and take a bite out of his arm. I take the note and ignore his emphatic gestures.
I walk out of the classroom and walk down the hall. When I get to the end I pause at the bulletin board where all the flyers of the upcoming events and other events were always posted. It was a chaotic collage of colored paper. I lose interest after a few moments and continue on my way. I come close to the front doors of the school. the air is cold because the doors are open. It is raining again. I remember the night before. I am dazed and lost but I shake the feeling and try to put yesterday out of my mind. I lean on a wall for a few moments. I close my eyes and try to relax and breathe for a moment.
Arms reach out of the shadows of an empty classroom and grab me. I blink and flail. I am surprised. I try to wiggle free. I am pulled inside by someone I can't see. I try to crane my neck around to try to see the face of whomever I am wrestling with, hoping with all my heart it’s not Charlie or Anthony. Once he pulls me In I am shoved to the floor. I roll over to get a glimpse of who he is. In the light that flows in from the hallway I see that the 'he' I had thought shoved me to the ground was in fact a 'she'.
She wore a suit and tie with a trench coat and matching fedora. She closes the door behind her quickly.
Arms reach out of the shadows of an empty classroom and grab me. I blink and flail. I am surprised. I try to wiggle free. I am pulled inside by someone I can't see. I try to crane my neck around to try to see the face of whomever I am wrestling with, hoping with all my heart it’s not Charlie or Anthony. Once he pulls me In I am shoved to the floor. I roll over to get a glimpse of who he is. In the light that flows in from the hallway I see that the 'he' I had thought shoved me to the ground was in fact a 'she'.
She wore a suit and tie with a trench coat and matching fedora. She closes the door behind her quickly.
"You haven't completed the mission” she says in the now very dark, nearly pitch black, room.