Authors: Victoria Sawyer
My classmate Ken goes first, reading his piece to the class
in a monotone voice. I’m finding it hard to pay attention. I feel like I’m
about to go on stage, waiting nervously in the wings for my turn. I look
around, trying to focus on something, my eyes moving over the small room packed
with student desks, the windows overlooking the tree lined, lightly snowed
walkway. The clock ticks by slowly above the door. I tap my nails, struggling
to focus on what Ken is reading. Constantly I slip back into my own thoughts.
I
don’t want to be here right now. I want to escape.
I’m acutely aware of
every passing thought, of the flush of uncomfortable heat that flares through
my body.
I’m finding it difficult to sit still, fidgeting in my seat,
playing with my hair, tapping my foot. My stomach feels slightly ill and the
out of body, floating, glassy eyed feeling descends over me.
I want to
leave, I want to get out
, I think again, my gaze constantly being drawn
back to the door. On several occasions I almost feel ready to get up and leave
the room, about to push up out of my desk, but just when I’m about to rise, my
stomach unclenches itself for a moment and I feel better. I doodle stars and
moons all over my notebook, and try to focus on the voices of the other
students, looking around the circle to see what people are thinking as each
student reads their assignment to the class.
I just barely pay attention to my classmate Sarah’s story
and I raise my hand to comment on how much I enjoyed it and give her some
constructive criticism.
Please let my turn come next!
Please, please,
please
, I say to myself as the teacher calls out another student’s name. Immediately
the sensations flood me all over again.
Oh my God, I can’t sit here.
Faacccck me!
My chest feels like it wants to explode, my heart beating fast
like an insane techno beat, but I know I have to continue sitting here no
matter how hard my stomach clenches up.
I cannot be sick here. I don’t want
to leave. Class is almost over and if I leave now I’ll miss my turn.
Finally
after every other student in the class goes, it’s my turn. I feel like I’m
nearing exhaustion. As my name is called, my nerves spike.
Now I’m on
. I
begin to speak, my voice wobbly and unsure, gradually gaining some confidence
as I read this piece of work I’m proud of.
Moonlight and Stars:
The water ripples under the clear dark night sky. I’m
sitting on a beach. It’s a peninsula with water on three sides. In front of me
lies the lake, deep blue with shimmers of silver sparkling on the crests of the
waves. The moon hovers silently above me, the sky dusted with stars. The sand
is moist and cool so I sit on a piece of dry driftwood with my little brother. We
sit, side by side, against the sky and talk. I start to sing a silly song as
loud as I can. We laugh and finally realize it is time to go back to the
campsite across the lagoon. We get into the canoe. Peaceful and quiet, we slip
across the water with the paddle making the only audible sound. In the distance
is a yellow-red glow through the trees. The campfire, crackling and smoking,
voices laughing and talking. The animal and insect world hums as we near the
shore. A soft buzzing, a bird calls, a frog croaks, an unending backdrop of
sound that fades into the scene. Everything is melting together. My brother and
I are in the canoe, he is laughing as I sing. We join the campfire, with
friends and family, sitting amid this happy glow, browning marshmallows and
melting chocolate on graham crackers. A warm circle against the darkened night.
The night air is brisk and our flashlights cut patches of
light into the blackness. My best friend and I, in the field with the two big
cement tubes. Big enough for two people to sit inside. We join the game of
flashlight tag, running through the dewy grass, adventure and excitement. There
are twenty or more of us playing together under the stars, amidst these old
mountains. The White Mountains, so cold and large, dwarfing everything around
them. We are in our own world under these bright stars and enclosed by the dim
mountain tops in the distance.
Soon the game changes and someone starts throwing crab
apples. A crab apple war ensues and we run for cover, laughing and out of
breath. An apple whizzes by me, clipping my shoulder. The boys are taking over
now, their arms thrown back ready to huck an apple as fast and hard as they
can. There are screams of excitement and bellows of pain that will be revenged
all around us. We hide behind the cement tubes and decide to take a time out
from this game. We lay on our backs looking up at the stars, trying to point
out constellations. We talk and giggle and then lapse into silence. It is time
to go back now, to our little tent. Once there we put on five sweatshirts and
one with a hood, and climb into our sleeping bags to get warm. We whisper,
sharing secrets until we fall asleep.
A little camp on the lake. A small cabin with that old
camp smell, musty, with uneven floors. Bare feet, bathing suits and towels are
the fads here. The day of swimming and running around is over and night sets
in. The adults cook lobsters, steamers and corn on the cob. The smell of
hamburgers and hot dogs is thick in the air. With bellies full, my cousins and
I are upstairs. We are making a haunted house in the two little bedrooms. The
cool night air drifts into the rooms and is pushed around by the fans. Outside
the night is dark with little pinpoints of light from the stars.
We string up sheets and blankets on walls and over beams.
I hide behind the door while others are under the bed, ready to grab feet. Someone
is behind the curtain at the window pretending to be a ghost. One of my cousins
sits near the fan speaking into it “booooooo.” Another is under the sheet on
the bed, ready to sit up and scream. We discuss with total seriousness who will
pretend to be dead and who will jump out first. The lights are out and we scare
ourselves into our own little ghost stories. The stairs creak, the adults are
coming. The screaming starts, flowing into the night air with laughter.
Everyone around the room is silent, watching me as I read,
and I feel my stomach clench.
Not NOW!
I can hear my voice, lyrical with
the rhythm of the writing.
Calm down Victoria, you can do this. It’s almost
over.
I take a breath and continue reading aloud.
Hide and seek tag in the backyard. The four of us, my best
friend and I, and our brothers. Running, getting out of breath, thinking of
life and death, safe and caught. It’s slightly cold and my breath makes wisps
in the air. We hide together under the stars in the long grass. The wind blows
and the tall grass bends, blowing its fall fragrance into our noses. Leaves
fall from trees, creating a carpet of yellow-gold and red-orange. The leaves
crackle under my feet giving away our crouching position to the boys. We run,
as if our lives depend on it. The swing set is safety. If only I can make it
there. I push myself, running as fast as I can, out of breath, heart racing,
and finally the metal is under my fingertips. Safe. Exhilaration. I won’t have
to be “it.” It is as if all of life were this little game to be safe. A breath,
in and out, satisfaction. The street lamp burns at the street’s edge, casting a
dim light on our game. Jack o’ lanterns burn on the porches nearby. Above us
are the stars. Small and sparkling, looking down on our childish play. We are
alone in the world. Nothing else matters. We are innocent, we are happy, we are
together.
Here I am looking up at the stars, lying on my back. His
form is so warm next to me. The stars are so bright that I feel small. The air
is cold and the ground even colder. Finally we go inside and here we are
laughing and playing cards. A candle burns and incense smokes while clouds of
grey-blue float through the room. Music plays and rewinds, ticking off minutes
on the clock. Comfort and familiarity are here with me. Finally when my eyes
have closed one too many times, we blow out the candle and go to bed, to sleep.
I dream of lingering thoughts, of flowing water, of memories and of stars and
laughter on a dark night.
Finally I’m done. Deep breath, in and out and then my classmates
start raising their hands, making suggestions and comments about my work. I
feel my face turn red hot to be the center of attention, the center of
criticism, but overall I’m happy to hear their suggestions. And then class is
over, people are packing up their bags, flying out the door and I sag back into
my chair, glad that the ordeal is over, that I can leave and relax and rest for
a short amount of time. Just a short amount of time, until something else comes
up.
“Selena and Jason, sitting in a tree. K-i-s-s-i-n-g,” squeal
the girls in the seat behind me. I just stare straight ahead at the textured
brown plastic seat in front of me, gripping my backpack in my lap. I don’t want
to be noticed or picked out for teasing by the girls behind me. They are
terrors. Picking on everyone, finding flaws, exploiting them for their laughter
and giggles. Last week it was Jessica’s ‘mustache’ and the week before it was
Sean’s stinky feet and before that Sarah’s clothes because they looked like
“poor” people clothes. I know my time is limited. Soon enough they will pounce.
It’s Thursday and I am headed to school on the bus. I live
in a small town and my bus ride to school is through the woods on back roads. The
trip is 30 minutes long.
I hate the bus.
Every moment is a fight for
calm, knowing that the kids around me will crucify me if I embarrass myself in
any way. Some days I’m able to forget my fear, talking with a friend, or
playing a game with someone to pass the time. Other days are straight up
torture.
Suddenly the bus shudders and smoke erupts from the hood. The
driver pulls over and everyone is jabbering and chatting, wondering what is
going on. I groan inside.
A breakdown?
This is the last thing I need. My
heart starts to thud and I wonder how long this will last. Terror, where terror
should not normally be as I realize what is happening, as I realize I am
trapped.
Please let it be a quick fix. Please get us out of here
. I
stare out the window at the forest beyond the bus. Deep and dark. There are no
houses in sight right now. Just woods and the road, snaking its way up a steep
hill toward our school. We’re still at least 15 minutes out.
I begin to feel sick.
Who knows how long we’ll be stuck
here?
I look out the window, telling myself if only this bus would start
moving I’d feel better. My thoughts begin to crash over me like roaring tidal
waves,
there is no escape, there is no bathroom, there is no getting off the
bus and saying “Bye, I’m walking home.” I am nine years old and the bus driver
is responsible for me.
To panic now, to feel sick, to feel my stomach
clench into a ball, to have to go to the bathroom would be like societal
suicide.
There would be no avoiding the jeers and laughter from the
kids surrounding me, comments of “eeww” and “gross” and eternal teasing and
nicknames. So I sit, fidgeting, as heat radiates from my body and my head
hurts. I know my stomach will relax if only this damn heap of yellow metal will
start moving again. But it doesn’t. One of the younger kids has to go to the
bathroom. They take him into the woods. I desperately don’t want that to happen
to me and suddenly I have to go, really badly. The bigger kids at the back of
the bus are laughing and trying not to peek out the window, talking about the
“little baby” who had to go to the bathroom and take his pants down right
outside the bus. The girls behind me giggle and I hear one of them shriek,
“I see his penis. Gross!!”
I sink lower in my seat, my face beat red, my heart pounding,
my thoughts a rush.
There is no escape. No safety route out.
The bus is
a hellhole, a strait-jacket on wheels, holding me inside its brown seats and
rectangular windows. My mind starts screaming.
I just want to get out! I
just want to feel safe and in control!
I’ve got on a tight white low cut v-neck t-shirt and white
jeans. And so does everyone else. The crowd is going wild cause they just
turned off the lights and turned on the black lights and suddenly everyone
around me is glowing. I look down at my shirt, it’s florescent white with
spots, probably detergent. The music bumps and then the tempo increases to a
hectic pace and now everyone is jumping around, throwing markers at each other
‘cause apparently it’s graffiti time.
The crowd’s excited, surging, grabbing for markers, playing
with glow in the dark necklaces and glow sticks that are being tossed at them. I’m
still sort of on edge so I’m focused on my drink for the moment as I stand to
the side with Hannah, Celeste, Kayla, and Amy. It’s like we’re jaded old timers
already cause we’re not in the middle of this shit-show going crazy. We’re just
calmly waiting, with our drinks, for the frenzy to die down so we can get our
own markers.
I hear a girl squealing and look around to see her friends
attacking her shirt with markers, writing shit all over her, and one guy is
drawing a huge penis snaking over her shoulder. I pull Hannah in.
“Look at that, fucking hilarious,” I say as she finally
grabs us a highlighter from a person walking by.
“We need more markers. I gotta go find some,” she says with
an uplifting smile. I know she’s worried about me ‘cause I’ve been in a bitchy
mood all week and she’s desperate to cheer me up. Kayla and Celeste and their
friend Amy are trying to grab markers too, turned away from me, hassling others
nearby. And I’m just drinking, leaning against the wall. Long sip after long
sip.
Sure and steady wins the fucking drunk race.