Having lost my sense of sobriety, I walked to my class with my head still up in space. My eyes refused to focus, my walk barely my own strut, and my bag of books begging to be left behind some bush somewhere. I avoided all signs of my reflection. From the rippling distortion of this morning’s sprinkler puddles to my dark mirror image of the building’s glass windows, I darted passed all versions of myself. This morning was just another forgettable story to start my meaningless day. I knew once I sat down in my seat my feet would shuffle and my pen would tap on my notebooks. I bit my fingernail and inhaled a small and deep breath. I held it, shuffled some more, then exhaled into one of my quiet frenzies. I felt eyes on me, but they were eyes that felt like they’ve been left dead. Empty like mine, I thought. Idle like mine, I thought. Except I was still in space and I wanted to be able to hold a stare with someone and make them feel any of my intentions. I, ironically, wanted to read myself through someone’s eyes. But just like every morning in that room, I felt nothing and felt no semblance of who I could possibly be for the day.
I sat through an English film with poor acting and grinded my teeth all through. I felt myself space out several times but the movie demanded my attention and I passively submitted myself to its semi-irritating and semi-bearable drone. I couldn’t understand the tugs inside me as I watched. Between needing to kick off the table in front of me to let papers fly around the room and wanting to vanish into thin air, I felt the war inside me. I felt all kinds of wars inside me. I even felt the ghosts and the ghouls and lurches in my throat that murmured into memories. I felt faces I’ve held before. I felt old promises rise from forgotten places that I labeled graves. I felt my lips pull back into a smile at the thought of images I froze to preserve just in case I couldn’t remember anything else. I knew I’d be anxious and I knew the pit of my stomach would stir and make me regret. I quietly gagged once, then quietly tapped my pen, tapped my foot, then let my eyes swim around in my head.
Again I felt eyes on me. I felt careless, limp eyes on me. I thought I was dissolving into my seat, dripping through the cracks of my chair, and being absorbed into the carpets covered in eraser shavings. And then I heard her nervous laugh and I was alien then; the instructor’s nervous laugh climbed up my spine and rested at the back of my neck where I felt the hairs rise and my stomach twisting into livewire knots. The movie ended and I fished for my bag of books under me. I tossed my bag around and let it clank wildly with its metals and keys and I dashed out the door, out the building, and to the brightly lit late morning that only sent me to a squinting jolt of the realization that my day will never begin today...
