Black and Blue

Chapter 2 Home

  I enter into my math class. It's not like I would need math. I don't plan on doing anything with my life. I don't have one.

   I sit down in the back row, in the very corner. I position my arms on the desk to where it's a pillow for my head. I rest there for all of the lecture Mr. Davenport was giving about triangles. He didn't even notice me.

   I felt it.

   Oh no. Oh please no. I don't want to make a scene.I silently thought to my stomach.

   While I was walking to school, I ate the Sun Chips and drank the soda. Now I can feel the combination not cooperating.

   Please, don't do this.

   To late. I start to feel the bile rising up to my throat. Before it could turn me into a geyser with tourist watching and pointing, I got up and left. Keeping the liquid down. Nobody noticed.

   I burst into a bathroom stall, dropped my backpack, and became Old Faithful. With every lurch, I would taste the acidic chips and boiling soda.

   I hopefully finished and flushed away the aftermath of chunks and color. I sat on the floor and lend against the stall wall. Waiting to see if there is anymore.

   After a minute of calm breathing, I wiped my face with a towel--careful not to mess up the foundation, rinsed out my mouth with water and washed my hands.

   I searched my face for any spots I missed. Then I searched my hair for any of the bits. I wouldn't have to search my hair if I had a friend to hold it back, like in the movies.

   Nobody cares.

~~~~

The hallway is like the freeway or any busy street during rush hour. Half of the hallway flows one direction, the other half in the opposite.

   That one car would have road rage and plow right through everyone. The slow, grany car that would shuffle their feet and hold up lines of traffic. The "funny" jerk, they would cut people off and laugh about it.

   "Freak," spit Ken Johnson right when he tripped me.

   Then there is me, the car accident. But in this case, having the debris everywhere but nobody stops to help or even notices what happened.

   I get up on my hands and knees to clean the debris. When I thought the wreak was over, Ken came back for more damage. He places his foot on the back of my head and push hard and fast to thwack my head again the tile floor. I thought I might've heard a crack. It could've been my head or the tile. But there's no doubt who the loser was.

   My head was spinning and throbbing. I can't focus my eyes. I tried to stay on my hands and knees. I'm very dizzy that I can't help but collapse on the floor in defeat. I shut my eyes from the flashing of blinding white lights.

   I hear the chatter of peers and the laughter of Ken fade and the shrilling bell stop. When the pain in my head subsided, I progressively raised myself up, ignoring the small pain, and went to my next class.

                               ....

Ken Johnson is a "funny" jerk. He would do things to other drivers and laugh it off with his other "funny" jerks. Well, he would only crash into me. He's been doing this for as long as I could remember. No dramatic story. Just an easy target.

   I don't get why he was named Ken. He doesn't look like a single thing from Barbie's boyfriend. He has bright red hair and and these grows, muddy eyes. A pig nose and a chubby face instead of a chiseled one. But there is one thing that he and Barbie's Ken have in common. They both like dimwit blondes.

                               ....

I walked home after school. I've been dreading this moment. Going

home. It's not a home. Homes are places that make visitors feel welcome. Homes are big and cozy. They have a family with both of the parents. They all have smiling faces while eating their family meals every night. The children respect the adults and the adults respect the children.

   My home is not heaven, it's Hell.