Super Skilled Me

(18)

          It's been a full semester since I showed my face at the university. Now weighing in at 314 pounds—gaining a full one-hundred LBS—it will be my first time walking back on the campus again. The only reason for this, considering what happened with my name being thrown around and trashed after what I did to Jeffrey for not passing the ball, is because I will be fined an extra two hundred dollars if I don't return my books from my philosophy class. At first, I didn't think it was worth showing up here again, but my parents will become even more suspicious if they see fines on the debt bills.

           I drive in my scooter down the sidewalk, gradually making my way to the university, my anxiety going through the roof just to show my face there once again. After what happened with that loser William Chandler posting that horrible article about me, I vowed to never, ever go back to Hattonville University. But I made my reason clear for why I'm here, and I'll be gone quicker than the speed of light, which is a pun considering I'm slower than a sloth. The place that once brought me so much comfort and joy, is now the single scariest place I could ever imagine returning to.

          About three blocks from the university, even though it's going to kill me to walk, I get out of my scooter, refusing to be seen in such a pathetic manner by my old classmates. I grab my books and start slowly waddling like a fat penguin, struggling to Mr. Ramen's old classroom, which also once brought me pleasure. I recall the days where he'd ask me questions about the team, and how I was doing as an individual. Even though I didn't like philosophy, he was a great professor, and I'm sure still is. Having said that, I never heard from him after I quit the team, as I'm also sure he found out about what I did to Jeffrey.

          The knot in my stomach begins to twist like the roots of a tree, buried deep beneath the dense earth soil. The closer I get, I feel like I can barely breathe. Even with the thought of being fined, I still consider turning back and not showing my face, but know my parents will find out if they see the charge on the family bill. As I eventually make my way onto the campus, I keep my head down, as if my eyes are glued to the ground. I cross my fingers mentally that no one will recognize me, considering it's been a decent while since I played basketball here. But no matter how hard I try, I already overhear people gossiping about me.

          "Isn't that the dude who used to play basketball?" some guy asks his friend while they sit on the steps of the chemistry wing.

          "I barely even recognized him," she replies, sarcastically.

          "That's a quitter right there," I hear another guy tell his buddy.

          "I heard he assaulted his own teammate," a tall girl breaks in. "Who the fuck does that?"

          Wishing I could die on the spot, nearly passing out I'm so embarrassed, I keep waddling down the path leading to the philosophy wing. I feel like I'm exploring through a haunted house again as a small child, everything about the atmosphere bringing me fear and anxiety. I look up and see another group of girls laughing at me. I hate them so much, but also know I sadly brought this on myself. If only I could build a time machine and go back, preventing my actions from what I did to Jeffrey.

          Once I get to the bottom of Mr. Ramen's classroom, looking up the three flights of stairs like they're the gateway to hell, I give it absolutely everything I have and proceed upward. The pain and stress this gives me are absolutely embarrassing, when I used to jog up these same stairs in the happier times of my life. Each flight is like I just won a marathon, pathetically encouraging myself, just so I can eat more food later as a ridiculous excuse.

          When I reach the top, I have to bend over and put my hands on my knees, exhausted to the core of my very soul. I stay in that position for a good fifteen seconds, slowly gaining my way to Mr. Ramen's classroom. Upon entry, I see him there, marking tests and checking off due dates. I pause, the anxiety sizzling within me as to what his response to my presence will be. Knowing I have no choice, I push through and enter, catching his sight in shock and surprise, just another person who views me like this these days.

          We don't say anything, as if we are two strangers meeting for the very first time.

          Scared of the fear building within me, I choke out the words, "I—I, uh...came to return my books."

          There's a moment of silence between us, the awkward tension making me feel sick to my stomach. After he doesn't respond, I drop the books, quickly turning and making my way out of the room.

          "I'm very disappointed in you, Declan," he then says, causing me to stop my large body and turn around to acknowledge his presence. But when I look at him, it's not as if he has anger in his eyes—he just looks sad for me—as if he knows what I've thrown away. As if he knows how many hours and tears and blood I shed in that gym, perfecting my craft. Only to throw it away and let my cravings for food give in. I can only imagine how weak mentally everyone must view me. Just a pathetic soul, invisible to society.

          "I know," I say, making eye contact with him. And with that, I take off, back down the flight of stairs, desperate to get off campus. Upon exit of the philosophy wing, I'm spotted again in the courtyard, more people acknowledging my body structure and thrown-away talent. More of them make comments, me waddling as fast as I can, getting out of there like I'm possessed to escape this nightmarish torment. I can't imagine what the old me would have thought of this. Running around in fear, when before I was the biggest talk of the school in an extremely positive manner.

          By the time I flee the campus, I get back into my scooter, driving away from my fears and feeling some relief. I know it's not the answer, but I don't even care right now. I'm just craving some Taco Bell so badly. I think about a burrito supreme, and how content and relaxed that experience would be for me to chow down. I just don't understand how I got here.

          How far am I simply going to destroy myself?