181 Days of Madeline Jesty

Chapter 14: Books as Witnesses

Although the huge mirror on my dresser was now covered with a silk cloth, I couldn't do the same for all the other mirrors in our house. Surprisingly, amid all the mysteries happening to me, I was still able to keep myself sane, but "sane" in a sense that I would not act upon my self-destructive thoughts. I couldn't count the number of times in a day where my mind would go blank and I'd look at an empty space, imagining what would happen if I break all the mirrors or if I would choose to hasten my demise. But then my brain would switch to my friends and loved ones crying, Mickey blaming herself, and Mom finally showing emotions, and then I would just sigh, slap my cheeks, and scold myself for thinking of such things.

Sometimes being rational in an irrational situation was quite irrational.

At this point, a week after the bizarre incident, I had accepted the fact that I only had limited time to enjoy whatever I had. I spent my time reading research articles and watching clips about lives of those in death row and of those with terminal illnesses, hoping to connect to their feelings, and it shocked me how most of the respondents still believed in hope, in a miracle. There was also a number, although quite smaller, of people who desired to speed up their deaths.

But of course, those whom I felt a stronger connection with were people who decided to enjoy their remaining days. Some of them went mountain-climbing, attended auditions, visited their loved ones in a different country, wrote a book, and a lot more, knowing the risks fully well. It was a big "fuck you" to their fate, and maybe that was what I wanted for myself.

***

To be honest, however, I was bummed out that I needed to attend class. Maybe a part of me still wanted to keep the "bad but brainy bitch" image in school, and I would laugh to myself imagining my friends in my tribute video that I was only misunderstood by school authorities. I was thinking about this when Steph and I were having lunch at the canteen, and Steph noticed my erratic behavior.

"Have you gone insane? Why are you laughing by yourself?"

"Maybe," I replied, smiling. My eye then turned to Mickey who was sitting with Jane's group. Jane was beside her, and in my observation, she was acting as if Mickey and her were in a relationship. I would hear her ask if she was okay and then she'd touch her face. Her friends would tease them, and Jane would deny it. Mickey had no reaction at all, which gave me mixed emotions.

"I'm feeling nauseous," I told Steph. "Let's go back."

After returning our dishes, we proceeded to walk, and I made sure to look at Mickey as fast as I could when we passed by them. As a warning. Maybe. But why would I warn her? Was I jealous? Our agreement didn't include that Mickey should only be interacting with me, and I knew I was being unfair for feeling irritated about her being with Jane.

"You look irritated," Steph remarked. "Wanna go to Tanky? Or the LRC?"

Steph and I had two hangouts in school when we were upset: the huge water tank between the football field and the kindergarten cluster, which Steph named Tanky; and the learning resource center, or the LRC, which was basically a library with a section where we could watch educational shows. Steph preferred going to Tanky when she was distressed, while I loved going to the LRC to stress-browse book titles, if there even was a term.

"Maybe the LRC."

I got my library card before we walked toward the LRC. Steph wasn't into reading, so she told me she'd stay in the children's books corner. Meanwhile, I went to the second floor and browsed for new young adult books, hoping there'd be books about coming-of-age. Unfortunately, there was none.

I was about to go downstairs when a hand reached for my wrist. When I turned around, Mickey was there. "Are you looking for a book . . . or for me?

"Why will I look for you here?" I grumpily asked, pulling my hand away from her hold. "Why don't you go back to the room and flirt with Jane?"