A Long Walk Home

Chapter Three: Baker

Immediately after the incident, I left the beaten bullies and went into a bathroom to examine my wounds in the glass. Through throbbing vision, I saw that my entire face was bright red and my hair was wet with sweat. Only then did I notice my racing heart, trying vigorously to force its way out of my chest. I sat down and slowed my breathing to clear my head. When my heart rate had returned to a reasonable pace, I stood again to peer into the mirror. My face had regained it's color, except for a deep red mark on my cheek-bone. It lay on the left of my face, just under my eye-level like the dark shadow of a crocodile prowling murky waters. I could feel my head throb in time with each successive beat of my heart, an incessant pulse of pain. Looking into the glass, I gently probed through my hair and quickly found the source of my head-ache. There was a vicious bruise on my skull where the last kid had kicked me. It was invisible, covered by my thick curls, but it stung the worst of the three hit's I'd taken. It seems the wounds unseen are always the most threatening.

Seeing that I looked all right, I started walking aimlessly through the halls, trying to decide what to do next. As the dull pain pushed deeper and deeper into my thoughts, I decided to try and call my mom to get out of school for the rest of the day. This was her short lunch break. I pulled out my old Nokia, which I had payed for myself with the money of a summer of working sporadic manual labor. As I dialed in the numbers, I began to feel light-headed, so I sat down on a nearby bench. The first call was not met with an answer, but I had better luck the second time around. I heard the receiver click as she picked up.

"Hello?" sounded the sweet voice of my dear mother.

"Hey, Mom." I said, trying not to sound like I felt.

"Allan!" her rich voice warmly flooded the receiver, "Why are you calling me from school? Is something wrong?" she asked me, uneasily.

"No, nothing's really wrong," I stopped her before she became too worried, "But I have a bad migraine and need your permission to leave school," I explained.

"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry to hear that!" she replied sincerely, "What do I need to do to help?"

"I'll just hand the phone to the secretary at the front desk, and you can tell her you give your permission that way. Then I'll drive home and rest."

"Okay, honey. Are you going to be well enough to drive?"

"Mom," I started soothingly, "Don't worry about me, I'll be fine. Ok?"

She paused, "Ok, honey, be safe!"

"I will," I said, entering the central administrative building. I approached the blonde woman at the front desk and asked her for a sign-out sheet.

She handed it to me and said, with a nasally voice, "You're going to need a parent's permission to get that approved."

At that, I spoke into the phone, "Here she is Mom," and I handed it to the woman.

I couldn't tell what my mother said from across the desk, but after a few "Yes, Ms. Baker"s and "Absolutely"s, she handed me back my phone and signed her approval on the sign-out sheet.