SR ε: Dry Veins (2021)

Ch.14: Make Something

Resurrection, Myth
12:00

I thumbed at the globe at the back of the room. Tijuana... Arabia... Mexico... Peru... it was getting boring. A week ago, just being in this room would have made me feel smart. It's not like I've read all of the books here... I just felt full up on information. I didn't need to learn anything more for a while. My head was starting to hurt.

Yeah, you're a prodigy alright. Nothing you can give to the guy who knows everything.

Laugh it up. You know what's great about having school every weekday? You get to go home every evening. Knowledge in excess is as useless as a cup overflowing with water, or hot chocolate in my case. Trying to remove the cookie has left a wet, brown mess on my pants that I do not take credit for. Looking through the window, I longed to run among the tattered red and orange leaves. There was nothing I loved more than the autumn wind, and the hours were burning low. This old hag had stolen something precious to me: my time and freedom. The window was open, but it wasn't big enough to squeeze through and get home. As I removed my shades to peek a little brighter, it dawned on me: that those faux sages on the radio were wrong. Black isn't the absence of light; it blocks light, and it's real. Opaque and transparent aren't the same thing. The dark lens of my sunglasses and the clarity of the window were as damning of evidence as anyone would ever need. I thought about the way I'd been seen back at school... in the last few weeks. heads were turning, but in a good way. I just wasn't used to it yet. Here, people didn't look happy to see me, they looked thirsty. They weren't admiring me, they were sizing me up. The old man across the room was licking his lips thoughtlessly and fumbling in his wallet for pictures of his grand-kids, and ten to one, he was looking for an invigorating conversation. The hopeless bastard.
Maybe I was unable to handle that attention was because I was already so used to getting it, even if it was usually negative. I was accustomed to being seen for my disabilities and impairments – for the disfiguring that marked my face and legs, and made me feel like less of a person than everyone else. But those things have faded now, and I'm managing just fine – it looks like what people are noticing about me these days is how healthy I look – imagine that cruel irony. I had to empty my emotional tank to make room for a different kind of experience, instead of coasting on how I'd already been seen and treated before. Running on toxic fumes. Like Ron said, even when I did get attention, I just burned it off immediately; I couldn't shut up to save my life. I tried too hard to make an impression, for better or worse. Love me, hate me, don't forget me. Maybe it was the fetal alcohol syndrome talking. Maybe it was just me, scared to lose what I was afraid I'd never have: friends.

Bend me, break me, any way you need me...

In the distance, Crystal left the bathroom in a white robe. She tossed her entire black getup in the trash. I thought she'd mistaken it for the laundry bin, but she tossed her towel in it shortly after, so she knew. The damn thing was stained black from the dye out of her hair. That coat must have cost a thousand dollars, and she wasn't even going to give it away? She was out of her gourd!! I rescued the clothes and checked the labels. All polyester, except the black dog's fur scarf. That was real. Okay, maybe it cost a couple hundred dollars, but still. I kept the scarf and gave the rest to Kal to put in a charity bin. The other old ladies quickly snatched the clothes up first, taking their pick between the jacket, shirt, skirt and leggings. Now that was generosity.

Why'd you keep the scarf?

It's not like I'd buy one for myself, I'm just not gonna waste it. It's warm, and this place is cold. Way too cold for an old folks' home, don't you think? What's the first thing your grandparents do when they come over in Autumn?

Complain about the temperature!

Exactly. They've got it set for Crystal and her higher blood pressure, or whatever. Or her energy... metabolism... thing.