The Dream

CHAPTER 1

Twenty-one hours.

That was all it took. Not even a full day. Just twenty-one hours.

It was my birthday, March 15th, when I first started the day. A day as any other day. I suffered through seven periods of class material I could care less about. When the final bell sounded I was the first out the door and heading to the locker room, thankful to be rid of Ms. Thompson's monotone voice and the theories of gravity, mechanical rotation, and energy. I, for one, am a true believer of relativity. As Einstein once put it, 'live for today.' He went on to say a great many other things, but I can't recall any of them. Thank you coma-inflicting jolly ranchers! I swear, whoever invented those is a hero.

I could hear Ms. Thompson still speaking as I rushed down the halls, knocked some kid's books out of his hands, and kept going. I saw the horror in his eyes and merely shrugged as I kept going.

"Sorry, man."

I had practice. Nothing was more important than that. Football practice was the only thing that kept me sane these days. It was my refuge from a war with worlds and its comrades: thoughts, doubts, and regrets. Several hours later and exhausted, football concluded and we hobbled to the showers. The hot water had felt great on my shoulders. My neck still burned from the hit I received. I didn't even have the energy to chastise the line for letting him through untouched. I had just lied there on the ground praying I'd start breathing again. I grabbed my towel and headed towards my locker.

Today was my birthday as I mentioned and there was going to be a party tonight at Jennifer's. I told myself it was for me even though half the school was invited. Many of them I either didn't know or could care less to know. If you weren't a part of my niche, then you might as well be a foreigner trekking on U.S. territory. My thoughts slid from the next few hours and the anticipation of what fun the night held for us when I felt a wet hand on my shoulder. A puddle was forming at my feet, congregating around the edge of my locker and soaking into my socks, as the water poured off of Gabe's naked body. He looked as though he had just pulled himself out of a pool.

"Where's your towel?" I asked.

That familiar grin spread across his face as he lifted up the unused towel and began spinning it around his head.

"What towel? This towel?" and he pointed up with his left hand towards the spinning towel before launching it at Sonny as he passed by.

"Agh! Come on, Gabe. That's disgusting!" exclaimed Sonny.

"You know you like it" he chided back.

Sonny rolled his eyes and skirted to the back of the locker room to change in private. Sonny was one of those guys that always waited until everyone else showered before going in. I'm pretty sure that he skips showering altogether during the day. When third period comes around, it's thirty minutes of fast-paced practice, then rinse and hurry to class before the bell sounds. We hardly have enough time to wet ourselves before the five minute warning bell blares through the loud speakers mounted in the corners of the locker room. To my fortune or misfortune, however you'd like to view it, I had one positioned on the wall right above my locker. And every day, at precisely 10:08am, it would send chills down my spine. I'd leave with busted eardrums and brain matter oozing down my cheeks trotting to my next class. I feel sorry for those poor souls who have to sit next to some of the guys right after the football period. Many don't even bother showering after third period. They just throw on their dry clothes. Sweat, dirt, and all.

I wish I could say I've never done the same, but I'd be lying. Sometimes you just don't have the time and you make do. During this "the blessed" as we call them, the ones heading to the first cycle of lunch, stream down the halls towards the wafting aroma of deliciousness, while the rest of us struggle through the next thirty miserable minutes of class before our gurgling tummies get released for sustenance. I replay this dance of misery and hope each time I exit the field house, pass by the cafeteria and watch as those happy faces go in. I'm sure I enter English every day with a frown on my face. I imagine Mr. Peters thinks I have a temper problem or hate his class. Actually, I like his class. I love reading the stories of Greek heroes and tragedies. It gives me something to lose myself in and forget my own problems and suffering. My favorite is Achilles, the fiercest warrior to ever walk the battlefield. I often pretended in my mind that I was dressed in his armor rushing into battle to face thousands by myself. And as my shield and sword sailed through the air, slicing limbs, destroying families, and dismantling kingdoms, I'd be happy. It was my few seconds of peace in a world of chaos and heartache.