One week earlier...
The slow tick of the clock causes my self conscious to wonder, between the random coughing fits of snotty nosed teenagers and the tap of my pen against the table I begin to drift off, completely oblivious to today's History lesson. In this dream like state I can see the red barn in view, large doors swung open, cotton cross ties hanging on the sides over black mats waiting patiently for their next visitor. Beautiful pine stalls with cast iron head shoots line the walls, each with a plated and personalized name tag on the gate. I can smell the fresh layed straw and feel my boots walk across the wood floor, hear the buzz of horse flies and the soft swishing of content tails. But before I can completely engulf myself in this imagery the ring of the intercom breaks into my world and I can feel everything associated with reality come crashing into me like a bus.
"Mr. Red?" The monotone voice causes the hair on the back of my neck to stand up.
"Yes?" Red doesn't even look up from the board, probably already expecting the name of today's guinea pig. Looking up from my binder dozens of knowing eyes shift my way, a few whispers fill the air of what the infamous Taylor May had done today. My bag is already halfway packed by the time the next sentence rings out.
"Can you please send Taylor May to the principal's office, she will not be returning." The click of the intercom echo's in the class as I make my walk of shame towards the hall. I faintly over hear the preppiest girl in school talking about how got caught dipping tobacco on school property and was probably suspended, for a moment I think to myself the different things I could say to her. I could tell her how it was much worse and watch the fear dance in her eyes, I could remark on her nosey behavior and watch her face light up with embarrassment. But I knowingly side against these two wonderful options because deep down I know that nothing good is waiting for me in that office, and He always told me to make the best of a situation not the bad.
Four impatient bodies shift in stiff high back chairs across the table from me, again the unresentful clock ticks away unknowing of what its about to witnesses. My hands destroy the worry putty they left on the desk for me, gripping and twisting it avoiding eye contact at all costs.
"Miss Taylor, this is very important if yo-" I cut her off at this point. I don't want to answer her questions, I don't want to feel their prying eyes anymore I don't want to be here, but nobody cares what I want.
"Just, shh. Okay? I don't like you, I don't like your questions just shh." I look up into her caring eyes, a hint of shame trickles into my conscious. Deep down I know she wants to help, but this isn't something that I can win with. The things that happened they aren't right but the fact is that in order to get justice, I'll have to put James at risk. Without him this past year wouldn't even have been option, Id be six feet under turning into a black goo. A black goo that would never serve its purpose in this life, to transfer energy. How do I know this? James. A long time ago, during one of our many afterschool conversations he filled me in on how he wanted to be buried. But the thing is, he doesn't want to be buried he would rather have his family leave his cold, lifeless smelly body under a tree and let animals pick him apart, digest his remains take a nice steaming of shit and decompose into the earth. I know what your thinking, hippy. But there is some logic to this idea, not much but there is some. In this disgusting burial proposal his body will replenish the earth and his family will be able to visit the animals and trees that in some sick twisted philosophy of his will be him. Thinking about him makes my heart stop, and for a second I start the construction of all the walls he helped me tear down. These ones one-thousand times stronger and taller. But then his words wring into my head. That I am important, and loved and beautiful. And if someone cant treat me at least as well as he does then they don't deserve me. How if someone can hurt me like He hurt me then they are garbage, and we don't protect garbage. I try to hide the tears that won't stop falling as I remember his advice, I look up into everyone's eyes and drowned with emotion. Everyone thinks I'm just a young girl protecting a man who claimed to love me, but really I'm a young girl terrified to loose the closest thing I have ever had to a dad.
The next three hours were pointless, nothing was accomplished. I sat in the squeakiest chair the school could find, playing Godzilla with indestructible putty making every excuse in the world not to answer questions or stay longer then I had to. When the bell rang I shot up like a bullet ready to leave shoving in my chair and throwing the bag over my shoulder I hear the words I was terrified of.
"Taylor, you can't leave..." Her sweet voice makes my heart stop for a moment, dreading an explanation.
"Why?" I say a little to sharply, "I'm pretty sure I'm not under arrest. I'm also sure that bell dismisses me unless there is some rule I have broken, which by the way there isn't."
"Sweetie, we have to call your mom."
"No! No. No..." My voice starts to fail me as I look at her pleading to take back those awful five words. We've all seen movies where someone is in an accident and their life dramatically flashes before their eyes, that was me in this moment. My throat turned to sawdust and my blood boiled, I couldn't say a word as liquid fear replaced the blood in my veins, knees to weak to stand I frantically try to stop her from reaching for the phone but before I can everything turns white as I pass out.
