The Day Zombies Ruined My Perfectly Boring Life

One

Do you ever wish you could go back in time to shake the living crap out of your past self and say, “Dude, you don’t know how great you have it?” Maybe tell the naïve and less educated you to wake up and appreciate what you have? Take that second chance you’ve always dreamed of to get it right? Well I don’t, because I know I wouldn’t listen to myself anyway. I may as well bang my head against something repeatedly—it would have the same effect.

I can honestly say with 100% confidence that I had no clue how wonderfully pathetic my life was before now—before it flipped totally upside down. Not too long ago, I was a normal teenage girl. Not like necessarily average, but normal as in I tolerated the torture of high school, had decent parents, drove a crappy old car, liked to blow money on trivial things, blah, blah, blah.

My whole life I was stuck in an itty-bitty Minnesota town that is basically smack-dab in the middle of nowhere. And let me tell you, life there was boring. Not boring as in having the same mundane things to do with your friends every single weekend, but boring as in there was nothing to do. We had no mall, no bowling alley, no movie theater, nada. We’re talking the lamest of lame towns, right at my front door. But now I would do pretty much anything to go back to being bored.

Maybe a part of me does want to go back and have a little chat with my old self after all.

***

ONE

I feel less than alert—despite the energy drink I consumed as the sun was first rising—when the homecoming queen drops me at the curb in front of my house. I am relieved to finally break free from her dad’s old Lincoln that has a rancid stench of sunflower seeds and rotten cigars. I slam the rusty door and lean down to wave.

Mindy’s blond hair sticks out wildly around her face from her loose ponytail and there are dark rings beginning to form underneath her bright green eyes—both results of our eventful night. I imagine my own reflection would give me tremors at the moment if I had some kind of mirror at my disposal.

“See you at the dance tonight!” Mindy beams wildly.

“Yay. I can hardly wait,” I return, making no attempt to hide the sarcasm in my voice.

She honks the horn twice and pulls away. I hold my hand up until she is gone from sight. Although I get along with pretty much anyone and everyone, being in the company of royalty such as Mindy McKinney doesn’t make me popular by default. There are only fifty girls in the entire senior class, and being in a school that small, your chances of being homecoming queen—regardless of your looks or social status—become much higher by default. Don’t get me wrong; Mindy is certainly pretty and popular, but once you get to know her you eventually come to realize she has the personality of a tree stump, at best.

Having just returned from an all-nighter with some of my fellow senior girls, a nine-hour nap seems in order. For the record, it wasn’t my idea to “decorate” the senior football players’ homes for homecoming. I say “decorate” very loosely as transporting chickens from a classmate’s farm to the players’ garages was involved. We also placed large tire tractors in the middle of their driveways and wrapped their cars with endless rolls of Saran wrap. Most likely we will get some kind of “disciplinary action” for our excursion—maybe even face suspension once Monday morning arrives. But what would senior year be without the threat of not getting to participate in the graduation ceremony?

I look up at our stellar stone-front house nestled just on the edge of the thick woods that separate us from town. We built the monstrosity ten years ago after my parents received a generous inheritance from my wealthy grandparents. I have never understood why my parents, who are hardly ever home themselves, felt the need to have three extra bedrooms. I sometimes wonder if maybe they had planned on having more children, but changed their minds once they realized we actually needed to be fed, clothed and given occasional attention.