The Innocents

Chapter Twenty-Three

"You've got to find your Cheerios."

The cafeteria was loud. I had my head on the table. My tray was untouched, smelling of fish and burnt toast. The only thing I did manage to get down was the orangy tasting drink that they served. At the table was Jo, Marla, and Fidola. A guard walked by briskly making sure that we didn't take any food with us and properly disposed of our trays.

"What?"

Marla was all hair when I looked up, her pale eyes peeking through the curtains of blonde. She was leaning down toward me, her hands placed firmly on the table in front of her.

"You've got to find your Cheerios," she repeated.

"Marla, I'm going to be honest. We haven't had cereal since we've been here and with that information it is safe to assume you're being metaphorical."

"I wouldn't drink the milk anyhow," Jo chimed in. "They put lots of hormones in it."

She had been reading a lot of my magazines lately.

"It wouldn't be a day if I wasn't being metaphorical," Marla replied. I cracked a smile and she continued, stabbing the piece of toast on my tray and lifting it in the air like it was some sort of strange balloon or flag. "When I was in middle school, I was bullied a lot and I never wanted to get out bed in the morning. The only thing that got me up was the prospect of Cheerios, which I loved and in which we were only allowed to eat in mornings. My parents didn't believe cereal belonged in any part of the day except breakfast time. Long story short, you need to find your own Cheerios. You gotta wake up, Drew."

You got to wake up, Drew.

I remember those set of words after I had been.... raped. Like Marla, I couldn't get my body out of bed and didn't care if I ended up covered in bed sores, I wasn't budging. I didn't have breakfast food to coax me. It just happened gradually. My body just said enough is enough.

I looked around the room. There was nothing here that would propel me from my bed like it's the first day of school and I finally get to wear my new polka dotted dress. Rows and rows of tables with benches bolted to them sat a ward full of girls that I didn't want to know. Things began to get a little swirly and I finally had my, "I don't belong here," moment. Internalized of course, swallowing it like a poison. Marla was staring at me, concerned. She blinked in slow motion, her voice muffled like she was underwater. The last thing I could actually hear her say was, "You got to wake up, Drew!"

I hustled out of the cafeteria and once I was past the guards, I sprinted down the hall, up the stairs and back to the ward. I slowed, running my fingers across the wall, trying to associate the feeling with where my body was. It wasn't working. I turned and headed up the second floor, then the third and then the fourth. I hadn't even turned to see if anybody was following me when I hit the last door at the top of the stairs. I opened it.

I found myself on the roof. There was a gate with bars on it surrounded me like a cage. It was open, must to my surprise. I let the gate crash behind me. Then I took my boots off and moved to the edge. I peered down. Night slipped into place. There was no light pollution so it was easy to see the stars. It was so dark that I imagined anything could be down there. Jutting rocks, an ocean, a parking lot full of cars or one of Jo's bizarre monsters.

Why did I do that? Why couldn't I just accept that there might be nothing but the cold concrete and move on?

I remembered what I'd do when I was angry or down about something or another. I'd put in my headphones and play my music so loud that it drowned out every person and thing so that all I became was just the melody. Everything would be all right after that. It was my drug, my harness, my safety net, my parachute. That is what music was.