The Madness of Art

Chapter 3: The Cafeteria Is a Different World - 1998

I layer the last of the hair on his head, the tufts resembling wire. His eyes are round and wide, blending into his glasses. His nose is a large and round bulb with a patch of freckles on top. A tiny mustache sticks out beneath it. I stifle a chuckle as the teacher writes on the board. The soft tick from the clock catches my eye, soon it will be time for the customary chimes to beckon us all, we in the classroom or "camp," call them, lunch bells. The large hand ventures the length of the 2-- 11:10, almost time to eat. The room echoes a restless stir throughout the rows of desks. All around me chairs rattle and desks creak, I am not the only one staring down the clock like it were a bomb counter. But before my journey to the wide-open space of food and at least for a little while, freedom, I fiddle with my bag securing it beneath the seat. I breathe in and out, I feel anxious, I want to cry and hide away from everyone.

There is almost an atmosphere when entering the cafeteria of something that is much bigger than me. The towering windows look onto a groomed lawn and perfectly trimmed trees. Fall slowly makes its appearance through the red and yellow leaves. The massive white walls ever so gently dressed in pictures with quotes or sayings. Then there are the tables, gateways into different worlds; where you sit and with whom designates what social class you belong to. Ten is truly a difficult age.
The weeks come by slow as I split my time between the halls of the school and the halls of my house. The Monday-to-Friday-blues never fail to dishearten, bore, and complicate my already emotionally-charged self. Everything might as well be in another language because I don't understand a word of it. A train travels how fast? And arrives at one time? And who still rides trains in America? My ability to sit still long enough and listen seems to be shortening every day. Sometimes I just want a giant black hole to swallow me up.

Freedom rings in the form of the final bell as I prepare to stuff my workbooks in my bag. Feeling ever more confused than I did walking in that morning I push it all out of my mind. It's over now, and for the next several hours I am free from the burdens of memorizing facts, panic attacks, and bullies. The familiar surroundings of home, the immediate release of the chaos school brings, though I cannot shake a slight sadness from deep inside. The leaves have begun to fill up the yard as I run with Laura toward the swing set. I am wrapped in my mother's shawl which hangs over my clothes. We collide with the swings and begin to push off the ground. Laura is two years younger than I, and yet has studied far more than I could ever hope too. Katie appears on the covered porch and runs toward us, her thin arms charging through the air as she takes each step through the yard. She is four years older than I and I admire her so much. She lands in the swing beside Laura's and pushes off the ground too. Then in an abrupt halt, she pushes back into the swing, her legs straight into the ground, her bottom in the air. Laura and I smile as we do the same.

"One for the money," she cries.

I follow that with, "Two for the show."

Laura responds, "Three to get ready."

Katie closes with, "And four to go."

We release our hold on the earth and ride the air into the sky. It's an art form really, mastering the height and distance of jump from the swing. It should be an Olympic sport. I push my small legs out only to forcefully pull them back in catching a bit of speed and length each time. Katie jumps first and lands what looks like miles away, I jump next and for a moment I am above the world. I land with a thud that jolts my bones and must have stirred the dead, like a superhero landing, I create a crater of earth around me, I feel fantastic. Laura follows and lands on the ground a foot short.

We run back and buckling our knees, we push back again into the swing set once more. For a minute, I am distracted by a chilled wind and pull the shawl closed. I know I should be doing my homework, it sits in the back of my mind. As though I am convincing someone else I reassuringly say that I will complete it later.

Dad's voice breaks through our laughter as he calls us in for dinner. I comply with a great deal of bitterness, as it always seems that the things I find most enjoyable are the first to disappear. I look at the clock, 5:30. When did that happen, I just got settled into the swing set. Sadly, I wash up and drag my tired legs to the dinner table. A blend of spices complements the house in a harmonious mix, stirring my taste-buds. Okay, maybe it's time to eat.
Later that night as I lay in bed I can see the stars twinkle between the blinds. When I close my eyes, I see the towering wall of text I read through earlier. Laura lays motionless in the bed next to mine. I wish I could fall asleep like her. My sight blends in with the shadows on the ceiling, that's when my eyes truly play games. The popcorn texture looks to be moving in different patterns. But it isn't until a foreign presence brushing across my line of sight that I become anxious. I lean up from my pillow. All is still in the pitch-black room. Must be nothing. Come on, it's time to sleep. I close my eyes, I cover my head, I even count sheep, but nothing seems to help. I open my eyes again and this time I knew something moved. I sit up in time to catch a glimpse of something through the dark. There it is again. It speeds across my eyes and to the left. There is no shape or color to it. It rather resembles a shadow. The only thing is that it's a bit grainy in texture than other shadows. Oh yes, and it moves in a hurry. I watch with fascination as it jets across the wall. Pretty soon several others begin to appear. They throb like a heart beating until they grow and fill the wall. And within minutes shift their speed to sporadic beats. I close my eyes tight pinching the skin of my eye lids. They frighten me to the point that I pull the covers up over me before finally falling asleep.

Each morning resembles a slow sink into an emptiness I can't possibly explain. I feel tired, scared, and always on the verge of tears. My stomach turns at the sight of food, but I manage to eat nonetheless. I step into the family chariot and ride off to school, my food rising in my stomach all the while.

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The leaves have begun to pile in the grass as we enter October. The air is crisp and reminds me of a cold cucumber fresh from the fridge. Orange seems to be the theme of the trees and the damp morning mists invade the town. I love the outside, it makes me feel safe and limitless. I sit beneath large trees, but willows are my absolute favorite. I watch the sun rays wash through the boughs overhead. The sunspots stretching out in my line of sight. I let the mechanical pencil in my right hand roll off my palm. My science textbook open to the left where the pages chatter with the wind. I'm not sure why but I really love the shapes of the limbs in the light. Okay, Audrey, time to focus. I sit up, brushing the grass from my hair, and pull the textbook onto my lap; it nearly swallows my legs. We are supposed to read the chapter and answer the questions for it. But all that I see is the remnant of a dried leaf up against the page. I brush it off and replace it with a piece of loose leaf paper. On the top of the page are the dark smudges of eraser residue. I write my name on the top right before I forget (they've counted off for that before) and the date below it. A warm breeze left over from summer cradles the strands of my hair as I begin the chapter.