Orange Sunday

2

It is a Thursday, and my blood boils in my veins. I can feel my heartbeat in my fingers and toes, can hear it all around me.

My skin crawls. My stomach twists itself one way, then the other. I feel as if I might catch on fire, or maybe implode. Spontaneous combustion.

I get the itch to move, to do something. I put on a pair of running shorts that have always been too small, and a long sleeve tee that covers everything about me. It is bright red. I think I might be seeing red.

"I'll be back," I tell my mother. I will not see her again, though I don't know that.

I let myself out the front door and lock it, my hands shaking. As soon as the deadbolt slides into place, I am sprinting.

My feet slam on pavement, first the driveway and then the street. My hair is streaming behind me, the elastic holding it together threatening to come loose. The air burns my nostrils, rips its way down my throat. I pump my arms, faster, faster, anything to get away.

My lungs are going to burst, I think. My ankles begin to throb, and a sharp pain runs through my hip each time I lift my left leg.

The pain is consuming; it is all there is, and all there ever will be. It clears my mind, like the wind blowing away the clouds after a thunderstorm.

I do not think of him. I do not think of my mother. I do not think of college, or of the cap and gown order form sitting on the coffee table. I do not think of my grades, which are steadily dropping. I do not think of the SAT and the scores that I'll receive in three weeks.

Instead, I think of the wind. I think of the biting pain in my chest that comes with each breath. I think of my house, falling farther and farther behind me. I think, One more block. When I pass that lawn, I'll stop running.

Really, I am not sure when I will stop running.

Really, I wish I hadn't started running, so I could have been there when her heart stopped and her eyes went blank.