Catharsis [Novel]

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

            My first class of the day is Physical Education, and I believe I’m one of the few kids at our school that enjoys the class.  I’m good at athletics, so that means I’m also good at what most of the subject entails.  Even though I'm smaller than most of the other kids in the gym, I only take that as a challenge.

            Physical tenacity and a gregarious attitude have helped me form tight relationships with the coaches and P.E. instructors.  Most of them are decent people when they aren't creating masochistic activities centered around running.  It usually makes for a pleasant start to the school day for me.  The early morning exercise helps invigorate me and offsets the several hours of sedentary motionlessness of most classrooms.

            Not every kid feels the same way I do about the class, though.  Many of my peers are not fond of state-mandated exercise, and they don't get along with the instructors they do battle with on a daily basis. 

            After the previous several hours, I’m really looking forward to starting my school day with a solid exertion of energy in some good-spirited, ball-centered competitions, but I don’t even make it past the inner locker room doors.

            Leaving my backpack in my school locker, I head down to the Phys Ed locker rooms to change. I had planned to see the nurse during second period when I had my least favorite class, geometry (I'm actually pretty good at it, but our teacher is insane.  And it’s not a fun, ha-ha, what-crazy-clothes-he's-wearing-today insane.  He’s the talk-to-himself-during-lessons-and-then-try-to-collect-homework-he-never-assigned insane.  It’s the perfect class to miss.).  The plan would have been fine except for the small problem of the locker room. 

            The sunglasses-in-the-hallway look attracts some attention, but it's high school and most kids are used to ignoring me so I do my best to keep with that pattern.  I decide to try and avoid people I know as much as possible and just keep my head down and get to class.  The waves of sound washing over me as I push through the halls of the school disorient me.  Because of that I have trouble focusing on walking and tuning out the rush of sounds that slap me every time I turn down a new hallway.  Today is proving to be more difficult than I had thought.

            To top off my morning, my stomach is starting to cramp up and growl at me.  Apparently my marshmallow-packed cereal hadn't been enough to appease the mighty intestinal gods.  I was going to have to make a break for the vending machines and their smorgasbord of health foods soon (The state had taken away the school's right to sell anything with sugar or flavor to children years ago, but they allowed us to keep our vending machines.  The combination of the two meant we now had machines full of bran muffins, dried fruit and warm water bottles.  Only  the truly desperate or malnourished kids ever used them.).

            My sunglasses were helping with the overhead fluorescent lights in the building, but they weren't preventing the pain completely.  I still had my eyes nearly slitted to keep the stabbing in my sockets to a minimum.

            Reaching the door of the girls’ locker room and swinging it open, I manage to get two full strides down the hall before the raw sweaty stank of what I’m walking into reaches up and punches its horrible little fists down my olfactory organs.  Dropping to my knees in the hallway, I squench my eyes completely closed and cover my mouth and nose with my free right hand.  The mix of unwashed skin, used football pads (seeping through the walls of the boys’ adjacent locker room) and old, mildew-infused clothing were just the opening smells I picked out before closing off my brain from interpreting any more. 

            I can't go in there, I think once my brain crawls out of its hiding place.  That's worse than anything I've ever encountered.

            Other girls pass me as I crouch on the ground attempting to not breathe the noxious air that surrounds me.  I hear laughter.  I'm sure I look absurd, but I want to tune everything out.  I want my senses to just stop working altogether. 

            Reluctantly, I realize first period is going to be a bust, and I won’t be starting my day with exercise.  If I can’t change clothes or participate in class, then I might as well make my way down to the nurse and get that task accomplished instead.

            The crawl back to the locker room door is short - I only made it six feet before dropping - but it’s agonizingly slow and painful.  Although my movement is hindered in a crouch, it also effectively restricts any access the air might have to my senses  (To misquote the kitschy monkey statue: Hear no evil, see no evil, smell no evil.). Standing isn’t worth the risk of exposing myself to another assault.

            Once in the hall, breathing becomes easier, but I can still taste the fetid blackness oozing from behind the closed door of the locker room.  There’s no way I’m going anywhere near that again this morning.

A quick scan of the hallway leads me to one of the P.E. teachers on hall duty who hasn't left her post yet.  I shuffle towards her as best I can and get her attention (My escape from the hallway has sucked my remaining energy from me.  I’m not tired, but I feel exhausted and ravenous.).

            "Excuse me, Ms. Davis,” I say quietly in a meek attempt to get her to notice me.  “I'm not feeling well, and I have a note for the nurse.  Can I take it down now?"

            "Morning Ms. Perez.  You know that's something to take care of once we're in class.  Now's not the time for it."  She says all of this without glancing away from a clipboard she’s writing on.

            I don’t move.  I wait patiently for her to look up, so I can try another tactic.  It’s going to take more than bureaucratic procedure to get me into that locker room this morning.

            "Is there something else?" she finally lifts her eyes from her clipboard to take in the sight of me standing in front of her (Well below her, actually.  If there is an opposite to “towering over” someone, then that was what I was doing.), and then she actually sees me.  Her eyes widen slightly and her breath hitches.  Her surprise leaps out of her pores, and I immediately taste it in the air.  It’s an odd sensation.  "Are you ok?  You don't look well at all.  You're," she pauses and her eyes move over my face and neck, "really pale."

            My first instinct is to blurt out, 'Duh!  No, I'm not ok.  I told you I didn't feel well.  Way to pay attention.'  But I don’t foresee that helping me accomplish anything aside from petty revenge.  Plus, I really like Ms. Davis.  She’s older and widowed (It was a tractor accident on their farm, I believe.).  She’s also in phenomenal shape and never backs down from a challenge.  She’ll out-intimidate the most obstinate kid in class or accept an impromptu three-point shooting contest.  It doesn’t matter; she’ll do it all.  I respect her.

            Instead I go for the simple repetition of my previous question, "Can I take my note down to the nurse?  I don't feel well." 

            "Of course.  Of course.  Let's do that."  Almost like magic, a yellow hall pass appears in her hand, and she scribbles out some information on it before handing it over (Most likely it had been under a paper on the clipboard, but she’s still impressively quick.).

            "We'll see you tomorrow, Catarina.  I doubt you're coming back to class today looking the way you do.  Feel better, kiddo."

            "Thanks Ms. Davis.  I will."  And I give her the best smile I can muster under the circumstances (Great teachers just make life more bearable.).

            With the pass in hand, I head down to the nurse and what will be one of my last hours ever in a public school building.