Jam

At this point, I am convinced that I want to live no longer. My life is in shambles, and it would take too much to put it back together. I never signed up for this; it sort of just happened, and I know now that there’s not much I can do but suffer it to be so. I woke up the morning of September the 15th feeling the same as any other morning: eyes watery, lips dry, and my jaws clinched together from that unpleasant taste of the night’s sour in my mouth. Rolling over the left side of the bed, I routinely cursed myself profusely for still being alive. It feels like being condemned to perpetually work a math problem that can never be solved. I instinctively jumped over the large hole in the floor where the bathroom meets the hallway. After taking a cold shower to rinse myself of the mad nightmares that taunted my mind, I threw on my old Ecko jeans and headed for the kitchen. For me, being a 15 year old poor, bastard-boy blessed with a simple-minded mother should have been punishment enough, but I guess the universe doesn’t see it that way.

“Jam, hurry and make me some lunch, so I won’t be late for work,” mom called.

“Hurry now. I only have three minutes left before the Marta bus comes.”

“Jam. That’s right, Jam. What an Ideal name for a son.

“K, Mom. You got it! Here ya go, one baloney and cheese sandwich made to order.”

“Thanks baby, ya here. Hey, aren’t you five minutes late for the school bus, mom demanded.”

“Aaah… yeah.”

“Why are you always late?”

“Cause I always have to fix you lunch; let’s get out of here. I’ll catch the public bus with you.” I quickly eased my way into the hallway of Preece High school. I rushed to grab my text book for my least favorite subject, math. Like mom said, I was already late. That little three minute delay ended up being a twenty-minute setback because of good old reliable Marta’s single tracking. As I gently fumbled my rusty combination lock, I struggled to remember the last numbers of the combination.

"Dam it! Left turn twenty-three… right turn thirty-one… left turn sixteen… no…six-

“MR.LANE!”

“Shit. Come on. Think!”

“Mr. Lane.”

A tall, skinny six-foot-two, seventy six year old rat faced looking-man yelled as he stood stale with a yellow pad and pen in his hand.

“Come here young man.” Mr. Hallaway was a known pest around school for taking his job as Vice Principal way too seriously.

“What brings you here in the Grand Hallway at 7:55? Are you late?”

“Well, no I was just-“

“There’s a time and a season for everything Mr. Lane,” Mr. Hallaway breathed heavily at me while clutching his yellow number two pen with arms stale against his favorite brown-wool blazer. He had old-man- pepper-mint- breathe and wore a permanent scowl on his face whenever he talked to students.

“Sounds like another round of after school detention is in order. Do you still live at 1592 Isla Street?”
Okay, now that’s weird, I thought. Mr. Hallaway knew where I lived. He’s drove me there hundreds of times because of after school detentions, literally hundreds of times. I have had a total of two hundred and one detentions this school year.

“Well, do you!”

“Uumm…yeah.”

“Yeah, what?”

“Yeah, Vice Principal Hallaway, I still live there.

“The answer is YES. Not YEAH.” Wagging his long, merciless finger at me he said, “I see that you have no intentions of learning how to speak proper English Mr. Lane. Quickly, come with me,” he said as his head wobbled uncontrollably as it always does whenever he’s mad.

“O-k-a-y,” I said feeling ill at ease. For a seventy three year old man with a stiff, straight back, Mr. Hallaway was swift on his feet. He hastily brushed past the lockers causing all of the locks to clank noisily against the lockers before he stopped sharply clutching the door to the janitors’ closet. He turned the knob roughly pulling the door ajar to the dark, damp room which was infamous for its swamp odor.  His eyes poked hard through his spectacles as he focused his eyes on me in a very chilling manner.

“There are places for stragglers like you. In here,” he demanded.

“Huh?”

“You heard me Lane, IN HERE!” He sneered in a cruel, low voice.

“The… janitors’…closet?” I said with a puzzled look on my face.
But, there were no more questions answered from Mr. Hallaway, with an extreme force, he shoved me forward brusquely between the shoulder blades. I braced my sneakers roughly against the slick, oily cement floor to slow the momentum. Mr. Hallaway’s looks were deceiving; he pushed me way harder than a seventy six year old man was capable to. Unfortunately, applying pressure on my Wal-Mart sneakers didn’t help any, I yelped in pain, as my stomach collided head on to the hard metal janitors’ sink. Struggling to recover, I weakly grasped for the stinky sink in vain- immediately feeling weak and defeated. Falling slowly to the ground, I felt the wind escape my throat like hot air from a nuclear power plant. Then everything grew dark.  Shaking violently from the crash, I lie there sprawled helplessly against toilet number three’s plunger. I knew it had to be toilet number three’s plunger because it smelled the rankest. Suddenly, I felt Hallaway’s cold, jagged fingers press roughly against my neck. Then his hands roughly rubbed against my boxer lining. What was he doing?  I could’ve been imagining things, but I felt a quick, sharp prick against my bare hip, the same kind of prick diabetics feel when they check their sugar. Was I being molested? Enervated, I closed my eyes on the world; I could take the pain no longer. Yet, faintly, I could hear the door shut, and then Mr. Hallaway’s footsteps receded into the distance along with a familiar fancy-land tune being whistled far away.

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In my feeble stillness, I discovered something, a faint light amongst a vast darkness. I was definitely not in the janitor’s closet anymore because all the school lights were bold and florescent as this one was not. Unfamiliar with my whereabouts, nursing an aching back, and a major headache, I made my way to the direction of the faint light. Even though the room felt cold and dry, whereas the janitor’s closet’s floor felt warm and damp, the warmth made me feel no better than before. And the sudden violence that I was forced to endure from Mr. Hallaway, I must admit, had freaked me out just a bit. Mr. Hallaway had handled me like (insert humorous line here). I began feeling around my surroundings to get some idea of where I was. Again, it was very dark in this unknown space and my natural survivor instinct had me on the caution for any unnecessary trouble. Along with the faint light was a light, refreshing odor of fresh flowers. As I inched closer to the now bright light which I soon realized was the night’s crescent moon, I backed against the right side of the faintly dark space to get an in-depth span of the outside surroundings. Since there was no wall to this opaque, extensive darkness, I stood as close to the edge of this tunnel-like place as I could. Peering out, my eyes fasted on the sight of a black forest. I didn’t see any cause of harm around, no big, cruel game hanging around, no wild deers, or bear like creatures there. As a matter of fact, the sight was so pleasant and inviting, that I figured I’d get a good look around before I wake-up from this dream. Hell, you didn’t think I was naive enough to think this forest was reality, did you? I mean there is no way that I could go from the janitor’s closet, IN SCHOOL, to some black, dreamland forest in a matter of minutes. No way, I wasn’t that put-out. The fallen leaves and sticks crackled gently under my feet. As I progressed closer, I could tell that it didn’t rain much here. Don’t ask me how because I couldn’t tell you; it was just this strange but sure instinct that I had deep down inside, weird. From the looks of things the forest seemed well fed. This strikes me as odd, because everything there was very much alive and filled with color. The big, dark wooded tree leaves were rich and green, and the black soil was rich and smooth. This place appeared to have lack for nothing, except animals. No birds chirping, no squirrels climbing and there were even no owls hooting. Yet, the forest was so well manicured, that I could easily make my way through it. Up ahead, I saw a small, brown bench. “-That’s weird,” I thought. I’ve never heard of a bench being in the middle of a forest! Then again, I’d never been in the middle of one; However, I never thought that someone would build such a human thing in a place that was supposed to be filled with wild animals.