May's Story (Part 1)

May’s Story

by Allexis Roberge

beginning

The bright. Surrounding. Suffocating. All I could make out was bright. There were specks floating around me. They reflected the bright as they slowly ascended into an endless bright.

There was warmth on my hand.

“Good morning, May, good morning,” said deep voice.

“Good morning, Chris,” I said. As the words left my lips, he appeared next to me. His face seemed stale, lifeless. Like dry ice. He’s dry...

“No, May, no. I’m not dry, May, I’m not dry. I’m just falling, May. I’m only falling.”

His last word ringed in my head as I felt air rush around me, trying to stop me from hitting the ground. I kept falling towards shades peach and brown that swayed in every which way. It isn’t the ground, it’s people, and these people... they have no face.

“So, when you divide a fraction you always…” I shoot up, my dream fading from my head quicker than I could catch and remember it. The adrenalin hasn’t settled yet and my mind senses danger everywhere. Breathe. Relax. I know that if I let myself sleep for so long I will pay with nightmares.

My teacher continues to talk with his deep, painfully bland voice, pointing to some equation shining from the projection on the board. A few kids in the back had their heads down, the kid behind me was snoring.

The big red circle on the calendar to the side of the screen keeps popping out, I can’t help but stare at it, longing for it to be that day. Monday, to be exact, when we go to our all-expenses paid, week-long field trip to Torcido Rosto. I am wicked excited, but mostly just to get out of school for a week and do nothing but hang out with friends.

All of a sudden, I went blind. I put my hands in front of my eyes and glared at Chris, who was using his cell phone to shine the sun’s reflection into my eyes. I flipped him off with a cutesy smile on my face, but he just made an extremely inappropriate gesture back. I giggled and the teacher started paying a little more attention to me than needed. Looking innocent, I flipped open my notebook, pretending to take notes.

I sighed at the first page. Someone had drawn a picture of me falling off a cliff. I flipped the page to see a picture of Chris, flames drawn messily around his body, with a knife in his ribcage. Another of Caitlyn, my best friend, with a cracked neck and her waist-down missing. Then Bryanna, a really quiet girl in my class, with a pair of ripped jeans and her knee cap sticking out out of leg completely. Her face was bloody, the sicko got creative with red ink, and it looked her bone was sanded down in some areas, but no matter how long I stared at it, I couldn’t understand what it was he or she was getting at with this drawing.

The next page held a person who doesn’t have any facial features, just a big swirl on it’s empty face. Whoever was doing this entered a new picture daily. I figured it was some kid from another class who happens to use my notebook for their own twisted doodling enjoyment. I flipped through a few more pages to see the new one for today, oddly not terrifying or gruesome, a hand, palm up, fingers slightly bent, as if reaching to grab something.

When I thought about it, I had some strange things going on with me. The nightmares, the drawings, and I’ve had unexpected feelings or terror, guilt, or anxiety, which is not good for someone who has the breathing problems I have. I forced myself not to cry for years, because the last time I did, I ended up in the hospital. Anxiety and too much physical activity scared me, I definitely didn’t want to end up with the hospital tubes everywhere again. My first anxiety attack was the day after the Peppy Cola Singing Contest two years ago.

Man, did that contest lead to several big events. The murder of the winner, the camp we’re going to next week, then the suicide of the Peppy Cola company’s owner.

My chorus group went to the contest as a field trip. The winning girl was murdered shortly after the contest and all the fingers pointed to the Peppy Cola Company. The company, in fear of being sued, came up with an agreement for the family of the victim that instead of giving them money, Peppy Cola would build an educational camp for young adults.

The owner, Freddy Peppy, ended up committing suicide minutes after finalizing the name for the camp, Torcido Rosto.

The article in the newspaper said that his wife found him in his bathtub with scissors in his eyes and his wrists slit open.

“May,” Mr. Jacobs saw I wasn’t paying attention. “Can I ask what is going through your mind? Yes, go on, share what you’re thinking about,” I hate that about him. He could overlook Snore McSnorington back there but noticed the little brunette not taking notes.

“Ummmm,” Think quick, May. “Well, Mr. Jacobs, is that a new tie?” He just frowned at me, still expecting an explanation. “I was-”

“She probably can’t hear you,” Chris chimed in. Mr. Jacobs shot him a nasty look of I-was-picking-on-May-leave-me-alone. Chris chuckled and continued defensively, “just saying. I know I can’t.”

Mr. Jacobs glared at me, disappointed he couldn’t harass me more. “Is this true?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” I said, quietly, relieved my best friend in the whole world just saved me.

Chris smiled at me and I smiled back warmly. He winked at me, and I felt my stomach lighten a little as my cheeks started to burn.

“There isn’t really anywhere else for her to sit. Except next to me, I mean,” he said, patting the seat next to him.

“You just said you couldn’t hear,” the teacher argued.

“Well, yeah, but because I’m closer to you, she’ll have more of a chance of hearing you. I’m just choosing not to listen.”

The class chuckled. Mr. Jacobs got bright faced, he was about four hundred years too old for these interruptions. “Just go! Sit next to him! I don’t care!” The light from the projector was reflecting off his red, bald head, making it even more difficult to take him seriously. I could tell by the snickering the class noticed, too. I giggled furiously as I collected my stuff.

I walked to the other seat as the class settled. I sat down and placed my notebook on top of the brown, graffiti-covered desk, sliding my purple gel-pen out of the spiral binding.

I looked at my new desk neighbor. He smiled at me again. He had the sexiest smile, his thin lips wrapping around teeth as white as white-out.

I found him smirking at me, making me realize I was staring, which made me blush. He still smiled as he wrote messily on a scrap piece of paper and leaned over, placing it on my desk and kissing my pink cheek. I picked it up and it read, ‘Hey, beautiful.’ I smiled and wrote back.

‘Hey, Sexy. What’s up?’ I crumpled it up and threw it at him, and it hit his tan cheek. I held in a laugh and he unfolded it smiling.

The teacher was starting to get unbearable now, his hoarse voice not stopping once. It almost seemed like he wasn’t taking time between each sentence to breathe.

I jumped a little as a crumpled ball of paper landed in front of me.

‘Nothing. I was just wondering if you’re still up for bunking with me.’

All of Torcido Rosto’s activities were outdoor-adventuring type, but from the pictures we’ve seen, it looks like a hotel inside. There’s six rooms on each of five floors, we’ll be on the fifth floor, and each room has two bunk-beds. You can choose whoever you want to bunk with you, and if you ask early enough, you can pick the friends who sleep in the other bunks. Me, Chris, Caitlyn, and Josh all called dibs first and got our room.

‘Yeah, definitely, why would I ever change my mind?’



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