Part 03
Now, I'm not exactly a good-looking guy but the smelly stoner that sat in front of me during Homeroom was one ugly motherfucker. He was about 7 feet tall and he has these really small eyes set deep in his head, he could have been deformed but who knows. He had this huge back, like The Hunchback, and it looked like his neck started in his chest and not on his shoulders. His skin had this light green tint like Gatorade and his teeth were yellow like piss.
I'd come in late most days and throw my books down, toss the teacher a heaping wad of a bullshit disguised as an apology and sit down. Like clockwork, exactly 2.756 seconds after I'd sit down I'd hear:
"Darien! How's it going dawg?" (Notice dawg is spelled the retarded way)
Marijuana/drunk breath smacks me like a bitch and suddenly I am fully awake and wanting to leave.
"Hey Buster," I say like the charming little bastard that I am. "How was your weekend?"
"Oh man you would not believe how much I smoked the other day!" he would say, always a bit too loud even when he wanted it to be a secret.
"Too much?" I answered.
He would always have this confused look on his face and then he would suddenly get it and laugh like a 4 year old with Down's syndrome. Oh how I hated him.
"Man I got the perfect girl for you," he said once during his fourth freshman year. "She hot as hell. She needs a guy for a double date."
"Are you into her?" I asked.
"No man it's not like that," he said.
"No seriously, do you hang out with her and like her?" I asked.
"Well yeah. I guess man," he said.
"Not interested."
"Why not man she's hot as hell, she's got short black hair and this tiny little body. Come on man you'd love her," he argued.
"What's wrong with her?" I asked.
"What do you mean?"
"If you like her there has got to be something wrong with her," I said in my 'Doctor Darien' tone. "Is she crazy?"
"No."
"Has she been in any institutions?"
"Well . . . yeah."
"What for?"
"Slashing her wrists."
"Crazy. Probably molested and doped up," I said. "Am I right?"
"Not about being molested but . . ."
"She's a druggie. Not interested." I said smiling, feeling good about averting that disaster.
"Whatever dude," he said.
I wake up; the dust still not settled from the impact, the American flag that once hung on the gymnasium wall now covers me. I get up slowly against a pain in my back. What a terrible dream to have at a time like this. Reliving stoner trauma. Now I've got goose bumps. End of the world and I'm still worried about girls. Jesus.
I can see the sky through a hole in the ceiling. It's gray. Not totally though, there is still light and all but there's haze blocking out direct sunlight.
"Owww," I say out loud, noticing others starting to stir. "Oh shit," I say, noticing a broken beam that had collapsed on some students. I know a few of them. Brad Smith, the kid who sat across from me in math who laughed at all my jokes. His sister Jennifer. Some kids who were playing basketball. Jesus Christ.
I'm numb. I pick up the flag at my feet and tie it around my neck like a cape, although, I'm not really sure why. It's huge; I can drape it over myself like Dracula. Anyway, I step over the debris and laying a few feet from me is Lizzie. I run over to her and kneel down beside her. She's breathing she's not bleeding she seems to be fine, almost peaceful. I leave her to her peace, giving her some time before waking up to this horror.
Mangled flesh and bone are laid bare from where the basketball net fell on one of the gym teachers. I had him freshman year. I have to get out of here. I walk out of the gym into the hallway. It's even more chaotic out here. People are yelling and running. Kids are freaking out some crying in each other's arms. I even see a couple making love, both of them crying about it being their first and only chance. Occasionally a teacher walks by trying to maintain order but it's no use.
My sister. She suddenly pops into my head. She's here in school. Where? English? I turn to the right and head for where I hope she is. I stop at the water fountain, pushing the button. Luckily water comes out. I sip it, it tastes bitter but my throat is dry. As I down the water the stream gets smaller and smaller until it shuts off entirely. Great. The water is gone. At least I got the last bit. Onward to my sister.
"Help me!" a girl cries, as she lays curled up near some lockers. I don't know her but I stop anyway.
"What's wrong?" I ask.
"My- it's my- uh huh- leg," she stutters and sniffs out.
"What happened hun?" I ask, kneeling next to her.
"They all r-ran an-and I was trampled, and- and they kept stepping on me, and then I heard a snap and it wa-was my leg," she says.
"What's your name?"
"Ka-Kandy," she says.
"I'm Darien, Kandy. Can you move at all?"
"A little."
"Okay good uhhhm just a minute," I say looking around. I take off my sweatshirt and pull it until it rips at the wrist. I take it to a water fountain and push the button; it still works so I wet the strip of fabric. I bring it back to her and wrap it around the broken skin near her ankle.
"Fhssss. Mmmmn." She bites her lip and moans a bit.
"Clean the wound up a bit," I say. "Okay I want you to put your hand around my neck and I'm gonna see if we can get you to the nurse."
She nods and I bring my head close to her, she grabs my shoulder and I hoist her up and we head for the nurses office, back near the gym. We pass the couple that was making love. They are now crying in each other's arms, cursing the terrorists. Was this terrorism? I haven't heard any police sirens or fire engines. That's odd. What the hell is going on?
I forgot what I was doing for a moment. I stop in front of the nurse's office and push the door open, ignoring the "The Nurse is Out to Lunch" sign. I put Kandy down on one of the sterilized beds. The wax paper crinkles under the weight.
"Nurse? Hello? Anyone?" Apparently anyone who was hurt had forgotten the school had a nurse. Maybe they needed something more than aspirin and a lollipop. I walk to the cabinet and go through the drawer. I find some hydrogen peroxide and some bandages.
"Ahuh huh huh," Kandy is crying again.
"Does it hurt bad?"
"Oh huh not really. It's just my luck I guess. Terrorists attack the same day I get my period," she says.
I can't help but smile. What a thing to say. Women. "At least we know your ovaries work," I say.
"Gross," she says and half smiles.
I bring the peroxide over and take the rag off her leg. "This is gonna sting," I say. She bites her lip and I pour the peroxide onto the wound.
"Mmmn," she moans under her breath.
After cleaning it up a bit I put the gauze on it and tape it up. "All better," I say, standing up. "You stay her for a little bit and rest. I'm gonna go see if my sister is okay," I tell her and turn for the door.
"Wait," she says and sits up.
"What is it?" I ask.
She leans forward and kisses me on the cheek, tears in her eyes. "Thank you."
Stupid disasters. Absolutely nothing. No sexual anything in that kiss. Helping people just gives you this warm feeling inside. It sucks.
"Darien, what's your last name? In case I have to find you later," she asks.
"Darien Scott," I say. "You?"
"Kovalchic," she says.
"Don't worry though. You won't need to find me, I'll be back. Promise," I say opening the door. "I just gotta find my sister."
Now, I'm not exactly a good-looking guy but the smelly stoner that sat in front of me during Homeroom was one ugly motherfucker. He was about 7 feet tall and he has these really small eyes set deep in his head, he could have been deformed but who knows. He had this huge back, like The Hunchback, and it looked like his neck started in his chest and not on his shoulders. His skin had this light green tint like Gatorade and his teeth were yellow like piss.
I'd come in late most days and throw my books down, toss the teacher a heaping wad of a bullshit disguised as an apology and sit down. Like clockwork, exactly 2.756 seconds after I'd sit down I'd hear:
"Darien! How's it going dawg?" (Notice dawg is spelled the retarded way)
Marijuana/drunk breath smacks me like a bitch and suddenly I am fully awake and wanting to leave.
"Hey Buster," I say like the charming little bastard that I am. "How was your weekend?"
"Oh man you would not believe how much I smoked the other day!" he would say, always a bit too loud even when he wanted it to be a secret.
"Too much?" I answered.
He would always have this confused look on his face and then he would suddenly get it and laugh like a 4 year old with Down's syndrome. Oh how I hated him.
"Man I got the perfect girl for you," he said once during his fourth freshman year. "She hot as hell. She needs a guy for a double date."
"Are you into her?" I asked.
"No man it's not like that," he said.
"No seriously, do you hang out with her and like her?" I asked.
"Well yeah. I guess man," he said.
"Not interested."
"Why not man she's hot as hell, she's got short black hair and this tiny little body. Come on man you'd love her," he argued.
"What's wrong with her?" I asked.
"What do you mean?"
"If you like her there has got to be something wrong with her," I said in my 'Doctor Darien' tone. "Is she crazy?"
"No."
"Has she been in any institutions?"
"Well . . . yeah."
"What for?"
"Slashing her wrists."
"Crazy. Probably molested and doped up," I said. "Am I right?"
"Not about being molested but . . ."
"She's a druggie. Not interested." I said smiling, feeling good about averting that disaster.
"Whatever dude," he said.
I wake up; the dust still not settled from the impact, the American flag that once hung on the gymnasium wall now covers me. I get up slowly against a pain in my back. What a terrible dream to have at a time like this. Reliving stoner trauma. Now I've got goose bumps. End of the world and I'm still worried about girls. Jesus.
I can see the sky through a hole in the ceiling. It's gray. Not totally though, there is still light and all but there's haze blocking out direct sunlight.
"Owww," I say out loud, noticing others starting to stir. "Oh shit," I say, noticing a broken beam that had collapsed on some students. I know a few of them. Brad Smith, the kid who sat across from me in math who laughed at all my jokes. His sister Jennifer. Some kids who were playing basketball. Jesus Christ.
I'm numb. I pick up the flag at my feet and tie it around my neck like a cape, although, I'm not really sure why. It's huge; I can drape it over myself like Dracula. Anyway, I step over the debris and laying a few feet from me is Lizzie. I run over to her and kneel down beside her. She's breathing she's not bleeding she seems to be fine, almost peaceful. I leave her to her peace, giving her some time before waking up to this horror.
Mangled flesh and bone are laid bare from where the basketball net fell on one of the gym teachers. I had him freshman year. I have to get out of here. I walk out of the gym into the hallway. It's even more chaotic out here. People are yelling and running. Kids are freaking out some crying in each other's arms. I even see a couple making love, both of them crying about it being their first and only chance. Occasionally a teacher walks by trying to maintain order but it's no use.
My sister. She suddenly pops into my head. She's here in school. Where? English? I turn to the right and head for where I hope she is. I stop at the water fountain, pushing the button. Luckily water comes out. I sip it, it tastes bitter but my throat is dry. As I down the water the stream gets smaller and smaller until it shuts off entirely. Great. The water is gone. At least I got the last bit. Onward to my sister.
"Help me!" a girl cries, as she lays curled up near some lockers. I don't know her but I stop anyway.
"What's wrong?" I ask.
"My- it's my- uh huh- leg," she stutters and sniffs out.
"What happened hun?" I ask, kneeling next to her.
"They all r-ran an-and I was trampled, and- and they kept stepping on me, and then I heard a snap and it wa-was my leg," she says.
"What's your name?"
"Ka-Kandy," she says.
"I'm Darien, Kandy. Can you move at all?"
"A little."
"Okay good uhhhm just a minute," I say looking around. I take off my sweatshirt and pull it until it rips at the wrist. I take it to a water fountain and push the button; it still works so I wet the strip of fabric. I bring it back to her and wrap it around the broken skin near her ankle.
"Fhssss. Mmmmn." She bites her lip and moans a bit.
"Clean the wound up a bit," I say. "Okay I want you to put your hand around my neck and I'm gonna see if we can get you to the nurse."
She nods and I bring my head close to her, she grabs my shoulder and I hoist her up and we head for the nurses office, back near the gym. We pass the couple that was making love. They are now crying in each other's arms, cursing the terrorists. Was this terrorism? I haven't heard any police sirens or fire engines. That's odd. What the hell is going on?
I forgot what I was doing for a moment. I stop in front of the nurse's office and push the door open, ignoring the "The Nurse is Out to Lunch" sign. I put Kandy down on one of the sterilized beds. The wax paper crinkles under the weight.
"Nurse? Hello? Anyone?" Apparently anyone who was hurt had forgotten the school had a nurse. Maybe they needed something more than aspirin and a lollipop. I walk to the cabinet and go through the drawer. I find some hydrogen peroxide and some bandages.
"Ahuh huh huh," Kandy is crying again.
"Does it hurt bad?"
"Oh huh not really. It's just my luck I guess. Terrorists attack the same day I get my period," she says.
I can't help but smile. What a thing to say. Women. "At least we know your ovaries work," I say.
"Gross," she says and half smiles.
I bring the peroxide over and take the rag off her leg. "This is gonna sting," I say. She bites her lip and I pour the peroxide onto the wound.
"Mmmn," she moans under her breath.
After cleaning it up a bit I put the gauze on it and tape it up. "All better," I say, standing up. "You stay her for a little bit and rest. I'm gonna go see if my sister is okay," I tell her and turn for the door.
"Wait," she says and sits up.
"What is it?" I ask.
She leans forward and kisses me on the cheek, tears in her eyes. "Thank you."
Stupid disasters. Absolutely nothing. No sexual anything in that kiss. Helping people just gives you this warm feeling inside. It sucks.
"Darien, what's your last name? In case I have to find you later," she asks.
"Darien Scott," I say. "You?"
"Kovalchic," she says.
"Don't worry though. You won't need to find me, I'll be back. Promise," I say opening the door. "I just gotta find my sister."