Chapter Seven: Drew from Writing 101

Regina's bus-related dreams had been getting consistently weirder over the past few weeks. Right after the accident, her subconscious had been content simply rehashing the incident almost verbatim, but apparently such a lack of creativity was no longer acceptable to her brain. This particular dream started out relatively generic. She had found a secret passageway that led from Oberlin back to North Shore High, which was kind of cliché as the two schools were often one-in-the-same to her subconscious. Regina and Gretchen had run out of towels after they tried to mop up a flood in the cafeteria bathroom and for some reason, Gretchen assumed they could get more at North Shore, but being Gretchen, she had some other stupid obligation with the Kawaii Buffy Glass Blowing Rainforest Club, so Regina agreed to get them herself. Also, Regina was much skinnier and the passage was incredibly narrow.

As soon as she crawled through the opening, which was in the freezer for some reason, the door clanged and locked behind her. Regina wasn't particularly claustrophobic in real life, but she figured anyone would be uncomfortable heading forward, especially since the further she went, the smaller the space seemed to become. Still, there was literally no going back, so she crawled forward on her hands and knees, her head brushing against the ceiling. Far in the distance, she saw a speck of light about the size of a dime and figured it must have been the opening – it was only so tiny because she was so far away.

When she got closer, however, she found that the opening had not grown. How the hell was she supposed to fit through that? Hot panic surged through her and her breathing sped up. Her nose and sinuses suddenly felt incredibly stuffed up as if they had been jammed full of wet cement. She desperately tried to breathe through her mouth and swallowed a mouthful of dirt and mildew. Had the tunnel always been under ground? She coughed frantically and tried to tell herself not to panic. Above her, the speck of light started to fade and more soggy dirt fell on top of her. "HELP!" she shouted at the top of her lungs and her throat seared with pain. The more she cried and screamed and panted, the smaller the space became, until she was lying flat on her stomach.

And then, suddenly, out of completely nowhere, a swarm of bees sped toward her. But, no, that wasn't right. They were not bees, but tiny bee-sized school buses that pelted into her. Despite their tiny size, each struck her with the weight of a normal sized bus. She cried out and one of the bee buses dove down her throat where it jammed into her esophagus.

"Regina! REGINA!" Gretchen was shaking her lightly. "You were shouting. Did you have a bad dream?"

"Yeah," Regina said faintly, still trying to catch her breath. She leaned her head back against the wall and groaned. "Sorry to wake you up. That was the scariest dream in a long time."

"No worries," said Gretchen, ironically sounding incredibly worried. "Wait in a long time? Do you have a lot of bad dreams?"

Regina nodded miserably. "Pretty much every night," she admitted, tears flooding her eyes. She cleared her throat. "It's no big. I'm fine."

"It is NOT no big!" Gretchen said, sitting down next to her. "You are NOT fine!"

"Gee, thanks," Regina said, smirking, but her voice caught in her throat much like the bee bus.

Gretchen did not laugh or even smile. "Pretty much every night for how long?" she asked firmly.

"Well," Regina said, her voice hoarse and small as she looked down at her comforter. "I used to have them all the time right after the accident, but then they kind of stopped. I don't know. I guess since we got to school."

"That's like, not okay!" Gretchen practically shouted.

Normally, Regina would have argued. Why was Gretchen getting so worked up about it? And why was it any of her business (aside from the obvious fact that a roommate with nightmares could impede her own sleep)? But Regina was too exhausted to argue. And besides, Gretchen was right. "It's so not," she said quietly. "It's not okay. I'm not okay."

Gretchen bit her lower lip. "Um…do you want something to drink? I could make hot chocolate?"

Regina did not want hot chocolate, but she also didn't want to go back to sleep, so she nodded slightly and moved to the couch, wrapping her quilt around her.

"Hm," said Gretchen, rummaging through the cupboards. "No hot chocolate? What kind of a college person doesn't have hot chocolate?"

"Gretch, it's okay," Regina said. "Wait, did you say 'college person?' What the hell is a college person?"

"What do you mean 'what's a college person?' A person in college!"

Regina snorted in spite of herself. "College student." She said.

Gretchen was no longer paying attention as she began searching the fridge. "Well, we have milk and strawberry syrup. Hot…strawberry? Is that a thing? Sounds like it would be gross, but maybe not. But if that was a thing, don't you think everyone would have heard of it?"

"I think they do make that," Regina said, but then thought for a minute. "Don't they? There's strawberry-flavored steamers. Is that the same thing?"

"Huh. Never thought of that," said Gretchen, shoving the milk in the microwave.

"Hey, remember in middle school when we had all those fancy milk flavors at lunch?" Regina said suddenly. "Like Root Beer and Blue Raspberry and Orange?"

"Oh YEAH!" Gretchen said. "Total ick. Accept maybe the orange one. That was okay." She got the milk out of the microwave, took a sip and made a face. "Ew. Nope," she said. "Definitely not going to happen. Tastes like drinking cotton candy. Try?"

She handed it to Regina. "Yeah, and looks like Pepto Bismo," she said.

Gretchen snickered. They were quiet for a moment and then she cleared her throat. "So, um…if you don't mind me asking, what was your dream about?"

Somehow, Regina found herself recounting not only the entire bee bus dream, but all of her previous dreams from that week as well.

"Oh my God," Gretchen said quietly when she had finished. "I-I'm sorry. That sounds really scary."

"I feel like I'm dead," Regina said quietly. She wasn't sure exactly why she said it, but now that she had, she realized that it was true. She had, in fact, been feeling that way for several years. "Well, I mean, not dead, I guess, but not alive either."

Although Gretchen had been relatively awesome for most of the night, she decided to take this particular moment to revert back into her normal, stupid self. "What, you mean like a zombie?"

Screw you, Regina almost said, but Gretchen beat her to it.

"Oh my God. I'm sorry. That was super tasteless. Sorry! Shit, I don't know what I was thinking." Gretchen said quickly, suddenly reverting back to her middle school Beta persona.

At this point, Regina didn't even feel like indulging her. She did, however, feel like further explaining what she meant. "Like, not trying to be morbid or anything, but I really should have died."

Gretchen gasped and her eyes widened. "No you shouldn't have!"

"No," Regina said dully. "I should have. Most people who get hit by buses do. But for some reason…I didn't. And it really seems like I should be doing something…more. You know, to make it up to the universe for being alive when I shouldn't be. But I'm not doing anything. I feel like I should be happy and like, celebrating and living my life to the fullest or some corny shit like that, but instead…" she trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

"Instead what?" Gretchen asked. "Like what should you be doing differently?"

"I don't know," Regina mumbled. "Like something that proves I deserve to still be here, I guess." She was well aware about how horribly depressing that sounded and her heart suddenly ached in the very most literal sense.

"Well," said Gretchen after a moment. "The way I see it is if you're still here, then you must deserve to be here, right?"

"Huh," said Regina. "When did you get so smart?"

Gretchen snickered. "Guess this college degree's going to be worth something after all."

The next morning, Regina had an email from Drew. "Hi, Regina," it said. "I feel really terrible about what happened yesterday. It was extremely, EXTREMELY unprofessional of me. Could you please come in later today? We could meet in Professor Goldman's office since the study lounge is usually pretty packed. I am available most of the day, but could also work with later in the week, so please let me know. Thanks. - Drew."

"Oh my GOD! DON'T GO!" shouted Gretchen, reading over Regina's shoulder. "It's a trap!"

"Um, what?" Regina asked, wrinkling her nose. She had no intention of meeting with Drew, but the rather paranoid idea of it being a "trap" had never crossed her mind.

"He'll probably send you to a shrink or put you in the psyche ward," said Gretchen. "I'm serious. The professors here are STUPID paranoid."

"You think?" Regina asked, but then remembered what Gretchen had said about Professor Maxwell from Modernist Poetry. She nodded. "You know, yeah. He doesn't even deserve my time after this. He's a douche. I hope Professor Goldman fires him."

Gretchen nodded. "A douchenozzle even."

"An unprofessional douchenozzle," Regina added.

"And EXTREMELY unprofessional douchenozzle."

As she was walking to the library, Regina felt a now all-too-familiar sense of breathlessness. It swelled in her throat and crawled up her nasal cavity where it rested behind her eyes. How dare Drew accuse her of being crazy? Perhaps Gretchen was right and he did think he was doing her a favor by mandating a therapist – he was after all, a perfect Boy Scout/gentleman. Why shouldn't he add a new star to his sticker chart or feather to his cap or badge to his Boy Scout vest or whatever other stupid expression was currently in vogue by "saving" the crazy girl in his freshman writing class? The more she thought about it, the more Regina wanted – needed even - to talk to Drew and to hopefully rip him a new asshole while she was at it.

When she barged into the office, Drew and Professor Goldman were deep in conversation – hopefully about how Professor Goldman was going to drastically reduce Drew's paycheck for the month. Drew looked up, alarmed. "Regina. I didn't hear back from you." He cleared his throat. "I'm glad you could make it."

Profess or Goldman, who Regina had never actually seen in her life, looked her over with an unreadable expression.

"She's the one I told you about," Drew said. "Professor Goldman, Regina George. Regina, Professor Goldman."

Regina, not feeling like even attempting at politeness, narrowed her eyes. "Yeah, cool. Whatever."

"Well," said the professor, breaking his gaze. "I guess I'll leave you to it."

Before Goldman had even shut the door, Regina started in. "You have no right to do this to me!" she practically screamed.

Drew flinched, but nodded in agreement. "I know," he said. "You're absolutely right. That's why I wanted to-"

Regina cut him off mid-sentence. "I might be sort of a mess right now, but I'm NOT crazy and I do NOT need professional help. Yes, I'm in pain every single day, but I still come to your stupid class and do your stupid writing prompts and read my stupid classmates' stupid writing exercises and I don't know what else you want from me! You don't even know me, so how dare you judge me about my mental sanity? I mean, if anyone is crazy here, it's you. Just because I wrote something that was supposed to be PRIVATE does not mean I'm suicidal or-"

"Wait, hold on," said Drew, holding up a hand like a traffic cop. "What are you talking about? I don't think you're suicidal. I think maybe you're getting the wrong idea here. Look, please sit down. Your pacing is making me nervous."

"Oh, I'M making YOU nervous?" Regina snapped. She folded her arms across her chest and glared. "I prefer to stand. Why do you want me to sit down? So you can deliver some horrible bomb shell like that you contacted my parents about how worried you are or something?"

Drew blinked in surprise. "No, of course not. What gave you that idea?"

Regina's resolve faltered. "So…you didn't report me to the school shrink?"

"No," said Drew. "I would never do that without talking to you first."

Regina's anger dissipated, transforming into her more common emotion of embarrassment. "Oh," she said tightly. She sighed and sat down across from him, heat radiating off her face.

"Look, Regina…" Drew paused and fiddled with his pen. "I just really want to apologize. I feel horrible. I don't want to make excuses for myself, but this is my first time teaching and I think you all know I'm not very good at it."

Regina couldn't argue there.

"And listen, I know I've said this before, but your writing is exceptional. That's why I mentioned you to Professor Goldman."

Regina rolled her eyes. "Uh huh," she said.

"No, really. I mean it. I think you should consider going for a degree in creative writing. The program would be lucky to have you." He was quiet for a moment, waiting for her response. "When did you write this?"

"At three in the morning," Regina replied. "I don't know. I just kind of felt I needed to get it down on paper. Or something."

"Well, you have talent." He coughed lightly into his hand and took a swig from his Fiji water bottle. "Look, I guess I also wanted to say: I really can't imagine what you're going through and I'm so sorry that you're hurting."

Tears suddenly flickered in Regina's eyes, so she stared at the ceiling and blinked rapidly.

"I…uh," Drew continued, "I know this isn't the same thing exactly, but I had this really good buddy who died in Iraq a few years ago. And I sometimes feel guilty about it. He was such a good guy: funny, smart, charming. So why am I still here and not him? Well," he said after a moment, "I guess it's because he chose to risk his life for our country and I chose to get a degree in creative writing." He smiled and chuckled, but Regina didn't feel like laughing.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled.

Drew nodded solemnly. "Yeah, me too. He was a good dude. I know this is super cliché, but it does get better."

"How do you know?" Regina asked, her voice shaking. "Having a friend die isn't the same as getting hit by a bus."

Drew shook his head. "No, I know. But since you're a writer, I really think getting some of these feelings down could help you process everything. It did for me. Okay…" he said awkwardly after another uncomfortable bit of silence. "I guess that's all I wanted to say. You're a good person, Regina and I think you're going to get through this."

Regina's heart melted like a Hershey's bar and she blushed. "What makes you think I'm a good person?" she asked.

Drew shrugged and slid her notebook to her across the table. "I can just tell. I have a good-person-dar."