Secret Lucidity(21)
“Will you stop by the pool after school? There’s some stuff I need to give you.”
“I’m not swimming.”
“I didn’t expect you to,” he says.
I give him a nod. “I’ll see you later.”
When I leave his classroom, I avoid looking for Linze or Kroy and head to the library. I pull the book I’ve been reading from my bag and get lost in fantasy. For the rest of the hour, I pretend I’m somewhere else entirely—that I’m someone else entirely. With each page I read, I fall deeper and deeper into words that build an illusory world around me.
But illusions are only temporary, vanishing in an instant when the bell rings.
The day moves on in patterns of whispers and stares. I know what they’re thinking, and I know what they’re looking at. For the most part, I keep my head down as I get myself from point A to point B to the point where the final bell rings. I walk through the halls, which are finally emptying out, and wonder how I’m supposed to do this day after day.
“Cam!” When I turn, Kroy is jogging toward me. “Hey, I forgot to tell you when I drove you this morning, but I’ve got practice. You can take my car and pick me up later or wait for me. Whatever you want to do.”
“It’s fine. I’ll just wait. I have to go see Coach Andrews anyway.”
“Okay. Well, I gotta run before I’m late,” he says before kissing my forehead and rushing off.
Mindlessly, I wander through the halls as I make my way to the pool, and soon find myself heading in the direction of my father’s classroom. Curiosity gets the better of me, and when I stop in the doorway and look in, my gut churns. The new hire has littered my dad’s desk with his own belongings, trashing the once organized piece of furniture. This was his space, and now this intruder has taken over, and I have no say so about it. I feel a sense of ownership over everything that had anything to do with him, and to see something of my dad’s taken away pricks me harshly in irritation. I don’t know this new teacher, but I already hate him.
My chest begins to vibrate as emotions come to life. I resist the urge to yell at the unknown man to clean his shit up and to get out of that room because it doesn’t belong to him.
“Hey.” His voice is gentle and comes from just behind my shoulder. Then, from one breath to the next, everything I’ve been suppressing today, every memory, every reminder, swells inside me. I should move away from Coach Andrews, but I can’t. I’m stuck, trying to suffocate the once dormant emotions that are slowly coming to life.
I should be good at keeping myself in control by now, but day after day, I’m weakening.
His hand rests on my shoulder, a single touch that chips away more of my guard.
I’m growing so tired.
“Why couldn’t they have left his room empty?” I say of the hijacked space.
Two girls walk by and, in hushed voices that they assume I can’t hear, make snide remarks about my face.
“Come on,” he says.
He heard it too.
Without words, I walk with him to the pool, too embarrassed to say anything more. When he pushes the door open for me, there are clumps of students scattered about on the pool deck and on the bleachers.
“Coach, can I talk to you really quick?” a new kid, I assume is an entering freshman, asks.
“I’ll be right back,” he tells me. “Don’t go anywhere. I need to get you all your waivers for your mom to sign.”
I look up to the office and find it filled with more freshman. They are laughing and roughhousing, and just like with the classroom, my blood begins to boil. Those kids are contaminating everything that used to be my dad’s. The control I’ve been hanging on to slips out of my grip, and the roiling in my gut returns. I drop my backpack to the ground and make my way up the stairs. Their hands are all over his desk, his computer, and his books. The sight of it causes something deep inside me to snap.
“Stop,” I tell them, but they’re too loud; they don’t even notice me. I walk deeper into the room. “Get out,” I bite loudly, and they all turn to look at me. “Get out!”
“Who are you?” a boy questions, arrogance heavy in his words, and I lose it.
“Stop touching his things!” I yell, putting my hands on them and pushing them out.
“What the fuck is your problem?” a random boy spews my way.
My head fogs as anger, loneliness, abandonment, sadness, and so many indescribable emotions come crashing down in a tidal wave. My walls begin to crumble, and I can’t hear anything aside from the high-pitched ringing in my head.
“Get your hands off his stuff!”
“Jesus, chill out,” another one says, and I grab him by the shirt, forcing him toward the door.
“Out! Just get the hell out of here!”
When I push the last kid from the room, I slam the door shut and then turn to see a picture frame lying face down on the floor with glass shattered around it. Kneeling, I turn the frame over and come eye to eye with my dad. It’s a picture of the two of us from last year after I won state. I had just gotten out of the pool and he has his arm slung around my shoulders, a smile filled with pride on his face. A picture he framed and kept on his desk only for some asshole to put his filthy hands on and break.
I stare at the photo and feel myself giving up. Holding on to strength is a feat I can no longer endure. My eyes burn in heated agony, and a tear slips out, clawing its way slowly down my cheek, but I don’t cry as everything tunnels. I clutch the photo against my chest, and all I can see are flashes of him in my head. Visions consume every single ounce of my focus as blood rushes through my ears, blocking out everything around me.