Dimensia Page 3
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After school, I scuttled outside. In front of the campus, scanning the flood of students and waiting for the kid that sat directly behind me in history class to emerge. My plan was to ask if he had seen anything in Mr. Swinger's class. I didn't want to, but if anyone else did, I figured it would be him. As I waited I grew impatient. Minutes later I saw him exit, flowing amongst the crowd but with a flow of his own, as I began my approach. Making brief eye contact, he turned in the opposite direction. Picking up my pace, with my books heavily slowing me down,
"Hey kid." I yelled across the school grounds but received no response. 'Of course he won't reply to hey kid, idiot.' Kicking it up a notch, into a brisk jog, getting closer, twenty feet, then within five feet as he slowly turned to face me. His eyes, hard to read seemed haunted, burdened, and troubled. He dressed in black head to toe, with long jet-black hair. His bottom lip pierced, filled with a metal stud, a black leather necklace, reminding me of a dog collar, fastened tight around his neck.
"Leave me alone," he voiced, followed by a cold glare, grinding his jaws, as a moment of awkward silence developed as he turned to leave.
"Did you see anything in Mr. Swinger's class today?" I blurted out. Stopping mid-stride, he slowly turned towards me, leading with his eyes, revealing a fiendish grin.
"No, but you did, period, exclamation mark. OMG. LOL." As he laughed as one might laugh if insane. 'What? Who does this guy think I am? Who does he think he is, with his black lipstick, his fading guy liner and black fingernails? I get it, invisible to the night; I hang out in graveyards; it's too late to smile; really?' Eyes locked, neither of us speaking, he grinned and took a step towards me, right in my Civil Rights. Nervous, he leaned forward, afraid he was about to bite my neck, suck my life, as he inhaled a deep breath.
"I love youuuuuu." Holding out the u kind of like its spelled.
"You're crazy," he whispered. Startled, unknowing what to expect, I froze like an ice cube, troubled and searching for a just response. I worried that at any second he would pull out a blade and stab me, pull a dead cat from his book bag, or steal my soul. As he stepped back, he lifted his hand towards his mouth and spat his gum into his palm. Clinching his hand into a fist, he reached towards me and lifted my hand palm up. In shock, absent of motor skills, he placed the gum he had been chewing in my hand, folding my fingers back, forming my hand into a fist, feeling his wet and slimy gum warm in my hand. As my mind rebelled, my mind flashed to the thought of germs, or potential disease. Becoming nauseous, tasting the alkaline pre-effect of vomit, ready to hurl any second, he grimly grinned, winked with his right eye, and extended his tongue as if he wanted to lick me, then turned and shuffled off. Appalled and utterly disgusted, all I could think was, now he knows my face, when he does come to the school with a sawed off double barrel shotgun I am on that list. Perfect.
The graveyard banger had flustered my feathers. Peeling the gum off my hand, I tossed it to the ground below and started walking towards my car, running the play-by-play encounter with Freak Show, realizing I should have done this or I should have done that. What I couldn't believe was that he had the audacity to put his gum in my hand, the nerve. I rushed home, washed my hands, then logged on to my computer and typed in the web address for the website from the CNN segment.
I watched the videos concerning dimensions at least twenty-five times. It was magic. For the first time in my life, I had interest in something that made my life seem worthwhile. A knock at the door was heard as my Mom entered my bedroom, verbally assigning a list of chores that I wasn't overly excited about. Typical, Nosy Rosy, she entered the room, walked towards my computer, looking into the monitor,
"That's cool huh, is that some computer game?" she asked.
"No, it's something for school." I replied for the sake of explanation. Prior to leaving, she asked that I join the family downstairs for dinner. Saving the videos to my desktop, I logged off my computer and headed downstairs.
At the dinner table we carried out our typical dinner conversation. My younger sister Amanda received all the attention with her dance class, 'Tiffany this, Zabrina that, I'm a girl, I'm a girl, I'm a girl.' And my little brother Dallas, refusing to eat his greens, whining, cowering, spoiled. My parents, obligated to engage in conversation, would ask me about school and if I had decided where I was planning on attending college. Yada-yada, hanky-panky, and of-course, the Step-Dad would chime in ripe with stories about his experiences in college. Highlighting on the fundamentals of his experience, 'the girls, the parties, the seventies.' Always concluding with, 'Your old man used to be pretty hip in his day.' Lucky for me I had no knowledge of anything different as I laughed and agreed to pretty much any and everything with some enthusiasm.
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Voice:
"Did you know? Bears like to dance when no one's watching them? True story. RIP Timothy Tredwell."
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