One Bad Day (from Sketches of Life)

I shuffle down the sidewalk quiet and alone. Quite oddly alone, for there are hundreds passing me on my left. I avoid their obtrusive stares by turning my own upon the fountain and pool to my right. The railing occupies my right hand and side-- a buffer and a welcome distraction. The morning's rain has left rows of droplets clinging to the underside of the railing and hiding from the coming sun. I find some strange sympathy for these pathetic little water particles. I'd like to be hiding too. So I don't mind that they leave my fingers wet as my hand slides along the railing. It is not my practice to ignore my mankind brothers and sisters, but this day I must, for I find no happy thought within my heart to share abroad.

The sun stealthily curls its golden paint around a towering cloud, and the gilded edges threaten to make me smile. But I resist. A smile would be wasted upon such a ruined day. And besides, the sun is inanimate-- he won't care. Just like everyone else.

I begin to step out to cross the road looking up just in time to see the car. I stumble and step back trying to regain my balance. Forget my composure. Ruddy color flushes my cheeks and I seethe through my clenched teeth.

I toy with a regret that I didn't keep walking, head down, right out in front of that car. I know I shouldn't be thinking this way, but no one else feels bad, so I continue the self-pity party in my own little world. It's an addiction of sorts.

Staring straight ahead I stalk past the library, behind the Alumni building, and wind my way around the tables and chairs outside of the coffee shop. Those who notice me and offer their “Heyhowyadoin” receive my manufactured “Goodyou” with all the insincerity I can muster.

Down the long sidewalk to the back door of Graves, I stagger, almost there. I hope no one comes busting out of the door and runs me over. But it figures. I'd be surprised if no one did.

Brett's sitting in the lobby. I hope he doesn't notice me. I don't really feel like stopping or taking the time at all. Brett's always in a good mood and, what's worse, I know he'll actually care about my puny, selfish troubles. He'll ruin my pity party, so I sneak past him and trudge up the stairs to the second floor East. Leaning on the handle to room 223 I fall into the dim light and close the door behind me. Two steps and my bookbag hits the floor by my desk. One more and I'm at the air conditioner. Andrew has it set to “Freezeyourappendagesoff” as usual. But at least he's not in the room right now. As the polar wind ceases under my controlling hand I sigh half in relief, half in resignation. But I miss the numbing sound of the air. The silence screams my pathetic loneliness. Music. Flipping open my computer, my hands rise to the tie still squeezing my neck and my head totters twice before lolling over loosely to the left. Too tired to hold my head up is too tired. Draping the now-removed noose over the back of my chair I slide into my bed six inches off the floor. Forget the music. Sleep welcomes me home. The first open arms I've found all day.