Resemblance

Chapter 4: Nightmares of a first day

In our endeavors to recall to memory something long forgotten,

We often find ourselves upon the very verge of remembrance,

Without being able, in the end, to remember.

 

-from “Ligeia”, Edgar Allan Poe

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                “Ms. Lockwood!”

                I sat up from my desk, momentarily recovering from my dream about creepy woods and those strange, piercing blue eyes, belonging to a face that was beginning to blur and slip from my mind. I looked up and met the wide-eyed glare of Mr. Coleman, my fourth period English teacher with balding, nearly gray hair, big fish eyes, a slightly crooked nose, and a mouth set in a permanent frown. He looked like a pirate in a suit. I grimaced.

                “What about you, Ms. Lockwood? What do you think of Poe’s Ligeia?” He asked, watching me like how an eagle watches its prey with eyes steady, waiting. “And I assume you’ve read the story? Since you’d rather drift off to dreamland than listen in my class,” he added, earning a few snickers from my classmates.

                I can’t even remember my dream, and your class isn’t helping! I thought to myself and chuckled, earning another death glare from him.

                “Um, I think…” I trailed off, feeling a little embarrassed under everyone’s gaze. I hated being the center of attention. Before I could give an answer, the bell rang, signaling the end of class and the start of lunch time. I heard the rushing footfalls and excited chatter of students outside as they were probably heading towards the cafeteria. Inwardly, I sighed in relief.

                “Huh, saved by the bell, how cliché,” Mr. Coleman said and frowned at me. “I expect an answer next meeting, Ms. Lockwood.” I just gave him my brightest smile and began gathering up my things.

                “Class dismissed.” I heard him say and then everyone was in a hurry grabbing their things and filing out of the room.

                I waited for the crowd to clear before I slung my bag over my shoulder and headed out into the packed and noisy hallway. I scrunched up my nose in disgust as sweat and different smells of cologne filled the air around me.  Students pushed past me, bumping into my shoulder, not even bothering to take a second glance. I hated crowded spaces – it made me feel like I’m trapped, suffocating, drowning in a sea of bodies. I sauntered over to my locker, avoiding incoming people as much as possible.

                I stuffed my things in the locker and closed it a little too hard. I looked from side to side, expecting weird stares at my direction. I noticed then that almost everyone seemed to be doing the same thing, banging locker doors as if their hinges couldn’t possibly fall off at any second.

                Harriet. The voice whispered right behind my ear. I stiffened, feeling goose bumps all over. Try to remember. The dream. It spoke so gentle and so soft I would have thought my mind was playing tricks on me again. Maybe I was being paranoid, but of course, I knew better.

                “I can’t,” I whispered back, though I didn’t know why I did. The words just came out like they were pulled out of me.

                Please. I gasped. I wasn’t expecting an answer. I didn’t even think he could hear me. I don’t know what else to do. I felt a tightening in my chest, not because hearing voices – particularly that voice – was starting to freak me out for real, but because the voice, the tone in it, was pleading in a desperate way, the kind that makes you want to reach out and hug that person. I chuckled. Silly me, wanting to hug someone I can’t even see. Who would I hug, the air? I shook my head, willing the voice and the thoughts away. Creeps, I’m feeling sympathy for a ghost. A ghost that’s really pushing me to the edge of idiotic lunacy.