I'm On Your Side

1 | The Universe Has, Once Again, Failed Me

"I don't see my," she looks around the room before lowering her voice. Fuck, I think to myself. I'd been so caught up in listening to April's conversation with the lady that as soon as April lowers her voice, I find myself gazing around the room mindlessly before settling on the floor. Why did they make it carpet? I think to myself. Why couldn't they make it hardwood? It would cause less damage if someone, for example, spilled a drink. And why, out of all colors, would they choose a green carpet? That's nasty. I wrinkle my nose in disgust. Why couldn't they choose, maybe, a purple carpet? I try to envision a purple carpet, but nothing comes to mind.

Sheesh. And to think that my favorite color is purple.

"Okay, guys," April says, clapping her hands. I look up just as the lady from the main office walks out of the room and then look at April: her eyes seem blotchy. As I watch her take a tissue from the Kleenex box, I can't help, but think: God, what did that lady say to her? I didn't think it was this serious, but damn. Now, I really want to know what the lady said. I wonder if anyone else notices that she's crying, but as I look around the room, I realize everyone else is looking at their phones.

Should I say something?

My anxiety battles with my urge to console April and just when I'm about to open my mouth, the same brown-haired girl who beat me into entering the hallway door says, "Um, April, are you okay?" April looks up instantly and the brown-haired girl's bright face suddenly turns frightened. "Your name is April," she hesitates, "right?"

April nods her head quickly. "Yes, yes. Sorry, I was just thinking of something," she takes a deep breath in, "but I'm good now. Anyways, let's start today's class agenda." I wrinkle my eyebrows. Wasn't she just crying? What's up with this mood change? Not that I'm not against it. I just don't think it's a good idea to hide your feelings. Okay, so, maybe I am against it. "Okay," April says as she picks up the paper the lady from the main office gave her. She reads whatever is on the paper several times before settling it down. "Okay, okay," she says as she takes deep breaths to calm herself down. Kind of like the breaths I take before I give a class presentation.

Thanks, Dr. Mead (like she helped).

I honestly just developed my breathing techniques over time because no matter how many times I asked Dr. Mead about breathing techniques for my graded discussions in History class (fuck those honestly), she always avoided them. Either she doesn't know any breathing techniques or she's just doing therapy sessions for the money, which come to think of it, she is so...

"Okay, you guys are in luck because today, I'm going to be setting up our therapy sessions a little differently," April says and then mumbles something before continuing. "Basically I'm going to be," she starts, "I'm going to be pairing you guys up and throughout these next few weeks, you guys will be interacting based on different things, so get ready to step out of your comfort zone!" I eye her, peculiarly. Something seems fishy about this, but I don't know exactly how to describe it... or maybe it's just the fact that I'm freaking out over stepping out of my comfort zone because the only people I've socialized with recently are my mom and my dog (I just talk to him; it's one-sided). April pulls out another piece of paper and starts calling names. I watch her in amusement. She seems happy and from what I've learned about her, she deserves to be.

I look around the classroom, ecstatically. Maybe this is what it's like to live in the moment. Damn, I should've started this way before. Everything seems much more real. Like that lightbulb in the ceiling―it's actually emitting light into this classroom and that poster that says "You Can Do Anything"―maybe I can.

Nah, that was a joke.

I mean c'mon! Are you forgetting that I live in a society where you have to waste twelve years of your life studying and then do another four years or more studying for a major that you don't even like? Man, I can't wait until I'm eighteen and can run away freely (I doubt I still can). Oh, well. At least, I can run away when I die.