I lost my keys

14

After being isolated at home for two years, people made you anxious. Entering public high school after barely ever talking to anyone was like going to a concert for the first time when all you'd experienced before then was the church's choir. Different people had been sitting in that chair before you. People walked the halls in clusters. You didn't want to touch anyone, didn't want to breathe the same air they breathed. You looked down, eyes deep diving into a book, trying to smell the pages instead of whatever it was that guy next to you had eaten for lunch. Even the word "lunch" sent shivers down your spine. You hate eating. You hate food. You hate the cafeteria and its noise and the idea of people touching your food and preparing it and how unhealthy it is for you and how you'll never buy it anyway because food isn't free and you don't have money and you'd rather die before asking your mother for $3 when all she will tell you is how annoying you are to care for.

Inhale.

Exhale.

You pray for thoughts to go away but sitting down on a desk, your bare arms feel sticky. You hated it so even in the dangerously hot temperatures of the summer you wore long sleeves. This was the easier solution since prior to this moment, when you'd tried carrying around a container of Lysol wipes, lemon scented, the best ones, people stared at you. Rather than be perceived by a room of twenty strangers each time you entered a new classroom, you decided potentially passing out was the lesser of the two evils. Their eyes, their stares, they shot invisible lasers of bacteria your way that made your skin crawl. Their breath facing you as their heads turned. Disgusting. Gross. But as to whether or not they were gross, or you thought yourself as gross, time will only tell.

Handshakes are a crime against humanity. You wipe your palm against your skin directly after. So is holding hands. The sweat builds up, making you increasingly aware of the filth that is in the center of this mutual cluster. So is kissing. Swapping spit for the sake of public displays of affection. There are barriers between you and your classmates. Mental ones you place so you don't have to touch the germs they're bound to give you. One person's cold is bound to transfer to everyone in the room by the end of the week. You don't understand why people greet each other upon first meeting by shaking hands. You don't understand why someone would want to hold hands with someone else, or kiss, or hug, or walk so close together. The more you think about it as you daydream in classes the less it makes sense. High school is torture. Would staying homeschooled have saved you from this hell? Countdown the days until this four year period of your life is over. Countdown. Countdown. Countdown.