I didn't remember what happened. Everything was still blurry, but this time I wasn't able to wake up when I intended. As much as I held my breath to keep on longer than the last time, my breath was nowhere in my lungs, and no air was coming through my air hole either.
I was shaking and there was no one to comfort me.
I was alone alas.
My vision was temporarily weak. My hearing was not as much helpful as I wanted, with the glitching drilling my ears. I couldn't speak, to cry for help, or to shout loudly towards the void.
I remembered my half-moon keyring, but it couldn't help me like it used to. And I tried. Even if I squeezed it tighter than ever in my grip, there was nothing it could do for me. It's been four years since the keyring brought me any peace.
And who else did I have to ran to when I woke up after all these nightmares?
My nana? Yeah, she would be terrific. Not.
I lost my parents, even before I was even born, and then, when everything went downhill during the incident at The Dark Place, I lost my best friends, too. Even if I tried my best to help them.
The only things I have left from that day was the guilt, swallowing me up whole, all the sleepless hours that kept me awake because I was afraid of what my nightmares would show me. If I slipped away and fell into a clueless sleep, then I would be tormented by what my nightmares were showing me.
Oh, and I still have that stupid book. Somewhere in my bedroom. Somewhere that I didn't even know, because I threw it one day while I was having a breakdown.
Lately, I had these breakdowns, and I was relieved that I had them when I was alone. I hate it when I cry in public. Except the times that some of my teachers found me outside of school, crying. And, as many interventions or conversations I had with my teachers, I couldn't shake the thought that I was helpless, to what happened four years ago, and I felt, deep into my heart, that I was going to be helpless for the rest of my life.
'Lucas?' An old voice said.
I snapped back to reality. I looked around, and I realised that I was in class with my classmates and Mr. Peter.
When did I get here?
'Lucas can explain that to us.' Mr. Peter said.
'What?' I glanced around, and everyone was staring at me.
'Again, Mr. Lucas,' he said, 'you have to pay attention, even if it's the last...'
Saved by the bell.
'Okay. Have a great summer,' Mr. Peter shouted over the screams and laughter 'kids. Don't harm yourselves. Erm...' he turned towards me, 'Lucas, can you stay for a quick chat?'
Hell no. 'Yes, Mr. Peter'
The students left, and the classroom was empty, and oddly better now that everyone was gone. It wasn't that I hated my classmates, but I preferred not to be interfered with anyone. Especially from my Maths class: there were some rather loud personalities, some that think of themselves as gods and goddesses, and some who would rather sleep during the whole six-and-a-half-hour rambling of our teacher. To be fair, I also slept during class, but then I remembered my nightmares and I tried to remain awake instead.
'Sorry for keeping you longer than the rest of your classmates, Lucas. You must be having many plans for your holidays,' he teacher said.
Mr. Peter took a sip of what looked like an iced americano, and I avoided any eye contact with him, because for the last couple of years, I felt insecure whenever someone stared into my eyes.
It's none of your... 'It's alright. Not much, anyway.'
'That's a pity, then,' he said sadly. 'Well, I promise I won't be putting you in detention or have you write lines on the whiteboard for me.'
Mr. Peter's laugh always sounded as if a massive seagull was barking clearly and loudly, while using a microphone, and the microphone was connected to many speakers around the perimeter of the whole school. With maximum volume.
When I turned and stared him back with a blank expression, he cut his laugh short.
'Uhm, well... I've come to terms with myself as your teacher, and I thought about your progress this last couple of months, and I won't lie to you, I'm worried.'
His eyes were hooked on mine this whole time, while arranging his papers, flipping through them in order to have them facing straight, and then he looked down, while adding them in his briefcase in an order of sort.
'I wish there was something I could do, or say to help you with that.'
I wish you were just laughing and making jokes, 'you old man...'
'What did you say, young man?' Mr. Peter turned towards me instantly.
I fell into a massive hole, and lost my breath in a second. Mr. Peter, who was always kind to me, was just being friendly, probably showing empathy to me, and trying to reach out, but now I felt like I was pushing him away like I pushed everyone else this last two-year period.
I cleared my throat. 'Bag. I said, I should organise my own bag,' I pointed towards his strictly organised briefcase. '..the way you organised yours. It might be a way of organising myself, and be more... progressed?... in school.'
'Oh, well, it might be a start, son. Organised life means organised mind.' Mr. Peter pointed to his temple with his hand and then stood there proud, and smiling towards the ceiling.
'If there is nothing else you want to discuss with me, sir , I should get going, or I'll have an earful from nana.' I pointed towards the door.
'Walk with me, please.' Mr. Peter lifted his closed briefcase and started walking towards the door. 'I also needed to talk to you about something else. A rather sensitive topic, if you will.'
We stood outside the classroom, and Mr Peter locked the door, and left the key in a basket outside the teachers' lounge, which was right next to the Maths classroom.
I swallowed hard and nodded when Mr. Peter joined me on the other side of the hallway. 'What about?'
'If you feel strange about me asking my next question, just say so.'
'Do you need a liver, or something, sir?' I said, with a crooked smile.
Mr. Peter smiled. 'I'm glad you haven't lost your funny side, Lucas.'
We both exited the building, and walked through the playground of the school. 'Here's the thing. I'll come right out and say it.' He looked in my eyes, 'I heard a rumour, Lucas. A rumour about something strange that happened yesterday, right before the school bell rang at two in the afternoon.
'It happened during the Senior English Class period, and as I recall your time schedule, you were there. Or probably not.'
Mr. Peter stopped right next to the bus stop on the left side of the area. I turned to face the school, because, the opposite side reminded me of someone that I couldn't help four years ago, and it made me hurt everywhere in my body. I couldn't think of that now, so I came back to reality.
'Why do you know my time schedule, sir?' Mr. Peter looked nervous, glancing from right to left.
'What matters is the thing I want to talk to you about.'
'I don't understand, sir.' My confusion was all over my face. 'What does this have to do with me?'
He patted his jacket's pockets. 'Is it alright if I light a cigarette?'
'We are off school property, aren't we?'
It was what he needed to hear, I believed, because now Mr. Peter searched for his pack. I was amazed that a teacher asked for my permission to do something. Especially lighting a cigarette. 'Mind if I...?'
Mr. Peter's jaw fell to the ground. 'You smoke?'
'No, no. I meant, do you mind if I light it?' my laugh calmed him, as I imagined, but I wouldn't say no to a cigarette, I thought. It might ease my pain.
'Sure, why not.'
Mr. Peter, after smoking the first puff, seemed ten times more relaxed. He saw that I was observing and explained that "a cigarette soothes the soul, especially before a difficult conversation", which I translated it as to I still want to discuss about what you happened in Senior English Class.
'Five minutes before the bell rang, yesterday, someone left running, in order to get out of school first. Or maybe something happened? I'm not quite sure myself. But, what interested me the most, was how the person run.' He puffed three more times in a row.
'Are there many ways for a person to run, sir?' I joked again. 'It's either skipping, or running like nana. Well, a different grandma would be better for an example, because nana does run extremely fast, for someone her age.'
'How about running really really fast, blurring everything in the other person's passing, as if superheroes are on Earth among us?'
He now took one long and exaggerated puff, which gave me time to process what he said.
Does he know about me?
But how?
I did run really fast, but I checked my watch, and the moment I was outside, not even one second passed, from the moment I started running.
Therefore, no one saw me.
How could anyone see me?
'I can see that something is troubling you, Lucas.'
A bus came and parked in front of where we're standing and Mr. Peter asked me if it's the bus I was meant to take. I shook my head, and the teacher waved for the bus driver to drive away. When the bus left, he continued:
'I want you to have me in your mind as a friend. You can talk to me about anything that troubles you, son. Me and my wife never had children of our own, but when I met you two years ago, I felt that something was troubling you deeply. And that made me worry dearly.'
I didn't respond, so he continued.
'Don't get me wrong, but I see the son I never had. In you.' He lit another cigarette. He must be getting emotional or really sad, because his eyes were gleaming.
Should I trust Mr. Peter, I thought, or is it a trap?
I considered this for a second. Mr. Peter was always at a safe distance next to me for everything, as a protector these last two years. Especially during the lunch breaks. No one was teasing me for being a loner, since Mr. Peter was hired as our Maths teacher. Also, he was the only teacher that didn't make fun of me, or shout at me whenever I zoned out in class. Mr. Peter was an authentic man, empathetic and he had a nice way of expressing himself. And the way he taught us Maths made me want to study Mathematics or something. He was always with good intentions.
Maybe he sees through me, and looks at my troubles with two strong eyes, ready to help me.
While Mr. Peter was puffing his third cigarette now, I turned my eyes and glanced quickly towards the deserted land that the school was resting on. What a funny place the school chose to rest on. I embraced the warm summer breeze and considered all the possibilities of not saying anything to him, and just pretending that it wasn't me who ran five minutes before school was over yesterday.
Or maybe...
Why did Ms Helen wear that red skirt yesterday? It didn't comfort her new spray tan. But the good thing was, that Mr. Peter wore a deep green t-shirt, and as an artist, I could see the opposite colours clearly. Ms Helen was a total nut-head yesterday, she messed up all the rules of Physics, but Mr. Peter was quite entertaining.
I don't know.
I turned towards Mr. Peter, and the fragrance of his cheap cologne came towards me with the help of a bad-timing breeze.
Thank God he's smoking.
Rothmans might be really bad when it came to taste, as it was in smell, but a cigarette is a cigarette.
'Can I have one?' my hands were shaking slightly.
'What?' Mr. Peter was about to exhale the smoke of his second puff of his third cigarette, but choked it out instead.
'A cigarette. Can I have one?'
'What makes you think that I'm willing to give to an almost eighteen-year-old boy a cigarette?'
Mr. Peter's voice came out harsh, but he remained cool in.
'I need one, in order to show you something.'
That ought to grab Mr. Peter's attention, I thought.
And it did. Mr. Peter was by far, the most innocent teacher in school, and whenever he showed me any sign of kindness, I could feel my worries disappear. Just for a little while.
'But I thought you said that...'
'Please, sir. You asked me about the rumours, and I need one in order to answer.' Mr. Peter froze for a second, so I continued: 'But I need you to promise me something, sir.' Mr. Peter snapped his attention back to me. 'No one finds out what I'm going to show you. No one has to know what I'm going to show you. And most importantly, it stays between us.'
'About me giving you a cigarette?'
'No. About my answer. About my answer for the rumours.'
I could feel the temptation that Mr. Peter felt: "The need to know". But the teacher opened the lid of the cigarettes, saw that it was almost empty, and then snapped it shut and pocketed it.
For the next minute, none of us saw the other. I felt uncomfortable for talking to him like that, and as he was about to retrieve what he said and leave me here, Mr. Peter said:
'I'm not feeling great giving you a cigarette,' my head snapped towards him, and he could notice that the troubles that were once flooding my mind, exploded everywhere.
For some reason, I felt his stare travel inside my mind, reading what was stored inside there. He must have noticed the black circles under my eyes from the sleep I never had. I felt seen.
So he inserted his hand into his pocket, took the pack of Rothmans out, extracted one cigarette, and dropped it accidentally, but on purpose, towards the ground.
'Like I said,' he spoke slow now, 'I will not give you one.' When he winked, I went for the cigarette.
It wasn't nice that a teacher gave a cigarette to one of his students, because it's wrong. But it's extremely helpful, and touching, to give a cigarette to a troubling friend, because it's the right thing to do.
'I should light it there, away from the entrance of the school.' I pointed across the road. Not on the opposite side where Marie's house was. 'On the other side. It seems safe there.'
As we were crossing the road, he handed me his blue and green lighter, to light the cigarette. When we reached the other side, I did it. And then the chaos went back in order. All the thoughts were being filed into an organised cabinet, and everything bad turned into good.
And all that from the first ignition.
'You were right about the first puff.' I exhaled the smoke slowly and watched the grey cloud dissolving into clear nothing.
Mr. Peter took the opportunity to talk about something other than yesterday's rumour, since I wasn't speaking while smoking my first cigarette. After some good minutes, I threw the cigarette butt on the floor and stepped on it.
'That was fast.' Mr. Peter spoke silently, as if someone might hear him commenting on one of his student's smoking skills.
'I needed it. Thanks.' I smiled, and for a moment Mr. Peter thought that I wouldn't hold my side of the bargain.
'I didn't forget about your question.' I answered to what I thought his imaginary question was.
'If you don't feel comfortable talking about that rumour, then it's alright, son.' Both eyebrows were up, and I was about to laugh.
'I guess I shouldn't wait any longer to show you. But first I have to say this.' The teacher was anticipating not to ask "What is?" But fortunately for him, I continued. 'Mr. Peter, I also think of you as the father I never had, and that's why I want to show you. And not because I don't have anyone else to talk to,' Mr. Peter looked on the pale grass under his shoes, about to get emotional, 'because I really don't have anyone. But I'm doing this, because I consider you as a friend.'
'Thank you, Lucas.' Mr. Peter smiled, sniffing like a baby.
I let him calm himself for a minute.
'So, Lucas, what exactly...'
Before he even had a chance to finish his sentence, I grabbed his arm, by the inside of his right elbow, and then all I could see was extremely blurry colours, and the sound of rushing wind.