4 minute read
Weight, Hayden Turley
WEIGHT
HAYDEN TURLEY, 12
I WAS about to take a shower when I saw the wasp in the bathtub. It was buzzing around the faucet and making all kinds of noises that drilled into my ears. It felt like the wasp was already poised to sting me and attempt to take my life, but it hadn’t done me any harm. At least not yet, that is. It had disturbed me. Its mere presence was enough to infuriate me. One moment, I was ready to relax and let my mind drift as the hot water would pour on my shoulders, but the sight of the wasp had completely changed that. I rushed to get the wasp spray and returned promptly to smite my insectoid nemesis. I sprayed it and it shriveled up into itself, writhing in shock and pain. I didn’t feel sorry for it. Only relief took over my thoughts and a weight of anxiety was lifted from my chest. The following morning I woke up from an unsettling dream. I don’t quite remember what it was, but the feeling persisted long after I had risen from my bed. I do remember that things had seemed to go wrong, that those around me couldn’t hear what I was trying to say, screaming for someone to help me fi gure out the disorienting world around. It felt so real, so possible that I have to wonder what it all means. But it was a dream. Only a dream. I had a coffee with cream and sugar and a bagel. I checked the time and decided I had better leave the house and I started towards work. The drive was the same as it always was, uneventful. The road seemed endless. It just kept feeding underneath the car like a conveyor belt. I had to shake my head a couple times to keep me from dozing off. I wasn’t tired, just calm, observing my surroundings without experiencing any kind of change. I arrived at the offi ce and didn’t say hello to anybody. I just went to my desk and sat in silence for a little while. Samantha came over to me and asked what I was doing. “Nothing,” I said. “Just thinking, really.” “What are you thinking about?” She asked me. “Papers. Just all these papers I have to fi ll out.” I hoped she would ask me about what I was really feeling. I wasn’t thinking about my paperwork at all. I was thinking about how beautiful she looked today. The sun was shining through the windows and I could just barely hear the birds’ morning song over the sound of the fax machine and the typing of keys. I squinted my eyes as I looked at the sun and then closed them. The light warmed my skin and I breathed in and out deeply. My boss came over to me and asked me if I had fi nished my weekly report yet. I said no. He told me he needed it by the end of the day, and I told him I would take care of it. The hours seemed to bleed into one another and my vision became blurred. When I woke from my haze, I saw that I had fi nished the report. The work day was over, so I handed in the report to my boss. He thanked me and wished me a good weekend. I half-heartedly wished him the same experience. The drive home was the same also. Again, the road fed underneath the car like a conveyor belt. The cars in the opposite lane continued to whoosh by mine. I caught glimpses of a few strangers looking forward, driving towards the direction I had just come from. There was no barrier between the opposite lanes. Suddenly a thought came to me. I thought of swerving into the opposite lane; not because I wanted to die, but to have some sort of a change. I wondered what God would say if I did it, if I would still make it to Heaven if I died
right there on the road. Then I didn’t see anything at all. I woke up and my head was bleeding. It was running into my eyes and I could smell it. Blood smells acidic and it stings your nose. People don’t often smell it, the blood that drips occasionally when we get cuts on our thumbs, let alone a gash on our head. Steam was billowing from the engine. Shards of glass littered the seats and the dashboard. I looked to see the car that I had crashed into. The woman inside was either dead or unconscious. She looked like my mother. I sat there looking at her, ignoring the pain of my broken arm and my bleeding forehead. An ambulance came and the paramedics came to me, asking if I was hurt. They tried to get me out of the car, but I told them to leave me be. I told them to help the woman who looked like my mother before they came to me. To my surprise, they listened to me and did as I asked. When I was loaded onto the stretcher, I asked about the woman. They told me she died on impact. I stared off into the evening sky and said nothing. On the way to the hospital, I cried. I didn’t say much to the doctor when he came to ask me about the accident. I did say that I would apologize to the family of the woman, if she had one that is. I went to sleep and dreamt of Samantha’s face. I dreamt about the woman. I dreamt of my mother. Now I sit in a cold cell and dream. Alone I dream.
