“Jake,” I whisper.
I need to think, but it’s so warm here, humid. Steam all around me. I need to figure out how I can get out of here. There’s no point trying to figure out why he’s doing this or who he is. That doesn’t matter. None of it matters.
If I can somehow make it outside the school, I can run for the road. If I make it to the road, I’ll run. I won’t stop. My lungs will burn and my legs will be jelly and I won’t stop. I promise. I won’t stop. I will run as far and as fast as possible. I’ll get away from here to somewhere else, anywhere else. Where things are different. Where life is possible. Where everything isn’t so old.
Or maybe I could last in here alone. Maybe longer than I think. Maybe I could find new places to hide, to blend into the walls. Maybe I could stay in here, live here. In a corner. Under a desk. In the locker rooms.
Someone is there. At the far end of the showers. The floor’s slippery. Wet, steamy tiles. I have an urge to stand under the jet, the steaming water. Just to stand there. But I don’t.
It’s his clothes. By the last stall. I pick them up. Pants and a shirt, balled up, wet. Jake’s clothes. These are Jake’s clothes! I drop them. Why are his clothes in here? And where is he?
An emergency exit. I need one. Now.
Leaving the changing room, I hear the music again. The same song. From the beginning. In the locker rooms, the classrooms, the halls. The speakers are everywhere, but I can’t see them. Does it ever stop? I think so, but I’m not sure anymore. Maybe the same song has been playing this whole time.
I KNOW PEOPLE TALK ABOUT the opposite of truth and the opposite of love. What is the opposite of fear? The opposites of unease and panic and regret? I’ll never know why we came to this place, how I ended up confined like this, how I ended up so alone. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Why me?
I sit down on the hard floor. There is no way out. There’s no way out of this gym. No way out of this school. There never was. I want to think about nice things, but I can’t. I cover my ears. I’m crying. There’s no way out.
I’VE BEEN WALKING AND CRAWLING around this school forever.
I think there’s a perception that fear and terror and dread are fleeting. That they hit hard and fast when they do, but they don’t last. It’s not true. They don’t fade unless they’re replaced by some other feeling. Deep fear will stay and spread if it can. You can’t outrun or outsmart or subdue it. Untreated, it will only fester. Fear is a rash.
I can see myself sitting in the blue chair beside my bookshelf in my room. The lamp is on. I try to think about it, the soft light it emits. I want this to be in my mind. I’m thinking of my old shoes, the blue ones I wear only in the house, like slippers. I need to focus on something outside this school, beyond the darkness, the crippling, oppressive silence, and the song.
My room. I’ve spent so much time in that room, and it still exists. It’s still there, even when I’m not. It’s real. My room is real.
I just have to think about it. Focus on it. Then it’s real.
In my room, I have books. They comfort me. I have an old brown teapot. There’s a chip in the spout. I bought it at a garage sale for one dollar a long time ago. I can see the teapot sitting on my desk amid the pens, pencils, notepads, and my full shelves.
My favorite blue chair is imprinted with my body weight. My shape. I’ve sat in it hundreds of times, thousands. It’s molded to my form, to me alone. I can go there now and sit in the quiet of my mind, where I’ve been before. I have a candle. I have one, only one; I’ve never lit it. Not once. It’s a deep red, almost crimson. It’s in the shape of an elephant, the white wick rising out of the animal’s back.
It was a gift from my parents after I graduated high school at the top of my class.
I always thought I would light that candle one day. I never did. The more time passed, the harder it became to light. Whenever I thought an occasion might be special enough to burn the candle, it felt like I was settling. So I would wait for a better occasion. It’s still there, unlit, on top of a bookcase. There was never an occasion special enough. How could that be?
—He’d been working at the school for more than thirty years. No previous incidents. Nothing in his file.
—Nothing? That’s unusual, too. More than thirty years at one job. At one school.
—Lived out in an old place. I think it was originally his parents’ farmhouse. They both died a long time ago, so I’m told. Everyone I talk to says he was quite gentle. He just didn’t seem to know how to talk to people. Couldn’t relate to them. Or didn’t try. I don’t think he was interested in socializing. He took lots of his breaks out in his truck. He’d just go sit in his pickup at the back of the school. That was his break.
—And what was it about his hearing?
—He had cochlear implants. His hearing had become pretty bad. He had allergies to certain foods, milk and dairy. He had a delicate constitution. He didn’t like to go down to the school’s boiler room in the basement. He’d always ask someone else to go if there was work to be done down there.
—Strange.
—And all those notebooks and diaries and books. Always his nose in a book. I remember seeing him in one of the science labs, after school had ended, and he was standing there, looking at nothing. I watched him for a bit and then went into the classroom. He didn’t notice me. He wasn’t cleaning as he should have been. He had no reason to be in there, so I very gently asked what he was doing. There was a moment before he replied, and then he turned, calmly put a finger to his mouth, and “shhh-ed” me. I couldn’t believe it.
—Very strange.
—And before I could say anything else, he said, “I don’t even want to hear the clock.” Then he just walked by me and left. I’d forgotten about it until all this happened.
—If he was so smart, you wonder, why was he pushing a mop for so long? Why didn’t he do something else?
—You have to interact with coworkers in most jobs. You can’t just sit in your truck.
—Still, a school custodian? That’s what I don’t understand. If he wanted to be alone, why did he work at a job where he was surrounded by people? Wouldn’t that be a kind of self-torture?
—Yeah, come to think of it, I guess it probably would.
On my hands and knees, crawling along what I think is the music room. Blood drips from my nose onto the floor. I’m not in the room. I’m in a narrow hall on the outside. There are windows into the room. My head is thumping, on fire. There are many red chairs and black music stands. There is no order.
I can’t get Jake’s parents out of my mind. How his mom hugged me. She didn’t want to let me go. She looked so poorly by the end. She was worried, scared. Not for herself. For us. Maybe she knew. I think she always knew.
I’m thinking a million thoughts. I’m feeling disoriented, confused. He asked me what I thought about them. Now I know what I think. It’s not that they weren’t happy but that they were stuck. Stuck together, stuck out there. There was an underlying resentfulness from each for the other. With me being there, it was best-behavior time. But they couldn’t fully hide the truth. Something had upset them.
I’m thinking of childhood. Memories. I can’t stop myself. These moments of childhood I haven’t thought about in years or ever. I can’t focus. I can’t keep people straight. I’m thinking about everyone.
“We’re just talking,” Jake said.
“We’re communicating,” I replied. “We’re thinking.”
When I was resting and scratched the back of my head with my hand, I felt a bald spot the size of a quarter. I’ve pulled out more hair. Hair isn’t alive. All those visible cells have already died. It’s dead, lifeless, when we touch and cut and style it. We see it, touch it, clean it, care for it, but it’s dead. My hands still have red on them.
Now it’s my heart. I’m angry with it. The constant beating. We’re wired to be unaware of it, so why am I aware of it now? Why is the beating making me angry? Because I don’t have a choice. When you become aware of your heart, you want it to stop beating. You need a break from the constant rhythm, a rest. We all need a rest.
The most important things are perpetually overlooked. Until something like this. Then they are impossible to ignore. What does that say?
We’re mad at these limits and needs. Human limits and fragility. You can’t be only alone. Everything’s both ethereal and clunky. So much to depend on, and so much to fear. So many requirements.
What’s a day? A night? There’s grace in doing the right thing, in making a human decision. We always have the choice. Every day. We all do. For as long as we live, we always have the choice. Everyone we meet in our life has the same choice to consider, over and over. We can try to ignore it, but there’s only one question for us all.
We think the end of this hall leads back to one of the large halls with all those lockers. We’ve been everywhere. There’s nowhere else to go. It’s the same old school. The same one as always.
We can’t go back upstairs again. We can’t. We tried. We really tried. We did our best. How long can we suffer?
We sit here. Here. We’ve been here, sitting.
Of course we’re uncomfortable. We have to be. I knew it. I know it. I said it myself:
I’m going to say something that will upset you now: I know what you look like. I know your feet and hands and your skin. I know your head and your hair and your heart.
You shouldn’t bite your nails.
I know I shouldn’t. I know that. We’re sorry.
We remember now. The painting. It’s still in our pocket. The painting Jake’s mom gave us. The portrait of Jake that was meant to be a surprise. We’ll hang it on the wall with the other pictures. We take it out of our pocket, slowly unfold it. We don’t want to look, but have to. It took a long time to paint it, hours, days, years, minutes, seconds. The face is there looking at us. All of us are in there. Distorted. Blurry. Fragmented. Explicit and unmistakable. Paint on my hands.
The face is definitely mine. The man. It’s recognizable in the way all self-portraits are. It’s me. Jake.
Are you good? Are you?
There’s grace in doing the right thing, in making a choice. Isn’t there?
DANCING THE NIGHT AWAY. TICKETS ARE $10.
WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?
What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for?