The Kid Being Picked up Last Monday, 2:23 pm The elementary school gym. It’s Monday; Mom works late tonight. I write this from the corner of the jungle we call our gym. I sit in our aftercare program, the program for kids with parents like mine who thought keeping their job was more important than raising their child. I am left here with all of these nauseatingly enthusiastic counselors who want me to color or play basketball or do something “more productive than just sitting there”. “NO,” I tell them. Go bother someone else. There are plenty of kids on this battlefield. There’s Julie over there sprinting around, trying to avoid the volley of dodgeballs being flung in her direction. She shields herself behind the brush with Ethan. Ethan just sits, sobbing; he isn’t meant for this war. Elyse, stationed at the singular desk in the corner, drafts up our plans on construction paper. If there is a god, I pray he shows her the way out of this place. Of course, if there was a god what would he be doing in a place like this? Eating boogers, probably. Tyler and John tag team the basketball court and defend it from any invaders. Plenty of people these counselors could be bothering, but of course it’s me they choose. Just leave me in this corner all alone. Leave me as I wait to see if the prophecy will fulfill itself, if I will once again be the last kid left in this gym.
Monday, 3:12 pm Good men fall every minute. I watch as they make their escape. They cannot take this warzone anymore, and must retreat to their barracks, where life is normal again. I direct my gaze at Elyse’s desk. With every man we lose—men with families, AquaPets—her writing becomes more frantic. Whatever she’s working on, I pray she’s done before it is too late. I envy our dead. Ethan is the first to go. His sobbing echoes in my ears long after he is gone. I have yet to move from this spot. The counselor keeps offering me a juice box but I refuse. It is not 100% juice that I crave, but Oblivion. Or like, the ability to head home. Whichever comes first. My thoughts drift to my mother, at her desk job. Does putting those papers
in their folders occupy your mind, mother? Lost in your expense reports and accounts receivable, blissfully unaware while your son deteriorates out in this abattoir. I am done with my homework; they keep asking me if I want to play a game, but I don’t. This is not a game. I don’t know what they don’t understand about this. I hope my mom is happy, because I certainly am not.
Monday, 4:16 pm The gone (but not forgotten) now outnumber those that remain; the parents leaving work at 4:00 are rushing to the school to pick them up. Julie emerges from her hiding spot to sprint towards the door one final time. Elyse leaves her plans to emerge from this war as if nothing happened. “Bye,” they taunt. “See you tomorrow!” I’m pretty sure I’ve been sitting in my own filth for hours. I can’t remember the last time I got up to use the bathroom. My mouth is so dry and water is nowhere in sight. The counselor with the juice box has stopped visiting me, I almost miss her company. I almost miss the prospect of a juice box. I regret snapping at her the last time she came around; I responded with a sharp pencil held menacingly close to her body. I screamed at her beautiful, young-ish face, “IF YOU ASK ME ONE. MORE. TIME.” I wish she knew it was just the cost of war. I miss her. My legs are weak. I don’t even think I could get up if I tried. There are so few of us left. God, I can still hear Ethan sobbing.
Monday, 5:34 pm There are only five of us left. Tyler and John have been defending our territory for hours now, and the sound of the ball hitting the gym floor grows louder in the depths of my mind. I try not to think of anything except for how my face feels on this scuffed, icy floor. I still haven’t moved, and I have no plans to, I don’t even think I could if I tried. I wonder what life would be like if my mom never went to work, how it would be if I was home right now with a nice, cold juice box, on top of the world. I cannot let my own sense of self-pity drive me to surrender! Thinking of Tyler—never one
By A shley Verno la
to quit when the chips are down—and John, always eager to follow, I heave myself off of the vulcanized floor. Barely managing a crawl, I work my way to the desk which still bare’s Elyse’s plans. Could it really be so simple? Rising to my feet I snatch the Crêpe-like paper. I am triumphant. A tear wells in my eye’s corner. Freedom awaits. I turn the paper over and—it’s a horse. Just a drawing of a horse. Splayed about once more on the hardwood, I hold back tears and some sniffly-snots. God, I wish my mom would come home from work. The counselors call to Tyler and John. It’s about time for them to get discharged. They’ve fought the good fight and now it is time. But what about my time? I only feel myself falling deeper and deeper into the abyss. I can hear Julie and Elyse saying goodbye to me as they leave. It plays over again, the taunting tone in their voices. Heh, I got out earlier than you, sucker.
Monday, 6:12 pm The very last counselor has made her way over to me. Her disappointment can be felt from across the room, as can the state of her breath. She shakes my shoulder to make sure that I am conscious, though I feel only the emotional shrapnel in my veins. I’ve been praying for a forever sleep. My comrades have left and I’m all alone. I’m always all alone. I miss their company. I miss the sobbing and the sound of shots fired. I miss Juice Box, the only name by which I now recall the other counselor. Now that I’m so close to the end, I only wish I would have taken a sip of that juice. I emerge from the darkness, from the abyss of my mind, and raise my head from this frigid floor to face the counselor hovering above me. She doesn’t even try to smile, and in the same tone that I’ve heard every week since school has begun, she asks me, “Are you sure your parents are supposed to pick you up?” The war lives on only in my heart.