42
The young
head bent so low that the stringy blonde
lady,
hair hangs in front
of her face
like
limp spaghetti, bustles Realizing that she
into the molded-plastic classroom.
several minutes late, she slinks to the back
row
is
low and
as
my row, the am given a
Just as she steps past
invisible as possible.
shabby filaments of hair swing
and
out,
shocking, clear glimpse of her face.
I
She
is
smiling.
The
kind of mischievous grin one would expect to find on a fox
with an egg
in its
until
I
jaws.
wander to nowhere, stumble into the computer lab.
After class
artists are
I
lost in It is
my
thoughts,
completely dark;
deathly afraid of the ten a.m. sunlight. The
darkness feels comfortable as
I
make my way through
the
maze of desks and chairs guided by the force and intimate knowledge of the room to a computer console in the corner. A bump into the table wakes the sleeping computer, which slowly hums to life with the attitude of a disturbed cat, yawning and stretching after its nap. Once seated the layers of cloth armor fall off without the begin the allchilly enemy of winter weather present. I
important task which brought 1
have none. Which
fluff,
no substance.
suppose
It
me
here
to say, nothing
is
— checking my
e-mail.
more than spam.
feels like the description of
my
All
life.
1
could write to someone. They would probably
I
write back, even happy to hear from me. Other than
shedding that ray into their point of writing
anything
is
would
be.
It
am
I
do not know what the
not sure what the point of
anymore.
The day continues. period.
lives, I
seems
that
I
I
nod off during the next
class
only blink, and the clock jumps.
As
my virgin notepad I notice my fingernails The shimmering blue has been slopped around the nail as much wonder why I bother to paint my nails. What as on it. must people think when they see me? pack up
I
Randy Dunn
I
