Ghosts

I’ve never felt so enraged as I stomped down these hallways. Of course, these linoleum floors had felt my wrath many of days, but none like this. I was on fire, man – oh, boy, I was going to kill that girl if I could find her. She was dead meat.

My fire red hair flashed across my sight like flames in an uproar, splitting a path down the middle of hallway like the Red Sea. I was on a mission.

“Mya! What the hell have you done?” I shouted as I spotted my best friend at her locker, her mocha-colored skin shining in the dim light of the halls and her dark brown, relaxed hair hanging past her shoulders. She was gorgeous and I swear I’m going to change that.

As if she knew what the fuss was about, she turned to me, her hands up in the air. “He already knew, Audrey! I swear to it!”

I huffed and I puffed and, well, stomped my feet on the ground like a child. “But why, Mya? I’ve kept my secret for so long.” I was pouting. I wanted to pull my hair out and just cry. Cry like a child without a toy.

She simply shrugged. “I don’t know, honey. I do know that it’s movie night tonight and it’s at my house this weekend. You’re coming over still, right?”

I sighed at her quick change of subject. “Fuck,” I sighed, my hand on my forehead. I was sweating immensely; my hair was becoming burgundy at the roots. I needed ice cream.

“Can we leave?” I mumbled, leaning against the large gray lockers, stacked only a few inches above my head. I could see above them up on my toes if I felt the occasion called for it.

I kind of just wanted to crawl inside these decent sized lockers and wither away. Oh, I just might.

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“James is having a party tonight, Aud; you want to come with me?” Mya asked from across the sticky yellow table. I was terrified to rest my chin in my hands, as I usually do, because of the texture of the Waffle House tables. It was definitely uninviting. My head felt so heavy.

I sighed. “I don’t know, Mya. I really don’t think I’m up for it.” And I wasn’t – I truly wasn’t up the for night’s events.

“I thought so,” she sighed, motioning towards the waiter arriving to our table. That was my queue to hush, so I did, and I watched the strange college student unload his tray, fill up Mya’s tea, and then disappear behind the swinging doors behind the counter. He was cute in one of those odd, abstract ways.

“I really just think that the party would get your mind off of your parents and you-know-who,” she added as she buttered up her naked waffle. I could fee, my nostrils flaring at the strange sugary sensation of the syrup she had just opened. These sticky table and odd waiters somehow made me feel at home – or maybe it was the syrup.

My waffle was gone before I even snapped out of my sweet trance. My tongue was sticking to the roof of my mouth from the strange concoction of syrup, butter, and peanut butter I added to my waffle and my stomach was churning for the speed I seemed to inhale my waffle in. I felt like I had just sucked my breakfast down into a black hole.

“I guess you’re right,” I murmured poorly, prying my tongue from the rest of my mouth. “I’ll go.”

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I woke up in the darkness of the night, an empty bowl that once held popcorn tumbling off of my belly and onto the floor. Mya groaned and rolled onto her other side, the blanket we were supposed to share wrapped around her body like a burrito. I rubbed at my eyes, no doubt smearing my already-smeared make-up even further down my cheeks. Taking a deep breath, I pushed myself up and looked at the clock.

2:03 PM; joy.

Turning off the DVD player, which had been replaying the same menu for over two hours now, I ventured into Mya’s secluded bathroom and washed my face in the dark. I knew I looked like a mess, and I felt like an absolute mess. My life was an absolute mess.

Mya’s window was still opened from when we had climbed through it merely three hours ago from sitting on her rooftop before the movie. I invited myself back outside into the world and perched on the roof of her house, her older brother’s light still on a few feet over.

I could see him sitting at his computer, messing with a music program. No doubt an artist in every sense of the word, Jamie’s walls were lined with different types of art works. He was very likely the reason I love anything artistic.

Peering back up to the thin, creeping clouds and away from Jamie’s window, I lay on my back carefully and watched the stars.

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The party had started nearly two hours ago and I already had the urging feeling to just leave. Mya had disappeared from my side about thirty minutes into the disaster and all I could think of was my parents most likely fighting at home right now, my dad having to compromise just to sleep on the couch. I really didn’t want to be here.

“What are you doing here?” someone laughed, their beer swishing in their red cup.

I sighed. “I’ve been asking myself the same question,” I mumbled, pushing my way through the crowd and up the stairs like I knew where I was going. I tried some doors, which were locked for reasons my mind was sure of, and was on the third hallway before I stumbled upon a bathroom with the door slightly ajar. It looked so welcoming.

Quickly, before anyone else could rob me of my chance of a serene setting, I dashed for the door and swung it open. I heard the thumb! sound off before I even felt the door reverberate the impact. I had already gasped and reached for the poor boy before my fingertips even recognized the feeling of wood hitting a hard object.

I was praying that he had already been unconscious for my own vain reasons, giving him slight, tapping slaps on each of his cheeks, his head cradled in my lap.

“Please, please wake up,” I begged, suddenly recognizing the face of our star running back on the football team. I groaned, closing my eyes and rubbing my face until it sagged down with my hands. “Fuck,” I groaned, seeing his eyes slowly come alive. They were terribly bloodshot and hazy.

“Who the fuck are you and why are you in my kitchen?” he mumbled with distaste.

I wanted to laugh; I wanted to slap him; I wanted to tell him that I was robbing him; I wanted to do many, many things to the drunk, high, obviously pompous, jerk that was half unconscious in my lap.

“Sweetie,” I mumbled through my teeth, “I’m your wife and you just passed out in the bathroom.”

He looked skeptically at me for a second, trying hard to cock his head to the side, but failing miserably. His motor skills were obviously shot, possibly from the hard bang on the head he got from the bathroom door.

Gulping, his face suddenly changed. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

I laughed slightly inwardly until he started to puke, then I helped him up to the toilet, holding the collar of his shirt back so tight I was tempted to just choke him to death, but I didn’t. I held my cool, even though this was the boy that had tripped me in the lunch room Wednesday and caused me to spill my delicious apple juice all over myself.

“It’s okay,” I mumbled, rubbing circles into his back, starting to feel bad for the poor soul. He obviously had his own demons to fight, why add drowning in his own vomit at a party to the list?

I hoisted him up when he was done puking and helped him to the car, calling Mya on the way to his house and telling her I had stolen the car and that she needed to get a ride back with Jason. We got off just as I pulled into his driveway and carried him to the backdoor, which I knew would be open.