Psyche

Jamie has never liked the body he’s in, but he’s also never felt such a deep urge to burn it.

Tuesday is gloomy like after a tornado disaster. Jamie keeps his head down during most of English, doodling on the back of yesterday’s homework. He doesn’t realize the mess he’s drawing until the lead breaks and he sees the picture is of someone burning alive, skin peeling off. But they’re smiling. It doesn’t faze him.

“Jamie, I’ve called your name six times.” Miss Jorgia walks over to him and touches his shoulder. Jamie flinches when she asks if he’s okay, soft and concerned like it’s a big deal. He covers the drawing and doesn’t look at her, but he can feel the classes’ stare. He hates it. Hates the attention she’s drawing. He asks her if he can go to the nurse’s office, and she makes a pass for him. He crumples the drawing and tosses it in the trashcan, not looking at anyone as he leaves.

The nurse is trying to coax a better response from Jamie other than, “I just don’t feel well.” He almost wants to flip her off and tell her never mind. He doesn’t need a reason everything, why can’t anyone get that? She finally asks if he wants to call Girlie and go home. He asks if he can just lie on the bench for awhile.

The bench is cold steel with flimsy blue bedding on top. The cold penetrates his thin shirt and he’s almost tempted to ask the nurse if she has a blanket. He closes his eyes and he’s only resting for ten minutes before he hears someone drift in. They murmur they’re there to give a note to Jamie. He doesn’t open his eyes. They don’t try to wake him. Something is placed beside him and when he opens his eyes the person is gone.

Jamie grabs the folded up pink paper and opens it.

You should ride my bus home with me. #82
-- Alexandria

He doesn’t see her for the rest of the day, so he can’t ask her why. When she doesn’t show up for lunch he spends it in the library, head down on a desk. The librarian acts the same way as Miss Jorgia and Jamie pretends he’s okay to get her to leave him alone.

No, not pretend, because he is okay.

When school finally lets out Jamie makes his way to bus 82. There’s an empty seat, right next to Alexandria, in the front and he waves at her as he sits down. She grins widely and begins chattering about anything that comes to mind.

“Don’t think I’m copying Jean or anything, but I have this strong urge to start a band. Just for fun. Not to get signed or anything but like, I want to play an all girl rock band and write songs and just scream. Courtney Love said screaming feels good and it actually does. You should try it. How does ‘Save Her Majesty’ sound for a band name? Nah, too metalcore-ish. Uh, ‘Alice’s Riot’ sounds kind of punk. ”

“Who is Alice?”

“The one in chains,” she whistles.

It’s such a bad, clever response that Jamie laughs anyway, and she giggles and holds his hand. Her thumb traces the thin green veins on the back of his hand, and he wonders if she can feel his heartbeat slowing down.

*****

Dawson is in the kitchen making a sandwich, but when he sees Alexandria and Jamie entering the room, he decides maybe he should make more before Alexandria eats his.

“My dad's only skinny 'cause I eat his food plus mine,” cackles Alexandria. She and Jamie go to her room where she dumps her messenger bag in her disorganized closet and kicks off her shoes. Jamie does the same and sits on the beanbag.

“So I know you’re not feeling okay,” Alexandria tells him, stretching her arms toward him and flexing her fingers. Her face is neutral, like this is just a routine thing for them.

Jamie almost feels offended, about to get up and pace around while telling her she overreacts too much. “But –,” he starts.

“No, I’m serious. One day you’re fine and the next it’s like you’re so sick and you just don’t care anymore. Don’t you notice? You think people don’t see?” The neutrality falls, and her lips tighten as if she’ll cry if she has to speak again. She sits in front of Jamie, arms crossed and eyes pointed at the ground. “I’m your friend and I care a lot. You might think I care too much, but I-I want to know. I don’t care what it is. You can tell me anything and I can try to help or at least listen. I can do that. I’m capable of just shutting up and listening - -whatever you want, just tell me what’s wrong.”

She talks with her hands moving, a frown on her face, and eyes clear and dry but he knows she wants to sob.

Because she’s scared. And it's his fault, for being a horrible person.

The fabric of his clothes are scratching his skin and overheating it. He doesn’t want to be here. He wants to throw up, but all that would come up would be stomach acid because he hasn’t be able to force himself to eat.

It’s always been fear. Of what may happened, of what Zack might do, of what Jamie will have to do, of what if no one believes him, what if Girlie doesn’t believe me because she loves Zack too much.

Then everyone would know everything and he’ll either be a disgusting liar or a poor, messed up child.

No one will understand it.

It won’t be okay.

There’ll be much more trouble.

“I don’t have anything to say. Not today.” Or tomorrow. Or ever. The lie burns his tongue but it’s better than anything else. It’s better than the sadness radiating off of Alexandria.

“Oh . . . But I’m here, ‘kay? You can talk to me any time. You can tell me anything.” She smiles, a sad attempt at lightening the mood since there’s nothing else.

“Yeah, sure.” He can't be bothered to fake a smile or laugh, and he suddenly wishes she will go away. He wants to be all alone, pretend nothing outside him exists. He can't stay in this place, in this life, anymore.

He needs to go.