Remembering Sunday

The cold Baltimore air hit my face, the only exposed flesh on my body. It hit me like the rouge base ball at my third grade tee-ball game.
It felt as if Mother Nature had punched me in the face. Jack Frost was not nipping at my nose, he was chomping on it as if he were a savage carnivore.
I walked to the end of my drive way, my feet slipping and sliding across the thick sheet of ice obscured from my vision under the powdery layer of snow.
My purple Converse too tight on my feet due to the three pairs of socks.
My body was chilled to the bone. My teeth chattered and I shook worse than someone a wooden roller coaster.
“Stupid bus driver...” I mumbled to myself, my breath spreading out in front of me in a thin mist. She was late.
The sun glared off of the snow, blinding me. I pulled my purple Aviators from my pocket and pushed them onto the bridge of my nose.
I felt like shit. My bones and joints seemed to ache, and I seemed to be bloated. Must be close to “that time of the month,” I thought.
Great.
Before I knew it, the Twinkie yellow machine pulled into my range of vision and stopped, flipping on its lights.
I walked across the road and up the stairs, searching for an empty seat, my heart pounding in fear of having to sit next to and socialize with another human being.
I spotted a lone empty seat towards the back. I sighed in relief and sat down, pushing my ear buds into my ears and took comfort in the smooth voice of M. Shadows.
I was the last person on the bus, thus having conflicted feelings toward the matter. One up side was that I had a 10 minute bus ride, but the down side was the fact that there were hardly any empty seats and nobody wanted to share.
I closed my eyes and laid my head against the frosty window, almost falling asleep until the bus stopped. We had arrived at the hell hole.
Baltimore High. Being a public school, it was a place full of jocks, preppy bitches, druggies, nerds, just about any social class you could come up with and I didn’t fit in with a single one of them.
Cliques gathered and took up half the hall way, freshman ran screaming up and down the corridors, and jocks shoved whimpering nerd into lockers as I walked to my locker.
God I hate people.
Once at my locker, I put my stuff away and got out my first hour books. I was completely oblivious to the world around me due to the music in my ears.
Thus adding to the fact that Jack could scare the shit out of me.
He grabbed me, picked me up and tossed me over his shoulder, laughing all the while.
“Jack!! Jack put me down!!!!” I squealed, beating my fists against his back and butt.
He set me on my feet and gave me a shit-eating grin. His six foot, two inch frame towered over my five foot one inch self, making me feel like a midget.
“Fuck you.” I spat, crossing my arms and pretending to be angry. He ruffled my hair.
“Oh come on babe, calm your tits and smile.” he replied, pulling me into a hug.
Hugging Jack Barakat was like being wrapped in a large, warm blanket. He was like my older brother, he had beat up so many guys for me and been my escape from everything since we were in second grade.
All too soon he let me go and walked away, waving good bye.
I hurried to my first hour class, hoping to make it before the bell.
***
I walked into the lunch room, my metal Avengers lunch box in my hand and sat at an empty table next to the window. I opened the box and began munching on the ham and cheese sandwich I packed.
I set it down after a few bites. My stomach was protesting.
I wondered what was wrong with me. I was always an eating machine, leaving no sandwich or Oreo cookie untouched.
I pulled my knees to my chest and laid my forehead on my knees. God I felt shitty.
“Psssst.”
What?
“Pssst!! Wednesday?”
I looked up and saw Jack hiding around the corner. He gestured for me to come to him.
I grabbed my lunch box and walked over to him.
“What do you want Barakat? Your supposed to be in art.” I scolded him.
“I missed you!”
I laughed as he pulled me into a hug and spun me.
“Whoa, no Jack!” I squealed, my stomach lurching and my face turning green.
“Whoa, you don’t look so good, Wednesday...” he observed.
I clamped my hand over my mouth and ran to the nearest woman’s restroom, barging in and leaning over the toilet. My stomach contents came up and spilled into the toilet.
I heard the door open and foot steps against the tile. Then I felt hands pull my hair back from my face and some one rubbing small circles on my back.
“Jack, what are you doing? What if someone sees you?” I mumbled, weakly pushing him away.
“I don’t care. You’re sick.”
I groaned as more stomach bile came up. It burned my throat. Beads of sweat ran down my face as I convulsed and continued heaving into the porcelain bowl.
“You’re burning up...” Jack said, putting his hand to my face.
I leaned back against Jack’s chest, putting my head on his shoulder.
He picked me up, one arm under my knees and one arm around my shoulders and walked to the main office.
He walked in and set me in the chair. The secretary hurried over to me, bringing the trash can and feeling my forehead.
“Are you alright honey?” she asked sweetly. I shook my head.
“She just tossed her cookies.” Jack explained.
“Did she make it to the bathroom?” the lady asked. Of course she was first concerned with the school’s sanitation.
Jack nodded.
The lady asked me for my phone number and presumed to call my parents, explaining that I was feverish and ill.
About fifteen minutes later my mother strode into the office, gasping once she saw me.
“Baby are you alright?” she asked, fawning over me. I waved my hands at her, wanting her out of my personal space.
“Mum Im fine.” I croaked.
She shook her head and proceeded to sign me out. I stood up to walk to her car when Jack scooped me up and carried me out.
“Jack I can walk.” I assured.
“Shut up.” he commanded. I laid my head against his shoulder and closed my eyes. He set me in the car and buckled me, kissing my forehead and closing the door gently. My mom got in and drove me home.
***
Around six that night, Jack brought me the shit from my locker and some soup. My mom had left for work a few hours ago and I was left on the couch with the T.V remote, a bucket, and permission to order and pay-per-view movie I wanted.
He came in the house and sat next to me.
“You shouldn’t be here.” I scolded. “I don’t want to get you sick.”
“I was worried. You never get sick!” he replied.
“I know. Weird. I’ve felt like shit all week.”
“You’ve looked like it too.” he joked. I punched his arm.
Jack stayed for a movie after he heated up the soup he brought and forced me to eat some, despite my strange lack of appetite.
I tried to stand up to take our bowls to the kitchen, but agonizing pain shot through my knees and I crumpled to the floor with a cry.
Jack picked me up, worry lacing his expression.
He carried me to my bedroom and tucked me in, humming a song I didn’t recognize.
“Stay there.” he commanded, then left.
***
I woke up the next day, my bladder refusing to let me sleep some more. I walked to the bathroom and took care of business.
I walked into the living room, stopping frequently to catch my breath.
Why was I so winded? I mean, Im not the most athletic person but come on, I should be able to walk seven feet to the living room.
I found Jack sawing logs on the couch and my mom at the table.
“He stayed all night.” she stated, pointing to the sleeping boy on the couch.
I nodded, walking to her and sitting on her lap.
“Mommy I feel like poo.” I whined.
“You sure are burning up, babe. Is anything else out of whack?” she asked.
I nodded. “Im really bloated, but my period doesn’t start for another three weeks, I get breathless, and my bones and joints ache.”
“Hmmm. Maybe I should call the doctor.” she pondered.
“No!” I yelled. I absolutely hated the doctor. Cold metal instruments and cold hands. I shuddered. Not my things.
My mom sighed. “I’ll give it one more day but then Im calling it in. No ifs ans or buts.” she said.