An hour ago Ashlynne’s mom, Kaitlyn, blew a gasket; Ashlynne
used her lunch money to buy small bags of chips at the vending machine instead
of utilizing the school’s excuse for a lunch program. Her mother’s reaction surprised Ashlynne; the
two had always joked about how disgusting school lunches are. She didn’t imagine her mother was upset about
the nutritional value of potato chips – this was the woman who kept the house
stocked up on Little Debbie snacks for breakfast and after-school snacks. Who refused to buy apples and bananas because
she didn’t think her children would eat them.
Yeah, sometimes the fruit went bad.
But, hey, there were Little Debbies to devour, too.
Kaitlyn was probably pissed because the school secretary called
her at work when Ashlynne tried to cash the check meant to cover this week’s
lunches. Ashlynne noticed the secretary wincing
when she overheard Kailtlyn yelling over the phone. A bubble burst – they were not a perfect
family if her daughter was skipping meals and eating junk at school. What did Ashlynne think her mom had been
working for all this time?! Ashlynne didn’t
share her opinion that Kaitlyn worked because she couldn’t stand being shut up
in the house with twin babies. It didn’t
help that last year Kaitlyn had shared a memory with Ashlynne; one of how
colicky baby Ashlynne was and how difficult it was to put up with the constant
upset stomach, the loud cries. The only
one who could ever calm her down was her older brother, Hunter. He’d sing softly in the rocking chair, walk
around outside in the evening breeze, snuggle in his own bed until Ashlynne
fell asleep. Kaitlyn had some peace this
way, was able to tend to baby Ethan, Ashylnne’s twin. It was no wonder to Ashlynne that Kaitlyn ran
to work. This was, of course, not how
Kaitlyn saw the memory. Kaitlyn meant it
was hard to hear her baby be in such discomfort and feel like there was nothing
that would truly help. But of course,
teenage Ashlynne heard what she wanted to hear, heard an echo of the truth she
accepted in her heart. There was something wrong with her from the
very beginning.
Ashlynne didn’t bring up that conversation – just mumbled an
apology she didn’t really feel. Kaitlyn said
they would discuss the issue later that evening and then she slammed the phone
down on her end, leaving Ashlynne to stare at the receiver in her hand before
quietly placing it back on the cradle on the office desk. The school secretary looked at Ashlynne with
sad eyes, handed her five lunch tickets in exchange for her mother’s check, and
offered a couple dollars for the vending machine. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t think –”
“It’s okay,” Ashlynne cut her off. She picked up the lunch tickets, left the
dollar bills on the desk, and walked to the girls’ locker-room. In the bathroom area, she grabbed paper
towels, soaked them in cold water, and held them to her face as tears spilled
past her eyelids and turned the cold rough paper warm. When the tears stopped, she threw the paper
towels away, soaked fresh ones in cold water, and again held them to her face
until the splotchy redness faded from her cheeks. Then she dressed down and made her way out to
the gym.
Not wanting to add more frustration to her day by being
confronted by a lack of athletic ability, Ashlynne asked Coach if she could
just run laps all period instead. He
looked at her like she was a nut. “You’d
rather run for fifty minutes instead of playing ball?”
“Yeah. Is that
alright?” When he shrugged his ascent, she
started off. Around the outside of the
basketball court, up the stairs to the bleachers, across the very top, down the
stairs, and around the court again. The
class started every day with five laps, and Ashlynne found extra comfort in the
monotony. One foot in front of the other
was something she could dominate. Around
the court, up the steps, across the top of the bleachers, back down the steps
and around the court again. Her
cross-trainers beat a rhythm against the backdrop of the bouncing basketballs
and the triumphant cheers of her classmates as they drove in lay-ups and sunk
three-pointers. Ashlynne stomped up the
stairs to the bleachers, slapping out her frustrations with every step. Why
couldn’t the secretary just cash out the check?
And offering a couple dollars for chips after she overheard Kaitlyn's berating? Ashlynne don’t want her pity. Yeah whispered a voice inside. You’re feeling sorry enough for yourself as
it is.
Around the basketball court, pound up the stairs, across the
top of the bleachers, down the stairs again, around the court. Ashlynne’s calves were burning now, her sides
ached. Her breaths were heavy puffs,
gasps. She liked this; the physical pain
numbed her emotions.
Pounding up the stairs again, she began releasing her anger. Realized her mom was probably just having a
stressful day and had overreacted to the exchanging check issue. They’d talk about it tonight, unless Kaitlyn forgot
and just got wrapped up in a show instead.
Was it wrestling night? Law &
Order? Some new reality contest
series? As the sweat ran down Ashlynne’s
neck, making her shirt cling to her back, beading in a pool between her breasts,
she felt her stresses float away, evaporating off her mind as her body tried to
cool itself.
Eventually she was lost in the slap, slap, slap of her feet
on the gym floor, the stompstompstompstomp as she puffed up the stairs again,
the basketballs pounding on the floor and her classmates hollering at each
other as they enjoyed their game. Down
the stairs, around the court, up the stairs again. Across the bleachers and down, ‘til Coach
blew his whistle and shouted, “Shower!”
Ashlynne slowed to a stop, leaned against the brick wall of
the gym, and drew in ragged breaths, trying to bring her heart to a slower,
steady rhythm. When she wasn’t fighting
for every breath any more, she headed to the locker-room. The busses would leave to take students home
in about twenty minutes.
Normally she didn’t bother with a shower in the locker-room
after gym class, preferring to wait for the privacy of a shower at home. So did the other girls – well, most of them
stayed after school for track or softball practices and would get sweaty all
over again anyway. Ashlynne normally
didn’t work this hard in gym, though. Her
clothes clung to her body, her pony tail was drenched. Sweat streaked across her splotchy red face. You look ridiculous that voice taunted again. But, no one could tell she'd been crying before class.
Ashlynne decided to at least rinse off before changing back
into her regular clothes. She didn’t
have a towel, though. Crud. She decided just to do the best she could,
subbing her sweatshirt for a towel.
In the shower area, Ashlynne chose a corner faucet out of
view of the entrance, hung her sweatshirt-towel on a hook a few feet away, and
turned the shower faucet on, giving the water time to heat up before she
stepped beneath the spray. She stripped
out of her clothes and tossed them in an opposite corner. Before long, the shower area was full of
steam and the water was hot – too hot to stand under.
Although Ashlynne had never showered at school before, there
was an eerie familiarity in the steam-filled room and the hot water searing her
skin. The sound of water hitting the
concrete floor felt amplified; every drop that splattered at her feet echoed in
her head. Muffled out the banter of the girls
by the lockers. The steam was everywhere;
she couldn’t see the faucet control on the wall, had to feel blindly until her hand
settled on it and turned the dial. The
water still burned as she stood under the spray, but she clenched her jaw and
tipped her head side-to-side, rotated under the burning spray till all the
sweat drained away. Ashlynne lost
herself in the familiarity – it wasn’t a comfortable knowledge, and she wanted
to figure out what dark something was lurking.
A memory of a hot shower, a room full of steam, a dial she couldn’t
find, water she couldn’t cool.
She turned her back to the shower, yanked the elastic band out
of her hair, and tipped her head back as the water ran over her head, down both
sides of her body. She discovered bright
red rivers twisting across her breasts and stomach. She stared at her body, unable to make sense
of the painful awareness, unable to place her memory.
“Ashlynne?!” A voice
snapped her away from trying to figure out what was going on and her heart
slammed into her chest, panicked. Hunter?
Shit! She could have sworn
that was her oldest brother’s voice, though reason dictated it must’ve been
coach, trying to prod her along. Hunter wasn’t
even in the state anymore. She had to
get dressed and run to catch the bus home, or she’d have to wait at the school
until her parents picked up Ethan from practice. Which meant Kaitlyn would have to cook dinner
tonight. “One more way you’ll disappoint
her today,” piped Ashlynne’s inner voice.
Ashlynne pushed the negative thoughts aside, turned off the
water, grabbed her sweatshirt and briskly dried off – as well as she could with
a sweatshirt, anyway. She slipped the
damp sweatshirt over her head, gathered her gym clothes, and headed to the
lockers. Hastily pulled on her jeans –
no panties, they were sweat-soaked – and stuffed the rest of her clothes and
her cross trainers in her bag. Her wet
hair left little rivulets across her cheeks and forehead. She slipped into flip-flops and rushed out of
the gym, toward the busses. “Don’t get
left behind,” she heard Coach calling after her.
Little kids were lined up outside the small elementary
school; there were still a couple minutes until the bus would leave. At her small country school, elementary,
middle school, and high school students all rode together. Ashlynne slowed to a walk and had her breathing
under control again when she climbed the bus steps, said “Hi,” to the driver,
and chose a seat toward the back of the bus.
All she could think about at that moment, as she leaned against the
window and stretched her feet across the seat, was why her mind screamed
“Hunter!” in a panic when the coach called her name.
She closed her eyes and tried to push all thoughts out of her
mind, but the edges turned black and everything flooded – the conversation with
Kaitlyn, skipping lunches, the creepy feeling in the shower, and hearing Hunter’s
voice in the middle of everything. Anger
built up inside and she desperately wanted to change into running clothes and
make everything melt away.
She heard another voice just then. “Jeez, you look like shit.” And a chuckle. Right away she knew it was Ethan’s friend, Colt,
but she wasn’t in a mood to joke around or be pestered. She just wanted everything to disappear.