#reposado

Chapter 1

In hindsight, I think I first noticed the blood in the women’s bathroom. If there was something more subtle, it never caught me by the hair and dragged my face to it, like a dog being scolded for soiling the carpet. Maybe there was something subtle I missed. Maybe several things. But the first one I remember is a Monday morning, looking in the mirror as I put on mascara, and there it was reflected in the smudgy glass, painted on a stall door.

Like… you remember, when you see a crusty, dark brown handprint. That sort of thing stands out.

It had clearly dried over the course of the weekend, there was nobody else in the bathroom, but… ew. We all bleed, it’s gross, whatever. You don’t have to smear it on the door of a bathroom stall like a psycho. But on the other hand, it’s high school, there are psychos here. You just hope none of them are the shoot-y type, and you live your life.

Lashes, lips, done. I’d originally been planning to chill here for awhile, but the bathroom had less of a sanctuary vibe with that period blood handprint - nasty - so I might as well get back out into the fray. It was whatever. Seventeen isn’t technically grown up, but it’s the worst parts of adulthood, and the worst parts of being a kid. You’re just… stuck in the middle, you know? You’re not really allowed to be anybody.

And your problems aren’t really adult or kid either. They’re in between, like everything else. This was not a great moment for me, and yeah, it was for teen drama reasons. Even in the moment, I was rolling my eyes about it, but… I couldn’t solve it. It’s like having to fax in a job application, it’s the most awful feeling. You just get absolutely bushwhacked by something you’d love to be making fun of, that deserves to be made fun of, and is absolutely ruining your life.

The halls were empty, but not ambiently quiet, on the way back to science class. There’s a hum of living people in all the classrooms, you know what I mean? I didn’t feel lonely in a haunted house kind of way, even though I was technically alone. It honestly felt like a relief, and one I was dreading to see the end of. Room 232 was up ahead, and I felt every footstep on the way there. Being alone with people is so much worse than being alone by yourself, because you can feel that it’s wrong. There’s no excuses. You’re just disconnected.

Hand on doorknob. Turn however many degrees. Note that it’s whogivesashit in radians. Smile. Pull.

And yeah, there was a whole classroom there. And a teacher. I saw Cassie. My oldest friend, and one of the best. She was twirling her curly black hair around a pen, when she looked up to see me and smiled. I smiled a little wider and felt bittersweet about it. After a few seconds that felt like autopilot, I was sitting next to her again. Back to the lab grind.

“Oh god you missed so much stuff, Lees!” she said, mockingly. “I tried to take notes, but it was way too fast. Mr. Brownstone unfolded new worlds of knowledge that our puny minds will be coping with for centuries. The written word could never capture it. You’re just doomed, kid, dooooomed!” I laughed, and Mr. Brownstone glared at us, and I’m still not sure which of us he was more annoyed with in that moment. Not that I could ask him now, obviously.

“God, stop it. Jeez. I wasn’t even gone for long, and it’s a lab. What are you on, now, number 7? Lemme copy your worksheet.” I began scribbling on my blank copy, tongue planted in the corner of my mouth, a focused machine.

“Hey, you can’t cheat!” Cassie play protested. She made a big show of covering her work.

“Come on, Cassie, you’re my lab partner, I would never cheat on you! Now was that Fahrenheit or Celsius? Stop hiding it.”

“Never ever, huh? Suuuure. But alright, partner.” She got a little quieter in that moment. There was a softness that snuck into her voice, maybe a little shine in her eyes. “Anyways. It was meters actually.”

“Fuck.”

I remember, I’d looked it up. One year, 3 months, 25 days. It’s still crystal clear to me now, the exact duration until graduation, and god did I want to be out of the kiddie pool, but… that’s when friends say they’re gonna keep in touch, and they all know they’re gonna drift off in different directions with their lives. And half of ‘em are gonna be burnout losers or something. And we all just know it’s coming, whether we’re ready or not. I wanted real bad to be too grown up to be afraid of something like that, but… I wasn’t.