Here goes nothing. I'm writing this based loosely on an experience of my own... yuck yuck yuck... though in some ways, mine was not quite as dramatic.
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"Sasha!"
A voice came from the kitchen. Ignoring it, I rolled over, pulling the pillow down over my ears. Gosh, why did they invent Mondays, I thought drearily. Eight grade was bad enough with acne and best friends from sixth grade who suddenly switched sides on you and gave you the silent treatment. It was a frosty cold morning fresh out of you know where. And now I suddenly realized: I was running late.
One bagel and a sweatshirt later, I was on my bike and heading for school. Three blocks away from the destination, my digital watch sounded its alarm.
"Aaaaw!" "No, I don't believe this!" I screamed at the garbage truck that was driving by on its way out of my town to the dump.
"Ugh!" Another truck passed, and I pulled up my shirt neck to avoid the noxious fumes. Too bad it wasn't a wetsuit-for some reason unknown to mankind, my arm twitched, and before I knew what had happened, I was sent careening into the road, falling off my bike as I instantly panicked--
Mud and slush splashed all over me as I fell face-first into the slime-filled gutter. It smelled like a dog had peed in the awful mixture that had bits of run-over, shredded up newspaper, car oil and heaven knows what else in it... I sat up, blowing cold air in an attempt to get the gunk off my lips, out of my mouth--eeeewww--I spat, trying not to gag.
So now, dripping icy brown ooze from my jeans, I pedaled home, ready to explode at whatever got too close.
I missed a traffic light at the block before my house, ready to scream. As I darted across the intersection, a huge navy blue van came careening into my face!
I fell straight off my bike, landing hard on the gritty asphalt. A woman leapt out of the drivers’ side door, her black suit dress tight about her knees as she knelt over me, her breath and hands fluttering.
I was dumbstruck but at the same time, holding back a wracking case of adrenaline-induced giggles.
“Oh my God!” she gasped.
“Really? Do-do you know what…” I stuttered, my racing heart beating against my ribs like a bird trying to get out of a cage.
I thought my head was going to fall off my shoulders, shell-shock enveloping me.
“I am so sorry! Are you okay? Can I help you up? Do I need to call 911?” she sputtered, sounding breathless as her face flushed bright red. Whether in embarrassment or fear, I couldn’t tell you.
“I’m…fine, I guess,” I said slowly, looking down at my disgustingly stained clothing.
“Can I help you in any way?” she asked gently, her eyes twitching nervously.
“Uh…” I stood up, rubbing my bruised buttocks.
Looking down, I realized my bike was worse for wear. The chain had popped off and one of the wheels showed telltale signs of damage.
I picked it up, my frozen fingers prying at the rusted metal chain as the mortified stranger held it upright as I inspected it.
It refused to fit back over the gears. I took the handlebars in my hand and said simply “I’ve gotta go.”
Then as I began to walk towards my house, my left leg started refusing to behave. It picked itself up, bending sharply at the knee, rapidly extending and contracting so that it looked like it was trying to jump off my body. I stood still, looking down at it like one might glare at a slug that has found its way to eat your favorite flower.
“Are you okay?” the wayward driver looked at me, her face spelling out compassion and concern.
“I don’t know…this isn’t right.” Was my vague reply.
“I know this sounds really bad, but do you need a ride? I’m so sorry- here,” she held out a wad of folded greenbacks.
“Gee, thanks…”
“I-really. If I can help you at all…”
“Yeah. I’ll take you up on that offer. If you can ride me down to the corner…”
“Sure. Here, so you know I’m not trying to kidnap you-“ she handed me a cell phone.
“So I can call 911 when you kidnap me?”
“I promise, I’m not a child molester,” she said awkwardly, attempting a wan grin.
It looked more like a face someone makes when they put salt in their tea instead of sugar.
I hopped in the passenger’s seat as the woman put my bicycle in the back. I looked out the window, staring at the building-tops in the direction of my school where I was supposed to be, my leg still doing its strange dance up and down, tapping the rubber mat on her car’s floor.
As promised, at the corner of the block, she let me off and drove away immediately. I breathed a sigh of relief. So far I’d narrowly avoided being run over, gotten covered in slime, been late for school and broken my bike. What was next?
As I limped up to the front stoop of my house, I realized my right leg had a peculiar feeling in the muscles, a sensation like the tickle in your throat when you need to cough.
I was took the first step up, letting my battered bike crash to the concrete. I didn’t think it could get much more damaged aside from dropping a house on it.
Suddenly I began to wobble on my feet, flailing out with my arms to catch the handrail. Now my right leg was dancing too! I had a strange feeling that something wasn’t quite right.
It took a couple minutes before I felt like it was viable to attempt going up the next step. I got to the top, my legs still making their movements. I pressed a thumb to the doorbell, hoping that my brother would hurry up and answer it.
The door opened and his dark-haired head poked out. He looked disheveled, as if he’d just woken up, which was likely considering the wrinkled sweatpants and t-shirt he wore.
“What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be at school.”
“Hello. Mud splattered me needs a shower…and my bike’s not looking so good. Plus-“ I gestured towards the floor, drawing attention to my aberrant lower limbs.
“Dang, Sash, what have you gotten into?”
“Don’t ask me! Now let me in. It’s freezing out here,” I grumbled.
“Mom’s not gonna be happy,” he grunted, running a hand over his stubbly chin.
I hobbled inside, making my way towards the bathroom on the second floor. When I got to the stairs, I looked first down at my shuffling feet and then at the set of twelve stairs that beckoned to me with the promise of a hot, soapy shower.
Trying to maneuver the staircase upright proved difficult. So I dropped to my hands and knees and crawled up. Once in the bathroom, I stripped off my disgusting outerwear and turned the ‘hot’ knob as far as it would go. A bit of cold mixed in made the water steamy but not scalding.
The shower was divine, with one exception. It was hard washing my hair because my head mysteriously began to pivot back and forth. That combined with my hyperactive feet made keeping my balance tricky. More than once, I had to stop and press my hands against the tiled wall to keep from falling over.
I went downstairs in my fuzzy-blue bathrobe, feeling much better rid of the filth I’d fallen into. I had to go down sitting on my but as I scooted down the staircase. What was going on, I wondered, unable to come up with an explanation for the strange movements that had begun.
Once I was dressed, it became apparent to me that something strange was occuring. Looking in the mirror as I brushed my tangled hair, I realized just how much I was moving. The turning of my head stood out against the still pastel shades of the rest of my room.
I was the only thing in the reflection that moved. I tried to hold my head still between my hands, but it kept twisting. My stomach twinged a bit, and not just from the half-stale bagel I’d eaten for breakfast. Something was wrong.
“Jake!” I howled as I sat down on the end of my bed.
“What is it, Sasha? You know I’m trying to study for exams-“
He appeared in my doorway, half-dressed in jeans, his bare chest exposed.
“What’s so important…” he trailed off, staring at me in a way that made me squirm.
“I’m scared, Jay…” I felt tears creep into the corners of my eyes, stubbornly refusing to let them fall if I could help it. This was exactly what my day needed- a perfectly capable fourteen year old melting in front of her sometimes obnoxious older brother. This was the kind of thing he’d tell his classmates over lunch…
“Okay. Uh, you want me to call mom,” he asked in a voice that made the statement more of a question.
I frowned, still watching myself twitch in the mirror over my dresser. It was weird, but it wasn’t, so far as I knew, an emergency. Mom had been out of work, home with me two weeks before when I’d had strep throat. She didn’t need to miss more work. Not unless it was really necessary.
“So, do you want me to?”
“I guess. Maybe…maybe call Dr. Juan?” I suggested, trying to still my body. It wasn’t working.
“Alright. I’ll call the doctor. See what she thinks ‘bout this. Stay right there, I don’t know if you should be going to school like this or not.”
Even when he left to fetch the phone, I kept staring in the mirror at the writhing body that had suddenly stopped responding to my demands.
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this will definitely be continued. Please, tear it apart in any way you please. I mean, reviews are welcome!
; )
-Voxina
