Police Officer: Did they go in?
Me: Two went in, only one made it out.
Police Officer: What happened in there?
Me: She took the bandages off her heart.
***
Early in the morning, two girls, dressed identically, arrived in the front lawn of Wrestler High. They took out their earbuds and looked at each other. One girl dug in her bag and wallet and pulled out her phone, attempting an internet search. The other girl told her that it would only return information that would be terrifying and irrelevant, and that they should just get it done and over with, and that if she'd just go in there, all her problems would be gone. They conversed back and forth, expanding and contracting until one girl's seductions had finally gotten into the other. They entered. The girls knocked on a wooden door that had a crooked plaque. Silence. They knocked again.
"Glad you made it," said a woman with curly brown hair and grandma classes that swooped below the bridge of her nose. "And I see that you bought a friend..."
"Yeah."
"Right." From the side of her shoulder, she glanced over at the Asian girl. Scanned up and down. "Well, come on in girls. I'd like to ask you all to put your phones in this basket for me. It's something I get all my students to do to avoid disturbances and all," She was trying to sound confident, but it came out petulant, more accusing than wry. The girls searched the teacher's eyes for sympathy, but she only frowned, sealed her lips with a loud and authoritative zip. They placed their phones in the basket. Sat down in the two chairs facing the desk.
"Are you all comfortable? Would you like some water? Snacks? I got some delicious red twists sitting right over--"
"We're fine," said the whiter one of them. "Thanks."
"Okay, so tell me why you're here. How would you like me to help you?"
"Well. I don't know. I guess I just wanted to talk." The blonde girl found herself struggling to sum up all that was going on. A part of her was afraid what she had to say would be judged as nothingness, that it didn't have enough weight. But another part of her was afraid of revealing too much.
"Is everything alright?"
"Yeah, I'm just having some trouble putting it all into words." A long pause. Too long.
"Look. I don't got all day. Do you need help or what?"
"Could we speak alone?" She asked. The woman turned to the other girl and pointed to the door.
"What? Me?" she said.
"Yeah. You heard her."
"Okay." The door opened and closed.
"So? What is it that's bothering you, honey?"
"I just, I don't know."
"You gotta do better than that."
"I'm fine, really."
"Okay."
"What can I do for you?"
"Aren't you supposed to know?"
"Okay."
"Gosh. I'm sorry. It's just I'm sad."
"Sad about what?"
"Just everything."
"I'm afraid I cannot help you if you don't be more specific. Does it have to do with your family?"
"I have a great family, they're all so happy, so perfect and all. But it's just that no one is around when I'm sad. I mean, they are around, they just don't ever make a big deal of it... and I want them to... sometimes I really want them to."
"I know your family," said the teacher, confidently. "My son plays hockey with Rogan."
"Right."
"Demanda is such a wonder at baking brownies. I sometimes think she's the best part of the game."
"Okay?"
"Yeah. Wonderful woman. That is why I was so surprised to find you here today. She is truly a delight, I have to say, one of the most gregarious--"
"It's not about my family," she interrupted. "It's about me. I feel sad about me."
"Yes. Yes, right. And I'm glad you're here, receiving the help you need. I mean, you have got great friends, a wonderful family... you have things most people do not. It might just be a phase that you are going through, a burst of hormones or something."
"A burst of hormones?"
"All I'm saying is that you shouldn't be too worried about the sadness. You know it comes and goes."
"No. It comes and it doesn't go."
"Okay. You know you are safe to say anything you wish. It's just between you and me." She paused, then continued again. "Well, is there anything you like to do in your free time?"
"Yeah."
"What are your hobbies?"
"I've picked up nicotine."
"Excuse me?"
"You said to be honest."
"That was a very serious thing you just said there. Do you understand the weight of such words?"
"I do. That's why I'm here, isn't it? To get fixed." Her voice was shaky. "Things are hard right now."
"It's hard being a teenager. I get it. But you have your friends."
"They aren't my friends."
"Sunny?"
"She doesn't know me," she replied. The woman glanced over at her watch every now and then, then back at the girl, and then the clock on the wall, and then back at the girl.
"Are you listening?" This took her out of her funk immediately.
"Yes. Of course. What were we saying? Right. So, what are you thinking right now?"
"I'm thinking what it would feel like to have abs. Being inside the body of an athlete. Not to have stretch marks down below. Not to worry during swimsuit season." She fiercely wiped the corner of her eyes, faulting herself for being unable to speak of the most domestic takes without crying like a baby.
"And you know what, it's always the skinniest people who go on diets. Fucked up if you ask me."
"Yes. But you could diet too," the woman replied, almost irritated that she would take up her time to say such childish things. Something other than the girl was on her mind, and it was making it hard for her to concentrate.
"Do I look like I need to diet?"
"I didn't mean it like that."
"Of course." Silence. "She said it wouldn't be like this," she murmured under her breath.
"Who?"
"She said there would be a woman who would help me." She punched into her bag, gathering her things. "You know maybe I shouldn't have come here."
"Sit down. That is no way to talk to a teacher," the woman said, raising her voice. "Finish what you were saying." Stopped in place by the piercing order, she plotted down: was this even allowed? Out of obligation, as if she had done something wrong, she stayed. Suddenly it was her duty to be here, telling this stranger her deepest secrets. "So, have you always struggled with body insecurities? Because like I said before, it may just be a phase."
"Stop saying that."
"Okay. Explain to me what it feels like to be sad."
"You won't get it."
"Trust me."
"I'm growing out of my jeans. I'm just so big, everywhere."
"Big? You're not."
"I've been forced to shop in the Men's section. If that's not fat, I don't know what is." The woman leaned back in her chair without retort. "It's fine though. Everything's fine."
"I want you to know that you can tell me anything, honey. This is strictly confidential."
"I don't know. I don't know."
"Nobody will know. You can trust me. How are you feeling right now?"
"I've lost control."
"Have you been drinking? Drugs? Just be honest. I need to know in order to help you. I'm here for you." A pause as she shifted in her seat. It was getting warm below her thighs.
"I mean, yeah I guess."
"Why?"
"I don't know. It feels good, I don't know. I've got control." The teacher looked at her with a strange, half-illuminated worry, and asked how she was feeling for the third time.
"Okay."
"You promise won't say?"
"Of course not."
"I've been bad."
"No, I'm sure you're a good person at heart."
"I've been hurting myself."
"Cutting?" She let out a small cry. Voices from the hallways filtered into the room: who was doing what this weekend, who needed to go where. A burst of laughter. Inside the room, the light was harsh. She wanted out.
"You alright?"
"Yeah."
"You've been cutting."
"Occasionally. When I'm sad."
"You want to end your life?"
"I didn't say that. This is the only thing that's keeping me alive."
"I'm always here if you ever need me."
"God, can you say something useful?"
"All the teachers are here for you," said the woman. She let out a chuckle.
"You are here because this is your job."
"I am."
"That's what I thought. If you had to choose, you wouldn't do this to be a millionaire for a day." The woman shut her eyes, and when she opened them, glanced straight at the girl.
"It is my job to help you," she said slowly, placing her right hand over the telephone. "Which is why I am going to call your mother."
"No, no, no, no." The short hairs on her legs rose like creatures ready themselves to flight. It felt excessive and possibly illegal, like a HIPAA violation.
"You can't do that!" The teacher's face turned too quickly to hide her surprise. It was as if they expected her to act in accordance with whatever norms this situation contained. To say thank you for their advice and to not defend her actions. She picked up the phone to a buzzing noise.
"It is my job to help you," she said in a state that superficially resembled presence and care but was in fact evidence of absolute boredom, and a deep wanting to check herself out from the intense situation.
"But this meeting, it's strictly confidential! I told you those things because you said it would be safe with you." The woman nodded her head and started dialing the telephone as if acknowledging that she had made a valid point but choosing to ignore it just for the sake of things.
"Don't take this away from me. Please." In the space between the rings from the phone, I could hear the girl's breathing. Her breaths turned into chokes— gentle, snoring sounds, like someone inhaling through a mask. She was in a lucid situation where she could not control the puppets growing root in her mind. She had been betrayed heavily just twice in her life and the second time was that afternoon, so everything that happened had a dim hazy cast over it, like the tragic dreamy stasis.
She left the room and walked out the front door of the school, where Sunny had been waiting. The bell had rung, and people disappeared, reappeared, made plans to go somewhere, and then lost each other, searched for each other, and found each other in the classroom. Her fabric swirled and flung recklessly as she continued to scatter around.
"Selena?" Sunny asked in a coarse voice. "How did it go?" She grabbed her by the arms. "Selena?"
She didn't hear but instead proceeded to the sketchy part of town. The part where Atlas never let her go. She arrived and the streets were empty, decorated with broken shops and dusty garbage. I heard a crunch as she stepped on shattered glass and looked up to see a hollow bridge covered with graffiti. Growls and shivers were only the greetings from hunched-back old homeless who huddled their legs to keep their hearts warm. Her dad was right: She did not belong in this low-toned society. Selena turned to leave, but before she did, she tossed a coin into the hat of a little girl sitting with her back against the brick wall. Just in case somebody was watching.