Story, An Untitled

Part VI of an unfinished story

Copyright Julia Bydulia

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The next day, Michelle was nervous. She could recite the entire monologue with little to no mistakes, but, having to perform it twice- once for a grade and once for the musical -made her feel as though she would lose her breakfast. No matter how small that breakfast (of exactly one half of a chocolate toaster pastry) may have been.

In the car on the way to school, she studied the monologue. In her first period class, she ignored geometry for it. In second period, she forced all of her friends to let her recite it for them. In third period, the Spanish language was the last thing on her mind. Research Writing seemed useless as she sat and poured all of her energy into memorization.

Before fifth period, she raced to the bathroom with a plastic bag full of her costume in one hand and her other hand being preoccupied with covering her mouth to hold back what she was sure was vomit. In the stall, she threw the bag to the side as fast as she could and sat in front of the toilet bowl, retching over and over. Her throat was sore and her hands were cold with clutching the porcelain of the toilet by the time she was through, but, absolutely no remnants of food or anything else was in the bowl.

Feeling as sick as she ever had, Michelle wiped her mouth and stood up, holding her stomach. Putting on her costume was the last thing she wanted to do, but, she pulled out the skirt and the top and pulled off her own jeans and tshirt. She felt bloated and disgusting as she looked down and saw her stomach, covered in small, dark hairs and pink stretch marks. To cover it, she pulled the skirt and top on as fast as she could.

When she emerged from the stall, there was a short girl with bright pink hair washing her hands at the sink.

"Were you puking in there?" She asked Michelle, flicking the water off her fingers and hitting the lever for the paper towel dispenser with her elbow.

Michelle pulled on her skirt nervously. "I didn't puke. How long have you been in here?"

"I'm skipping," the girl with the pink hair told her, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I've been wandering around since almost third fuckin' period. The principal almost fuckin' caught me in the hall, so I had to fuckin' pretend to go to the fuckin' bathroom."

Fuckin', Michelle added in her head for good measure. "Well, I'll...see you later? Good luck with that."

She walked out of the bathroom with her clothes in the bag her costume had been in, and a nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach. There was no way to stop her feeling sick and no way to stop her brain from painting pictures of Vincent all over the inside of her skull. This has got to stop, she screamed at her subconscious. You don't even like him! And that much was true. When she stood next to Vincent, she felt no urge to do anything romantic or having to do with romance. There were no images of kisses or weddings when he was in the general area. It was genuine to say she didn't like him when he was in the room, but, for some reason after he left, her brain would go crazy and start forcing him on her heart again.

You love the idea of him, she told herself for the billionth time. A nice, cute, smart, musical, funny guy with the ability to hug the hell out of everyone? You have always thought that that is perfect. You've been telling yourself it is since the fifth grade. But you don't feel it with him and you know it. So stop romanticizing him whenever he is away. Stop putting his face on that guy you made for yourself in elementary school. Vincent is your friend. And you don't want him for a boyfriend. She nearly slapped herself, just to get the point across, but, she thought better of it. Instead, she pictured herself as the pink haired girl, slouching over the sink with her hands under the flowing water.

When she did reach the classroom, she walked inside trying to look confident. Vincent was sitting in his seat with one leg stretched out to the side. She sighed as the lovely feeling she had for him in the hall leaked out of her chest and gathered in disgusting puddle in her gut. Instead of the knight in shining armor her had been while he was out of sight, he slipped back into the roll of...just a great guy. She sat down in the seat next to him and stared at the back of his head while he leaned over his notebook, seemingly concentrating heavily.

"You know, Vincent," she started, waiting for him to look up.

He did, his eyes wide as though he had just been pulled out of the dark and into the sunlight. "What?"

"You're pretty swell," Michelle finished, smiling and flicking his nose.

"Michelle?" The teahcer was calling her to the front of the room. "Michelle, are you ready?"

Michelle nodded and dashed to the front of the room to recite the monologue. When her teacher nodded, she started. After she finished each line, it slipped out of her memory and ended up in some sort of abyss. Before she knew it, the two minutes was over and she was walking back to her seat with a violent blush flooding her cheeks and a dorky smile on her face.

Vincent looked up at her and gave her a double thumbs up. She smiled at him and blushed more.

"Do you want to change?" The teacher asked Michelle over the sound of her classmates all talking.

Michelle nodded and ran out the door with her bag of clothes. It was good, it was good, it was good, she repeated to herself over and over until it finally sank in. He gave you a double thumbs up. It was fine. He was smiling. It was fine. She shook out her legs and stepped into the bathroom, expecting it to be empty.

Instead, the girl with the pink hair was leaning against the wall, twirling a pack of cigarettes between to fingers and smacking gum.

"How old are you, anyway?" Michelle asked, stepping into the first stall and immediately peeling off her shirt and stepping out of the skirt.

"Sixty-fuckin'-seven. What do you care?"

She looked about eleven and her voice sounded about six. "You look too young for smokes," Michelle commented.

"So what if I am? What's gonna fuckin' happen? Am I gonna fuckin' get fuckin' lung cancer?" The girl scoffed and kicked the wall.

Michelle laughed under her breath. "You might."

"Yeah, well, I've spent a lot of time worrying about fuckin' sickness and what stupid fuckin' people think. I'm not going to worry so much about cancer when there are so many other decisions to make."

"You sure aren't scared of sharing," Michelle said as she pulled on her jeans.

"Are you?"

"I don't feel the need to spill my guts to anyone who walks into the bathroom."

"I'm not going to keep my mouth shut if I have something to say. If I feel something, I feel it and if I don't, I don't. If I want to say something, I say it. What's the use of having a head or a heart if you don't use them?" The girl with the pink hair almost shouted.

The image of Vincent flashed in her mind again. Michelle froze with her tshirt half on and half off. If you feel something, feel it, she thought, the words expanding in her head. If you feel something, feel it.