BY: ALIRA

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There was school today. And there will be school tomorrow. In fact, there will be school just about every day, excluding some, until summer. A blessed respite from school, until the onslaught begins again with a new school year. Of course, that year will come to pass, and so will the ones following it, then graduation . . .

But that isn’t all. Not in this day and age. Nowadays, college is a must for anyone with an ounce of sense. College means more school, more work, harder work. But I’m not working now; I’m worrying. There was school yesterday. And there will be school tomorrow. Only I can’t forget that there was school today.

Today. School. Me. The idea enters my jumbled thoughts, but doesn’t register. Then it does register, and I’m back to worrying. I’m a brilliant thinker, they tell me. I’m a hard worker, they say. But I’m not working. I AM thinking. About nothing.

I didn’t skip. A good student like me never skips. We do our work with merry single-mindedness, have regular attendance records, and get into good colleges. Regular attendance? That is something I can claim. I go to school every day, except when I’m sick. Today I’m sick.

Sick. Sick with worry, apprehension, maybe fear. Fear of what? I don’t know. I’m actually fit, healthy, and capable of working today. Only I’m not really capable of working today. I’m a good student, an excellent student, and an amazing worker. We mindless workers need breaks, though. Days without work, without homework, without thought. I thought I’d give myself that break.

Only there’s no respite, no break from the work. Your conscience comes back for revenge when you’re such an overachiever gone bad. What it all boils down to is this: I thought I’d play sick and take a break when I shouldn’t, only my “brilliant” mind itself condemned me. I cursed myself with my diligence; I can think outside the box and am working light years beyond my grade level, but I can’t do the one thing every idiot and his ditzy girlfriend can pull off. Ditch school.

My thoughts continued to run in circles, mentally berating myself. Then I stopped. It didn’t have to continue, it didn’t have to go on. My respite from hell could end right that instant, all by my own hand. Some might say it required a strong will or desperation to do it, but I believe I required neither. Having a mind that ran like a machine was enough. Getting out of the bed where I had been “ill,” I took the first shaky steps to my door, steadying myself before leaving the room.

I walked blindly, not needing to see to navigate through my house. Condemning myself again, was I? No one was here to know, my parents out working. Only I understood my plan, with the mechanical mind of mind. Actually, the plan was simple, requiring only one tool to implement it. And that tool was, in fact, at my disposal. Just down the stairs, down the hall to the kitchen. The instrument I required lay there on the counter, pristine-seeming in its holder. I reached, picked it up, examined it. All it would take was one movement, one action…

I pressed the button, as I heard the phone ring and speed-dial raced to contact my mother, ending my torture at its climax; the confession that was suicide for the perfect student.

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Copyright [little copyright symbol that doesn’t work on my computer] Alira, January 6th, 2003; 1:31 PM