Wilson Mooney, Almost Eighteen Read Free Page B

The only person
that could save me from tragedy was me. Maybe it seemed harsh, but
it was the only way to save my sanity when I’ve had to fend for
myself for so long. There was no mom to kiss it and make it better,
daddy didn’t exist, and as far as I knew I was an only child. That
was my life in a boarding school’s bathroom.
    Cindy knocked on the door and I heard
her clear her throat before she spoke.
    “ Wilson, are you still in
here? Are you OK?”
    “ Yeah, I just needed to go
to the bathroom. I’ll be right out.”
    I looked down and saw the
crumpled note. I picked it up and flushed it. It was my luck that
it would clog the toilet, but instead I watched the black ink bleed
purple into the water as the force of the flush sucked it into the
sewer. Goodbye Matt Gladstone and to you
too, Max Goldstein.
    I pushed my hands into the freezing
water from the tap, because washing them was the acceptable thing
to do after you fake using the toilet.
    “ I’m so excited that you’re
going with me to Aspen.” Cindy asserted through the closed door
before pounding an enthusiastic rhythm with her hands.
    “ Me too,” I answered
unlocking the door and letting her into the bathroom.
    “ Let’s get through school
tomorrow, because after that, it’s you, me and the hot guys of
Aspen,” she sang as she propped the door open with her foot and
swung her hands through the air.
    I pulled at the brown paper towels
from the wall that dried my hands just enough to keep them damp.
“Hot guys, that’s exactly what I need,” I mumbled.
    ***
    It was lights out at eleven p.m. That
was the time Wesley Academy expected us to be done with homework,
bathing, and visiting. Well, sometimes for a senior in high school,
we’re up pretty late. Studying for trig tests, looking over
government homework, and writing scathing love letters; it all can
take up quite a bit of time.
    I was up pretty late
writing a two page letter to him (After I studied of course). It was four pages,
two front and two back to be exact. Nobody will find it and he will
never see it. It was my fantasy written in pen. It was for my eyes
only. Don’t tell me you’ve never written a
letter to someone you loved, with the full intention they’d never
see it . Emotions too embarrassing blot the
pages in roller ball ink. His name with hearts for the dot over the
i’s. Fantasies of him teaching me in his classroom alone; scribbled
delicately on the back of page two. How his lips felt as they
kissed me. My dream of him taking me away from the lonesome hell I
called my life. How bummed I felt when I saw someone else’s name
and phone number on the note he handed to me. I never signed it—my
love note. I folded it into a perfect square and hid it towards the
headboard between my mattress and box springs.
    Peaceful sleep came easy that night.
Maybe it was because I wrote my feelings down. I finally released
all the pent-up emotion about him. No nightmares of huge gorillas
chasing me with sock puppets or Billy Ray Cyrus being my long lost
father. For the first time, in a long time, I dreamt I was a little
girl again. I was about eight, it was summer and I was wearing a
bright yellow sundress with huge white polka-dots. My long blonde
hair soaked up and splashed the sun across my face. The faint aroma
of fresh cut grass was vibrant in the air. I was happy and my deep
blue eyes were filled with hope. I was barefoot as I circled in the
grass at my grandparent’s house. I had a toothless smile as I
danced with my stuffed bear, Nemo. I cradled him in my arms; he was
as soft as a field of dandelions. I knew we were safe; we had each
other. Then together we dissolved into a swirl of primary
colors.
    I woke up before my alarm
went off at six-thirty. I thought I would be rejuvenated, I wanted
to feel like I was eight again; instead I was totally wasted. I
pushed the alarm off before it belched an awful core rattling noise
and stumbled to wake Cindy. She was already gone. Her bed was