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I don’t remember what happened today.
No, that’s not right. I don’t remember yesterday, either.
Evening light filters through the classroom window shades. Yellowed slats once shone brilliantly, their hue now betraying the years spent decaying in place. Coated in dust, two or three pieces broken off, others bent and bent back. Sets of eyes peaking through them overlaid in memory. Repeated, repeated. Moments blended together, each indistinct and impersonal.
How long have I sat here?
After the school day I… had told Ms. Alphys I was going to head home soon. How long ago was that? I lift off my chair, gingerly raising it off the scratched linoleum floor and pivoting it in place. Silence is a delicate thing. Preserved through inaction or careful consideration, it fills the room like brackish water. I am submerged in it. It fills my lungs, my ears, my nose. So thick and opaque I nearly can’t see through it. At the back of the room, a thing is collapsed on a desk of its own. A heap of brown and green, washed out by the dimming sun into a formless incoherence.
I stare at it. It lies nearly motionless, the stillness of the room broken now only by the slow rise and fall of its back. Respiration, repeated.
Will I remember this moment? How many days have I spent here? What day is it today?
Two weeks ago. Susie came in late, and had to borrow a pencil. I had jumped at the opportunity to lend her one. Our fingers glanced a touch in exchange. It was a candy cane pencil, one of a dozen in my pencil case. A member of an endless matched set. Thin red and white plastic stripes circle the wooden core, tip sharpened to a point. I had asked her if she needed anything else. She had stared at me. “Nah.”
Was that two weeks ago? Maybe… no, longer?
I stand. Kris shifts slightly, their bangs falling away. A red eye glares dully at me. I meet it. They do not look away. I approach them.
“Hey Kris, it’s getting late, want to walk home together?” I smile, and tilt my head to the side slightly. A lock of hair falls loose from behind my ear and dangles over my face. Someone reaches up and delicately tuck it back into place. Kris did not move. Who was that?
Kris stares up at me in response, unblinking. Their gaze sharpens, eyes focusing on my expression. Studying it, in the way only they do. They sit up, leaning against the back of their chair. Their arms rest in their lap. They tilt their head, a mirror.
A year ago. Dad fell ill. It was the first night he spent in the hospital. The house was empty, cold in a way it never was. I stayed after school. I had studied the popcorn ceiling tiles. Fiberboard squares, an indescribably normal beige. Repeated. My eyes ranged over them again and again. A count starting but never finished, returning to zero before it concluded. Repeated. Kris had stayed too, watching me. They had approached me, and—
Kris flicks my forehead.
I recoil in shock, falling backward to the ground. “AH, what the heck, Kris?”
Kris snickers. Their laughter grows in spurts until they’re howling. Their laugh is an ugly sound, a harsh cacophony. They laugh harder and harder until they collapse to their knees, a tear tracing a path down their cheek. They do not wipe it away.
“You awake?”
“I… Uh, what do you mean?”
“You weren’t. You awake?”
I stare at them. “Uh…” Their eyes are still slightly squinted in mirth, piercing out through the brown mop over their face. Their grin carves a path across their face, crooked front teeth peaking out from cracked lips.
“Yeah. I’m awake. I was before, too, okay?” I smile at them.
The corner of Kris’s mouth twitches down. Their smile fades into a grimace. They go into a crouch, then stand slowly. Rigidly hanging over me. Their fingers contort into knots at their sides. They stuff their palms in their pockets. “Nah, you weren’t.”
They step to my side, and walk to the door. I trace their path, counting the footfalls. As they reach the door, they gently grip the handle and stop. They look back. They wipe the tear away, then step out the door, shutting it gently behind them.
The quiet of the room returns. It doesn't feel as heavy now. My heartbeat stills.
I remember today.