See You on the Other Side | ✓

4 | Strange

"I don't know who's behind the wheel. Sometimes I feel like that I don't know the deal." - Real Estate, It's Real

~~~

"Mr. Johnson, you must be mistaken. You've seen my grades and courses. I have A's and B's in AP and honors classes," I reminded him as I began to hyperventilate. I needed to graduate for the sake of my sanity. There was no way I could be with these roaches for longer than I needed to.

"This isn't about your grades. This is about your service hours. You know you need 40 to graduate."

"Yeah, and?"

"You have a ways to go before May."

I leaned forward in the chair a little, completely astounded by what I was hearing. "What? I swear I had like 30 done at least."

"I wish that was the case, you have 15 hours done. So, half of what you thought you had," he remarked.

He didn't need to add that last sentence just to spite me, but okay.

"So what do you want me to do about it?" I asked.

"First, get your elbows off my desk..."

I complied.

"Second, do some service. I've talked to the counselor and you have a lot of options to choose from," he said with his hands resting on the desk. It's hard to focus on what he was saying because I couldn't get over the fact that he was the enemy.

"What are my options?"

He looked on the computer monitor. "There is a recurring service project for you to do on Saturdays for about 3 hours or so."

"What? I can't just do it one and done?"

"You'd have to do 25 hours in one day, which is scientifically impossible."

"What do I have to do on Saturdays?" I asked to get him away from thinking that I was an idiot.

"Volunteer at the retirement home on 5th Street," he suggested.

Old people smelled like death and hopelessness. They always talked about the past because they were well aware that their futures were nonexistent. They were the epitome of borrowed time.

"I'll do it," I agreed.

He looked at the monitor again and put my name down.

"Okay, your name is put down. Get there at 1 PM. You won't be alone either, Brielle Hawkins volunteers there regularly," he informed. The light the screen emitted shined on his bald head. I hid my amusement. "Do you know her?"

"No, I don't, but thank you, Mr. Johnson."

"It's not a problem. You may head back to class now."

I will head back to class, Mr. Clean.

I got up from my seat and once I reached the doorway, I heard him say something about him being sorry for my loss.

How could he be sorry for something he had nothing to do with?

~~~

When I went home, I noticed that the cigarette smell in the house had intensified. "Trying to keep my husband alive" my ass.

"Where have you been?" my grandma asked me.

"School. There was a little bit of traffic, sorry," I said before heading upstairs.

"Come back here," she muttered.

I turned around and approached the aging woman, who was in the kitchen.

"How was your day at school?" she asked with a cigarette dangling from her lips. It wasn't lit, but I knew it would be soon. She barely ever asked me about what I did, strange.

"I'll tell you if you don't light that," I commented. Her eyebrows furrowed and I saw a flicker of anger in her green eyes.

"I'm an adult. You aren't an adult until the 13th, do you understand?"

I nodded. "Yes, ma'am, but it's kinda offputting, you know?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, talk about your first day back."

"It was fine. I talked with the counselor today."

"Are you having problems again?" she speculated. "Jesus, why didn't he call me?"

"No, no, God no. Calm down. It was actually the college advisor who talked to me. Sorry for the confusion."

She finally lit the cigarette and I think a sliver of my heart stopped functioning for a second. "Well, what'd you talk to him about?"

"Service hours."

Her thin brows went up in intrigue. "About time. Your generation is full of ingrates."

"He wants me to volunteer at the senior center on 5th."

"The one by the harbor?" she asked, obvious interest in her tone.

I nodded. "Yep, it's one of the reasons I'm even doing this. You know the harbor has amazing food."

"Overpriced crap. Anyway, I know someone who lives there. Her name's Sylvia van Bismark. Gray hair, brown eyes, pale skin."

"There's a lot of people in the retirement home that look like that, ma."

"Trust me, you'll know who she is once she starts talking about that stupid last name she has. She's stuck in the 60s and 70s a little, so you might want to be patient with her."

I understood and nodded. It's a shame that you can be healthy and full of life just to have your own brain and body stab you in the back.

I knew at the retirement home, there would be Sylvia times 10. Potentially, there could be 10 copies of my grandma. 10s of people who are bitter that their lives are coming to a close.

Jesus, what'd I sign myself up for?

☠A/N☠

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