I woke up to the sound of my beeping alarm clock by my ear. It had a loud and obnoxious beep. The sun beamed through the window right into my face. Opening my eyes, they burned. Reaching over, my fingers found the button on the top of my alarm clock and turned it off. The sound went away immediately. Not wanting to get out of bed, the inside of my blankets was warm and cozy. Today was my first day of fifth grade, and I didn’t like going. I pulled myself out of bed at the end of my bed. My pajamas from last night were stuck to my skin. The bedroom was a blue box. A light-colored dresser sat up on the wall across from me. The door stared directly at me. My desk sat across my bed, with an HP laptop on it. Right next to it was a wooden chair. A black backpack hung on the back.
Today is going to go horribly, I thought, and sighed a heavy breath before lifting myself onto the floor. The cold floor tingled my bare feet. Mild warm air flooded the room. I walked over and opened the white, wooden door. Outside, Mom was putting some eggs on the counter. She wore blue leggings and a green shirt. Long blonde hair engulfed her head. Her face contained blue eyes, a long nose, and pink lips. She had a skinny frame. The light brown counter and dark stove were right next to her. A small, square table was nearby, with a couple of chairs.
“Good morning, Michael,” Mom said. “Sleep well?”
“I guess,” I answered. Morning grogginess croaked in my voice. The eggs tickled my nose, and my stomach growled. Hunger struck me like a bear, and I began walking towards the table at a brisk pace. The wind rushed right by me, on the way. When I got there, Mom had my breakfast. She looked at me with a stern look on her face.
“Can I talk to you before you eat?” Her gaze pierced into my soul.
“Sure,”
“I know you have a hard time with school and controlling your anger. You were almost expelled for misbehaving.” She was right. For the past two years, I’ve been having problems controlling my anger; I threw tantrums at assignments that I didn’t want to do, picked fights with students, and yelled at teachers. There was one time I threw a book at a teacher but just missed. Thinking about it made my stomach feel sour, like someone punched me. We didn’t know what was going on. At school, there was a fire inside of me that was hard to extinguish. The school suspended me several times. At home, I was an angel, around Mom and Dad, who worked in another state. Dyslexia and a school bully didn’t help. No one wanted to be my friend because of my anger issues; the only company was a box of loneliness.
“Okay,” I said with a feeling of hopeless doubt washing over me. It seemed like the ability to deal with my emotions didn’t exist. I wasn’t sure it was possible, but I felt like I didn’t have a choice; my parents usually grounded me for a few days for misbehaving. My chest tightened up at the thought of that happening.
“Good.”
I planted myself down in front of my eggs and began eating. They tasted good. Mom sat at the other end of the table, looking at her phone. Mornings on school days were almost always quiet. After I finished my food, I grabbed my plate and fork, put them in the sink, and then headed back to my room. I changed my clothes and put on my backpack. On the way out the door, Mom didn’t take her eyes off me.
“Promise me you’ll behave today, Michael.” She said to me. “I think you are incredibly capable of having a good day.”
“Okay,” I mumbled back, as I opened the front door, not looking forward to the first day of school.
#
When I got to school, A white, familiar building filled my body with intimidation. Wooden steps and metal railings on both sides led to a metal door. Students buzzed around it, like bees in a hive. The late summer heat felt warm on my skin. Several yellow buses were lined up, and kids were coming out of them. Shaking, I stepped up the stairs and opened the door. The cold metal sent a shockwave through my body. Inside, the walls were gray lockers. Light beamed down from the ceiling and through the glass on the door. The frames of a couple of classrooms were in the distance. I was in a sea of students.
“Well, look who showed up,” a familiar voice echoed behind me. My head whipped back, and Robby, my bully, stood in front of me. He was a fat slob with a big gut and a chubby face. His hair was short, brown, and curly. Spots of acne marked up Robby’s face. The most frustrating part was that he had a big mouth. A big green T-shirt and jeans covered his fat body. There was a fiendish tone in his voice. Right when I saw Robby, every muscle in my body tensed up. My heart started pounding like there was a drum in my chest. Sweat began dripping down my forehead.
“Robby,” I said, startled. “What do you want?”
Robby moved towards me as I backed up. My breathing got heavy, and my teeth clenched up. Anticipation grabbed me. He usually insulted me and sometimes physically hurt me. We were always alone.
“I haven’t messed with you all summer,” He smirked at me. “You know what that means?”
“Robby, leave me the fuck alone!” Adrenaline rushed through my veins in a rush of anger. Instantly, a small rock formed in my stomach at the promise that I made to my mother. In my mind, I broke it by swearing.
“Getting a little aggressive, are we? What are you going to do about it, pussy.”
Robby raised his big, meaty fist, like he was flexing his muscles. He began walking closer. Without thinking, I closed my eyes and clenched my fists. Out of the blue, the first bell rang. This meant we had five minutes to get to class. The sound echoed in my ear, like a screaming banshee. I opened my eyes to see that the kid was putting his fist down.
“You’re really lucky,” he said. “But I’ll be back, so we can finish our fun.”
Robby stormed off. He was in sixth grade, and we didn’t have the same classes. I took a breath and went on my way to my classroom, a little bit past the lockers and into the room on my right. The door frame was red. On the inside, I noticed a wooden podium with a closed MacBook. In the corner of the large room, there was a metal teaching desk. A black bag was placed on top of it. it. Several rows of small student desks were in the middle. Along the wall, on the other side, black-framed windows let light in. A bookshelf and a white and blue, checker-colored carpet dominated the other corner. Kids were scattered in the sea of chairs; some were standing, and others were sitting. A few of them were talking with each other. I planted myself in a seat near the front, placing my backpack on the floor. Then, shaken up from seeing Robby, I took a few deep breaths. Neither of us was caught. There was still a possibility that the day could go well.
“Good morning, students,” A man said walking into the room. “I’m Mr. Blake/” Brightness exploded from his face. He had short black flat hair. Mr. Blake was a young and handsome teacher. His voice was warm and welcoming. Glasses sprouted from his eyes. He was wearing a blue knitted sweater and black jeans. Mr. Blake walked over to the podium and lifted the lid of his laptop up. The white Apple logo brightened up. He then began taking attendance. Mr. Blake seemed like a better teacher and the sense that I could be fine settled down into my stomach.
#
Probably an hour or so later, we had to pick up a book to read. And I dreaded it. Because of dyslexia, I had a hard time with reading and never did it for fun. The words always jumbled together. One of the subjects I was in was special ed reading. In the regular classroom, the teacher always made me get a book, and it filled me with stress.
“Okay kids,” Mr. Blake said out to the class, “go pick a book to read.” And my heart stopped for a second. Timidly, I went over to the bookshelf and started suffocating, my body breaking out in a mild sweat. Scanning through, the one that caught my attention was Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief. I heard about it before. The only think I know was that it had something to do with Greek mythology. Apparently, the main character was a demigod or something. I grabbed it and went back to my seat. The cover felt cold on my skin.
When I got back to my seat, I opened it and attempted to read it. Pretty quickly, the words were floating and getting mushed together. It was hard to keep track of them and my eyes stared blankly at the words. My heart began beating fast again and I couldn’t remember what I was reading. This went on for thirty minutes. But it felt like an eternity.
“Hey, Michael,” Mr. Blake creeped up behind me. “Are you doing alright? You look like you’re just staring at your book.”
“Mind your damn business.” I yelled at him, without thinking. The rock in my stomach grew. The rough edges rubbed against the inner lining, making me feel like I was going to throw up. After swearing in front of my teacher, my eyes got heavy and the urge to cry hit me.
“Language.”
“Sorry. Is it okay if I go to the bathroom?” My voice sounded weak and full of nerves.
“Sure. Go on.”
I grabbed the pencil from my desk and headed to the sign out sheet. It was a piece of paper that had a chart on it. To let the teacher keep track of who went to the bathroom or outside of the classroom. I looked at the black clock on the desk and jotted down my name, the time, and where I was going. Slipping my pencil in my pocket, I went over to the bathroom. Everything felt like it was happening fast. My hand pushed the door open to find several dark yellow stalls across from them were a few mirrors and a few sinks. My feet led me into the closest one. I locked the door and sat down. Instantaneously, tears poured out of my eyes, like sprinklers, as I buried my face in my hands.
You know, you’ll never be good at reading. You should’ve chosen an easier book. You’re a failure for being dyslexic. You can’t read anything, I thought. You know you can’t keep your promise to Mom.
The incident with Robby was one thing, but the promise I made seemed to slip away, after yelled at my teacher. Failure captured me and squeezed. I thought I was going to explode. How could Mom think I was “incredibly capable” of behaving myself at school. We didn’t know what was going on with my emotions. No one was there to help me; my only option was to try and sort out my feelings by myself. I took the pencil out of my pocket and etched I fucking hate this into the stall door, before going back to crying. I stayed in the stall for five minutes or so, then left the stall. My head hurt from having a meltdown. I began going back to class, clinging to the idea that I could still have a good day.
#
After my meltdown, the rest of the day went well. I had Gym, Special ed reading, writing and math, and science. Heading out the door, to my locker, I had the satisfying thought that I did what I was supposed to do, and the hiccup was just me needing to let off some steam. Relief washed over my body. When I got to my locker, I turned the lock to unlock it, opened the door, and grabbed my backpack. By the end of the school day, my body was tired, and I couldn’t wait to get home and relax. Especially now that I was able to tell Mom what a great job I did.
“Hey Michael,” Robby said, behind me, “we have some unfinished business. I turned around instantly, and panic ran through my body.
“Robby!” I said frantically. Dropping my backpack, I stepped backwards, and the cold locker sent a tingle down my back. “We don’t have to do this right now.”
“Do something. Or are you too scared? Come on, you pussy!”
He raised his fist, and I closed my eyes and cinched up. Without knowing what was happening, Robby’s punch went straight to my stomach. A sudden pain radiated my gut. My body hunched over. I clasped my hands around my abdomen, while rage traveled through me and I lost control and swung a fist at his fat, jiggly belly, and he hunched over, like I did. Then adrenaline took over, and I punched him again. This time in the face, hitting his jaw. My bully’s head whipped to the left. It was like a boxer hit him. Robby put his hand up to his face and doubled over.
“How does it feel, asshole?” I snapped, and fire erupted from my stomach.
“Michael, get over here.” Mr. Blake hurried over, trying to grab my wrist. In a rush, I snatched my backpack and ran into the same bathroom that from earlier. The stall that I was in now was open. Where I wrote I fucking hate this, someone put Me too. My body stood there frozen, for a second at the thought that there was another kid who might be going through a similar situation. Mr. Blake soon caught up with me and clasped his hand back on my wrist.
“You’re going to the office,” he said. A slightly bitter tone was in his voice. He yanked me out of the bathroom. It felt like Mr. Blake was going to pull my arm out of the socket. At this point, I didn’t have a choice. The walk down to the office, which was a hundred feet or so, went on forever. I only thought about how I was a failure and that I broke the promise. Trouble loomed over me, and there was no way around it.
We got to the office. A room with a green frame and a wooden door, Mr. Blake opened the door, and we went in. There was an empty desk for the secretary, with a Mac and a desk calendar. An office chair was right by it. The two of us continued past to the principal’s office. It was a bright orange room. There was a window on one side. A brown wooden table underneath. On the other side, there was a desk, with a computer. A clock with animals on it oversaw the whole room. Every hour it made animal noises. In the past, I spent a lot of time in this room. Mrs. Washington, the principal. She was an older woman, with long white hair, in a bun. She wore a red and black flannel and a long blue skirt. She was reading something when Mr. Blake and I walked in. She always made me mad. As punishment, Mrs. Washington had me write the same sentence over and over. After a while, my hand always cramped up. There were times she’d force me to do it the whole day.
“Oh, Mr. Blake, Michael. What’s going on?” She looked up at us.
“I caught Michael beating up another student.” Mr. Blacke told her.
“Michael, you’ve been acting up for the past couple years, and I don’t get it. I’m Sorry, but I’m going to have to suspend you for two weeks. Have a seat in the lobby. I’ll get the secretary to call your mother and have her pick you up. What’s your excuse this time?”
“I-,” I tried to say something but couldn’t. The rock, now a boulder, sank down to the bottom of my stomach, tugging on my esophagus. I didn’t know what to say. There was no point trying to explain myself. I knew I messed up. Slowly walking over to the chair by the door and sitting down, starting to wait for Mom. It wasn’t long before tears began running down my face, over the promise I couldn’t keep.
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