I Know How You Feel

The rest of the days of the week were typical school days and I completely forgot about my new senses, having grown used to them. Yet next Monday a new thing appeared out of nowhere into my brain. Something that, even now after figuring out the reasoning behind this symptom, I’m embarrassed to talk about.

It all started with a normal A day.

“I hope all of you have your homework today because if not, you have five minutes to answer as many questions on it as you can before turning it in,” my Algebra II teacher announced to the class in her deep voice that didn’t fit her small body. It always seemed cartoony to me when I thought about.

A flurry of paper and pencils all came out at once and I soon found the world’s biggest slacker hovering over me.

“Did you do the homework?” A mop of auburn hair asked, looking down at me while I was sitting in my desk.

“Yeah,” I answered already somehow knowing his next question.

“Can I see it?”

“Sure, Rich,” I grumbled.

This seemed to be the same routine every Monday since the very beginning of the year. He would give me the puppy dog look with his big blue eyes--which shouldn’t be so convincing for a guy that stands a good six inches taller than me--and asked to copy my work. I think if it weren’t for me having pity on Richard because he’s the son of my mom’s best friend, he wouldn’t be passing this class. And he’s a junior! I always wondered how his test grades look. He would never show them to me though. On second thought, he could have been failing.

I pulled out my work and let him copy it. I was seriously too nice for my own good. And the teacher was too unaware for her own good. After guiltlessly cheating, he sat down and began to talk to me.

“So how’s that boyfriend of yours?”

“Tyler? Oh, he’s awesome. Everything is just amazing,” I oozed happiness all over my words and tried not to blush.

I forgot to mention earlier that in the past week Tyler and I have been closer and more romantic than we’ve ever been. And I can’t say I haven’t enjoyed going over to his house to make out on his couch and watch T.V. while leaving books open for cover up. The rush of being scared of getting caught really only seemed to fuel the fire I didn’t know I had. My newfound super senses didn’t hurt the situation either.

“Aww, lovebirds,” he oozed, mocking me, “just keeps his hands were you can seem ’em okay? No smushing, you’re too young for that.”

Then I couldn’t help it. My face grew red hot I wanted to kick him and hide at the same time.

“Richard!” I hissed, “That is none of your damn business.”

“Whoa, sorry!” he put his hands up and smirked.

I rolled my eyes and whacked him in the arm.

“Time’s up!” my teacher said.

Richard grabbed his paper and made a dash for his assigned seat. The teacher began picking up the homework.

“Richard,” someone whispered. We both looked over.

“What, Tiff?” he asked.

“You wanna come over tonight?” she whispered.

I could tell what she meant by the fact that she was licking her lips and leaning over to show nearly all her cleavage. Wait, I thought, was I staring at some girl’s boobs? Whoa. I blinked a few times to try and find a reason for what I’d just done. Boobs are gross, especially when your mom explains their function in vivid detail to you as a kid. Giving up, I looked down at my desk and began to doodle on my folder.

“I don’t know,” he whispered back. “I’ll tell you in fourth.”

“M’kay,” she said cheerfully, obviously knowing she’d won.

We all got quiet when Mrs. Haze came over, and I handed her my papers without looking at her.

I looked up and I rolled my eyes at Richard’s smirk and muttered, “Pimp.”

“Yep.”

After a torturous bout of math class, Richard and I walked to second block. He had art class; I had choir. Yes, I’m a singer. That’s what I meant by musician. I really wanted to be a singer. Walk the red carpet at premieres and sing on stage three times a week. Travel all over the world. You know, the basic teenage dream.

Anyway, I ran into Sam. No literally. I was a little (really) freaked out by the fact that I was staring at some girl’s boobs intently so I decided to look at my shoes for the rest of my life so that it wouldn’t happen again.

“Hey!” Sam growled.

I looked up in mid apology. “Oh, hi, Sam.”

“Olivia! Are you heading to Choir?”

“Yep, why?” I asked looking above her head.

“Well, I was just—Oh, Richard, I didn’t see you there!” she squeaked.

Sam had had a huge crush on him since middle school, but never could get over her shyness. Me? I was sworn to secrecy.

“Yeah, we were just heading to the Arts building,” he said.

I looked over at him. He seemed to have taken up my idea of looking at the floor. I’m such a trendsetter.

“Right, I need to go there to drop off my project.”

“Okay then. Let’s go,” I said trying to break the awkwardness.

I walked ahead of them down the steps and heard nothing but footsteps behind me. Why did Sam have to be so shy?

“What’s your project for Sam?” I asked.

“Fashion and Interior Design. We’re designing a wedding dress and had to come up with six designs,” she said walking up closer to me. Richard followed leaving me in the middle, again.

I pushed out through the double doors and walked down the glass-encased hallway to the Arts Building. The glass was frosted but I could still see today was going to be another pretty day. Not a cloud in the sky. I looked from Richard to Sam. They both were looking the opposite direction of each other out the windows.

“You draw?” Richard asked.

Thank God.

“Yeah, I’m not very good though,” Sam mumbled.

I walked to my classroom and set down my stuff. We still had about five minutes left of the break, so I went with Sam to drop off her project across from the choir room. Then we just sat in the seats and hung out there.

“So, what did you do over the weekend?” he asked to no one in particular.

“Avoided my dad,” I grumbled.

Again, I don’t hate my dad. He’s just pretty persistent with the sports thing, especially now that it’s getting warmer.

“Did my project,” Sam nearly whispered.

“Damn, you guys are boring,” he said.

“Fine, what did you do?” I asked crossing my arms.

“Don’t you mean who?” he retorted.

I gagged and covered my ears. “Ewww, T-M-I!” I squealed.

Richard’s party stories were not something I like to hear but I did anyway. Some of them even included my boyfriend and you can imagine how that made me feel. I glanced over at Sam and saw her attempting to hold an unreadable expression but, being her friend for forever, I could see the tinge of sadness in her eyes.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding, but I did get hammered. That was fun.” He said looking up in reminiscence.

“Yea, until the next morning,” I replied.

“Eh, details.”

Sam remained silent. I rolled my eyes at Richard. “Go to class.”

“You can’t--,”

“Now or I’ll tell your mom what you’re really doing when you say you’re at my house studying,” I narrowed my jade eyes to meet his blue-grey ones. His suddenly went wide.

“Bye Olivia, Bye Samantha!” he yelled running out the door. I chuckled but looked over at Sam and frowned.

“You okay?” I asked looking down at Sam’s zoned-out face that she frequently had when she was upset or angry. I poked her arm. She looked up and instantly snapped out of it.

“What me? Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired,” she said quickly, “You better go to class. You can’t be late.”

“Right. Walk with me?” I asked my voice still a little sad.

She nodded and put on that mask she’d gotten so good at making. Jeez, Richard could be so dense sometimes. I walked back to my class with her and walked in. Before I could say bye, she was gone. She never liked to be sad in front of me. I guess it was just the way she was brought up.

I got to choir and we were warming up. I was in a higher choir than most of the freshman. I really have no idea why; I had barely any music theory knowledge when I tried out. The seniors and juniors would get mad at me because I couldn’t read music very well and asked me why I was in their class. After a while though I got the hang of it and became one of them. Soon I was friends with the whole choir.

“Hey, Olivia!” A girl named Jackie called as I walked in.

“Hey, Jackie!”

Our school had some senior bullying so I was pretty scared at first to be in this class. Surprisingly though, being in a predominantly senior and junior class has saved my butt and those of my friends after I started to fit in.

Our school’s music department was one of the best in the state. It’s mostly because our teacher is the best choir teacher ever. He’s helped John Cabot’s Show Choir win tons of awards and gain district-wide recognition in the last five years. His name is Mr. James Harson. He’s a singer and choreographer and is amazing at the piano. He used to be a famous singer in New York, but after marrying his wife, he retired and moved here. Poor guy, he didn’t know better. We probably bore him out of his mind.

“Olive! Girl!”

“Hey, Chauntel,” I smiled. I put my stuff on the black riser step and sat down.

Before long, the place was filled up with students but no teacher. I asked myself, where was Mr. Harson?

The bell rang and a few stragglers ran through the door. We all sat down and looked at each other talking quietly.

“That’s right, steady Wyatt,” a voice said outside in the hallway.

Everyone got quiet and looked at the door. Soon a huge amp was being pulled through the doorway by Mr. Harson and Wyatt. Wyatt set it down next to the stage and shook out his hands.

“Thank you Wyatt,” Mr. Harson said. Wyatt nodded and went and sat next to me. The low talking had turned to excited voices that filled the room.

“Wyatt, why is there a huge guitar amp in the middle of the room?” I asked in excited confusion.

Mr. Harson was always doing new things to keep us from getting bored. Not that I ever did.

“You’ll see,” he smiled his bubbly smile.

I folded my arms and waited for Mr. Harson to call attention. Instead he plugged a guitar--an extremely nice looking Fender one I might add--into the amp and played a power chord. Everyone cheered.

“Today, we will be discussing the history of Rock and Roll but first, we have to listen to one of the key instruments in it,” he played the chord again. “The electric guitar.”

He began playing Smoke on the Water, and we all cheered. Then he started to shred; a nearly-forty-year-old man with a bald head rocking out. I started smiling from the sheer awesomeness of it. Then it happened.

He’s such a showoff, I thought feeling an unusual emotion for me. Jealousy. Why was I jealous? Of course, he’s awesome. He’s been playing for longer than I’ve been alive! Weird.

I turned around to see that Wyatt was looking jealous too.

“Isn’t he awesome?” I yelled over the guitar.

“Yeah, I wish I could play guitar,” he mumbled.

Wyatt had some issues with playing but mostly because he hated the things it did to his manicured hands.

“Oh, don’t get me started,” I said rolling my eyes.

The shredding stopped and applause filled the silence.

“Thank you,” he said bowing comically. “Would anyone else like to play?”

A few of the guitar guys raised their hands but none were noticed over Wyatt’s singsong voice, “Olivia wants to!”

“No, I don’t!” I said back as everyone looked at me.

That was Wyatt. Always volunteering me for things I didn’t want to do. He was the guy every girl loved. With his long blonde hair, tan skin, blue eyes and sparkling personality, few girls couldn’t like him. Even if they weren’t his type, Wyatt enjoyed the attention. He had developed a particular fondness for me the day I had sung to choir placement audition in eighth grade. After that, I became his freshman pet and he became my mentor.

“Olivia?” Mr. Harson asked, “You play?”

“I hate you,” I grumbled under my breath to Wyatt.

“Love you too darling,” he whispered back.

“Yes, Mr. Harson,” I answered.

“Then come down here and show us what you’ve got!” Mr. Harson’s voice sounded way too energized for the current situation. I hopped off the riser and he handed me the Fender. Pulling the strap over my head, I strummed the strings. I thought of something I could play.

An idea popped in my head and I began to play the beginning of Thanks for the Memories by Fall Out Boy. I mumbled the lyrics under my breath. Before long, some of the choir was singing along, but my mind was somewhere else.

I’m on stage with a band backing me. The crowd cheering and singing along. I’m singing into the mic. My lips are nearly kissing it and my adrenaline is high. My fingers move with a new motivation and I add my own flair to the chorus of the song. The crowd yells and cheers my name as I go into a solo. They scream at the top of their lungs and my hands finally rest and I finish.

“Thank you, Miss Knoes. I must say you definitely know how to rock,” he said in his cool-for-a-middle-aged-dude way, “How long have you been playing?”

I snapped out of my daydream and took the guitar from around my neck. “Since the summer before freshman year, sir,” I answered giving him back his guitar.

“Wow, only a year? You must have an amazing teacher,” he said shocked.

I shook my head, “I taught myself.”

His face was nothing but shock and awe. I blushed.

“How about a hand for Olivia?” he asked.

Everyone clapped and Wyatt—of course—whistled and cheered in his high tenor.

I walked back to my seat as Mr. Harson began to talk again.

“Now as you all know Rock and Roll started waaay back when the dinosaurs roamed and Mrs. Atred was a kid,” he joked. A few people laughed.

Mrs. Atred was this bitter old woman who lived next door to Mr. Harson. Almost every week he’d come in with a new story about her. They always made everyone laugh. “And there are many different forms of it, from punk metal,” he played a few chords from a familiar song. “To soft rock.” he played some chords from another song.

The weird jealousy came back. I tried to push it away but it still lingered.

Mr. Harson put away the guitar and got down to business. All of this was to present our theme for the end of the year concert with the band class in Washington D. C.. It was mostly just a fun trip but there were also places for us to sing! I was pretty excited to go because I had never been before and my mom actually let me go. The best part was Sam was coming too. She was in band.

“Ok I have a few songs picked out but I want you to all pick two more that are from this day and age since I’m not with it enough to know what you like,” Mr. Harson said putting air quotes around “with it”.

We all broke off into groups and talked about it until the bell rang for lunch.

“When you come back I want ten songs and we’ll vote for the top two,” he said as I packed up my stuff.

“So I was thinking we could do 1, 2, 3, 4 by Plain White T’s,” Wyatt said walking with me back to the main building.

I smiled and began to sing the song. “There’s only one thing two do three words—Wait, is that under the Rock category?” I asked.

“Dang, no, I think its acoustic,” Wyatt pouted, “But it’s still a cute song. I bet it would sound great in SATB.”

“Agreed.”

I open the door to the lunchroom and spotted Sam, Tyler, and another boy that looked like a freshman at our table. The maroon-painted room was filled with a meshed sound of voices and chairs scratching against the floor.

“See you back in class,” Wyatt said skipping over to one of his junior tables. I nodded and headed to my table.

“Hey, Ty,” I said putting my arms around him and kissing his neck.

“Hey, Liv.” He turned his head and smiled. I sat down next to him.

“Tyler, Olivia, this is Romeo D’Arco. He’s a foreign exchange student from Italy,” Sam said, looking at him to make sure she was right.

“Yes, I came here for school,” he said, his accent thick. He was definitely a Romeo. If his voice wasn’t enough to make you ogle, his looks would definitely fix that. He had short, sort of spiky, dark brown hair and chocolate brown eyes that almost sparkled. His smile was dazzling and his body wasn’t anything to be kept a secret either. He looked pretty tall sitting down and had nice arm muscles. I blinked and realized I was drooling over a boy with my boyfriend sitting right there. Oops.

“Hi, I’m Olivia Knoes,” I said with enthusiasm, “Nice to meet you.”

I was about to hold my hand out for him to shake it but Tyler put his hand out first.

“I’m Tyler,” he said.

Romeo took Tyler’s hand and shook it lightly looking at Sam. She nodded.

“It is nice to meet you both. Samantha is so kind for introducing me to her friends,” he smiled at her and her pale face instantly turned pink . I would definitely ask her about that later.

“So why did they send you out here now when we only have three months left?” Tyler asked before taking a bite of his sandwich.

“I am not sure. Maybe because the weather is warmer now?” he said shrugging his shoulders comically.

I almost giggled. He and Sam were both so unsure of themselves and they both kind of made the same face when they were confused.

“Wow, I didn’t even know that our school had a program like that. That’s so cool!”

I found Tyler’s hand suddenly in mine under the table. I gave him a sidelong glance and noticed there was a bit of a possessive look in his eyes. Tyler jealous? Now that’s something new.

I looked over at Sam to find her opinion on the matter and had this strange feeling. Kind of like the feeling I get towards Tyler when I want him to kiss me. It freaked me out and I accidentally squeezed Tyler’s hand.

“You okay?” he asked in a low voice.

“Yeah, fine.” I looked down at my food and waited for the weird feeling to go away. Tyler kept his eye on me but continued the conversation.

“So do you two have classes together?” he asked.

“Yea, he’s in my English class first period,” she explained. “I saw him at lunch so I invited him to sit with us.” Romeo nodded his head and looked up at the clock.

“Oh, I think I must go, it is time for my next class. It was nice meeting you, Olivia, Tyler,” he said, “and Sam I will see you in…”

“Principles of Science tomorrow,” she finished for him.

“Yes.” He smiled and left.

Tyler put his arm around my waist and the weird feeling went away. Thank God.

“Sadly, I must go too,” Tyler said mimicking Romeo. I giggled and kissed him on the cheek. He got up, let go of my hand and left.

As soon as he was gone I pounced on Sam. Whoa! Not like that. Okay, you might have not been thinking the dirty version of that but I sure was with my random thoughts of kissing my best friend and all.

“Samantha?” I asked. “What he can call you that and I can’t?”

“I didn’t want to confuse him or something,” she said in defense. “He kissed my hand this morning and stuff. I was a little distracted.”

“Sam, it’s cool but he totally likes you,” I said nodding my head enthusiastically.

“Funny. Don’t they do that in his culture though?”

“I’m not talking about the kissing hand thing! I was talking about the fact that he was totally staring at you like all the times we weren’t talking,” I stated.

“What? No, you’re totally making that up,” she said, with a semi-skeptical look.

“No, this is the honest truth. You need to go after him.”

“What? No!” she blushed.

“Yes! Before Misty steals him,” I retorted.

“Misty,” Sam’s eyes narrowed.

Misty Leighton was the clique dance team snob, brat, man-stealer--you get the picture. Back in middle school Sam was going to ask Richard to go to the dance with her—this was before he turned into a slacker manwhore—but was tripped by one of Misty’s minions and Misty got there first. Ever since then we’ve both had a hatred for her. She was short and had long blonde curly hair, flawless orange skin, and evil blue eyes. Those eyes could prey on any innocent boy within a six-foot radius of her. She kind of reminded me of my older sister except Liz didn’t ruin people’s lives for sport.

“Yes, so you’ve gotta be less shy with him and let him know you like him. You do like him right?”

“Yea,” Sam muttered sadly.

I put my head in my hands and groaned. I guess you could say I was like Sam’s Wyatt. Sadly, I’m not as patient as he is.

“Unfair. You guys got to talk to the foreign god. Damn, he’s fine,” The high tenor voice of the real Wyatt gushed.

I looked behind me and gagged.

“Whaaat? Girls are allowed to think gay guys’ are hot but I’m not allowed to think a straight guy is hot?” he questioned.

“Nooo, it’s just he’s fifteen! That’s like pedophile or something,” I said making a disgusted face.

“Hey, that’s only three years apart. It not like I was going to date him or something. Maybe just take him into a closet and—.”

“Okay!” I interrupted loudly, “I do not want to know about your fantasies!”

“Can the drama, sugar. It’s just an opinion. Oh, come on, it’s not like you weren’t thinking it too,” he said to the both of us.

“I have a boyfriend,” I stated. Sam blushed.

“So, you’re still allowed to dream.” He winked and my eye twitched.

“Anyway, I came over to tell you it was time to go,” he said tapping on the table.

“Right,” I mumbled looking up at the clock. I got up and waved bye to Sam. “Remember what I said,” I whispered. She nodded her head and we headed back to class.

“So our songs are: Splish Splash, Jailhouse Rock, Somebody to Love, Girl, aaaand Empty Sky,” Mr. Harson announced.

“Bruce! Bruce!” A cheer broke out behind me in the base section.

I rolled my eyes. Just because Bruce Springsteen was born here didn’t mean he needed to be recognized at every concert. We already sang two of his songs.

“Okay, I’ll have the choral music for you Thursday. Aaaand, the solos!” he said excitedly. Everyone cheered except for a sophomore and me. We knew we were not going to get the solos. They were for seniors and juniors only. It wasn’t a rule or anything. It just always happened.

The bell rang and I went to my next class.

I continued to have really weird feelings all through the rest of the week and wondered what the heck was going on with me. Was I going bi or something? I mean staring at girl’s chest, having weird feelings about girls and guys I’d never think about and feeling weird around lesbians and bisexual couples? I wasn’t normally like that. All the stuff that I never seemed to notice before became flashing neon signs in my life.

After having weird daydreams in math class about making out with a random girl in the class, I finally started to realize that if I was bi, I couldn’t deny it or anything. Though scary as hell, I would have to come out with it. If not, then I would be a huge hypocrite. I mean I like gay people and totally hate when people pick on anyone for their sexuality. But what would Sam think? First I would have to talk to Wyatt to see if it was more than just weird hormones.

“Wyatt, Can I ask you a personal question?” I mumbled during lunch after Tyler left.

Sam wasn’t here today so Romeo found other company. I totally knew he liked her.

“Sure, baby doll, what’s up?”

“Um,” I paused, wondering how to phrase this, “When did you know… you were gay?”

“Hmm...” He tapped his finger on the table. “Well, I went to this party and we were just messing around. And we were playing Seven Minutes in Heaven and they threw me in the closet with a gay guy—no pun intended—and when we were in there, I just kinda went with it and realized that the reason I was so dag gone lonely was because I didn’t want a girl at all. Then I dealt with that. Cue emo stage, and I came out the summer before my sophomore year.”

“So the feelings just kind of came out of nowhere?” I asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Actually, if I think about it long enough... I did kind of have feelings. But I was really too young to understand it,” he said.

I really hadn’t seen him this serious sounding ever. He was even giving me one of those looks that make you feel like people can see into your soul.

“Why did you ask?”

“Curiosity,” I answered looking at the green sludge the lunch ladies call broccoli.

“Hun, I wasn’t born yesterday. If it was curiosity you would have asked ages ago,” he argued.

He raised his eyebrow and I started panic. I wasn’t going to tell Wyatt. I couldn’t tell anyone…yet.

“I, um…” I tried to think up a good excuse.

What to tell him? I instead decided to just let him assume and got up, “I’ll see you in class,” I said and quickly walked away.

I hid in the bathroom and thought things over. I never remember thinking of a girl as more than a friend, ever. Not since last week. Wyatt said he pretty much was born gay. So maybe it was just hormones. There was only one way to know for sure. I’d have to experiment. Surprisingly, that sounded gross to me for once. How would I do that? And with who?

My answer came with an invite.

“What’s this?” I asked as Sam handed me a bright pink flyer.

I read it out loud. “Misty’s Birthday Extravaganza, Saturday, April 10th. Party all night long, bring a swimsuit and a friend with a winky face,” I sat and stared at it for two seconds, then flung it away.

“It burns!” I squeaked, shaking my hand.

“I know right?” Sam mumbled. “She just walked right up to me and handed me one and told me to give you one. She’s been giving them out all day.”

It was the end of the day and we were standing outside waiting for our parents’ cars to pull up. I picked up the flyer and looked at it with a new purpose.

“So, we’ll go,” I said, folding it up and sticking it in my purse.

“What? I thought you hated her?” Sam snapped.

“Did she invite Romeo?”

“Yeah…”

I paused to see if she would get where I was going, but she didn’t. Romeo had become pretty popular with the girls in less than a week and Sam though she’d never admit it I could see she was getting a little jealous. What she was so worried about, I would never know because on the one hand he liked the attention, but on the other, always sat with us for lunch no matter how many other people asked him. I wasn’t sure if it was out of courtesy or because he had a crush on her. Either way, Sam was pretty oblivious.

“Well, do you really want Misty having her slutty hands all over him?” I asked.

Sam looked down at her feet and mumbled, “No.”

“What?”

“No,” she said a little louder.

“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you. Do you want Misty to steal you man?”

“No!” she shouted and then turned bright red. “He’s not my man,” she mumbled looking down at her feet again.

I scoffed. “He might as well be.”

“What?” she looked up.

“Nothing,” I said.

Surprisingly, I wasn’t getting any of those wanting to kiss my best friend feelings right now. Thank God. That would be awkward.

“So we’re going to this party?”

“I guess. The tenth is this Saturday right?” she asked.

“Yep.”

“I’ll ask my mom. You need a ride?”

“Yea, probably.”

My parents both worked at night so I really couldn’t go anywhere without Sam’s mom. Thankfully she didn’t mind. At least I didn’t think she did.

“M’kay,” she said. My mom pulled up in her SUV with her nurse’s clothes on and I waved goodbye to Sam. “See ya.”

“Bye!”

I opened the passenger door and hopped in. My mom, who was on the phone, hung up and drove towards home.

“How was your day, honey?”

“Pretty good. Hey Mom, one of my friends is gonna throw a party this weekend. Can I go?” I asked trying not to choke on the word friend.

“I guess but I have to wo-,” she started.

“Sam’s mom is going to give me a ride I think,” I cut in.

“Oh, okay. Be sure to tell her thank you.”

“I will.”

I noticed that my mom wasn’t as talkative as she usually was. She looked worn out too.

“What’s wrong Mom? You look sad.”

“Oh do I? Sorry, just a rough day,” she said with a saddened tone.

“What happened?”

“Oh, this poor black gentleman—,” she was cut off by her beeper and after a moment on the phone, she drove out of the parking lot quickly. “He’s unstable and they need me back there as soon as possible. Will you be okay in—.”

I cut her off and nodded quickly. I was used to this by now. “I’ll just read magazines like usual.”

Instead, I ended up sitting outside his room in the ICU. I gathered the facts. His wife had died from cancer and he wanted to join her. He took a needle full of insulin and made himself overdose. No one was sure how he’d gotten it, only that they found him in a coma next to his wife’s empty hospital bed. Once they got him stable, I went to my mom. I knew now why she was sad. Suicides were one of the hardest cases to deal with for my mom. She always would try her hardest to make sure they’d survive to get the help they needed.

“You think he’ll make it?” I asked.

“I don’t think so,” she sighed. “I should have known. He came in with a huge cut on his hand from punching a mirror when he found out it was terminal a month before. He obviously wasn’t mentally stable,” she grumbled at herself.

I froze my brain thinking back to the dream. I looked over at the comatose man and found myself recognizing the face under all the tubes. I couldn’t see his hands.

“Did the cut leave a scar?” I asked cautiously.

“A huge pink one all the way across his knuckles.” There was a pause.

My heart skipped a beat. Nothing logical could have explained this.

And so came the next symptom.