Her Blood, His Hands

In Elementary, there was a boy I knew. We were really good friends until we weren’t. The summer after 4th grade I had to move away and while I tried my best to keep in touch and visit when I could, eventually something began to feel off, and after a while we finally lost touch.

Two years later, I moved back to my old hometown and ended up at the same middle school as him. At first I was excited to reconnect, but when I finally had a chance to talk to him, it was as if he had completely forgotten me. I knew he hadn’t, and he was just trying to push me away, but it really felt like he was a completely different person.

It was around then that I had found out his mother had been diagnosed with a rare disease, and so he had ended up staying with his grandparents. We never exchanged SNS but I happened to find his profile through a mutual friend we all used to play with. According to his profile, he was his only friend.

At the time my username was the name of my favorite video game character, so he must not have realized it was me, at least not at first. We messaged for a bit and he asked how I knew him and I made up a story about how we met online a few years ago. He then asked if I was “one of them”. I said no?, and he never respond after that.

Anyways, life just went on for me. It was all friends, school, girls and games. Before I knew it I was in University, working a miserable part time job as a cashier and sleeping on the floor of the tiny room I rented. It was awful. But even still, after all this time I wondered what I could have done differently to get through to him. If I could just go back and do it all over again.

Another crappy summer night, and the humidity could kill. Even with the window open and the fan on full blast, nothing got rid of the hot, damp air that clung to everything. I had no other choice but to lay there on my soggy futon cushion and scroll Twit on my phone, until I fell asleep. The reason I’m telling you this part at all is that while scrolling, an article on my feed caught my attention. It was from a local news station, the headline read: “Young Man Cleared of all Charges After Car Accident Kills Elementary Girl”.

My heart raced as I scanned over the article. I can’t tell you how, but I knew it was him. My eyes zipped line by line, until I hit the bottom of the page.

“…He was acquitted today of any wrongdoing, after the jury saw footage from a nearby store… the girl who was only seven and had a history of complex seizures, ran into the busy intersection after leaving her evening dance practice in February. She left alone, without her parents permission, and without the knowledge of the instructors or staff… in the footage released exclusively to LWK, the girl can be seen standing on the sidewalk as if she were waiting for cars to come before leaping into the oncoming traffic…”

Below the article, there was one comment. It really didn’t take a stretch of the imagination to guess who wrote it, even though it was left anonymously.

“I know what you did. Her blood is on your hands and I hope you rot in hell. Give me my little girl back.”

After reading that, I felt sick. Like there were rocks tumbling around in my stomach. My mind was racing, and I couldn’t stop thinking about what I would do in his situation. None of the outcomes were very good. Through the nausea, I saw my ceiling wobble. My ears were ringing and I could faintly see the after-image of fluorescent lights, somewhat behind my ceiling.

In a cold sweat, I blacked out.

…

There was a deafening screech, unsettling and metallic. It sounded like a train had just slammed on the brakes. I swear, it was like getting whiplash. My ears were still ringing and my eyes were trying to adjust to the harsh buzzy lights.

I am starting up at ceiling tiles. 

At the lights.

“And why do we think Homer wrote the Odyssey?” I recognize that voice. “Hey! you really don’t look too good. Do you need to go to the nurses offi-?” I fold forward and vomit all over my hoodie sleeves with the remainder splattering on my desk. Honestly it was a relief.

Everything starts to come back into focus. I’m sitting at my desk, back in my fourth grade classroom. Seriously, this can’t be happening. There’s no way I’m actually back here. My eyes are darting all over the room, and I’m watching all of my old classmates stare at me in disbelief, gasping. All of them looking straight at me with shock and disgust all over their faces.

Everyone but him, and the red haired girl sitting in front of me.

“Oh my gosh, are you ok..? Naomi, would you walk with him to the Nurse? Here’s the hall pass!” The red haired girl stands up and turns to face me. Her skin is tan. Her emerald green eyes are soft and she had a softer smile. Honestly she looked like had just woken up from a nap. “Okayyy—“ she exclaims pretty unenthusiastically before grabbing the pass from the teacher.

Right as I reach the door, we lock eyes. He’s blonde, with short hair, like a grown in buzz. Faded blue eyes. He had an intense expression, like a hunter stalking their prey. His face seems thinner than I remembered. So thin I could see his cheekbones protruding. I really don’t have much time to dwell on it, I just want to make sure I don’t throw up again.

The red haired girl and I are walking down the hall to the nurses office.

Well I’m walking and she’s skipping ahead a few steps, clutching the hall pass. She wore a silver bracelet with a heart shaped pendant with jewels around the border. I knew it was a medical ID. Engraved, “NAOMI ONDA, SEIZURE DISORDER, ON GABAPENTIN”. At this point I’m still in shock. I’m not as nauseous any more, but I’m totally disoriented. It’s been nearly 20 years since I’ve been in this hallway but It’s exactly the way I remember it. The lights are humming, and our shoes are squeaking on the linoleum tiles.

“Hey uh, Naomi..? What year is it?” She swivels around after landing dead center on a floor tile and looks me right in the eyes. There’s something about her that makes me feel that she’s more confused than I am. She looks up at the ceiling and puts her pointer finger on her chin. “Uhm, It’s either 2007 or 2008. I always get confused, because we do fireworks in the summer and in the winter.” She looked dopey, kinda like a sad puppy. She turned around and got back to skipping.

I’m sticking out my tongue, and the school nurse has got the wooden popsicle stick shoved way too far down my throat. It’s like she’s trying to get me to throw up again. The red haired girl, Naomi is leaning agains the wall beside the door and has her hands behind her back. She’s just staring at the floor in a really vacant way. “Naomi, why don’t you go back to class sweetie?” The nurse asks kindly. Suddenly, there’s a glint of life in her eyes again, and she again exclaims “Okayy-” in an even flatter tone than before. Wow this girl is an airhead.

It’s kinda funny because I really don’t remember her at all. I know it’s been a really long time, but for some reason, I feel like I remember that seat was empty for most of the year. Yeah, that’s right, a guy sat there in the beginning of the year but he transferred schools after just two months.

She’s out in the hallway now, staring back at me through the narrow slit window that ran up the door. Same soft eyes, but now she seems fully awake. Then she smiled, revealing her teeth. Sharp, like an animal. She licked her lips. And then she was gone.