Amanda

A Story by Misti Lee...

short story

AMANDA

She sat at her desk in the back row, drawing on a yellow folder with a black pen. She was not really paying attention to the teacher, who was explaining to the class the homework assignment she had written on the blackboard. She stared at the clock on the wall. Watching the second hand tick one second at a time, she became more impatient and restless with every minute that passed. She grabbed her backpack sitting on the floor beside her and put her stuff away.

When the bell rang, the once quiet, empty corridors became noisy and crowded as students poured out of their classrooms and spilled into the hallway. Like a small child carrying a blanket or teddy bear for a sense of security she clutched her backpack tightly with both arms holding it close to her body. She walked down the crowded hallway with her head down and eyes fixed on the floor in front of her. It was obvious that she didn’t want to draw attention to herself or to be noticed by the other kids who stood in the hall huddled together in small groups talking and laughing among them selves.

As she made her way down the hall I noticed that she stopped in front of the girl’s bathroom just as the two- minute warning bell rang. Three girls walked out as she went in. When she walked past them they all looked at her and quickly averted their eyes. Whispering to each other and giggling they all turned around to take another quick glimpse at her as they rushed out of the bathroom and down the hall.

We were alone in the bathroom as she reached in the pocket of her blue jean jacket and pulled out a cigarette. Leaning against the wall she lit the cigarette and took a deep draw. Closing her eyes she slid down the wall, sitting on the floor, knees bent, arms folded and resting her head in her hands. She opened her eyes and looked straight ahead staring somewhere off in the distance deep in thought. She heard the second bell ringing but she just sat there staring, clenching her teeth tighter and harder trying to hold back the tears forming in her eyes. She took off her silver wire-rimmed glasses and put one hand over her eyes as the tears streamed uncontrollable down her cheeks.

I grabbed some tissues and walked over to her and sat down on the floor beside her. Unclear in her mind by the purpose of my actions she took the tissues from my hand, brushed the hair back that covered her face, and wiped the tears from her eyes. She crumpled the soggy tissue into a tight little ball and threw it down on the floor beside her. As she let her auburn hair fall loosely back down around her face she grabbed the bottom of her red t-shirt and used it to wipe her red swollen cheeks and runny nose.

As she stood up yanking and pulling on the tight bell-bottom jeans she wore she took a deep breath, held it in, and fastened the top button. Slowly forcing the air out of her lungs she looked at me and smiled to show her appreciation. In a shy, weak, voice she said “ Thank you “. We were still talking when the last bell of the day rang out. I said good-bye to the young girl who just told me her name was Amanda, she was four- teen years old, in the ninth grade, and that she was pregnant.