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Chucks

Amy Lowe

    I skipped breakfast. The smell of bacon drifting through the hall was making me nauseous.
    Earlier this morning I was admitted to Hopewell Mental Institute. So, food is the last thing on my mind.
    Instead, I lay in bed sulking to the tick tick of the clock. My stomach doing flip flops like a fish out of water.
    The door opens. It is him again. I shoot up in bed.
    “Really?” I snap.
    He is holding a box. He looks at me and grins. Now I am really irritated.
    “Well, everything is secure.” He sets the box on the foot of the bed.
    I mumble under my breath. His coming and going is annoying me and I have only been here one day.
    “It’s your stuff, I guess, from home. They had too nosey through it. I mean you know,” he changes his voice to a deep mysterious tone, “you might use a crayon to cut your jugular.”
    He makes a digging motion across his throat.
    I try to stifle a laugh.
    “Behold! She talks!”
    “I laughed,” I say correcting him. I scoot closer to the box.
    “So, do you draw?” He asks pulling a chair up and sits down.
    “You went through my stuff?” I bellow.
    “Your stuff? Your stuff is everyone’s stuff.” He pulls the tab open and reveals the contents.
    “What do you mean?” I pluck the box from him.
    “There’s not many secrets here. The stuff you have will get heard about , touched, and sometimes stolen.” He tips the chair to lean in closer to the box. “Open it. Might as well get used to it, the only private thing you’ll ever get is letters. And sometimes those are violated.”
    “Are you saying I have a nosey roommate?”
    “No. You probably have the nicest roommate here. But at any time, once you’re up in the mornings, your room can be invaded.”
    “Yeah, I see that.” I glower at him.
    “ Oh! You have jokes,” he giggles. “By the way I am Gavin.” He holds his hand out for a shake.
    I deny him the handshake and jostle the box at him.
    “Fine. Go through it,” I say, folding my arms across my chest.
    “Ok, Girl.” He emphasizes girl since I will not give him my name.
    Gavin pulls the first item from the box.
    “You do draw.” He tosses the sketching pad on the bed. “Seems to be the main hobby in this place.”
    Oh folks, here we have it! The deadly weapon of choice!” He sounds like the announcer on The Price Is Right as he tosses my crayon box at me.
    “What!” I exclaim. “Where’s my Gel markers and sketching pencils?”
    “I told you. Secured.” His face got solemn. His bangs hang over one eye. “Sorry Girl. It’s just how it is in here.” He shrugs.
    “I am missing my show so we can hurry this along?”
    “I do not need your help, you can leave.” I set the box on my lap.
    “I can’t. Unfortunately, I must double-check that they didn’t leave something they shouldn’t have in the box,” He sighs again and props his chuck-covered feet on my bed.
    I want to scream. I want to smash the glass on the clock and watch it violently fall in pieces to the floor. This invasion of my space and privacy is provoking the worst in me.
    I quickly dumped the rest of the contents on my bed. He gives a nod of approval.
    At the door he pivots around in his black and white chucks, flipping his bangs back he says, “Listen, Girl, if you ever need someone to hang with, hit me up.” And then he disappears as quickly as he had come.
    “Whatever Chucks!” I call after him.
    In an instant, he is back, with a devilish smile.

    “That’s cute. I can go by that. But eventually, I will learn your name from someone around here,” he winks.
    “Blakely,” I murmur.
    “I like that.” He is quiet for a moment as his boney, long fingers brush his bangs away from his eyes.
    “What now?” I shriek.
    “Just trying to think of a nickname for you.”

    He shrugs.
    “Oh well, when I think of one, I will be back.”
    And then he vanishes.
    “Yeah, I am sure you will,” I mutter.

    Reluctantly, I take my crayons and open my sketch pad. It takes me a few minutes to realize what I am drawing.
    ...a pair of white and black chucks.

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