Now, I'm not saying that this happened to me on Tuesday, but the number one rule of writing is "write what you know." And I'll find you, you light-turning off monster!
After class, I was sitting in the school bathroom when someone shut the lights off on me.
“Uhm, hello?! There is someone in here still!” I cried out in the pitch-black room. No one answered and the song “Mr. Cellophane” from Chicago swelled into my mind. How the hell am I going to get out of here? I was sitting in the third stall from the left on the third floor of the library. No one goes up here. It’s abandoned and that’s why I like it. I’m not saying I’m pee-shy, but an audience is not required for my every action. Hastily I readjust to be publically presentable, that is, if I ever make it back to the public. This school seriously needs to update the lights in here to sense motion. Groping around for the door lock, I find nothing. My eyes refuse to readjust in the darkness.
I’m going to end up living in this bathroom, which is a convenient place to be, given natural bodily functions, and I have a few granola bars in my backpack hanging on the hook in front of me. Usually, in a fight or flight situation, I opt for flight. It’s safer and less likely to cause me to flex my insane lack of muscle. But, there was the time I went camping with friends. I chopped wood and canoed like a lumber Jane. We, as animals, have a natural instinct to survive and mine was beginning to kick in. Yes, I could become a bathroom hermit. It will be a bit unsanitary, but life is messy. Feeling empowered I screamed at the forces of darkness that have trapped me here, “Bring it on bitches! I am ready to take you down!” Cue theme from Rocky.
As I jabbed the air with my fist, trying to float like a butterfly, sting like a bee, I smacked my shin on the toilet bowl. The pain brought me back to the reality that I am stuck in my library’s bathroom while I should be studying. Ugh, I should try to escape.
Slinging my backpack over my shoulders, I gently caressed the door from the top along the sides until I felt the cool, small metal lock in my right hand. Why didn’t I think of this sooner? I opened the door and, with my hands outstretched trying to find the wall, I slowly crept out of my stall/cave. After eons my fingers felt tile and I quickly threw myself against the wall, giving new meaning to “hugging the wall.” Gingerly, I slid along the wall, arms outstretched, hoping to find the door. Creep, creep, creep. I was so wrapped up in my thoughts, I barely noticed the sound of the door knob turning, but I did notice the blazing light now being emitted, with me, still hugging the wall, inches away from the door.
“Oh, sorry…I thought I heard screaming from the bathroom. Are you, okay?” asks a freshman girl who is giving me a rather quizzical look. I would have rushed over and given her a big hug, but I really needed to wash my hands. Survival is gross.
