They’re marching us into the library like we’re headed for a gas chamber. Two long lines next to each other. Backing out into the hall behind the cafeteria.
It’s one o’clock. You would think they would do this in the morning.
“Take your pencils. Take two pencils. They’re already sharpened. If you need another one during the test bring your dull or broken pencils to me and I will hand you a sharp one. Only two pencils will be issued to each student. If you break a pencil, bring one pencil, one pencil, to me. I will issue you only one new pencil at a time.”
I’m getting close to the pencil announcer.
It’s one of the office aides. Curly nasty hair. Blue shirt looks like hospital scrubs. White flakes on her shoulders.
I guess I’m kind of reeling back from her.
“Do you want your pencils?” In one hand she has a copy of the test.
I take that from her. I guess I’m kind of looking nervously at her other hand. The one with the pencils in it. It looks like it has not been washed in a really long time. I snatch one of the pencils out of her hand and she’s shoving the other one in my face.
“Take your other pencil.”
“I don’t need it.”
“Take your other pencil.”
“Thank you. I’m fine.” I’m walking past her.
She’s saying. “Don’t be complaining to me that your pencil runs out or it breaks while you’re taking your test.”
“Pencils don’t run out.” I say. But I’m past her.
Mr. Baumgartner is guiding people to their seats. I go past Dyson. He’s kissing his chains, trying to be suave. Spencer is next to Dyson. Spencer is arranging two pencils and the test booklet with magnetic precision on the study desk in front of him. Talk about OCD.
“You might want to see someone about that.”
“Excuse me?”—“I didn’t.”—“Catch.”—“That.”
“I said good luck.”
Dyson answers for the two of them. “Good luck to you as well.” Dyson’s just being nice. It’s not a matter of luck for either of them. They’re smart kids. Crazy. But smart. But look who’s talking.
“Today is a half day, as you know. When you’re done with your test you can leave. Do not rush. Do not rush. Colleges look at your PSAT even more than they look at your SAT or ACTs. Take your time. Answer carefully. This test matters if you plan on going to college. There will be no talking. When you finish your test, if you have extra time, take time to check your answers. Then bring your test and two pencils to me. Place them on this desk and you can leave. Go ahead and move on in. Take the next available seat. No talking.”
My seat is way in the back of the library. Facing the librarian’s desk and some dark shelves that have periodicals or microfilm or something on them that no one ever looks at. There are only two desks here, mine and the one to my left. At the one to my left is Amanda Sauder. Which is good because Amanda Sauder is a very quiet person. I sit. I put my test down. It’s actually nice and dark back here. It relaxes my eyes. Amanda Sauder is not gonna be any trouble. I’m facing away from the rest of the room. Don’t have to look at anyone except a little sliver of Amanda Sauder out the side of my left eye. As long as she stays very very still it will be almost like no one is here at all. Perhaps an occasional cough from behind me. Reminding me that there are in fact other people in the room. But that’s it. Otherwise I can focus. Calm. Let go. Exhale. I breathe out and get myself situated in the chair. Ass in the right place. Jenna’s panties keeping me company. Not too much thought about those now. Just a low-level comfort. Softness. Work on my breathing. Look straight ahead. There’s no one here but me. Ignore the instructions. The only thing that matters is Mr. Baumgartner saying we can begin the test. Then the only thing that matters is that I finish the test as soon as possible. That’s the only reason I’m here. That’s my only goal. Finish as soon as possible. Be the first one finished. It’s a race. It is a race. That’s my only consideration. Finish first. Get out of this room as soon as possible. Visualize putting my pencil on the desk with that nasty curly-haired office aid and getting the fuck out of this place.
“Does everyone have a test? Yes? Does everyone have two pencils? Ok. Begin.”
I stand up.
I go to the desk at the front of the library.
I stare down that ugly-ass office aid with the dandruff.
My one pencil is still sharp.
I hand Mr. Baumgartner my test.
I put my pencil on that motherfucking desk.
And I walk out of that library first.
There are things I want to say to you. There are things I want to do. I don’t know how to write this in a note, but please don’t make me say them aloud. Some things are better left unsaid, some things are better said without speaking. Some things I want to say to you in a bed. Or maybe a hammock. Or maybe in the dark. I think some things can only be said in the dark. Without eyes. I think I said some of those things to you last night. But not at your house. Before. In my room. I had to say them by myself, move my lips invisibly and think dirty thoughts. Next time I think those things I want us to do it. Do all the things we write about and think about when we’re alone. Do all the things I see in your eyes, or think I see, or maybe I just imagine are there. Behind your mind. Somewhere in the thrust of you. There’s brutality in you somewhere. Below the steady brushing of your hair. I think those things may be in the hands, William. Or in the small of your back. There might be a little part of it in the ears. And maybe a small part in the nose. Next time I call you, come. I want you in my basement again. And this time we’re going all the way. My mom will be out till six p.m. tomorrow.
There are things I want to say to you. There are things I may never say. I feel that you listen, though, and you are one of the only ones who does. Sometimes I want to say things to you when I just wake up. Call me more often, William. Boy. Call me when you’re in bed. I will listen. And say those things you want to say to me but are afraid to. I am afraid. I am afraid everything I say to you will turn out not true. I am always ready to hold you. P.S. Call me soon.
I know you’re busy. Come away with me. Even if we don’t drive to California, let’s drive to the park. I need our talks again. After the test today. Meet me in the print lab and we’ll go somewhere. Cemetery? Or park?
I fold my note and take it along a row of lockers on a side hallway. Lockers number 0 through 93. I come to yours. Locker number 62. Sometimes I dream I can’t remember which combination is yours, and which is mine. Turning the dial. 32. 12. 0. Open. Your locker is disturbingly organized. I kneel. Open my bag. Get my scotch tape. Stand. Unfold my note. Press it against the inside of your door, below the vent. Tape one corner. Flatten. Tape the other corner. Flatten. A dab of tape on the bottom. Disco. I kneel again. Put the tape back in my bag. Close up my ALICE pack. What the hell do you have in your locker? Something with a metal hand-grip. Some electricity science-fair-looking equipment. What is this, something to measure Boyle’s law? What are you doing, William?
Close it. Lock it. Bag on shoulders. Continue.
Photo lab. Black and white lab. Two rooms: film developing and film printing. I’m in the developing room. It’s just me. This would be the end of sixth period if it wasn’t a half day. A few people are in the lab next to this one. Printing film. Making pictures. Dipping photo paper in developer, then stop bath. Then rinse, then wash, then dry. They’re listening to the radio in the next room. We listen to oldies—by consensus. There’s no radio in here.
I close myself into my changing closet. There’s a latch on the inside. On the outside there are padlocks. We keep these closets locked when they’re not in use. Probably so kids don’t have sex in them. They’re wooden closets. They fit one comfortably. Or two if you’re copulating. I suppose. We use them to de-spool film. You can use a bag instead. You put your hands in a dark bag and you can take film off its spools and spool it onto developing canisters. Then you’ve moved your film from one light-proof container to another. And you do that inside a changing bag. But some people can’t work the changing bag. So we have these changing closets, which are light-proof closets. You go in them and de-spool your film. I can work the bag but I like the changing closets better. Don’t ask me why. It’s just nice in here.
Changing closet #1 is mine. It’s clearly labeled with my name in masking tape. If I catch you using my changing closet I yell at you. That only had to happen once. Now we have an understanding. I don’t like people reorganizing my things. These kids are disorganized. They disrespect other people’s things by moving them and not putting them back. They leave bags of photo paper open and then turn the lights on. They use air canisters to play practical jokes on people who are sleeping. Then when you need air to spray a negative you can’t find any air. These are the kind of people who don’t even use a magnifier to focus their prints because when they look at a print, they can’t tell if it’s in focus anyway. They’re just here so they won’t have to take biology because they’re afraid of dissecting a cat.
I guess I like these changing closets over the changing bag because I need quiet. With the bag your head is in the light and your hands are in a completely dark space. You can change your film anywhere. With the bag you have to pass in scissors and tape and your developing spools and of course your film before you start so you have everything in the bag before you open your film. In here I just keep my scissors on the shelf. And in here it’s dark for me too. It’s actually not completely dark. There are tiny seams where the door closes. But it’s dark enough. It takes time for film to be exposed. Light and time both. A tiny bit of light takes a long time to expose film. Even in the print lab, there’s dim brown light so you can see. That light exposes photo paper. If you leave photo paper out in there for long enough, it will turn completely black. Film is always exposed, a little bit. Photo paper is always exposed, a little bit. Until it goes into the stop bath. And even then. Everything is always exposed, everything is always progressing just a little bit. Growing. Decomposing. The edges of your body are always rubbing off. Microscopic pieces of you. Falling off. You’re always losing hair. Your edges are always changing. Even a picture doesn’t last forever. Little bits of it are always changing. Little bits of it are always going away.
I’m in this narrow closet, designed for one.
I love my wooden box.
But I get out of it for now.
Bright lights. Sinks. Closets and bags for spooling film. Timer clocks for telling how long you’ve been doing something—soak film in some chemical for twenty seconds. Forty-five seconds. Rinse. Next chemical. Clotheslines for drying negatives. Light table for cutting them. I start developing. Three black cylinders of film in various stages. Two short cylinders and a tall one. Doing a couple of your rolls while I’m at it. You’re welcome. ‘Cause you’re slow at taking tests and after the PSAT you have to work on your science fair project. ‘Cause I’m your slave. Are you happy to have me as your slave? Are there better choices? I can develop film with my eyes closed. What’s a couple more rolls? Timer reset. Forty-five seconds. Agitate in stop bath. I’ve got these cylinders staggered so I can agitate them all at the correct times. I can only agitate two at once because I only have two hands. This means that one’s gonna sit with developer in it a little longer than it should. That’s ok. That’s ok. Came in here to think anyway. Need time to think. If negatives get a little darker than they should be I can always adjust in printing. Agitate. Agitate. Agitate is when you pour the liquid back and forth inside the cylinder where the film is. To get the chemical all over the film. Evenly. You do it slow. Pour. Pour. Forty-five seconds. Now empty the liquid out. You can’t re-use developer. Pour it down the sink. I love the way it smells. Some people use gloves when they do this but I love the way it smells on my fingers. Stopping those two and I need to rinse this one. Stop bath is a chemical that stops the developer. Stopping those two. Timer: two minutes. Agitate. Agitate. Stop. Where’s the rinse? We don’t rinse with water. We rinse with Photo-Flo. Where’s the Photo-Flo? Cabinet at feet? No. Cabinet at left? What the fuck is this? “Who put all this junk in here?” Junk in the cabinet. It’s more of your fucking electricity experiment. Flat-faced balls. Slam them to the side. Photo-Flo? No. “Photo-Flo, where are you?” I sing. Good thing no one’s in here. They already think I’m crazy. Maybe it’s they know I’m crazy. Kick the cabinet. One of the flat-faced balls drops out. Flat thud, its side smacking the floor. “Who told you this was a place to store your science fair project?” There’s a hand-grip with nubs on it. Press my fingers into them, plush buttons taking fingertips like Tempurpedic. Kind of relaxing. But a definite click, inaudible, a click you can feel when you press a button in far enough. Digital. A distinct in and a distinct out point. The buttons make it so that the thing can kind of roll, roll a few feet anyway, before stopping on some combination of points and faces and plush buttons. Like it wouldn’t roll far on a flat surface or a slightly tilted one, but it would roll down a hill. The whole thing gray. Dark gray flat plastic polygon dome. Light gray plush buttons. Looks like some kind of hand massager. Could I get off on this? How do you turn it on? I put it down. Then kick it. It smacks around the wall-base with flat metallic sounds. I put the thing back and close the cabinet. “Think this is your own personal Radio Shack!” I stand. I agitate the film that’s in stop bath. Set the canister down. This is too much. This is too much. Yell loud enough so that people in the next room can hear you. “Where’d y’all put my fucking Photo-Flo?!?”
I go out of the developing lab. Into a short dark hallway. Into the darkroom.
Brown light. Tan-ish brown light. It’s not red. That’s just in the movies. It’s a tan-ish brown light. A few people in here. The radio’s on. I go to my enlarger. My back is to the room. Livingston is here. Meryl is here. Suzanne Schaeffer is here. She can’t print photos for shit but at least she keeps her mouth shut. The normal sixth period people are worse. Can’t stand some of those people. I set my timer. There are timers in here too. Each enlarger has a timer. You have to know how long you’re exposing the paper for. Each print has its own group of settings. You might want to write them down for each print you make if you are unable to remember them. Twelve seconds. Where’s my air can? “Where’s my air can?”
Look around. Meryl has it. Go to her. She’s printing that same one as yesterday, trying to. Take the air. Don’t look at her. The girl needs to learn how to properly use filters. You can’t use a five filter on everything just because you want to. Back to my station. Don’t look in the developer tray. Don’t look at David. David. Actually David is ok. The haircut is a problem, but—. Blow the air into the tray. Blow the air over the negative. Usually you would remove the tray and then blow the air in. That’s the official recommended method but that method is actually flawed because removing the tray requires you to put the tray back in. While you’re putting the tray back, more dust can get in. If you hold the spray can carefully, you can avoid the introduction of more dust. I do not suggest you remove the film tray. This is one of the areas in life where counteracting forces can be eliminated. I get new paper. Out of the bag. Close the bag. Square it on the flatbed. Twelve seconds. Look around. Where is William?
I’m at the print dryer when you finally show. You purposely rub on me when you come into the room. I will have to teach you a lesson. That will be later, at my house. “Can we go now?” I turn and face you. Now it’s me doing the rubbing.
You brush past me. You’re going for the lower cabinets, looking in each one. You get to Meryl’s.
“Can I help you?” She sees what you’re doing but doesn’t move.
You open the cabinet anyway. You press the wooden door against her. Like she’s a cat and this is the best way to communicate with her. By wordlessly pushing her aside. You close the cabinet.
I’m pretty sure Meryl likes you.
You check the cabinet by Suzanne Schaeffer.
“Don’t be rubbing on those other girls now.”
I’m at the stop bath pushing torn strips of photo paper around with bare fingers when a hot hand lifts my skirt, touching my left leg. I almost fall. Lose control of the nerves keeping my rag doll standing. Limp to the left a little. Your breath in my ear. I bite my lip. Your finger goes inside the leg-curve of my underwear.
I grab your hand. Jenna’s panties.
Your voice in my ear. “I think you should stay home tomorrow.”
I turn around and now you’ve got a finger all the way inside my underwear. “Why? So you can have your way with me?” You must feel what’s there. I’m blushing hotly. Ropes tie your ankles to bedposts. My piglet socks shuffled down to the toes. I’ve got my hands on you, one high, one low. Everything is hot. “Can’t you see I’m working?”
You press your fingers up and around me and I push you away. I want to fuck. I want to fuck now. “Don’t you see people are trying to get their work done here?”
Meryl is looking. David is looking. Out of the corner of his eye. Meryl huffs back to her enlarger with some shitty print from the wash. She doesn’t even dry her prints properly. She definitely likes you.
I’m gonna have to teach that girl a lesson. “Hey!” I lunge in Meryl’s direction, leaning over the developer trays. “Hey! I’m talking to you! What are you huffing at? Keep your eyes on your print you might have better luck!” An arm on my elbow, I shake it off. “Learn how to print a fucking picture!”
Meryl resets her developer timer.
That’s right. I thought so. Roaches in these bitches’ cooters. One wrong look from Meryl. Give me one wrong look. Try me. I think I have a violence fetish. I think I need to see a doctor. I turn to you and say quietly. “You think maybe you can give me the information for a psychiatrist?”
You look concerned. You’re whispering. “Have you—? Has anyone—? Who’s been in the developing lab today?”
“Are you looking for your science fair project?”
“Flat black balls.” You shape them with your hands.
“You oughtn’t leave your Inspector Gadgets lying out where anyone can find them.”
You laugh. You look scared. “Where are they?”
“Lost your balls did you?” I grab your belt. “I can think of something we can do for that.”
We’re too exposed in here. I pull you through the dark hallway and into the developing lab. We kiss. I was planning it under my sheets last night and it would happen under my sheets. Or on top of them. “There is something I want us to do together.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.” Something neither of us can do alone. Something we talk about when I call you. “You know the stories you tell me on the phone?” The ones that make me wet? “I want you to tell me those stories when you’re next to me. My mom is at work. Tomorrow she’s out till six. She’s taking Theresa to a Mini racers tournament. We can have the house.” I would give you more detail but I don’t think it’s necessary. “Please come. Tomorrow or today.”
“I can’t today.” You open the cabinet. You start taking out the flat-faced balls. The hand-grip with the buttons. Putting them in your bag.
“Stay with me.”
“I’ll meet you later. I have to do some stuff right now.”
“What do you have to do? Your science fair project!?”
You kiss me. A quick kiss.
I put myself between you and the door. “You know what your sister did to me yesterday?” I’m gonna make you listen to this. Because this is bullshit. “Jenna and her friends. I fell asleep in English class. Jenna wakes me up to ask me if I’m gay.”
You put down your bag.
My arms are folded.
You rub my shoulders. “I’m sorry.” You’re shaking your head. “I’m so sorry she did that to you.”
“Do you believe that? She woke me up to ask me if I’m gay.”
“She’s—she’s insecure. It’s no excuse but it’s an explanation.”
“Also, she thinks the fact that I won the debate contest is luck. Every time she mentions it she’s like ‘You got really lucky on the debate last year. Do you think you’re gonna do the contest again this year?’ I guess ‘cause she’s only gonna enter it if I don’t. ‘Cause she’s afraid of losing. For her everything is hard work. For me it’s somehow luck.”
“She’s mean. She is. She always has been. It’s just a front.”
“She’s a fucking whore! I’m sorry to say that but would you please tell her to chill her friends out?”
“Yeah.”
“You will?”
“Yeah. I will. I’ll say something.”
“Thanks.” But you’re fading away from me. Going away.
“No. No no no no no. Oh William.”
You’re picking up your bag.
“Don’t leave me.”
“I have to do some things.”
“Please please please. Please stay.”
“I can’t.”
“Meet me later.”
“I’ll meet you tomorrow.” You pry me off. You separate me from the door. With your bag of machine parts, you leave me.
2:30. Everyone else has left the photo lab. Miss Theobald has come by to lock up, and instead given me the key. If I turn off the lights and put the chemicals away she’ll usually do this for me. And I get to work alone. I bring the radio with me when I go from the print lab to the developing lab and no one else is there. Without oldies it’s too quiet when it’s only me. I just have to leave by the time they close up the outside, which is never before six.
I’m in the developing lab doing a roll of film. Thinking. Giving myself some quiet. In a minute I’ll rinse this last canister, wash out the sinks, and lock up.
I hear voices in the hallway. High-pitched giggles like some sort of monkey. Something scraping dully on the cinderblock wall. They’re going to the print lab. It’s locked. I put my back against the sink. As far from the door as possible.
When it opens, it’s Jenna. “There she is.” She wails.
It’s Jenna and friends. To be specific, it’s Jenna, Sara Krey, Jessica Tak, and Kristen Picket. They sort of fall into the film lab. They are definitely looking for me. All eyes my direction. I wonder if developer damages the eyes. Not sure what these girls are up to.
“School’s over. Didn’t ya hear?”
“You finished your test first just to hang around here?” Jessica Tak is closer to me than I ever want her to be. I can smell her pits.
“Ask her.”
“I will.”
“Ask her.”
Kristen is in my face. Her eyes creep me out. They’re different colors.
I’m smiling. Nice kitty. Want some food? I swirl the developer back and forth in the canister.
Sara actually touches my shoulder. “Um—”
“Are you gay?” Asks Jenna.
Blood rush to my face.
Jenna is laughing hilariously. “We just wanted to know!”
Cut you with my fingernails. Four of you. Developer in your face. I can throw developer in your face.
Sara Krey is giggling out of control.
I should do it. I should throw this on them. “That’s what you came down here to ask me?”
Jenna. “Are you?”
Kristen puts her hand on the film canister and I pull it back toward me. Developer sloshing around inside. I guard the cap with my hand so nothing comes out. Kristen slaps it out of my hands. It’s in the sink behind me. Kristen is in my face.
Jenna pulls her back. Jenna is in my face. “You are. You are gay.” Her breath stinks. “I knew you were.”
I have actual tears in my eyes. “Jenna. Let me ask you a question—”
Then she hits me in the cheek. Side of my face. The fucking bitch actually punches me. And Jessica Tak is on me with her knees. And I’m on the floor. Head hits the base of the metal sink. Crack through my neck. There must be blood. That’s definitely gonna bruise. And Sara Krey is down here with me and it’s everyone else’s legs I see, shoes and feet. Jessica Tak has her fingernails in my ear and she’s pulling it almost off. I kick a pale leg with my boot and knock somebody back. I kick another pair of legs with my boots. As hard as I can. Ripping Jessica’s fingers off my ear. I kick as hard as I can. All the grit of my teeth. Hoping to break someone. Shit. If they’re going four-against-one I can’t afford to hold back.
There’s fire in my ear. I rip something on Jenna’s leg. She’s falling back shrieking. “Fuck!”
Smack. I get punched in the left side of my head by Sara. And I’m yelling. “Stop! Stop!” And I’m crying.
Jenna pulls her friend off the floor and Kristen and all of them drag themselves into the dark hallway but then Jenna comes back and while I’m lying there pressing my hand to my ear and then looking at it—bloody hand in my field of vision—Jenna comes back and kicks me in my face. She hits my neck and my face and knocks me to the base of the sink again. I have my hands in front of my face, guarding. She spits on me.
“Fucking cunt. Fuck you.” That’s Jenna.
Then they leave.
I’m in quiet. I’m on the floor and I’m under green fluorescents and I can hear the trickle of water in the sink and the hum of the manual timer I had set for two-and-a-half minutes. At the end of which time I am supposed to pour the developer out of my black canister. Then I’m supposed to pour in the stop bath. That way my pictures won’t be overdeveloped. If they’re overdeveloped they’ll be too black to properly print. It’s probably time to pour out the developer. But there’s this little problem of my neck feeling like it’s split open. And that bitch. What was she doing pulling on my ear? Trying to pull it off? What kind of a thing is that to do to someone in a fight? I push myself off the base of the sink and am sitting up. I can feel my side. Pain in my right side. Where I got kicked. Standing. Put my hands in the sink and blood runs off them. Silver sink, huge double basin, a trickle of cold water and my blood running down from somewhere, along my hands and into the drain.
I go for the developer timer. Turn it off. This film may just have to be overdeveloped. I go for a rag on the counter and wet it. Put it on the back of my head. On my ear. Cold water is good. Can it get colder? Pulse in my ear, in the side of my face, on the back of my neck. Holy motherfuck. Fucking whores. I kick the base of the sink and scream.
I’m running cold water over the rag when the door opens behind me and Jenna has the writing part of a writing desk in both hands and she’s coming for me with it and my hands go up but she slams the thing through my hands and into the side of my face.