Bathroom Revelations

• Ivy Le-nguyen, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2013

That was it.
My body explodes with emotions and it overflows because now I am crying. I try to gain control of my breathing, taking slow, wheezy, choppy breaths. But I fail, and I start crying again. So I decide to run. I run as fast as I could with my blurry, tear filled vision. I reach the girls’ toilets and scramble into a stall. I lock it and lean against the wall, catching my breath. I slouch unto the ground, and get into a little ball. I sob, and the feeling is so good. It’s like my tears are my bad emotions and when I cry it means they are fleeing my body, making my body free. I reach for my pocket mirror and tissues. My makeup was all smudged, my mascara making black holes in my face. I get my tissue and wipe it off carefully.
After the most was gone, I sit there, staring at the toilet in front of me. I start thinking how lucky it is. Even though everyone sits on it, everyone needs it, everyone uses it. But that’s not what I mean. I like how everyone makes jokes and it has no feelings so it doesn't care. It doesn't care if the most popular girl in school called them names and spread rumors about them so much so that whenever you walk down the hall people start whispering and making it obvious they are speaking to you. It doesn't care if all of its friends left it be because everyone hates it. I wish I could be it. Carefree, just there doing its job. Wait, what am I thinking? I’m so sad that now I’m jealous of a toilet? Seriously, this, this is the lowest point of my life. When I get jealous of a toilet. Wait until my children hear about this. Wait, I’m so sad I can’t meet someone that would love me and want to have children with me. Oh well. I’ll live as the crazy cat lady from next door. Yeah. Sounds fun. Living with like fifty cats in my old antique house that smells of cat litter and mothballs. That’ll be the life for me. Oh who am I kidding? Not me, that’s for sure. It’s no use. I’m a failure. Flop. Loser. Nerd. Jerk. Like everyone else says. I just can’t take this anymore. I want to flee, leave this dump.
But I can’t. My parents paid too much for me to be here. And I can’t let that go to waste. So I’ll have to compromise. But how? How did that saying go again? If you can’t beat them, join them? Yes…. Join them. And be plastic like them? I guess it’s worth a shot. Even if it’s against all of my values. Next time you see me I'll be a plastic wannabe. Ugh, I'm just going to hope that is worse than it sounds.