#something like. this school is under DARE. it is a drug and alcohol free zone

[general-george-washington]

I don't remember DARE ever coming to my schools but I do remember being told to not huff markers and kids immediately doing so

[elsewhereuniversity]

Easily Bewildered

Bewildered; the first time someone used the word, I nearly laughed aloud. There was a group of varied students sitting across the lawn, grouped together in the shade of a tree, all decked out in weird jewelry and with circles around their eyes, hurried pen ink on their wrists. I was at a picnic bench, sitting with my friends from lab, working on some report or something. There was a lull in the conversation, and the hushed voices, filled with awe, scattered across the grass of the lawn towards us. I was looking absentmindedly at my phone, and when I heard the strange phrase, I burst out laughing. Their voices were so quiet, almost afraid, and like so much else at this school, I didn’t take it into account. I instantly lumped them in with the other students, overly superstitious and quiet, clinging to their iron and their salt like this was some episode of Supernatural. The first time I heard bewildered, I laughed. 

The second time, it was coming from the mouth of my Hall Advisor, in the longest informational lecture I’d gotten that year. I was sitting on a couch in the overly cramped common room, squished in-between two of my closest friends from bio lab, and we were already bored and over dramatically rolling our eyes at one another before it even began. They were talking firmly, as if they believed in everything they were saying, reminding us very sternly of the “advice” from the beginning of the year. Every year. It was about the third or fourth time I’d heard this lecture, despite not having been here that many years. Sometimes, I wondered if the weirdness would ever end, and just leave me to do my labs and lose my mind in peace. “Don’t go out late at night, if you have to, make sure you stay on the path.” Well, duh. I looked to my right, and met the eyes of my lab partner, who was just perishing of boredom. I could tell she wanted to be on her phone, but we’d managed to be polite this far, so maybe we could make it to the end of the meeting. Our HA would appreciate it. “Don’t go near the woods. We’ve had way more kids get bewildered this year, it’s not normal and you all really need to step it up.” I snickered. The friend to my left said something under eir breath, and my other friend suppressed a laugh, and we tried, really hard. Our HA didn’t appreciate it. They stared us down for a moment, while some other students clutched their iron necklaces or slipped hands into pockets, making fists around what was probably salt, if I knew this floor well enough. I elbowed my lab partner in the side, and she shut up, em quickly following suit. Shockingly, we managed the rest of the meeting, finally slipping out and snickering, finally sharing all of the snide comments that had built up the whole time. Other students walked out glumly, faces pale, shoulders slumped.

When I heard it the third time, I was in a bathroom. It was late - or early, whichever one you ascribe to - just before dawn, like 5am. I’d lost track of time, the days slipping by into weeks, and it had become a choice between sleep and finishing a paper on time, and I couldn’t afford another late grade. Groaning and dragging my feet, I unstuck myself from my desk and walked toward the bathroom, the light from the predawn sun assaulting my eyes and my soul. Couldn’t I just sleep for another few hours? I pushed past the door, where someone had helpfully pasted an “all genders, all identities, all species” sticky note over the previous sign, wanting to piss and wash my face before my next class.  It took me far too long to notice the student curled up in the biggest stall. Really, far too long, because they were accompanied by two friends, who were talking out loud.  I had officially been up too long. Although, they were having a worse time of it, from what I could hear. Sounded like they were having a really bad trip, if the whispered words were any indication; quiet and slow, like you’d use to talk to a wild animal. I wasn’t about to stop and help: I didn’t know them, I didn’t have time, and I wasn’t going to be helpful anyways, on exactly zero hours of sleep. I did wish them well, quietly, more thought than anything said out loud. Whatever they’d done, in the middle of the semester, they probably didn’t deserve a meltdown in the middle of the night in a bathroom.

The next time I heard it, someone was sprinting past me across the lawn, shrieking.  My night had been going pretty well up until now: a good party on the weekend, free booze, new friends, a good time had by all. I’d really been hoping to run into a really cute second year I’d shared classes with, and as fate would have it, they were at the party. Neither of us had been completely sober, but my phone had a new number on it, and maybe a stroke of luck was coming my way after the less than fantastic grade on my last paper.  These pleasant thoughts were what that student shattered, some thin and scared first-year with mud-spattered boots and pants, running yelling past me, trying very hard to get me to join them in their mad dash. I, instead, stopped still in the grass, shocked and offended. The weirdness at this university had never really inconvenienced me before, perhaps bothered me a little or made me have to wait here and there, but this was something else. I had been happily drowsing in good memories, warm feelings, and now I was wet and cold and upset. They’d startled me real good, and I was really feeling malice towards the kid, rather glad I didn’t catch their face. I didn't mind the kids who thought it was necessary to carry iron or put salt freaking everywhere, they didn't bother me a whole lot, but right now I think I would’ve had some choice words for anyone who followed that kind of life. Grumbling, glaring off after them in the direction they’d gone, I slogged forward, now filled with less happy thoughts. A shiver came over my limbs, cold, wet, unhappy, and downright miserable, honestly. What the fuck did that phrase even mean, anyways? Was it some kind of joke, shared among their weird little cliques? Make a drug these idiots were taking. Yeah, some, stupid designer drug that made kids go “wild,” something way above my level of caring and far out of my comfort zone. I knew other chemistry kids who would brew in the labs, quietly, during their time there, or using their access after hours. Stupid, really, and probably exactly what led to students running screaming across the lawn in the middle of the night. Really.  The shivers got worse, and I realized that the jeans I was wearing were soaked through. I was still slogging through the grass, but I’d somehow managed to hit a muddy, wet, puddle, probably a couple inches deep and definitely wet enough to make me uncomfortable. I picked up my feet, groaning aloud, trying to check how badly my shoes were faring; they weren’t rated for this kind of treatment, being only closed-toe enough to count in lab. Eerily enough, I couldn’t see my feet very well, thanks to the fog. I jerked my head up. The fog?! I tried to look around, my heart starting to pick up on the adrenaline that was beginning to eliminate all thoughts of a buzz leftover from a party that now felt very, very far away.  The idea of alcohol left my limbs, and they trembled, shaking in the fists that my hands made when I realized I couldn’t see the buildings anymore. The dorms were hidden behind a wash of thick fog, invisible but for the slightest warm glow. The fog was wet, too, which explained how I was shivering so quickly and so badly, as the stuff clung to my limbs and little droplets of it found their way onto my eyelashes. I turned my head this way and that, fear starting to infect my movements, trying more and more desperately to find some sort of landmark to convince me I hadn’t wandered off course.  Instead, the lilting cry of a strange, wailing sound slipped past me. For the second time that night, I froze. Barely daring to breathe, I prayed it would fuck off, closing my eyes tightly and my fists tighter. Unfortunately for me, instead of doing just that, it sounded clearer the next time, echoing past the first, closer to me and much more like something a band student might carry around; the sound slipping around my shoulders and into my ears and striking my heart with a jolt.

It sounded something like a horn.

I swallowed hard and began to walk at that thought, trying to brush the wayward idea out of my mind like so much myth. I couldn’t believe that the stories had caught me, too, in their spindly fingers, and I refused to run, walking stubbornly through wet grass that was somehow now up to my knees, my shoulders set more out of fear than determination, but I was hoping no one could tell. Including myself. I was growing only more and more nervous as the sound went from distinct cries to a single, long, almost unending ululation that was all around me. Behind, too, calling out against my back like someone was hitting me, an almost physical force that came with each blast of the supposed horn, pushing me forward faster and faster, still not running. Time stretched on impossibly in front of me, much like this lawn, and I slowly came to understand that wherever I was walking, it was in the wrong direction. I should’ve come across the dorms by now, I knew, logically, walking this fast, even if there was tall, wet, twisting grass grabbing at my knees. No matter how much it slowed me down, the lights had not been that far away before the fog rolled in, and I was certain that my pissed-off muddling had been clouded by alcohol, twisting my idea of time further out of shape.

“Excuse me,” and I wish I would have shrieked aloud when the voice whispered into my ears, slight and quiet, like scales on smooth stones, like the lizards that ran when you came up to them basking in the sunlight. It was accompanied by a hand on my right shoulder, and for the third time that night I froze still instead; shocked, silent, stock still.  “Pardon me,” the voice was like the whisper of some half-transparent cloth over old leather, sliding around my and cloaking my shoulders in dread, filling my head with fear, “but you don’t seem to know the rules.” The hand went from perching to grasping, firm fingers set into my collarbone and the heel of it far too close to my neck for any sort of comfort. This was accompanied by a motion, a pulling, a twist, and like an adult would turn a child around, one whom they were going to just gently inform of the rules, of the correction, of the way things are supposed to be:

“This is where you run.”

—–

“Another one, huh?” The HA commented, sighing, sitting on a low stone wall outside of their dorm. They were drinking something yellow and fruity out of a glass bottle, a straw with red stripes and a bit of a dent at the end.  Their compatriot nodded, the iron screws that they had personally fashioned into earrings jingling as they did, half-hidden by their hair, spun into golden curls around their whole head. They’d look just perfect with a flower crown adorning their brow, but it was lacking, too cold in the year for that, now. “This one’s pretty bad. They’re a … They were a STEM major, I think. I know those can sometimes… but this one didn’t do anything to Them.” The HA grimaced, sighing again, shoulders heavy. Xy could see the students’ parents moving some things out of the dorm in boxes, assisted by some faculty from the Admissions office. Xyer hand found its way to xyer forehead, cradling xyer face, because xy knew what they were saying. “Mental breakdown caused by stress,” and all that. It was the easiest explanation for parents, who could barely make it here, four wrong turns later, eyes full of tears yet to be shed and purses clutched to chests, or car keys in fists. Xy knew the drill, xy had done it before, and xy could barely handle seeing it again now. “I tried to warn them, I did, but…” The other, curls twisting softly over their shoulder, placed their hand on xyer back, their touch soft. “I know. You did your best. We all know how hard you try to protect your dormies.” Their words were honest, their eyes full of compassion, little silver stars penned in gently next to their glittering eyeliner. “But some people are just…” they trail off, watching boxes move from building to car. They’re of all sizes, cobbled together from whatever staff could get, and filled haphazardly with everything from the student’s room. One is barely closed, the corner of a handmade quilt poking out from beneath a flap, moving gently up and down as the parent takes every step.

“Easily bewildered.”

[x]