"Somewhere in the seventh grade, I began to dream about those disfigured limbs. They came at me from every direction without a body attached."
I had to look at those grotesque hands, even touch them.
On my first day of grade school, my mother dropped me off, and I ran to the line that was already moving into the school.
Once I got there, I heard someone yell behind me. “Hey you, wait a minute, we can be partners. I’m Cheri. Who are you?”
“Joey. I’m in First grade.” I went to hold her hand. When I looked down, I saw brown lumps all over them. I withdrew mine and said, “No, I don’t want to be your partner.”
“Hey teacher,” she yelled. “He won’t hold my hand.”
The teacher came toward us and glanced at the girl’s hands. “Young man, hold her hand.” She said. “They’re just warts and won’t hurt you.”
“I don’t want a girl for a partner,” I said and stamped my foot.
“Don’t give me that.” The teacher grabbed our hands and put them together. “See,” she said, “nothing earth shaking happened."
I cringed and tears ran down my cheeks. Once in the classroom, I ran to a seat that was surrounded with other kids.
She ran up to a girl. “Get out of that seat. I want to sit by him.” She pointed at me.
“Stay there,” I said. “I don’t want her anywhere near me.”
She yelled, “Hey teacher, this girl is sitting in my seat.”
“Everybody, sit in the nearest empty seat until we’re ready to start class.
That includes you, young lady. No fighting over desks.”
I relaxed. I’d gotten away from her this time, but I wasn’t as lucky after that.
Somewhere in the seventh grade, I began to dream about those disfigured limbs. They came at me from every direction without a body attached. I woke up in drenched pajamas, which stuck to me like her hands did.
Then we met again in high-school classes. Cheri always wanted to borrow my pen. I tried hard to avoid touching those things of hers when I passed it to her. She usually rubbed them against me.
I just couldn’t get away. Students paired up for science experiments. Craig and I had decided to be partners before class began. Everyone knew I hated her.
“I want to be Joey’s partner,” she said.
Craig and I said "No" in unison.
She shouted, “Miss Arlington, Joey won’t be my partner.”
The teacher glanced around the classroom. “We have an odd number of students in this class. Cheri can join your group today.”
We glared at the two of them.
“Young men, she can join your group.”
We let her stand near us, but ignored everything she said. “Why won’t you answer me?” She demanded.
“Look, Craig knows how this goes. So listen. You might learn something, stupid.”
She glared at us. We ignored her. The problem was that most of my classes had an odd number of students.
Our sophomore year, my wall of resistance fell.
I felt a cold sweat breaking out on my face and on down to my toes. Just like going through a spook house for the first time. Those cold driblets eased their way from my temples to my jaw, as if I were in a cold sauna.
My eyes wouldn’t budge anywhere else. Not to her smiling, lecherous face. Nor her black eyes. Not even her Siren voice, like shrill sounds surging through the classroom. I couldn’t get my eyes off those warty, chapped hands, with their brown bumps and peeling scarlet blotches.
I wanted to kill those hands, razor blade them into pieces the size of her freckles. Red and brown blotches on her hands and spots on her face. Not only those brown speckles, but also those yellow tipped bumps. Her hands and face beneath my skill with a razor blade.
I shivered when she wiped the blood off the narrow blade. She had slit the piglet open that we were to dissect that day in Biology Class. She glanced up, and we grinned. I felt the cold steel of the razor blade in my pocket.