a bed of clouds (Argentina)

If it was my decision, I’d make school start later and end later to make up for the missing hours, giving students more time to get ready in the morning or just sleep in enough so that their brains would actually be awake in time for the first class of the day. But, of course, none of that mattered today- behold! Just my luck for wearing the dress on the wrong day!

I was dragged out of sleep at one in the morning to the burning sensation that I was giving birth to a nuclear baby that had gotten halfway stuck on the way out, and just managed to drag myself in the crappy see-through pajamas that I only used for home nights (because nobody’d be able to see me, you know) out of my cluttered room and a few feet over to the basement bathroom, where I proceeded to inadvertently make a mess everywhere.

But anyways, I don’t want to dwell on that, it being one of my less proud private moments. I had Mom call in sick while I laid in bed, unsure whether to be cursing myself for not being born without a vagina to torment me once every month or to be thankful that I was still evading the ranks of the sixteen and pregnant. Samhain called me once in her first period (ugh) class, asking me where I was and wishing a moment later that she hadn’t asked from how I went into gruesome detail. (I’ll save you from it, so be thankful.)

 

A few hours later, I’d managed to ignore the burning between my legs enough to take a shower and get into something clean, propping myself up in bed after I’d crawled down back to my room to pretend that I didn’t exist. But even that got boring after a while, and as I was about to pull over my phone and playfully harass Samhain about absolutely nothing, guess who decided that she was going to stay harassing me instead.

“Yo. Primero Bitchacho in business.” I put it on speakerphone and laid it on my chest, sliding back down and trying to keep down another wave of nausea. “What’s going on, Samhain?”

“Argentina? What happened to you?”

Good job, Argentina. That’s how crappy you sound without a cough drop and a tissue. “Sick. Thought I told you.”

“Ah. Sorry.” There was a thunk and a few zippers on the other side.  “Sorry. I’m kinda packing.”

“Packing for? I thought you didn’t take vacations.”

“Well, the current doctor’s finally decided to just give up and call it an autoimmune disorder and send me off to some center that’ll actually bother to continue my case. Maybe I’ll get to finally not be sick for once.” She blew her nose on what I hoped was a tissue for emphasis. “Lucky you. You’re only sick every once in a while like every normal person.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call that luck, Samhain.” Luck? Who cared about luck when you were a human taco with a flannel wrap?

“Compared to you, it would be. But anyways, I’ll be gone until next trimester starts. I’ll take my finals late. Try to pass me some answers, okay?” And without waiting for an answer, she hung up. Dang it, Samhain.. you’ve always got to act dramatic, aye? It’s not like this is the last time we’ll ever talk. You don’t need to leave a cliffhanger like that.

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