The Red Wolf

No Leg Room

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee...

“Ah!” My breath was heavy. I hadn’t had that dream in a few months. It felt like every time I started to heal, my subconscious would drag me back to that night. The first few months, it happened almost every night. Then it came every other night, then every other week, and so on. It’s been two years since we—since he—moved on.

I glanced around my room for a moment, taking in the Monday haze. Mondays always felt off, especially the last day of sophomore year in college. I missed the days when school ended on Fridays. The blanket hit the floor with a soft thud as I swung my legs—quite aggressively—off the bed. Peering down at it, I debated whether or not I cared enough to make it. By now, I’m used to sleeping on campus, but that doesn’t mean wild parties don’t happen the night before the last day. All the frats throw goodbye parties, which usually involve beer, s*x, and more s*x—none of which you might have intended to participate in.

Today was clearly going to be a lazy day. I could already feel it. The clothes I grabbed were comfortable: dark green tights (with pockets!!) and a big, long-sleeved black shirt tied on one side so it didn’t choke me. Before getting dressed, though, I needed a shower to wash off the icky feeling from drinking with my roommate and the neighbors.

Lather, rinse, repeat. It felt like I would never feel clean, especially my mouth and throat. I grabbed my toothbrush from my shower bag and continued to rinse the soap from my hair while brushing. After my shower, I took a look at my wavy, wet hair in the foggy mirror. This hair, the bane of my existence. Taming this mane was beyond frustrating. I ran a comb through my tangled wet hair, grimacing at the slight pain from each pass.

After returning to my room, getting dressed, and packing my bags, I was ready to head home. It had been so long since I’d last seen my friends, my grandmother, and the large family of summer visitors waiting for me. Bailey, Stella, even Damien—I couldn’t wait to see them all.

• • •

The bus station was packed. I definitely should’ve left sooner. I held my bag in my left hand and a breakfast burrito in my right—damn stomach always making me late. Eventually, I was able to board, watching other students and random people walk by. No one I recognized specifically from either group. I slipped in my earbuds and closed my eyes, clutching my bag close to my stomach while eating the burrito I’d smuggled on board.

Time flew by the first couple of hours, but I could feel my legs straining from the lack of space between the seats. If I didn’t have to share this row of seats with someone, I’d prop my legs up. The awkwardness of sitting with strangers on the bus triggered my anxiety. This guy wasn’t weird or anything; he was doing the same “music-eyes-closed” thing I was doing. He probably wasn’t even paying attention to the fact that I was there. I closed my eyes, hoping the rest of the 5-hour bus ride home would fly by.