The Tears Devourer

XI

    "Her hair. Her eyes. Her mouth. Her face. It's her. It has to be her," thought Michael, sitting in the dining room of Dells High School, on the other end of his muse. He mechanically chewed a pear, while he held a curious look at that girl who had just arrived in town. A pretty foreigner who attracted a few fleeting prying eyes around her.

    The boy paid attention to every detail that had his new interest. She was alone, and she appeared to be enjoying it, playing with a packet of chips, finishing a salad, and handing out small bites of a Milanese. The girl took quick sips from the straw in her orange soda, and looked everywhere, perhaps, feeling uncomfortable among so many people, or at least Michael believed so.

    The boy, patient and calm in his plastic chair, had noticed certain aspects in the face of the stranger. He could see that she doesn't like pickles, because her lips puckered when she put one in her mouth without noticing it, probably; as well as that she enjoys frying, because she tries to finish everything green first by separating the yellow and roasted as a background appetizer. She prefers mayonnaise over ketchup. She put the three sachets of mustard aside, so he assumes she doesn't like that taste. She used the fifteen napkins she took from the counter even though after the eighth her hands and mouths were already clean. He sees that she is clueless, forgetting on which side of the chair she put her backpack, when in fact she hung it on the backrest and was resting there the whole time; and he distinguishes that she is clumsy, as she rises from her seat and knocks the little juice that was left in the plastic cup to the floor. The girl picks up the straw and the container with the help of a kind boy who suddenly approaches her.

    They say hi to each other. They smile. He straightens his hair, and she; the jacket. The boy speaks animatedly to her. Michael can't hear them, nor can he read lips, but wait, patient. Undaunted. They go together, but not so closely when walking. Michael stands up when he notices it. He leaves his tray on the table and only takes the coke in the middle, which he had been looking at for a long time, and he paid no attention to being enthralled with that girl.

    He follows them down the hall, camouflaged between laughter and backpacks. They talk, smile, and share glances, but she doesn't care, and Michael knows it. She's just being nice, she has no idea how to get by in the strange school she's now in, and she needs a hand to get through the day. What better help than the asshole who immediately sees that he likes you at first sight. Michael smiles with them. He feels confident. Satisfied. All eyes are on the false couple, and Michael, as usual, is a ghost swimming in a sea of shadows.

    Patton stops suddenly and leans his empty back against a strange locker. They have just entered a room together. They share a class that Michael doesn't take. Michael detaches himself from the metal and advances in the direction of that door. Pass by, and take a look out the window. She has sat next to that guy, and another girl is talking to them, but the second female is not interested. It's not physically how he seeks them.

    Biology is his next subject in a couple of minutes, but he decides not to enter, he wants to avoid the crowd in the corridors at the exit, preventing him from approaching that curious stranger. Instead, he goes into the bathroom and locks himself in a cabinet. He puts two fingers through his mouth and touches his throat in the deepest area he can go. The strides don't wait, and they return the little lunch that they had minutes ago.

    Not happy with it, repeat the process until breakfast comes out too. He smears his lips with the remains of vomit that remains between his teeth but thinks that it's not convincing enough, so he anoints the fingertips of his left hand, with the thick and stinking mass that formed inside the toilet, and then smear the tiny pieces of the smelly and improvised cream on cheeks and palms. Once the nasty makeup's done, she looks in the mirror, making sure there's evidence of the sham, and goes straight to the infirmary.

    "Mrs. Spence?" He knocks on the open door, after gently knocking twice. The nurse lowers the fashion magazine from her fingers and places it on the metal desk.

    "Michael! Good afternoon." She greets him cordially, showing the plastic teeth in a wide smile. "How've been, son? You look somewhat pale."

    "Good afternoon, Mrs. Spence." Michael steps in and rests one hand on the gurney, hugging his stomach with the other. "I just don't feel good. This morning I had dizziness," he explains, as the mature nurse approaches him quickly, "I think it was something I ate yesterday."

    "Oh... honey!" Exclaims the nurse, wrinkling her nose and pursing her lips. "Have you vomited?" She asks, and puts the back of her right palm in the middle of his forehead, trying to feel the boy's temperature.

    "Yes, Mrs. Spence. I threw up at home and did it again just now."

    "Come." She slides one of the boy's arms around the back of his neck and helps him down on the stretcher. "I'll give you a pill and then you can go home."

    "No!" The sick kid raised his voice. "I can't go home, Mrs. Spence. My father's not there, and I prefer not to be alone." He noticed the expression of pity on the face of the fifty-year-old and knew that he already had her. "I don't know if... well if I can stay here and keep you company. Your presence calms me down a lot, and maybe a little rest here will help me feel better."

    "Ok, honey," the nurse replied, pulling out a pill bottle from the large shelf full of drugs nailed to the wall. She put the vial down on the metal desk, after taking out a sample. "Take your time. You can get some sleep if you like." The nurse walked over to the jerry can and filled a small clear plastic cup with water that was colder than lukewarm. She handed both objects to the patient, and laid him on the table, after making sure he swallowed the pill and drank all the water.

    "Sleep, Mrs. Spence?" Michael intoned. "And miss out on your warm company? No way." They both smiled and shared the moment.