Ha! Remember that story I wrote and performed for creative writing class during freshman year about Taco Tuesday in the caf? Here, I can remember it:
Tuesday: A Day of Death
By Anna Bloom
As I casually stepped into the dark, crowded lunch line, I could tell this was no ordinary lunch day. Yes—it was Taco Tuesday. The thick, burnt stench of the so-called meat lingered in the air. Putrid pieces of soggy taco shells randomly lay on the dull silver counter next to me. I ever so slowly trudged my way ahead to the stained counter and wearily said to the lady, “Uh, taco salad?” I heard a squish, like someone shoving their hand into a
vat of brains. After that there were a couple of silent plops, and a thin Styrofoam tray was handed to me. I stared down at the monstrosity. Lugging the vulgar dish to my table near the window, I saw the other disgusted faces of weary students as I passed them. Placing the mass on the table, I stared at the grotesque mound of hard, muddy meat covered in a thick, nauseating chunk of pink sauce, which looked like a combination of ketchup and sour cream. I decided to declare it a National Health Hazard and took it over to the garbage can adjacent to me. Not to my surprise, the garbage can had the same staggering odor that the taco salad did. I bent over and stared. In the garbage can was a large mass of trays identical to the one in my hand. I tossed it in and went to get a candy bar.
Wasn’t I a clever little freshman? So many adjectives! Now Tuesday is officially the Day of Death because (brace yourself) Satan has arrived at Lake Shit. He has come in the form of a sixteen-year-old boy named Lawrence. Six foot five, dark skin, huge shop class–looking glasses, and skinny-as-hell with enormous feet. I don’t actually believe he
is
Satan, but what Lawrence believes … I can laugh at Colby and his D&D voices and even at Abby with her possessed seizures, but Lawrence has actually kind of freaked me out.
He was introduced at Community this morning. He sat in the chair next to me, and the entire meeting he was panting with what can only be described as evil. Eugene asked him to stand up and introduce himself. When Lawrence stood up, he looked like a tree, swaying in the breeze with each dark breath.
“I am Lawrence,” he said in his Darth Vader–deep voice. “Satan is my lord.”
I swear Sean gasped and grabbed for his rosary. Sandy, who had Morgan sitting on her lap, covered the doll’s eyes.
Eugene didn’t buy into it right away. “Why don’t you tell us a little more about yourself, Lawrence?”
“I worship the Dark Lord.”
“That’s fine, Lawrence [it is?], but we would like to hear about something other than your beliefs.”
“Beliefs?” Lawrence’s breathing increased to full-on heaving. “You belittle my master. He will not be pleased.” This guy seriously talked like that!
“Lawrence.” Eugene stood up, about a foot and a half shorter than the evil giant, and said, “This is the last time I will ask you to tell us something
else
about yourself. If you cannot do that, I’m going to have to give you a Restriction.”
“My lord will not be pleased with you and your doubters.” His doubters? Don’t be draggin’ me into this!
Eugene sat down and flipped open his notebook, where he kept track of points and things. “Restriction.” He made an exaggerated tick mark in his book.
Raging, Lawrence leaped out of his chair, and with one stroke of his extremely long arm he banked Eugene across the face. With a roar, Lawrence ran out of the Day Room.
Eugene held his mouth and choked out a few coughs. Another staff member came in and dismissed us from Community.
As we all left the Day Room, I could hear people breathing in, as if they were about to begin a sentence but had to stop themselves because we aren’t allowed to talk to each other in the hall.
Justin walked up next to me, and I looked up with an apprehensive smile and mouthed, “Pretty weird, huh?” He nodded and then reassuringly pinched my pinky with his left hand.
I realize, T., that this should have been the pinnacle of my story. I mean, no guy has ever touched me on purpose like that, let alone the finest boy on the loony block, but I am so freaked out by the psychoness that is Lawrence that even Justin’s lusty hand-touching comes in a distant second in today’s events.
You’re probably wondering why this even bothers me, I mean, seeing as how you and I used to pretend we were satanists sophomore year. (Flashback to Mr. Judson, my math teacher, making me turn my Claire’s cross earrings right side up.) But us wearing black nail polish and flashing the “Satan” hand signal at each other does not a satanist make. Nor did when we used to talk about our “goat sacrifices” during basketball in gym class to see if anyone noticed. Remember? “That goat put up a pretty good fight last night, eh?” “Yeah, and I thought I’d never get all the blood out of the curtains.” Why did we think that was cool again? Not that I actually believe in the satanic aspect of Lawrence’s satanism, but he sure seems a lot more evil than we did. (In fact, didn’t people just think we were lesbians?) Before today, I had never actually heard the sound of someone hitting someone. It was like a hollow pop, but maybe that’s because
there’s not much in Eugene’s head. Satanist or not, Lawrence seems highly capable of spastic, unpredictable, violent behavior, and that’s more real to me than the devil is.