Saccharin Saturated Air

I fairly enjoy breathing. I do not enjoy people breathing near me. I do not enjoy people near me at all. Or small rooms. I especially do not enjoy people breathing, near me, in a small room. This is sometimes a problem. Like right now.

My partner insists on sitting in the bean bag chairs in the corner of the room despite the lack of air flow and heat radiating off the black corduroy material. She leans forward, “Soooo,” she begins. I imagine a million O’s all lined up as she continues to draw it out, when I’m hit with the patch of sickening moisture that is her breathe. It rolls across my face and hangs in the air in front of me carrying the stench of her gum. It’s bubble-gum flavored, consisting of sugar and nothing else. She continues talking, stopping once in a while to get a few obnoxious chews in, completely unaware of the saccharin saturated gusts of air she is blowing at me.

The fan’s hum mocks me in the background, a constant reminder that moving air is just a few yard away, and fresh air is just beyond the wall I’m leaning against. She looks at me expectantly. She must have asked something. The silence was too long. She feels awkward and I quickly hand her the sheet I had filled out and mutter something about her looking over it or comparing our answers. She starts to scan it, obviously having trouble deciphering my messy handwriting, but I don’t offer help. I lean up against the wall again with my eyes closed. I take in deep breathes of the air that lacks her gum particles before she talks again. I imagine I’m already on the other side of the wall, taking in air even better than this. I actually find comfort in the soft bean bag material I detested a few minutes ago.

Suddenly, there is a loud continuous screech. My eyes snap open, and I jump in my seat. The calm in the classroom is immediately broken and kids start chattering and get up from their seats all around the room. The teacher rambles off blunt commands. “Quiet down! Get into a line! You’ve all done this before it’s not that hard!” I quickly register what is happening. This is a fire drill. We are going outside. We are getting fresh air. My prayers are answered.

I swiftly rise from my spot surprised to realize I am annoyed at having to move from my comfortable chair, yet the promise of real oxygen motivates me. I join in the middle of the single file line that reminds me of elementary school. I like the order almost as much as the destination. I almost don’t even mind Suzy, and her hot breathe which is now on the back of my neck.

Because of my peer’s inability to grasp the concept of an organized system, the line we are in is quickly forgotten and I am thrust into a madhouse of bodies stumbling over one another like a stampede.

I can hear people’s laughter; my mind warping it into the jeering cackles of a clown’s. The ceiling felt so close to my head. The walls seem so close, closing in on me, creating a narrow aisle barely wide enough to get, getting narrower now, as I walk on. I am being squeezed into a funnel, pulled towards the exit by gravity. My only obstacle: my classmates.

I can feel the carbon dioxide closing in on me. My lungs shrinking. My muscles tightening. My nails digging deep into my palms. There is almost no air left. I concentrate on taking big gasps, consuming every drop of oxygen. The other students are pushing me from all sides. Getting in the way of my air. I can feel my pace quicken, myself speeding to the door, pushing them out of the way with determination. Running and running and running. But the door is running twice as fast. I can’t catch up. I am wasting air. There isn’t enough time.

I feel my legs go rubbery and my head light, like I am on a trampoline. Then black. Calm. Silence. Soft corduroy against my skin. Like I closed my eyes real tight, but instead of seeing white splotches of light. all I can see is the black spaces in between them. I concentrate on all the space. My mind wanders the black abyss.