I think I am leaking. I haven’t told anybody. I mean…what would they think? The first time I felt it, I was in chemistry. The teacher was talking about reactive elements or redox equations, I can’t completely recall. I felt it: little droplets of water on my head. Obviously, my first instinct would be to check the ceiling, but, I couldn’t find any holes. I checked Shania’s head. I checked Jasper’s head. No drops there. It’s just sweat, it’s just sweat.
It wasn’t just sweat. The leakage continued and grew worse. Things started… well… coming out. I woke up one day and I found a partial derivative beside me. It was disgusting. It was all covered in goo and the x and y were sprawled out against each other. Oh, what a sight for the eyes. Then, the other day while I was playing basketball, I found a qui. A Qui! A single word! Just a random, old, single word! I mean, I don’t even pay attention in French class. I hardly ever come across quis. That was when I knew something was wrong. I had to fix it.
I tried everything. I ran my fingers through my hair and around my head incessantly. I anticipated the drops. I hoped for the drops. While most kids dreaded lice check, I looked forward to it. This time they’ll find something. I’ll finally be able to put a stopper through that frustrating hole. Then came the hat phase: fedoras, beanies, berets, baseball. You name it. I even put globs of tape on my head. Just wishing. Just wishing.
Nothing worked. All that resulted from my brilliant shenanigans was major hat head and early signs of male pattern baldness.
Sometimes I wonder if there are tiny people following me. They could be staging this whole thing. Crazy, isn’t it? The thoughts. I guess people go insane in solitary. I could be walking down the hallway with bits of Columbia leaking out. Scraps fall to the ground just like the actual spacecraft. Nobody notices. They all just walk past, tripping on pieces of Columbia.
I guess it’s me and Columbia. Columbia and me. I like the ring of it. It feels permanent: an idea that could last forever in my brain. Could.
I guess it’s just me and… who was I just talking about? Or was it a what? Well, whatever pronoun it was, it doesn’t really matter. It’s invisible now, like black ice on a winter’s day.
I guess it’s just m-, is that an e? What a random l*tt*r. What a random l*tt…l*t…l * t t * r.
Oh no.
I n**d to say som*thing b*for* I run out of…j? At l*ast it’s not as common as…oh pl*as* don’t l*t that b* an n. At l*ast I still hav* four vow*ls l*ft. I must say who I. I am…a. ejna. enja. ejan. eajn. eanj. enaj. ajne. anje. anej. ajen. aenj. aejn. njae. naje. naej. neja. neaj. njea. jnea. jnae. jaen. jane. jena. jean. Hmm, sounds familiar.
