It, Itself and I – Part 1

Sleeping in the back of her father’s truck in the college parking lot was not how she expected things to go. Let alone with classes failing and impossible expectations thrusted upon her shoulders. A few moments of shut eye in a parking lot is perhaps not the biggest loss. 

The ratty carpet of the folded over backseat itched at her. The wool blanket did not help either. She pulled out her phone, checking the time. Her head rested against a bundle of jackets and clothing. Pushing herself up, she started tying her hair into a ponytail to keep it out of her face. The first class was in thirty minutes across campus. At least she’s going to be on time. 

A stubborn strand of hair kept falling into her face. Determined to blind her. Shuffling through her school bag, she plucked her wool toque on and stuffed the rebel hair away. It was a cute toque, with that maple leaf seen in and delightfully warm and covered her ears.

A cramped back and shoulder are a decent trade off in that case. She reasoned. Slumping out of her Dad’s crummy old chevy blazer, she tucked at the edge of her hoodie and scarf. The cold spring air piercing her ears and cheeks like pine needles. Parking for the college was full during the day. With the rows upon rows of vehicles. It was near impossible to find a spot. Unless of course, you arrived early at three in the morning. When even the sun hasn’t even broken dawn yet. That was what most of them could only do to even barely qualify as being early for classes. Barely.

The city college was unimpressive. Five main buildings large enough to house the numerous students that flood during the day. All of the grouchy and underfed without something glazed and cappuccino from the quaint but overpriced college coffee shop. 

The glass doors to the main atrium of the technology building opened for her. The large wooden dome that always reminded her of an apple with the top and bottom sliced cleanly off. Glass windows lining the sides where snobbish business students would galavant to for meetings. She made the mistake of going to one of those and was fortunate enough to have been never contacted by them again. They gave her odd looks and comments anyways. Especially with her hair being so long. 

First class room on the left, third floor. Across from the computer room. She stepped into the elevator, clicking the button for the third floor. As the doors almost closed when he showed up. He barged in just before the door shut. “Hey! Sorry Sorry Sorry” he muttered. Shuffling in, he stood at the otherside of the elevator as it began to go up. He was kinda cute. Clean shave with a light shadow starting to creep in with a neatly cropped buzz cut of hair that reminded her of the earthy oaks back in her suburban wasteland of a neighborhood. She averted her gaze; suddenly becoming very interested in the grainy texture of the floor. 

Yawning, the man stuffed hands into his jacket. Content to just watch the little digital display tick further upwards. He wasn’t really paying her any attention. The door opened and he walked out, leaving her to continue staring at the floor in silence. She didn’t move for a while before finally stepping off the elevator. The door quietly slid shut behind her.

Only another student was there for their literature class. A lanky young man with a green hoodie and blue jeans. His eyes emerald and ruffled brown hair. His nose almost against the glow of his cell phone and earbuds stuffed a little deeply. She could hear the little squeak and beeps of music escaping from them as well.

Sighing, she looked over to the classroom door and the hastily written note saying the teacher will be back later. Even the ink on the paper still looked fresh and sticky from a big red marker pen. She tried opening the door and to no surprise, it was locked. The key was even still clicked into place. She rattled the key absently before twisting it; the door making a satisfying clunk before swaying open. 

Slipping into the class room and sitting down at her desk, she barely felt herself collapsing on the desk in boredom. Minutes passed before the rest of the class showed up and sat down. Murmuring and gossiping while she rested with her face planted on the desk undeterred. Another day of college and wondering what the point of it all was. For a future undetermined as of yet. 

“You’d figure it out” her parents would say with noses up against their phones. Snapping selfies of themselves and gawking at their social media threads. It was conspiracy theories last week, now it was cat videos. She felt empty just being around them. The essence of her joy and will being sapped by her parents as they paraded her around as their golden miracle child. (She wasn’t. She just wished to be a normal woman.)

“Hey” She looked over to her side to see the young man with the green hoodie sitting at the desk next to her. He had one earbud still blasting out music as he woke her up. “You look tired man, did you have another late night?”

“Uh…yeah.” She groaned leaning her head back onto the table. A migraine still hitting her like a blown back storm. She’ll remember his name. Eventually.

The teacher finally walked in. Swaggering into the classroom with dollar store bravado and wearing a blue suit and red bow tie. His hair was short trimmed and greased back. A cheap million dollar smile spread across his face. “Good Morning Class!” Strolling past the students and lounging onto his comfy spinning chair and turning to face the class. “How is everyone doing this fine morning?” 

The class all murmured in unison a collective “good” or “I’m doing alright”; generally positive. 

She lifted her head up from her desk and mimed the others. “I’m okay” She was okay supposedly. Glumly pulling out her homework, she flipped to the page where she was working on this week’s math. She should have been able to do this. Why hasn’t this basic fundamental skill failed to stick. Already half the class have their cellphones out. One was playing videos on their switch they brought from home. She couldn’t focus. There was too much happening. The numbers on the pages of her homework refused to click inside her head as the classroom fell into more and more disorderly distraction.

When class had finished, she had gotten nothing done. Just a binder filled with sketchy doodles and half finished algebra. 

Her phone vibrated with an incoming text. The bell chimes of wind pipes alerting her. She struggled to pull her phone out of her pocket; the phone cover getting caught and tattered from the repeated mishandling over the years. She opened incoming text with a swipe of her thumb.

Want to hang out? – The sender, of course, was her friend. Sammy.

Nick is thinking of going pun crawling tonight. 

*pub

She wasn’t that much of a fan of pubs. Or drinking. Couldn’t we just hang out online? She asked. I think it’s just Nick and Alex who are into that. She also omitted the occasion when she had went out with Alex and he had made comments that made her rather cringe and share concerned awkward glances with everyone else.

Your weird – why can’t you be like everyone else you goof? 😉 

I’ll be online tonight

A smile crept across her lips. Warframe? She texted.

Sure, We’ll do that Warframe pet thing 

She texted back. Awesome! Kavats here we come!

Space ninjas and Killer Kitty Cats 😸

“Mr.Colterson!” She winced, hearing Colterson being called out always made her itch in all the wrong ways. Like a scratchy wool sweater that couldn’t even stop a light breeze. By the voice It was her computer science teacher.

She drudged the words out as best she could. “Mr.Desterhan?” She turned up from her phone and looked up at the jolly old man with a scraggly beard and wide brim cowboy hat. His belly a little more round due to his peckish habit for bringing chocolates into class to loudly munch down on. “Wha-what seems to be the problem?” She asked wearily.

“Colter…” Mr.Desterhan rubbed the bridge of his nose. His nostrils bellowing and whiskering his long droopy mustache. “You have your assignment done? Right?”

That assignment, shit. She felt a knot twist in her stomach. “That was today wasn’t it?

Alternative Religious Studies

            When our professor, a grey-haired, dull-voiced guy who’d been teaching the same course on alternative religion for nearly four decades, entered the room on the first day of class, I slumped deeper in the very back row of the auditorium. Last year, I audited one of his other courses on the subject and knew he didn’t like me from the start; at best, he wouldn’t notice me all semester long, at worst he’d remember the loathing and it would be hellish. I was seated between two first years, neither of whom had even glanced up from their phones when the teacher entered. Hopefully, that was enough distraction for him to not notice me.

            “Good afternoon, students of Alternative Religious Studies zero-zero-eight,” he enunciated as he took three heavy textbooks and one ratty notebook from his satchel. Piling them on one corner of the spacious desk & completely ignoring the laptop whirring at the far end that promised PowerPoint presentations and easy-to-read spreadsheets could be shone for all to see, he tugged the projection screen back up to the ceiling and examined the scant selection of whiteboard markers. Clearing his throat, he wrote his name across the board in broad printing and continued, “I am Doctor Arnolds and if you aren’t meant to be here, please find an exit before I begin. I do not believe in roll call. If you do not wish to attend classes, I do not care so long as you hand in your assignments and pass the tests.”

            I shrank a little further in the seat and briefly considered taking him up on that; all I would need was a classmate to let me listen to their recording of the lecture and discussion.

            “I like to begin this semester by dividing the class up based on their specific religious affiliation,” Doctor Arnolds explained as he wrote numbers across the bottom of the board up to ten and finally turned to face his new pupils. Waving his arms, he announced, “Everyone, pack your things back up. I’ll give you about thirty seconds. When you’re done, stand up and we’ll begin.” It seemed like he was literally counting the seconds and when he’d reached thirty, he announced, “Raise your hand if you are of the Christian faith.”

            Everyone looked around at one another, concerned. Finally, one girl put her hand up with a smirk on her face. “You can’t discriminate against us or ask us about our religious beliefs; it’s against school policy,” she regurgitated with an air of superiority when he motioned towards her. I suspect I wasn’t alone in the suspicion that she’d rehearsed that question.

            My suspicion was proven correct when Doctor Arnolds grinned toothily and calmly stated, “You are expelled from my class. And, before you say I can’t kick you out because of that, I have permission from the dean to do exactly that.” Silence fell entirely in the room. “Now, out you go,” he added when the girl didn’t make a move. Finally, she scoffed, kicked her chair, and stormed out of the room. That wasn’t going to be a pleasant conversation at student resources.

            “We do things a little differently here. There is always someone who thinks the outside rules apply to religious studies, but they do not,” the professor continued. He raised his hand and added, “If you aren’t comfortable divulging your religion, which you can lie about if you prefer, you can exit now.” No one moved and, grinning again, he repeated, “Raise your hand if you are of the Christian faith.” This time, thirty-one students stuck a hand in the air sheepishly. Doctor Arnolds nodded as he counted them and commanded, “I’ll give you thirty seconds to sit up in the top row; I think you’ll just about fit there.” Students who’d been standing in the back moved quickly so the Christians could take their seats and the commotion was done in just under thirty seconds.

            “Next up, Muslims!” he shouted. Twenty people raised their hands, and everyone moved around to give them the second row from the top. When everyone was settled again, the teacher explained, “We’re going to skip the next and move on to Hindus.” The fourth row went to a group of nine. Again, when all was done, he specified, “We’re gonna skip another step and Buddhists get the one after that.” There wasn’t even the hand-raising portion, everyone just moved to make room for seven Buddhists. “And, finally, any other world religion is next, major religions only,” he announced, and five people moved into the bottom row, as he continued, “You’ll need to split yourselves into two and give a reason, based on religious grounds, for that decision. You’ve got thirty seconds.” They sat in two groups after a few seconds.

            The rest of us looked around nervously. What did it mean if you didn’t fit?

            Rubbing his hands together, he asked, “How many of the remainder of you are atheist, specifically?” Eight hands went up. “You get the close half of the third row. Specifically non-religious?” he asked nonchalantly. It was as though this was a normal line of enquiry for the start of term. Thirteen hands went up for that one and Doctor Arnolds’ eyebrow followed them. “You’re opposite the atheists,” he announced, and they took their seats.

            That left me standing without a place to sit. It was the worst possible scenario. “Don’t I know you?” he asked as he leaned on the edge of the desk. When I shook my head, his eyes narrowed. “Very well,” he murmured, “Any folk religions or cults can take the remaining row.” I took a seat in the very middle of the row and tried to pretend everyone wasn’t staring at me.

            “These are the groups you will be in for the entire term. Every assignment will be graded and each student will be given a percentage of that, meaning that, while the larger religious groups have more brainpower going for them, each individual will receive a lesser grade than if they were on their own,” he explained, grinning. He stepped to the board and asked, “Top row, who of you will speak for the group? This person cannot be changed out unless they choose not to attend class.” No one spoke. “I will give you sixty seconds to decide. Next row, keep in mind that you’re up next,” he added to provoke a sense of urgency.

            Over the next few minutes, he wrote out the names of each group leader until he reached my group-of-one. Instead of just asking my name, he asked, “What’s your name and religious affiliation?” I tried to ignore the looks and the question; this couldn’t be happening. “Or you can leave,” he prompted, crossing his arms.

            “I’m Ella Farrah and I’m a sister in the Healing Order,” I finally replied, ducking down as soon as I’d spoken. If I could have turned invisible, I would have.

            Doctor Arnolds considered my answer for a minute and abruptly moved on without further questioning, “Your first assignment, due at the start of the next class, is to detail the purpose you feel because of your religion or lack thereof. If your name is not yet on the board, come up and add it to your group before you leave. Dismissed.”

            Throwing my books into my bag, I hurried out of the lecture hall and sat out in the corner of the atrium to decompress. When I came into the real world, I always felt overwhelmed with the world; it was so much simpler in the convent.

            “My sister was part of the Healing Order,” a woman’s voice stated beside me. I looked up to find a girl with short, spiky hair and a kind face loitering. Clearing her throat, she added, “I’m Maya. If you’re praying or need space, I can go.” There was something warm and accepting about her as she nodded and turned to go.

            “Sorry, no, I’m not in a reverie, just thinking,” I muttered. Moving my bag to make room on the bench, I continued, “It’s nice to meet you, Maya. I’m Ella, or as I will be known for henceforth, That Weird Culty Girl.”

            She chuckled and sat down, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, I bet you don’t usually have an easy time fitting in. I know my sister didn’t,” Maya replied with a grim smile. “That class is pretty insane, eh? You have to bear your soul and if there’s a lot of people that have the same idea, you’re docked points. As though originality and non-conformity are most of a positive,” she mused, looking off at something I couldn’t see.

            Taking a shaky breath, I replied, “Mother Superior told me not to come. She said I’d be ridiculed if people found out, but I hid it for three semesters, but I guess she was right anyway.” We sat quietly as a swell of students fresh out of their first classes flooded the hall. “So, atheist, eh?” I asked, glancing sideways at Maya.

            “Yup, I believe in nothing. It might sound sad, but everything makes sense,” she murmured. Hitting my arm with her elbow, she added, “Though, to be entirely honest, I didn’t think I would have to explain my reasoning and the purpose I feel because of my non-religious views.” We fell back into quiet that could have easily been misconstrued as comfortable. I’d spent enough time with ‘outsiders’ to sense when they wanted to ask me something and Maya was no different, even if she was kinder about it. “So, how does it work, the Order?” she finally asked under her breath.

            Nodding, I smiled and replied, “We are taught how to heal through prayer and medicine. If you make it through the training, which most women don’t, you’re taught the true purpose of the Healing Order.” It wasn’t as complicated as everyone seemed to think. “On average, it takes a new Sister five years to get through the training before they’re allowed to actually heal people outside the refuge,” I continued as Maya looked at me with interest, “and then they have to pass a test to learn how to do what we do.” Clearing my throat, I dug a golden coin the size of a silver dollar out of my pocket. “This is a Quan Yin coin, and it is used by the sisters to heal people,” I concluded, letting the metal catch the light.

            Maya stared at the coin in wonder. “How does it work?” she asked, reaching out to touch it. Reflexively, I pulled it back before she made contact and she gasped, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

            “It’s okay,” I assured her, shaking my head, “I’m just not supposed to let people touch it. Um, well, it works by transference.” Knowing this would require a follow-up, I continued, “We transfer the ailments of others into ourselves.” I wanted to say that I wasn’t crazy, that it works, that I’d witnessed it when I got my coin. I wanted to explain that it wasn’t a death cult, that we really just wanted to help people. I wanted to not sound so delusional.

            “It took my sister a decade to get to that point,” Maya murmured, “and she was a healer for two years before she got cancer and the Order said they couldn’t do anything. And couldn’t say why.” There was pain behind her eyes, pain I couldn’t take away. Looking right into my soul, she asked, “How long did your training take and how long until you’ll be able to really heal?”

            “Two years of training and in two months I can take my test to start using this coin,” I replied. For a few minutes, we sat thinking about our own dealings with the Healing Order before I asked, “Why did your sister join?”

            Maya laughed forcefully and sighed, “She said she’d found her purpose when she read about it. That nothing in her life had felt like that before.”

            Nodding, I looked away and murmured, “A lot of the sisters feel that way. I was a clone born to be an organ factory for my ‘twin sister’ and no one told us. When I found out, I ran away and wanted to die. Then, I found the Order.” Without looking at Maya, I concluded, “Turns out that I was okay dying for someone, as long as I got to choose. I chose this purpose.”

            The way she looked at me wasn’t with pity, like most people. If I wasn’t much mistaken, it was pride.