American Chordata: Magazine of New Writing Issue One, Spring 2015 | Page 115

“I can take care of myself,” I said, slurring. “Don’t worry.”
She reached for my hand. “Sweet girl,” she said. Then she asked
Dr. Fuller to repeat everything he had just told me.

97
FICTION

In a dim, greenish pre-op room, I considered whether this, my
accident, had happened to me for a reason. At school, I was a cocky,
prideful pseudo-intellectual who harbored disdain for my classmates. Freshman year I had found a ripped copy of The Stranger
by Albert Camus in a pile of books the school library put out next
to the trash. “I opened myself to the gentle indifference of the world,” I
read. Exactly, I thought. The kids at my school were “sheeple,” to
borrow my mother’s word, with their straightened smiles, their
grade-grubbing, their high-fives. Our teachers were just proxies for
the far-away government executives who wrote our curriculum.
They were all just pretending not to know the truth: that all of life
leads to death, and there is no real point to anything.
From the back of the medi-van, I had looked upon my teammates
jogging half-heartedly after the Oakvale Falcons, who were up nine
to zero. The Falcons were the best in the league, equipped as they
were with tinted sunglasses, cleats with extra grippers on the toe,
and a sleek, black touring van. While they munched quinoa bars
and veggie platters during halftime, we ate corn products a
grade above chicken feed. Our team had won only two games,
both against Freelawn, whose numbers were down due to an
outbreak of mononucleosis, and, rumor now had it, an outbreak of
lesbianism. I didn’t care about our dismal record, though. I joined
the team only to get the physical activity certificate that would
qualify me for a silver-level diploma, which would look better
on my college applications.
I had been standing in the backfield zoning out when Coach
Hamlin screamed my name and pointed toward a girl with pigtails
running in my direction. From the gawky way she handled the ball,
I could tell she was a player the Falcons let on the field only when
they were far ahead. Sensing a steal, I jogged over to her. She reared
up for a long shot and before I could duck, her elbow slammed into