Mathematics: Michelle Lukezic
01. Writer
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Michelle Lukezic
02. Theme
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Mathematics
03. MUSIC INSPIRATION
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Mason Proper:
Point A to Point B
04. WRITING
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Love lost. Friendship lost. Sanity lost. Dignity lost.
How do I get here? …so quickly? … and so low?
T-minus 0 days: The Test
“Complete silence.” Stated right before the timer starts for the exam. I want nothing more than time to dissolve, so I can get-out-the-door. I have no intention to answer any of the math puzzles. And I really have no problem with a major-fucking-F that imminently will destroy my current straight-A quarter. My only focus regarding passing, is the passing of forty minutes, so I can hand in my blank paper and bolt.
T-minus 1 day: The Preparation
I should be preparing for the exam, but instead I’m preparing for an emotional punch to the already purple/blue face. I can’t free my mind from thinking of the two of them both being in class with me. How could this have happened? How did I lose both of my best friends in a matter of days? Why wasn’t there any warning? What type of a person am I to deserve the world treating me this way? How am I supposed to sit in the same room with them?
T-minus 2 days: The Ski Crash
I tried to out-do her, an expert skier, and my (day-old) ex-best friend. I edged up to witness the double-black-diamond with moguls, far beyond my capabilities; but it was imperative to demonstrate that I was as good as her. Seven seconds down the hill I knew I was in over my head, but there was no going back. I bit it. Hard. On the very first mogul. One of my skis popped off and I did a forward flip. Bruised, but nothing broken, and a slice of skin cut open on my cheek by my eye from the ice scrapping against my face. She was there to see it all, as she flew past me and looked back, smirked, but didn’t stop.
T-minus 3 days: The Kiss
I caught my best friend, and my (day-old) ex-boyfriend french kissing during gym class. I walked over to him, and slapped him as hard as I could in the face. She laughed. He didn’t see it coming. He looked sad and surprised wrapped together. The slap made a terribly beautiful and satisfying piercing noise. I proceeded to the leg lift machine and lifted the heaviest I had ever tried. A group of students formed around me, “did you see how hard she smacked him?” “can you believe she is lifting that much weight?” “dude she is a beast.” I heard the comments, saw the group forming, but I was not reacting to any of it. I just needed to lift something heavy.
T-minus 4 days: The Heartbreak
The act was done in under 3 minutes. He broke up with me over the phone. We used to spend an hour-plus each night talking. Our conversations were intense, deep and meaningful; during the most intense, deep and meaningful transformative years of our lives. This was the shortest conversation in our history.
T-minus 5 days: The Lost Virginity
The act was done in under 3 minutes. We had been dating for over two years. We talked about how it was going to be special. I heard the clash from the front gate closing as he left, and it echoed inside my head. Was that it? That was it.
T-minus 30 days: New Years Eve
I bought several 9-inch nails from a local hardware store. I put the concert ticket under the nails, in the perfectly-sized, white rectangular box tied with a black ribbon. It is possibly the sweetest birthday gift I have given anyone in my entire life. Of course, I got her a ticket too. The three of us were the best of friends. Regardless of the outcome, it is still the best concert I have ever gone to. That night he and I made the commitment that we were ready to share ourselves with each other. A video of a deteriorating fox carcass in time-lapse counting backwards from one-hundred punctuated the moment. 100, 99, 98, 97, … Happy New Year.
(Back to…) T-minus 0 days: The Test
I know that I’m distracting the class with my sniffles; I really should just blow my nose. I’m weighing the odds between the annoyance of making minor, high-frequency, sucking-the-snot-back-in noises every 1.5 minutes versus the annoyance of getting up once to grab a tissue from the teacher’s front desk, and blowing the snot out in a giant (and disgusting) blow. I don’t like being the center of attention, and somehow several small annoyances seems less obtrusive than one big distraction. I was sick. These were not crying sniffles. Truly. But I was self-conscious that people might think otherwise.
My solidified ex-best friend gets up from her desk in fury. She rips out two tissues from the box at the front of the room. And then slams them onto my desk. “Blow your goddamn nose.”
I blew my nose, began to cry, picked up the pencil, and started the test.
Submission under the weight of indescribable pain. I am alone. I swore to myself, last time was the last time.