By Mikayla Aubin

I force my legs to move one after the other, left and right, left and right. I try to keep myself anchored to the real world by naming the things I see, hear, and feel. I see the twenty kids pushing each other around, swooning over the setting. I hear the gallant laughs, the shuffling of feet, the whispers and the wind. From wall to wall in this small room, I can hear everything. Yet I feel… I feel murkiness in my head, the stomachache that always comes when I reach the school, the claminess of my hands, and the unforgettable nerves that overtake me. 

As we are being pushed to the next room, I feel my mind drifting once more as the things that were once anchoring me have departed. But, as the class moves on, I suddenly notice a bright white in the corner of my eye. I turn my body to look and it hits me. The white was indeed bright, but it wasn’t harsh. It was gentle. It was as soft and sweet as a summer breeze. The white comes from the fabric of the lady’s dress. The dress was long and covered her fully, but she didn’t seem to be hot. No, she looked like she was cool, as if there were a breeze following her around. She was sitting in a meadow under what looked to be a beautiful willow tree. It covered her like a blanket, protecting her from the harsh sunlight on the other side. Her hands brushed up along the grass and flowers, giving them a dewy residue. She was so calm, so peaceful. 

I walked closer. The shuffling sound returned, once more reminding me that I was real, alive. That I wasn’t simply a vessel moving along at someone else’s disposal. A smile similar to the lady’s graced my face. One of the teachers yelled my name in search of me. I stepped away from the painting and then shuffled to where the voice came from.