Ashmoor

One

|Altaira|
Al-tare-ah

August 2014

   It stayed there for a while, smothered in dust. It was a gruelling venture- too tiring to embark alone by foot or by hand, not unless it was covered by a film of latex, mild allergy forgotten. The newspaper was a worthy foe.

   I could see it without touching it, I suppose. The date, a bold Times New Roman, in probably a size 14, touted 'September 1989'. The upper-case letters, once loud and proud, but now faded at the edges and washed out at the intersections by what appeared to be tea stains, said something I could not quite make out without squinting. These were the times I wished I did not try on a pair of glasses at age eleven and liked it.

   Scrolling along the rug that had more craters than the moon, my wheelie chair met my drawer where I grabbed the glasses and rubbed the sleep from my eyes before putting it on. I let out a yelp as the unpadded end of the left side scraped against the bridge of my nose. I'd have to get that fixed- eventually.

   Now more than ever I needed a way to multitask, find a way to put the newspaper in my bag after reading it, along with my usual items, while making false promises to my therapist that I would follow her rules for mindfulness and OCD grounding.

   "Are you alright?" The voice practically squeaked from the high static that came with all our phone calls. I guess it was apt, she did have to pretend she cared, she was getting paid for it after all.

   "Sorry, got distracted."

   "That's fine. You will still stick to your task schedule as usual and write them down?"

   I scrunched my nose in distaste as I edged closer to the document on the desk. Would a few sprays of Dettol on the desk work, after I had effectively removed it and perhaps placed it in one of those slim, laminated wallet folders- maybe A3? Yes, that would work.

   "Of course."

   "And though I am no longer with the practice there are ways to find me should you wish to keep me updated."

   "Aha!' I yelled in triumph and then placed both hands over my mouth. Of course that didn't stop my therapist from thinking I was dying to know what never-ending assignment she was setting up for me, probably feeling a smidge of guilt for not managing to fully fix what I had. I didn't blame her though, the NHS had limited sessions for everyone and maybe I was getting better. I mean, I was before the incident.

   Finally I had my gloves, I had my spray bottle, I had my hand sanitizer- perfect. Now to see if I was settling down to read a tale of a runaway killer, or of SpongeBob finding his Gary, yet again. Unsurprisingly, and to my utter disappointment, it was neither.

THE ASHMOOR TIMES

ASHMOOR AWARDS SPONSOR COUPLE THEIR HIGHEST HONOUR

Power couple alumni, Samuel and Odessa Ellis, donate towards a new department right in the heart of Ashmoor.

   Except it wasn't just a 'department' was it? Reading on, the words 'new campus' stuck out like a sore thumb. My mind helpfully conjured the half-finished application to Cambridge, and then my sixth form career's advisor advising me on how I was 'way too smart' to stay in this city, this town, and give up like that. Voted most likely to succeed. Well that worked out well, didn't it?

   My stomach gurgled with anxiety, urging me to stop reading this boring drivel. I sacrificed my desk for this? Who on earth would send an article from 25 years ago? The envelope, which had no dust as it was clearly new, had no return address either, sender unknown. Of course. Pranksters were getting smarter these days, gone were the ding dong ditchers of yore— or was I consuming too much daytime American TV, but on the laptop because who used TV's anymore?