Emily Rice
The classroom became smaller and smaller the longer I sat in the stiff-backed chair that kept me attached to the desk in front of me. My breathing sped up, I couldn’t escape into the aisle because of the metal bar on one side and the desk pushed against the other side. I was trapped. The numbers on the board melted into gibberish and the scratching of the pencils of the people that know what they are doing bombards me from all sides. As the harsh lights grew brighter, and the walls came closer and closer, I knew I couldn’t take it. I jumped out of the chair that I was put in and bolted out of the door.
The teacher didn’t notice, my classmates didn’t say anything, my breathing sped up. I walked towards the counsellor’s office to try and calm down maybe, but when I saw the group of jocks standing in front I turned around and went the other way. The halls were empty, with nowhere else to go I walked out the front doors of the school. My vision was becoming fuzzy, I was becoming light-headed.
I walked down the street, I had no idea where I was going, my breathing sped up. I walked past an opening in the trees and saw some kids around my age, probably skipping, I kept walking. I came across a building, an apartment building, slightly dilapidated, but some of the lights were on in the windows. I saw a ladder up to the fire escape which climbed all the way up to the roof, I walked forward and started to climb. I continued to climb up the ladder, up the fire escape, up until I reached the roof. I looked around at my empty surroundings, I looked out at the city all the different buildings, and then I looked down, my breathing sped up.
I thought that if I got out of the classroom, went somewhere to cool down for a bit it would stop. But it didn’t, it wasn’t the math, it wasn’t the classroom, it wasn’t the teacher, it was me. I just want it to stop, I want to stop being stupid, I want to stop feeling so weak. I looked down at the ground, I can’t breathe, I want it to stop, but I don’t think I want to die. I thought about my sister, I thought about my mom and dad, I felt so guilty.
I pulled out my phone with my shaking hands and dialled 911 before putting it up to my ear. The voice on the other end let out a string of rehearsed words.
“I don’t want to die.” I gasped through my short harsh breaths.
“Where are you?” The voice asked.
“I’m on top of an apartment building.” I looked down at the ground.
“Help is on the way.” She responded.
I heard a click before a new voice filtered through, “What’s your name?” A soft, and somehow reassuring voice asked.
“I-I can’t,” I gasped.
“You have no idea how brave you are.” I was confused by what she said.
“How?”
“You called for help, so many people wouldn’t be able to say anything.”
“What’s wrong with me?”
“Nothing’s wrong with you, sometimes life becomes too much, and whatever you’re going through isn’t your fault,” I heard the sincerity in her voice and felt my breathing slow down. The ambulance and cop cars appeared below me. I let my breathing slow down and backed away from the edge. My family came and I saw their glistening cheeks and I thanked myself for being brave. On the ground I only saw concerned gazes, they all wanted to help, I felt safe.
I saved a life today by calling for help, it was indeed my own, but I could tell my family was thankful that I wasn’t hurt. If I hadn’t reached out, I would have only done damage, and hurt other people. My life was going to change, now I can breathe.