I think that I shouldn’t exactly be here. Not here, in a giant lab room, filled with various robot parts on shelves on the walls, not here. Not in a place where I’m the only girl.
I would much rather be outside in the mornings.
When I wake up at 6 am, I sluggishly make my way through my routine. I take my Lexapro, let my mom fuss over every last strand of my hair. When I eventually get done with everything and get outside, the wind of winter strikes me like a slap to the cheek.
It’s January in Missouri. That can usually only be a bad thing.
Even though sometimes one could get chilly out there, in that freezing air of the morning, to me it’s the only thing that wakes me up. The mixture of oxygen and nitrogen shoots through my lungs like a bullet, crisp and alive with something I don’t even know. The air colors my cheeks pink, it reflects the black sky at 6 in the morning. Sometimes, if you look hard enough as the sun is rising, you catch the spark of light in the sky–stars. The moon seems to just sit in the background, the satellites covering the sky having more impact than the moon itself.
When I’m out there, I feel at peace, knowing that the sky is above me and the world actually exists out there, something just numbs my mind. All I can actually comprehend is the air around me, blowing sharp in my throat and freezing my environment.
Until, of course, the bus rumbles down the street, and I’m taken here.
I want to go outside. To smell the scent of oxygen.
Oxygen.
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