Gerascophobia. The fear of aging or growing older. May didn’t ask to be afraid of growing up, but yet, she finds that she constantly worries about how her future will turn out, and about leaving people she loves. Then again, is anyone really there for her? May battles with her fears, but in this heartwarming story of memories and dreams, she finds that she is not alone.

…

    “Hey, May, are you alright?”

    I blinked. Once. Twice. I looked into the concerned face of the girl next to me, who was clutching onto her ham and cheese sandwich. I hadn’t realized I was staring off into a distance, blankly. I looked around, to see if anyone else was looking at me. Nope. I looked back at the girl with the ham and cheese sandwich, her fragile blue eyes staring me down.

    “What?” I croaked.

    “Are you alright?” Angel repeated, the worried glow in her ocean eyes.

    “Uh, yeah. I’m fine. Why?” I pushed up my glasses, knowing that Angel had noticed me staring off into space.

    “Well, you were…”

    “Yeah, I know. I’m fine.” I sighed, and glanced over the the other side of the lunch table, near the end, where my friends were sitting. Well, maybe friends was a strong word. More like people I know and occasionally joke around with, but unless I’m giving them something, I’m a ghost to them. There was about five of them, a tight little group, huddled around together. I didn’t like squeezing in, so I spaced myself a bit on my seat. I watched as they laughed with each other, almost in harmony, the perfect little group. I did not belong with them. Comparing me with them was like comparing dirt to diamond. I looked at the weird lunch stain on the table, my crossed arms rested on top of the table. Angel caught the direction of my glance, and sighed. She knew what was up, but knew better than to bring something up, something that was better left down. Instead, she mentioned something else.

    “No lunch again?” She asked, calmly. I gritted my teeth, the hollow, empty hole in my stomach becoming clear. It’s impossible to not think about food, and how I was practically starving, but I do my best.

    “No. Too lazy to make one. Too broke to buy one.” I grumbled. Angel rubbed her heavenly but weary eyes. They were glossy and beautiful and perfect. Her hair was gold, and soft and always smelled nice, like coconut conditioner. Then there was me. Messy, short brown hair, big, nerdy glasses, dull and plain brown eyes. Nothing special about me.

    A loud crash was heard. Everybody looked in the direction of a table full of rowdy boys. Apparently, two eighth grade boys started getting in a heated argument, and started to get physical. While the two boys began to fistfight, the other boys surrounding them started chanting and roaring with laughter. Teachers started rushing over, yelling at the idiotic boys. Students started filing out of the cafeteria, and upstairs, back to class.

    “Pathetic…” I muttered under my breath. Not only because some kids in my grade were really stupid, but also because I kind of wanted to see a good fight. That would have been an interesting memory to retrace during my dead-boring math class.

The rest of the day had been a blur. Science class had been something about Newton’s laws of physics. Math had something to with angles. Gym class was only me looking at my feet while jogging. Left foot, right foot. Repeat. Left foot, right foot. Repeat. Never stop, for nothing.

    The day went by so fast. Hours flying by as fast as sand slipping away through my fingers. First, the minutes fly by. Then the hours slip away. Soon enough, the day is over. Then more and more days… Then months… And soon…

    I shook my head, catching myself thinking too much. I had a problem when it came to not worrying about my future. I really don’t know how to deal with it. I sat up on the stiff bus seat, my drawstring school bag sitting next to me, lumped against the steel wall. I grabbed my blue bag with white polka dots, and ripped it open, digging my hand through it’s contents. I wasn’t really a “neat” and “organized” person (perhaps, the opposite) and so it took a while to feel the object my hand was searching for.

    Finally, after a couple minutes of digging through my bag, I felt it. A cool, circle shaped object. I pulled it out of my bag. It was my portable CD player, with all different kinds of buttons, including a switch that was labelled “CD” and “Radio.” With my free hand, I pulled some slightly tangled up earbuds out of my grey sweater pocket, and plugged them into the headphone jack on my CD player. I flipped it to “Radio” and slumped a bit in my seat, waiting for the commercial break to be over. The bus door opened.

    High schoolers began to file in, because they joined us middle schoolers on the bus. Most of the high schoolers I didn’t really care about or know, but there was always a few rowdy boys, and the ringleader, the rowdiest of them all. Eric always entered the bus the same way; yelling on the top of his lungs, whether he was yelling at a student or just yelling for the heck of it, I don’t know, I didn’t care. While the bus continued its journey, his voice would be heard throughout the bus (even though he sat in the way back) and he would often yell out profanities, or foods fused with sexual body parts (cheese was commonly used in this). But to summarize it, Eric was the most obnoxious high schooler you would ever meet.

    Eric stopped in the middle of the bus aisle and yelled loudly. For no reason. I slightly adjusted my volume button a little louder. High schoolers continued to shuffle past my seat, and filling up other bus seats. Another commercial finally ended, and I listened to the dead air in the radio, as if it was saying “Hold on, I’m putting on a song.” I heard the first note, a soft piano note, and immediately recognized the song.

    It’s a God awful small affair...

    I exhaled, and closed my eyes shut, resting my head against the cool glass window. I absolutely loved David Bowie.

    To the girl with the mousy hair.

    “Hey.” I heard a rough whisper slip to me, coming from the seat behind me.

    But her mommy is yelling no…

    “Hey!” The rough whisper grew louder. I knew who it was, and I continued to ignore it.

    And her daddy has told her to go.

    “HEY!” I grinded my teeth a little. While his disgusting voice grew louder and louder, my patience only shrunk thinner and thinner. Eric was seriously getting on my nerves.

    But her friend is nowhere to be seen, now she walks through her sunken dream.

    I felt an impatient poke on my head, and I snapped. I immediately whipped around, to see Eric’s eyes wide with surprise, I was so irritated. My earbuds had fallen out, and were laying on the bus seat. Eric gaped at my red angry face, mouth wide open for a couple of seconds. Then he howled with laughter. I felt my face grow even hotter, but not from anger, from embarrassment. Eric turned around, and started to laugh with the rest of his idiotic buddies. I felt myself shrink in my bus seat, as I let out a sigh and picked up my earbuds, miserably stuffing them back into my ears.

    And she’s hooked to the silver screen.

    I squeezed my eyes shut, the darkness so soothing, while the music flowing into my ears grew more and more intense.

    But the film is a saddening bore, for she’s lived it ten times or more! She could spit in the eyes of fools, ask they ask her to focus on…

    From the darkness, came light. I imagined a long hall, lit by candle, red carpets, orange walls, covered in beautiful oil paintings. I was in a white dress, with a black belt, and no shoes. Me and Angel, beautiful Angel, twirled around, down the long hall. I dreamed of running through crowds of adult men, sailors, with their ghost white uniforms, and little white hats, with a dash of blue. They fought each other, with a shining sword. As Angel held my hand, and together we ran through the crowd, ducking under each swing and slash. We ran past the oil paintings, paintings of revolutionaries, paintings of cavemen, paintings of rejoice. The hallway was nearing end, with a wooden brown door at the end. We skidded to a stop. Angel backed away from the door, but I wasn’t sure why. I placed my hand on the cool, golden knob, and simply turned it, pulling the door open. The door immediately became a vacuum, attempting to pull me into it’s dark abyss of unknown. I gasped, eyes wide, the rushing air pulling me in almost instantly, as I glanced at Angel. Angel did not flinch, as if her feet were planted in the luscious blood red carpet, with the look of hopelessness spread across her face, her blue heavenly eyes dimmed with pain. Our eyes caught each other for a second, and then I was completely sucked into the darkness.

    I was flung through darkness for a few seconds. I was nowhere. Then millions of stars blinked at me. All staring at me, greeting me, those friendly stars. I was in the wide vast of space. Then I looked down, and below my feet was a wide, reddish orange horizon. Mars.

    Is there life on Mars?

    The voice of David Bowie still rang throughout the emptiness of space, as I floated around, circling the massive planet. It was so alone, and so was I. It was my only friend, my own world, my own place. Just me. There was no time, no worries, nothing. Just me, and Mars. Forever…

    “Miss May, please wake up.” A voice boomed over the intercom. I immediately snapped back into reality, lifting my head off from the cool glass. I immediately grabbed my backpack and stood up, out of my seat. I noticed for a quick second that practically everyone was off the bus, and it was my stop. I rushed down the aisle and out of the door. Left in my dusty driveway.

    Home sweet home, they call it. A place to escape.

    To my mother, my dog, and clowns. I hummed to myself, as I made my way up the driveway.