HAZY DAZE

"Where I come from."

These are four words I never want to hear, and I wish I could tell you why. I become physically ill. I know something happened, I just can't say exactly what it was.

I was completely on my own for the first time. Classes had begun and I already had a ton of assignments. I didn't mind. I was anxious to get started and do well, as I had assured my parents I would.

The one course I'd signed up for that wasn't academics was theater club. I had enjoyed acting in school plays back home and I thought it would be a fun and effective way to improve my public speaking and overcome some of the shyness I still carried around. I had always spent most of my time alone and knew I still had a lot to learn about people.

And I could act. I'd been pretending to know what I was doing for years when, in reality, I suffered from chronic stomach pain from exuding outward confidence while keeping all my insecurity buried inside. To what extent my parents knew how good I was at faking my way though situations, I don't really know, though I suspect I gave them less to worry about than my siblings. My younger sister was anxious and weepy, needing constant reassurance and attention, while our brother preferred a handy escape route from life and was discovering that certain drugs could fit that bill.

So, when it came time to leave home, it was with relief, and with my eyes aimed forward and a pocket-full of Pepto.

I had finished settling into dorm life when I received a text on my phone that the first drama club meeting had been moved to Saturday, and was being held in an old theater house on the outskirts of campus. The message included directions and a time to be there. Hmm, there was no end time. Organizing my schedule was going to be a challenge, that I could see.

Nora Thomas was my roommate. We'd met online at a campus group chat, had struck up a dialogue that eventually led to us requesting a room together. We'd gotten our wish and shared quarters in Mill House, a dormitory made of brick and cement situated in the heart of the university.

Saturday came and I checked the time. I had just enough to tackle one of my assignments before heading to drama class. Nora was like a silent partner, which was fine. We clacked at our keyboards, flipped through textbooks, slurped hydration through straws, sneezed when necessary, and listened to blaring music through our individual ear pods. When the time came, I gathered a small backpack of necessities and waved near enough to get Nora's attention, and was out the door.

* * *

It was surprising there weren't more students on the flagstone walkway that lead to the Theater House. The house itself looked out of place, I thought, given this was the northwest. It had an air of southern charm to it. It was a two-story structure with white columns in front. To either side of the columns stretched a wrap-around porch with assorted swings and rocking chairs. I headed straight to the front door and, as I grabbed the knob and opened it, was greeted with a stale, musty smell. Somewhere a bell tinkled. I wrinkled my nose and ventured inside.

The front entryway was draped in blood-red velvet panels that I could imagine harbored much of the offending dust and dank. Before I could explore further, I heard the sound of heavy feet marching up a flight of stairs.

"We're meeting down here," whispered an older-looking, I assumed, student, who waved me over. I smiled and said, "Hey, thanks. I thought I got the time wrong or something."

He put a finger to his mouth, looking serious. "Shhh. Follow me."

Well, ooooh-kay, I thought to myself.

We were descending to the basement of the building. The walls were stone, the stairs wooden and creaky. There wasn't much light to see by. My guide had produced a flashlight. Just how weird is this going to get?

At the bottom of the stairs was a small room that housed several large chests and multiple shelves that contained a wide assortment of, I would guess, given that it was supposed to be a theater, props? I was looking over some of the items when I felt a hand grab my arm and point me to an open door. There was low light emanating from the room just beyond. It was so quiet. None of this was making any sense.

"Come in! Join us! So, you managed to find us."

Upon entering the room, I took a moment to process the scene before me. There were three tall figures in shrouds that were the only ones standing and so, I assumed, must be teaching the class. There was an elongated mantle behind them heaped with piles of lit and dripping candle wax that cast shadows where their faces should be. Off to the side, against the far wall, I could see other shrouded participants seated on benches, bathed in shadow. And there, seated before the big three was a half-circle of somber-looking students, though none greeted me or even made eye contact.

I had to laugh. "What kind of . . ."

My escort grabbed my arm again, shushing me, and I was led to a gap in the circle, where he had me sit. He then took a seat next to me and cast his gaze downwards.

I stared at the three towering figures as the middle one began to speak in a loud, commanding voice. "As I was saying, the first lesson you all will learn is that you are to keep your eyes grounded. You will not look upon your elders unless invited. You will not speak. You will not move one inch without permission."

My God, I thought, immersive training? I've heard of this! OMG, I can't believe how cool this is!

"You! Are you deaf as well as dumb?"

"Well, no. I just think this is . . ."

"SILENCE! You have been warned. Another infraction will cost you. When you are here, you belong to us. Remember that! You already have earned demerits for being late!"

"What? No! I was exactly . . ."

Shroud Number 1 raised his hand as if to slap me down. Then he glanced to his left and nodded. One of the hoods seated on the bench held a clipboard where he made some sort of notation.

Impressive, if not slightly overkill. It struck me that this might be a form of hazing. Well, if I was to show them I could act, then I'd better get in character. I bent my head in submission.

"This is how it will be. When you are here, you belong to us. You will obey our every command, without question. We are the Master, the Lion, the Lord, the King and the Queen, the Judge and the Jury and, never dare forget, the Executioner."

How I ever was able to maintain a straight face in the presence of such over-the-top theatrics, I'll never know. I swear I almost snorted, but somehow managed to hold it in. Those years of pretending with my family were paying off.

"You are little more than the stain on a carpet. Maggots are higher up the evolution chain than you. You don't deserve the space you take up or the air you breathe. Your histories, your supposed identities, are meaningless. We may teach you all we know, but first you must prove yourselves worthy. And you must survive."

Dramatic pause. Damn, what a show!

"For now, if you are to take away anything from this first day with us, let it be this, and hear me well: You will not speak of what goes on here, to anyone, not even to each other, anywhere or at any time. And, mark my words, you do not want to know the penalty you will pay if ever you do."

* * *

I left the theater with a book under my arm. It was a book of entertainment trivia we maggots were tasked with learning. We were told we would find out soon enough the reason why and, of course, we knew not to ask.

Following getting our fingers pricked and leaving a bloody mark on parchment, an agreement never to disclose anything about what we were learning - nice touch, I thought - hah - we were released one at a time with five minute increments in between, and directed to go straight to our rooms and not speak to anyone along the way. I was the last to be let go, due to my tardiness, apparently. Well, I knew I was not late, I was exactly on time according to the text message. These guys were messing with our heads and obviously pretty good at it. I was genuinely impressed and excited to see what would happen next. It is generally known that theater people can be eccentric, but that little demonstration was way beyond any expectation that I'd walked in with.

There was a part of me waving tiny flags of warning and foreboding, trying to get my attention. My stomach grumbled. I saw it as a tip of the hat to the incredible performance I'd just witnessed. All right. There, I acknowledge you. Now, leave me alone. I have a lot of work to do! I chewed an antacid and opened the book.

* * *

I read as much as I could of the entertainment trivia book, which was certainly more enjoyable than my other classes, but frankly, it held a lot of information and I was only human. I did my best.

When next Saturday came around, I entered the meeting room to find everyone already in their places, the three shrouds turning in unison to, I imagine, glare at me.

Number 1 pointed to the gap in the circle and I, keeping my head down, took my spot. I snuck a glance at those seated at the bench to see if the clipboard was being used again. Yep.

Whatever. If I continue to play along, I'll probably get a better grade. This may be one of the best opportunities I'll ever have to be singled out. Well, let the show begin.

"I trust you all took your assignment seriously this past week. This is your test. It's time to play a little game called 'Where I Come From.' The way the game is played is simple. We will give you a clue that begins with the phrase, 'Where I come from.' It can be a line from a play, a quote from literature, a reference from cinema. All you have to do is tell us where the clue comes from. Let's see how well you studied.

"We will call upon you in turn. If you answer correctly, you will have one demerit removed from your chart. If you answer incorrectly, you will have a demerit added. At the end of the class, your scores will be tallied."

And? I thought. Then what?

"Now, you have all been assigned labels we believe best describe you, and what you will now be known by whenever you are in our presence. We will be the only ones to speak them aloud. It is by these words alone that you shall thus be called upon to speak, and only then. Let's begin."

Man, I want to meet the script writer. This really was good stuff.

"Cesspool! You! Stand to receive your clue. Did I say you could look me in the face? I don't recall giving you permission. That's a demerit."

The clipboard came out.

"Listen closely, Cesspool, because I will only say the clue once."

I held my breath.

"Where I come from, 'Obscurity is the refuge of incompetence.'"

Cesspool was quickly turning into a pool. He diminished before our eyes, those who chanced a glance. But you could feel it. He muttered a guess.

"A-Alfred Hitchcock."

"Wrong. NEXT!"

Cesspool slumped into his spot, looking entirely emptied.

"You! Slime!"

This one had spirit, I could feel it. She rose to her feet.

"Where I come from, 'I do not think about things I do not think about.'"

The blank pause that replaced her eagerness was palpable. I tried with all my might to deliver to her subliminally, "Inherit the Wind."

"I . . . I don't . . ."

"Wrong. NEXT!"

I observed through my mind's eye as one after another of our group was laid low, subjected to defeat after defeat, with the accompanying demoralization. The air was thick with it. If this was acting, it was to a superbly devastating scale. And, I mean, it had to be. An act, that is.

Then came my turn. I bolstered my will and put all those years of putting up a brave front to use.

I stood, my gaze downward.

"Ah, Slug."

I braced myself.

"Where I come from, 'We won't bite you until we know you better.'"

Hesitation. Then exuberance.

"Chita Rivera - West Side Story."

"Sit, Slug. NEXT!"

Following that, I heard little.

* * *

I walked a little slower the following Saturday to theater. It was feeling more like a walk to the gallows. Well, maybe not that bad, but close. What exactly were we learning? If this was a hazing exercise, at least it didn't involve drinking. I get drunk so fast. Still, it was about breaking us, no doubt about it. I decided to give it one more class. I'd already read the trivia book front to back. Last week I'd been lucky. This week, at least I felt relatively prepared.

Upon entering the basement, I could see that half the class was missing. All the shrouds were present. I took my place.

"Some of you may be wondering what has become of your numbers. Many opted to retreat, give up. Others have been stripped of their privilege to be among you, deemed unworthy of the opportunities that await."

Okay, let's get to the trivia. I'm ready.

"This is a new game that involves some perhaps indelicate matters that we have come to learn about each of you. The format is the same. We will begin the questioning. You will respond with either one of two responses: True or False. Nothing more. If you answer correctly, you will stay. If not, you will be eliminated. Prepare yourselves to begin."

Back down the rabbit hole, I thought. This really is some kind of madness. Isn't it?

"Stand, Spit Cup!"

I caught the shadow of someone nearby as they stood.

"Where I come from . . . girls are meant to be used and then tossed aside."

Electricity suddenly filled the room, followed by dead silence.

"F-f-false."

"Take him away."

There was some brief scuffling and the sound of dragging feet. Then silence returned.

"Stand, Toad."

This is intense, I thought.

"Where I come from . . . I never took a test that I didn't have to cheat in order to pass."

"What?"

"Take him away."

The same scenario played out, again and again.

And then.

"Ah, Slug. Stand!"

I suddenly decided not to. The act, for me, was over.

"Don't think I will."

"SILENCE!"

All hoods were facing towards me and I really just wanted to laugh. I began clapping my hands instead. I blew a loud whistle through my teeth.

"Bravo! That was awesome! I have to say you guys are amazing! I quit. Bye!"

I began to get up.

"Take her!"

"Game over," I said as I retrieved a vial of pepper spray I'd secreted in a back pocket and aimed it at the approaching hoods. "Not one step closer!"

There was a silent standoff that ensued. Felt like forever. Until it all went black.

* * *

I woke up in my dorm room the next morning with a blinding headache.

Nora came over to me with a damp washcloth.

"You're awake."

I took the cool cloth, laid back on the pillow, and placed it over my eyes and forehead.

"I don't know what you did yesterday but you were in really bad shape. Where were you anyway? I couldn't get a coherent word out of you."

"I was at my class."

Nora looked at me, frowning.

"There aren't any weekend classes, you know that."

"Of course there is. I . . . where's my backpack?"

Nora retrieved my backpack from the chair at my desk and handed it to me. I rummaged inside and found my phone.

"Here, there's a . . ."

Nora waited, looking at me strangely.

The text message with the drama class instructions was gone.

Nora raised an eyebrow.

"You okay?"

"I don't know."

"You're scaring me. Did you hit your head or something?"

I honestly couldn't say, I thought.

"Need sleep."

* * *

When I felt strong enough, I walked to the edge of campus to see the theater house. Nora had to remind me more than once there was no drama department and that I must have imagined what happened. I could tell she was concerned about me. I was, too.

There it was. In place of the charming southern house with the wrap-around porch, there sat a dilapidated shell of a structure that appeared ready to collapse. There were "Condemned" and "Do Not Trespass" signs in full view. The walkway was a mess of overgrowth, broken glass and brambles.

I felt my stomach churn. I saw what I thought was a shadowy figure pass by one of the upstairs windows. I froze. I thought I'd caught a glimpse of a face. My stomach was on fire. I thought it looked like Nora.

I just want to go back where I came from.