No Lesson Can Save Me

*CW- Themes of suicide and attempted suicide*

I was standing on a cliff. 

The wind blew in every which way, yet I couldn’t feel my clothes ruffle against my skin or my hair tickle my ears. I could see color, yet the colors weren't distinct. I could hear the waves crashing against the bluff, yet I couldn’t smell the saltiness of the ocean below me.

 I looked up into the cloudy sky and noticed a crow soar off into the distance. A single raindrop fell on my forehead, and many more followed.

I gazed back down, and standing next to me was a girl. She looked about sixteen, with long raven hair that fell to the middle of her back. Her eyes were sunken and skeletal-like as if she had never slept in all her life.

She looked at me with a sad look on her face. “Hello. Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

I had a feeling she didn’t think it was a beautiful day. “I suppose it is for some,” I replied.

She nodded and turned her attention back down to the cold, bottomless water.

“How old are you?” she asked suddenly, taking one slow step closer to the edge of the cliff.

“Twenty-nine,” I said. 

She mouthed my answer silently as if she couldn’t quite believe it. “How has it been, being twenty-nine…?” She took yet another step towards the edge.

I thought about her question for a good second. “It has been… Quite an amazing journey. I just got a new job at a high school and I am saving up to buy a new house. My fiance, Isabel, and I are getting married in the spr-"

“I had a boyfriend once,” she interrupted abruptly. “I loved him.” She turned around to look at me, anger and sadness and confusion clashing against her face. “Then he left me. Just like that.” She snapped her fingers. The girl took another step, yet this one was more assertive. 

“I thought he left me because I gained weight. So… I thought he would come back if I lost it.” She looked back at me, the rain from the sky mixing with the tears on her pale face. 

My vision changed.

I saw the girl, running on a sidewalk in freezing weather. She looked more alive than she was on the cliff, and her eyes were more colorful and awake, but barely. She was sweating hard, hard enough for her clothes to be a darker shade of the color they used to be. She needed water, but she didn’t stop. The girl ran and ran and ran until she collapsed on the hard ground. She gasped for air and coughed out phlegm and blood.

She stood up, the soles of her shoes worn down so thin you could see the bright colors of her socks. Her knees bled, pieces of cement sticking to her wound. She looked so weak that my stomach clenched with sadness.

My vision returned to the cliff. But now the girl was standing so close to the edge. One of her feet was hovering above the water. Her right hand was outstretched, feeling the wind as it moved her hand up and down.

I was scared for the girl and what she planned to do. I tried to move forward, but my feet stayed planted to the ground. “Stop!” I shouted. But my voice was drowned by the howling wind.

The girl looked back at me, a look of calm glazed over her eyes. “Twenty-nine,” she whispered again, “Wouldn’t that be nice…” And she took her last step, into the raging ocean.

***

I sat upright in my bed, gasping for air. My palms and neck felt clammy. I checked the clock on my nightstand: 4:33 AM.

Just a dream. 

I sighed a breath of relief and looked gratefully at my soon-to-be-wife, who slept peacefully by my side. I kissed her forehead and pulled myself out of bed, recalling the disturbing dream I experienced as I got dressed.

I’ve never seen her before, and she didn’t look like someone I knew. I paused halfway through putting on my tie, remembering the eerie look on her face.

After getting dressed, I made a cup of coffee, and the feeling of dread slowly left me as I breathed in the warm aroma of coffee beans. 

Maybe it was a warning about my life? I rinsed out the empty mug and set it on the drying rack. I doubt it, for the thought of suicide has never really occurred to me.

 Maybe I'm unhappy with my life? I dried my hands on a towel. No… that wasn’t it. I have a happy life. I don’t think that girl in my dream was me.

I walked to the front entrance, grabbed my school curriculum-filled backpack and coat, the dream still bothering my thoughts as I headed out the door.

As I drove closer and closer to the high school more butterflies flew in my stomach. This would be my second time working at a high school. The first time went fairly well, but alas I had to leave when Isabel and I moved closer to her parents. No matter how many times I started at a new school, I always got butterflies. It was quite annoying.

My fingers drummed the steering wheel absentmindedly as I waited in the slow traffic. Twenty-nine. The girl's eerie voice was so clear it felt like she was whispering into my ear. I shook my head.

I merged left onto the highway. Then he left me. Just like that. Goosebumps crawled up my neck. Didn’t people forget their dreams an hour after they happened? And yet, here I was, remembering it as if it happened five minutes ago.

The dream kept coming back to me. I was so lost in my head that I almost hit the car in front of me. I swore out loud, barely stepping on the brake in time. The car behind mine honked loudly.

Unhinged and annoyed, I crossed over a wooden bridge and finally turned into the Franklin High School parking lot. I parked my car and entered the brick building, following the same path I took only days ago to reach my classroom.

I arrived at classroom B16, where its neighbor, B18, sat so close to my classroom’s door I was surprised there was any room for a wall between them. I stuck the rusty key into the lock, and it unlocked unsatisfyingly as I twisted it quietly into place.

The classroom smelled of Clorox and Febreeze, much to my dismay. After setting my belongings on my newly polished desk, I hurried to the windows to see if they would open. Luckily, I was able to crack them just a bit, and hopefully, that was enough to wash away the overpowering smell.

I took a deep breath and looked around the classroom. It looked exactly the way I left it a week ago when I came to prepare it for the school year. Grammar posters lined the walls and the occasional meme - I tried to keep the walls somewhat interesting. The desks were in a neat order, still glistening from the residue of sanitary wipes. I silently thanked the custodian for cleaning my classroom so early in the morning.

I sat down in my comfortable chair behind my desk and sighed once more. The majority of butterflies left my coffee-filled stomach, but I could still feel the last remaining three flit around slowly. Happily, I realized that I hadn’t thought about my dream once since I arrived at school.

My eyes looked over the empty desks, and I found myself longing for them to be filled. I was ready for the day to start.

***

“Missdderr Teddd,” I emphasized, writing my name on the whiteboard, the new black marker seeming to improve my terrible penmanship.

“Is that really your last name?” a sophomore from the back asked, and right away I knew to expect many interruptions from him.

I turned around, facing the classroom. “No, it’s my first. My last name’s Zalapski, and well, that’s a bit of a mouth full. So I go by Mr. Ted.”

The classroom stared back blankly at me, except for the occasional one or two nods, which I always appreciated. At least they tried to make it look like they were taking in what I said.

“So, because I don’t know any of you, and I’m guessing some of you don’t know each other, I’ll go around the room asking for your names. Just names, please, we don’t need to know what kind of flavor ice cream you like,” I said, feeling proud of myself after hearing a few snickers across the room.

“Alright, let’s start with this young lady here to the left,” I said, looking at an Asian girl in the front row.

“I’m Violet,” she said, with an assertive tone that contrasted with her timid appearance.

I nodded and focused on the boy behind her. “My name’s Clint,” he said quietly, slouching further into his chair.

And on we went around the room. I tried my best to remember their names while checking them off on my attendance sheet. So far I had Violet, Clint, River (the interrupting kid), Audrey, Makayla (the attendance sheet said her real name was Olivia, but of course she had to change it to confuse me), Tyler, Marcus, Sophie (or was it Sophia?), and Alex. 

“I’m Claire,” a girl said calmly.

I looked up from my attendance sheet and almost yelled when I saw who was speaking.

She flicked her raven hair behind her shoulder and stared at me expectantly. Her dark brown eyes, so dark they looked like two large pupils, seemed to study me with a kind of intelligence I usually didn’t see in high school students. 

I was staring at the girl in amazement for so long someone in the back coughed loudly. She looked at me suspiciously. Great, now my students think I’m a creep. 

But was she the girl from my dream? She looked almost identical, minus the pale skin and sunken eyes. She looked much healthier, much more alive.

I barely listened to the rest of the names after that. Realizing we were done with roll call, I quickly checked off the rest of the names, not knowing if they were here or not.

“Alright, class! Can anyone tell me what an implicit stereotype is?”

***

The rest of the school months went by fairly quickly. I noticed right away that Claire was an exceptionally bright student. There was a way she carried herself like she couldn’t care less about anything, but also a sort of respectfulness when she spoke to people. I enjoyed teaching her, even though she constantly reminded me of my haunting dream.

And I continued to have that horrid dream every time I rested my weary head on my pillow.

Each dream was almost identical to the last. But in each dream, I saw a different vision from the girl's life. 

The second dream was the same, but instead of the vision of Claire running, I saw her and her parents having a heated argument.

“Claire, you can’t always do this! You’re smart and talented. Why not study something in college that can pay you well later!” a lady whom I assumed was her mother, said, trying to keep an even tone.

“Why not?! You don’t get to control my life! If I want to study art, why can’t I study art?!” Claire looked about ready to tear out her hair.

“Because, it’s not a very, erm, conventional job. All of your math skills will get wasted making a painting!” the man argued, and I somehow knew he was her stepfather.

“Shut up! You don’t get to tell me what to do!” Claire screamed, mascara and tears streaming down her face. “You’re not my dad!”

Her stepfather took a step back, blood rising in his cheeks. 

Her mother gasped and stared angrily at her daughter. “Claire! He - we, only want what’s best for you!”

“Sure you do!” she sobbed, running out of the living room and slamming her bedroom door behind her.

I saw many more visions like this in my dreams, all happening at different stages of Claire’s life. I watched as a tall boy embraced Claire tightly after his football team won a close game. “We did it, Claire!”

Another dream with a much younger version of herself, blowing out five candles on a frosting-covered cake as a man I didn’t recognize squeezed her shoulders. “Happy Birthday princess!”

Yet another, much sadder vision, showed ten-year-old Claire holding a tear-stained picture of herself and the same man from her birthday vision. She was clutching his finger tightly with her tiny chubby hands, and he was smiling at her with the kind of love that could only come from a father. “Why did you have to go…” she had whispered with so much grief I could feel tears forming in my sleep and my gut clenching with familiar sadness.

And in every dream, I couldn't save Claire. Every dream, she would look back at me with that same glazed look on her face as she held her hand out, ready to fall. Every dream, I would scream her name and tell her not to do it. But every time, my words were muffled by the wind.

And every morning, I would wake up with that same uneasy feeling crawling up my neck.

***

It was now January when it was always either sunny or cloudy and bone-chillingly cold. The students started caring less about their grades and more about the upcoming events. I, on the other hand, was getting bored of the outdated class curriculum. I wasn’t allowed to switch lessons, but I tried my best to make it as entertaining as possible for my students.

Something that continued to distract me during class was how pale and skinny Claire was becoming. Not only that, but she contributed less in class discussions. On the few occasions that she did, she spoke with a moody tone, never looking me directly in the eye.

As each month passed, she looked more and more like the girl from my dream. And I became more and more concerned.

One day, when Claire was surprisingly silent, I asked her to talk after class ended. She obliged and waited with me for the rest of her classmates to leave the room.

I expected her to ask why she was here, but she stayed quiet. 

“So, Claire… How’s life at home?” I asked cautiously, but not accusingly.

She looked at me, startled. “It’s fine,” was all she said.

I nodded. “Well, if you want to talk to me about anything, I’m here.”

She looked at me irritatedly. Then she left.

***

It was now March. The high schoolers were more impatient than ever to get over with the school year, and I had started to agree with them.

My dreams were becoming much more vivid and detailed. I learned more about Claire every night, yet I still couldn't come close to saving her from her death. It pained me each day, seeing Claire and knowing what might happen.

I continued asking her if she was alright or feeling well, but she just nodded her head and left. I realized the only way to get her to talk was by being upfront.

One day, I asked Claire again to talk to me. She nodded and waited for me to speak. 

“Have you ever thought…” I took a deep breath, thinking about my next words. “How do I put it… Have you ever thought about… giving up?”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

“Have you ever…” I stood up to close the classroom door. “Have you ever thought about killing yourself?”

Her jaw quivered. "I..." 

I waited, looking at her as comforting as possible.

"Sometimes I wish I was never born," she whispered after a second.

My heart sunk. Somehow, my dreams were right. And somehow they were a warning.

"You know that many people love you. You're such an intelligent young lady, and I see you going very far in li-"

"Let me stop you there," she muttered. "You don't think I don't know that people love me? I am very much aware of the people in my life and the people who aren't," she spat angrily. "I'm sorry, Mr. Ted. But no lesson can save me."

She grabbed her bag and stormed out of the room.

***

Distraught, I finished grading tests as quickly as possible. I glanced at the clock: 6:24 PM.

I yawned and started piling paperwork back into their folder. I regretted my entire conversation with Claire. How could I have been so stupid? That wasn’t how I was going to prevent her from killing herself. If I had just thought it through, if I had remembered my dreams, and tried to imagine myself in her shoes, I might've gotten somewhere.

I mentally kicked myself over and over again. I was not good at this kind of stuff.

Grabbing my bag and coat, I headed for the door. I was looking forward to seeing Isabel. I'll tell her about my conversation with Claire. She might know what to do.

I got in my car, turned on the engine, and pulled out of the parking lot. The sun was still high in the sky, and the roads were empty like normal. It was a beautiful day, and I found myself watching the lush trees as I drove past them.

 I continued down the street when I saw a girl with long raven hair standing on the wooden bridge. Her hands were on the wood railing, her head looking down.

My stomach tightened and I quickly pulled over. I hurried out of my car and sped-walk towards where Claire stood, trying not to spook her.

"Claire-"

"Beautiful day, isn't it?"