When I was ten years old, I found a magical worm in my body.
It was a lonely summer break, and I rode my bicycle to the mall in hopes of finding something to do. On my way there I stumbled on a pothole and crashed into the asphalt. My bone splintered through my elbow and stuck out of my body. At first, I thought it was a sharp piece of plastic that somehow pierced me, and without thinking I pulled at it. In this haze of pain and shock I accidentally peeked at the dark cavity at the center of my bone, and there I saw a worm crawling along the marrow. We made eye contact and it said, “Hi!”
I woke up at the hospital. I asked my doctor about the talking worm, but he ignored me and only addressed my parents for the rest of the meeting. A few weeks later, I began experiencing heartburn and fatigue. It was frequent enough to be considered a possible chronic condition, but it didn’t seem severe enough to pursue. Sometimes, I’d draw squiggly lines at the edge of my school paper, but that was just for me.
Back home I lay in bed and felt myself dying. Something in me had been decaying for a long time. My room was in the attic and thus the largest and most remote bedroom. I had a skylight on the ceiling above my bed and observed passing clouds while trying to fall asleep. The pain in my chest grew intense and I knew it would rain soon.
I never remember any of my dreams, but sometimes I get glimpses of the worm’s dreams, and those I do remember.
That night, it dreamt of the titanic dimensions of a full-grown Apatosaurus, a long-necked dinosaur with eyelashes and kind eyes, stumbling in desperate search of clear water. It foamed at the mouth, driven by forces beyond its animal comprehension. Its ancient heart was painfully swollen and missing chunks, its abdomens burned, and the long limbs of its body were fragile and broken. It dragged itself through the mud while frantically gasping for drinkable water. It arrived at the dirty mouth of a watering hole, and all at once, its body collapsed in on itself like a scaly balloon deflating into the water. It sank. The dinosaur screamed all the way to the bottom, and a familiar worm appeared between the large air bubbles, escaping back to the surface with a joyous, “Bye!” It watched its former host land in soft soot at the bottom of the lake. Then, it patiently waited for another large being to drink from the water and become its new host.
I woke up screaming. My bed was soaking wet and freezing, my face was drenched, and a steady stream of rainwater dripped from the cracks around the skylight. Something pale poked out of my open mouth, bathing in the fresh ichor from above. I slammed my jaw shut in hopes of slicing the worm, but it retreated down my throat and into the safety of my body. I ran to the bathroom and wrapped myself in towels until I was bone dry. After that, I was afraid of water, and water seemed to follow me magnetically.
The next few weeks were a twilight of depression. There was nothing I could do about my predicament, and my only goal was to remain functional as my husk dragged itself from class to class. It rained almost every day, and school hours stretched with the early frustrations of autumn gloom. The ceiling always leaked on my desk, and teachers were tired of moving me because the odd drops that dripped no matter where I sat.
Our homeroom teacher was generally sympathetic to us and always stood by us when we got in trouble, but that day he seemed tired. We have become known as the ‘worst behaved, most hated, the bane of the existence of every teacher’ class. Every teacher, except for him, who remained our advocate despite it all. In the past year, we have made three teachers break down mid-lesson and cry. In a short period of time, I watched the faces of three full-grown adults slowly pale, as their eyes became red and wet. It was an uncomfortable experience.
“My dad says wormholes are all around us.” I’ve never told Noi about the worm, but recently she’s been obsessed with all things space, and somehow that led us to worms.
“That’s like, far away though, right? Like a blackhole?”
She shook her head. “Black holes are large, powerful fields of gravity. Wormholes are doorways, and you can build a doorway anywhere that’s structurally sound.”
I nodded and nibbled at my sandwich. By that point we were thirteen, far too old for excitable pseudoscience, but I rolled with it, because that’s what good friends do. Lunchtime ended and we returned to class.
A student named Tom spoke up. “I feel that although our class gets in trouble and we made three teachers cry, we do take good care of each other.”
Our homeroom teacher pointed for another student to speak. “Yes, Sybil, what do you think?”
“I feel,” she said (we were instructed to begin all our sentences that way), “that I agree with Tom, and I would also like to add that teachers are adults and should be able to handle themselves and handle their class better. Adults should be able to do that.”
For the record, I wasn’t one of the “problem students”. I was quiet. But there were kids in my class that seemed to hate structure and saw every teacher as a challenge. So far, they were 0-3. After the latest kerfuffle, it became clear that whatever disciplinary action the school had previously tried was not working, and a softer approach was attempted. Hence the “I feel” statements.
“Okay… I am glad to hear that you feel that your class is there for each other… but Mr. Baum has been teaching for twenty-five years and nothing like this ever happened before. And I know that he is very hurt by you guys. Did you mean to hurt him?”
Everyone answered “No.” I think most of us meant it. Then, another student piped up, in awkward humor, “He said he hated us, and we’re the worst class he’d ever seen,” and a bunch of students laughed.
The teacher handed out an apology card and we all signed it. My signature was more of a squiggle; I was too tired to care. I handed it to Noi, who sat next to me, and I noticed she was crying. It struck me that she felt very guilty for Mr. Baum’s pain, although she was a model student who did not contribute to said pain in any way. I handed her the card, and it was wet. Water from the ceiling was still dripping on me, and even more water snuck in through the windows and the cracks of the stuffy room. School smelled like a flood.
“I hate how humid winters are.” My mother tried to brush my hair, but it was a lost cause. I continued. “Everything is wet and unclean and gross and mildewy, and it stinks.” Because of my water paranoia I began to avoid showers and that made me stink. “Just try and think more positively,” she said.
By the time it snowed I knew I would not live through the winter. I imagined my end like a safari swan song, a zebra chased by a lion to the detached narration of an old British man. I was given permission to skip a field trip on account of how ill I looked, but resolved to attend anyway for the sake of Noi. Noi was excited to go to the Natural Science Museum, and I knew that if I didn’t come along, she’d be swallowed in an ocean of loud kids. She loved obsessing over random pockets of information, fixating on data for short-but-intense periods of time. Even more, she loved to regurgitate this information to others, but I remember the hurt in her eyes when she spoke rapid fire and her passion was met with disinterest. But I loved listening to her. Or being around her when she spoke. I couldn’t always follow her words, but I loved being near them. That said, I regret going to the museum that day.
“It says here that this skeleton was found by construction workers on the street you live in.” The skull in front of us was littered with misshapen holes, and my body rang. “There used to be a lot of freshwater lakes and streams in our area, and the soft ground helped preserve fossils and petrified bones.” This dinosaur skeleton was unlike the one I saw in my dreams. It was a smaller creature with sharp teeth. “Bones and wood tend to petrify if they have a lot of small holes and pores. Groundwater passes through them and helps deliver minerals that crystallize—” The skeleton looked like a sponge cut in the shape of a monster. I rubbed my bony fingers feeling for a similar texture. “Still, it is a mystery what might’ve corroded at the bones like this.” She didn’t notice me running away.
My superpower has always been the ability to leave without anyone realizing I’m gone. I passed by extra-vigilant teachers—ready to reprimand my class for any perceived slight—unseen and ran to the museum bathroom. On the way I passed exhibits of taxidermized animals frozen mid-action. Their bodies were perfectly life-like behind clear glass. A stuffed snow owl seemed to be giving me the stink-eye, but I realized it was just skin with no innards or bones. Water dripped from the near-empty display box, puddling on the marble floor. It was reaching for me.
Finally, I locked myself in the bathroom stall, relieved at the sudden temperature change. Museum bathrooms are magically impervious to the world’s humidity: eternally cold, dry, and perfect. In the safety of this strange pocket universe, I allowed myself to cry. I was terrified and confused. Alone and hopeless.
“Hey, are you okay?” Noi found me. Her sneakers squeaked against the floor. I sniffled loudly and tried to hold my water. I’m usually okay but something about that question bothered me. Something about someone asking me, all concerned like, if I’m okay, always makes me want to bawl.
“…Yes.”
“Okay…” For a moment, we were at a standstill. “Is that pee?”
I looked down and realized the toilet was overflowing. My little pocket universe had been disturbed. I unlocked the stall and ran out, slipping on the wet floor, and landing in her arms. I quickly jumped away and looked at the miraculous overflowing toilet. The porcelain tiling was clean and white like a beautiful fountain. She examined the offending water feature. “What’d you do?”
“I didn’t touch it.”
“Okay.”
There was strange electricity in the air, like something was finally going to happen. Like it was a perfect moment, for something. I felt ridiculous. For so long I lived in a half reality. Half believing in what I saw. Half afraid of my body, half sure that maybe, I was going to die. Half present in the physical world, half existing when I was alone. The confusion was exhausting, and the fear of what might happen if others knew I believed there was such a revolting creature inside of me- “So… Are you sure you’re okay…?”
I responded with a vague choking sound.
“Okay, let’s go back to the group.”
But I didn’t want to go back. I wanted to stay. “Okay—” I rubbed my face harshly, but it was bloated and full of snotty tears.
“I can wait outside if you need a moment…”
I could feel her pulling away, and the cold breeze pushed a kind of dark neediness in me. “I think I’m really sick, Noi, and in a few months, I’ll be dead.”
She froze. “What?”
My voice echoed in the bathroom as if someone else was speaking. “I have a really rare parasite worm in my body—I think—and it’s the same thing that killed all of those dinosaurs in my street.” Just by looking at her face I knew I made a mistake.
She barked a sudden, bewildered laugh. “What?”
I broke down crying. Tears clouded my eyes, but I heard her murmur “Just a sec—” then bolt out the door. I knew I had forever altered the way she saw me. When the teachers arrived, I denied everything, pretended to be on my period, and waited alone on the bus for the rest of the trip.
The following week I hit an unexpected growth spurt. My bones rapidly stretched into a larger frame but still, they felt hollow and weak. The swirl of bodily pain that had always plagued me was officially diagnosed as growing pains. I decided to accept the explanation and made “Advil & sleep” my favorite pastime.
When I saw Noi again at school, she smiled at me awkwardly and asked: “Are you okay now?”, and I nodded. I was adamant to erase all traces of my embarrassment. If she were ever to press me, I would pretend that it was all a misunderstanding, but she never asked any follow-up questions. She had a new obsession, a television show which she hated and meticulously analyzed every aspect of that hate. It seemed that if I played my part and stopped getting in my own way, everything might work out after all.
A week before winter break, I woke up to a dark morning, blindly turned on the light, and screamed. A foot-long centipede scuttled across my room, past my feet, and hid behind the bookcase. I had never seen a centipede before, but knew they were poisonous. I put on my slippers and grabbed a heavy book, ready to act. I moved the bookcase, and revealed a bizarre scene: three centipedes, one large and two small, each of them stuck in an individual dust ball. They jerked hysterically, unnumbered arms moving in quick waves, further entrapping themselves in the mess. Old strands of my hair knotted between their limbs as they made high-pitched, distressed keening that made me pity them. I raised my book, ready to slap them into oblivion, when the large centipede flipped upright, defying gravity with its spineless form, curled into the dust ball, and disappeared. The smaller two followed suit. They were gone. I poked at the dust and searched every corner of my room. They weren’t hidden. They didn’t run away. They were just gone.
Involuntarily, I had a thought. One that did not originate in my own mind. “Wormholes can be built anywhere that’s structurally sound.”
Was I structurally sound? Maybe I used to be. Maybe that’s how the worm got into me. Maybe other people have worms too. Maybe some creatures move in these weird, magical ways and nobody notices. I had so many questions. Smaller beings, hidden beings, find ways to come and go without anyone noticing. Worms are not just tiny; they are practically two-dimensional. And when something dies, they just appear in the dead thing. Sometimes they appear in living things, too. I looked up information about centipedes and found out they don’t fare well in the cold, and none existed in my area. I saw ants emerge from the carpeting of my dad’s car and realized how mysterious the origins of all insects must be. Something about this revelation made me hopeful, and this hope carried me when my condition worsened.
Noi kept reaching out all winter break, but I didn’t answer. The skin at my joints started to tear and my eyes felt bloated. I had a hard time staying up. Without external structure, my days blended into a sickly hibernation. Snow piled high all over town, blocking the roads and shutting everyone in. An arctic storm was predicted to hit our little valley, and no one knew what to expect. This might be my only chance to kill the worm, so I prepared.
The day of the storm I made noodles and watched the little strands soften and wiggle in warm water. I ate them and waited for nighttime in a hollow daze. Finally, when everyone in the house was asleep, I snuck outside carrying a bottle of salted water. My pajamas did nothing to block the cutting winds, and my feet burned in the snow. I found a perfect patch of snow in the front yard and lay in it, burying myself to the neck. I then drank from the bottle.
“Worm, I know you understand me. I did some research, and I know what you hate. Salt will melt through your skin. You use me as your skin in this world, but I am more than that, I am innards and bones, and I will melt you.” I finished the salted water and felt my insides constrict.
“You are cold-blooded and need my warmth to live. But if I freeze over, guess what, you’ll die. I don’t know if you can just poof out of me, but whatever you need to do to get out, do it now.” I closed my eyes and began shoveling snow down my throat.
“What are you doing?”
I opened my eyes and saw Noi standing above me. I swallowed snow and hoped it would expedite the worm’s death.
“Are you okay?!” She tried to pull me out, but I stopped her.
I didn’t want to say yes but I didn’t want to say no. If I admitted to not being fine and actually, truly asked for help, I would only hurt myself. For the most part, I was okay with being nothing. I was okay with being ignored. But if I speak up and it comes out wrong. If I admit to my neediness and flaws and people just walk away. Then, I am something worse than nothing, I am a burden, and a liability, and something to avoid. So long as my presence weighs the same as air, then I can just hang around and no one seems to mind.
Thwarted in her attempt to remove me, Noi sat in the snow. “I come here a lot, actually. I’ve tried running away from home, but I always turn back when I reach your house. Just thought you should know that.”
She said it like it was a compliment. It was a strange compliment. I didn’t quite get it. As I lost consciousness, I figured I never would. I saw my body from above. My soul ascended, and the wind raised me high, and I saw my little town, a place so few will ever care to see. It was the bottom of a lake. A volcanic lake, back in the Jurassic era, and a frozen one, at that very moment. Everything will be buried.
I was jolted back to consciousness! Noi was calling my name, pulling at me, trying to get me out of the snow, when the cold salty worm bolted from my mouth, reaching for a new host. Numb and powerless, I somehow snatched it from the arctic air before it could burrow into Noi, who was surely structurally sound. Now that I had it in my hands, I wanted to kill it. I pulled at it and dug my nails in, but it was slippery and quick. I lost my grip, and it dove into the snow, burrowing itself a little hole.
“What was that? Are you—” I interrupted her with a hug. Without the worm, hugging came easier.
The wormhole glowed red from deep within. I heard the archaic call of a monster, of dinosaurs running free.
I didn’t have much going for me at home. There wasn’t much grounding me anywhere. “If I am going to barely exist, I’d rather do so someplace wild and big with creatures odd and exciting,” I said mostly to myself, and inched to the portal, which accepted me. Like the worm, I was small enough to pass through the eye of a needle, tiny enough for the holes in the veil.
Noi grabbed my hand and didn’t let go. “What are you doing?” She looked at me with fearful neediness, and I realized she couldn’t see the wormhole. Her existence was too big. I closed my hand around hers, and the portal closed. My superpower has always been the ability to leave without anyone noticing. But it seemed like she would notice, and because of that I could no longer go. I smiled.
“Wanna hang out for a bit?” I asked. She said yes. We went for a long, aimless walk in the snow. The storm slowly settled, and it was still cold, but we had fun.