Old Wounds

by N. K. Smith

  In Study Hall, David asked me about it. Obviously one of his friends ran and told him. Even though I didn’t confirm what happened, he spent the next fifteen minutes coming up with plans to make Anderson bleed without getting himself expelled. He said all of this in front of Trent and Rebecca. I didn’t need to see the pity in their eyes to know they were thinking about how utterly useless I was.

  I allowed myself a quick glance up at Sophie’s table and followed her eyes over to Jason Fox. He would be getting up soon and she would be following him again. I didn’t want to see it, so I left the library early, not bothering to look behind me when Jane called my name. I spent the remainder of the period and all of lunch in Mr. Reese’s empty greenhouse, separating and categorizing seeds for him.

  Sophie didn’t even bother coming to class.

  Ms. Rice was as determined as ever, even after I told her that I didn’t want to practice. I had my whole silent thing going and hadn’t spoken in about twenty-four hours. It worked for me, but she made me speak anyway, and simple sentences left my mouth that sounded like Dr. Seuss on a carnival ride.

  Four-year-old kids everywhere could say that sentence just fine, but it stuck in my mouth, instantly making it abundantly clear that I couldn’t speak; I couldn’t be normal; I couldn’t do anything right.

  My ribs hurt as I shifted in my chair.

  Wednesday proceeded in much in the same fashion as the day before, except that I didn’t look up from the tiled floor to see if Sophie smiled at me in the hall, and I walked faster than I usually did, trying to outrun Anderson. But he was persistent, so I couldn’t really avoid him. This time it was the “send Elliott’s books and bag flying and laugh” game. It was just as humiliating, yet I didn’t have to acquire another bruise for it.

  David had been stalking Anderson all day and was around the corner when it happened, making me feel like even less of a man than when I woke up. I skipped Study Hall and lunch and spent the hour in the greenhouse again, my head pillowed on my arms as I stared out the window.

  Sophie was on time today. Before she could say anything, I pushed yesterday’s notes toward her and turned away to stare out of the window again. When the bell rang, I grabbed my notebook and flew out of the classroom, anxious not to be harassed again by Anderson because I was speaking to Sophie.

  Wednesday night, Stephen again tried to engage me in conversation and after failing, he gave a few pointed looks at Jane and David. They disappeared upstairs and within a half an hour, Robin was at our house, looking at me like I was a lab rat again. Instead of making me go upstairs into Stephen’s study to have a session, Robin spoke to me downstairs, while Stephen remained in the room.

  “So how are you, Elliott?” I shrugged. “Not talking again, I see. I thought we’d pushed through all that.” No, she had. I’d merely been in the room when she’d her own little “breakthrough” she was calling mine. I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t have to and I wouldn’t.

  After a sideways glance at Stephen, Robin smiled at me. “You have your entire family worried.” I sighed, not knowing how I was supposed to respond to that. Of course I knew they were worried, and as much as I cared for each of them, it didn’t bother me. I was allowed to have my own feelings, wasn’t I? I wasn’t supposed to put on the act of the good son, was I? That was David’s role. “Would you like to play the piano, Elliott?” I shook my head.

  “Son, please.” At his soft plea, I closed my eyes. I wished that I could be like David for him. I wished he could truly help me the way he wanted to. I wished that I could be close to him and I wished that I was normal for him. It was heartbreaking enough to know I would never truly be comfortable around him simply because of his role as a father and authority figure, and also his gender, but it tore at me that I couldn’t even engage him in simple conversation.

  I scratched idly at Stephen’s expensive dining room table, keeping my head down. I was suddenly very tired and although I heard their voices, nothing really registered in my brain. The skin on my forehead stretched as I held my head, the gravity pulling it toward the table. I breathed deeply, trying to calm and center myself. “I-I w-w-would liiiiike t-t-t-o go, go t-t-to bed now.” As Ms. Rice would say, at least I finished strong.

  On Thursday morning, I was fully prepared to stay in bed and ignore David’s booming voice, but again he pulled the jiggle-the-doorknob-trick, which instantly caused my body to produce an excessive amount of fear-induced adrenaline.

  I wasn’t surprised when David silently accompanied me to my locker before first period, and then walked me to class. He was protective like that, even if it meant making me feel like a bigger baby for letting him play my personal bodyguard for the day. I hadn’t slept much the night before, so I didn’t have much fight left in me. Besides, it seemed like a better option to have David hawk me than to be shoved into the lockers again.

  “Sophie,” he whispered. I looked up at him, wondering why he would say her name, but he just nodded in front of him. “I’ll see you in Study Hall.”

  When he left, I looked up and there was Sophie, standing outside of my first period class, her eyes directly fixed upon me. I felt trapped. I didn’t think I could walk into class without acknowledging her, and I didn’t necessarily want to, but I was still feeling irrational resentment toward her. What if I accidentally spewed that resentment and she saw how truly vile I was?

  Then I remembered my inability to speak like a normal person. She came over and my feet stopped. “Hi.”

  I nodded to her. “H-hhhi.”

  Taking a deep breath, she cocked her head as she looked up at me. “So, there’s this foreign film festival in D.C. this weekend…” she paused for a moment. “…Well, all next week too, but this Saturday is Russian movies and they’re going to play Prisoner of the Mountains, which is based on Tolstoy’s Prisoner of the Caucasus and also Anna Karenina from like the early 1900’s, and I know it’s not all dark and tortured, but I was wondering if you wanted to go.”

  My brain attempted to process the information. I was still stuck on Russian movies before I noticed her looking around nervously. Maybe she didn’t want to be seen with me and I was supposed to answer quickly. I was pretty sure she was asking me to go to Washington D.C. with her on Saturday and for a moment, my heart quickened as I thought about spending time with her. She wasn’t even being forced into doing it.

  I opened my mouth to answer, but the block formed and I closed it again. My fists clenched at my sides and I hoped that Anderson wasn’t around to watch this, because if he was, I would pay for my inability to get out a simple “yes.” I opened my mouth again, meaning to respond, but all that came out was something that sounded like “da-da-da, na-na”, which wasn’t even close to the three simple letters I needed. I knew that I looked like an idiot, my face twitching as I tried to force the word.

  She put her hand on my arm and I stopped trying to speak and simply looked at her. “Elliott,” she said with a smile, “just shake your head for no, or nod for yes.”

  I wondered if she thought I was an idiot. I felt like one, but I pushed all of the negative thoughts away and nodded, frantically. Then finally, my mouth cooperated, and I was able to mutter, “Y-y-yeessss.”

  Her smile seemed to grow bigger and I felt my heart pound in my chest. “Good. I hope you have a car, because I don’t, but I can totally chip in for gas.”

  I shook my head and wanted to tell her that she didn’t have to because I would be more than happy to drive her anywhere she wanted to go. For once, I was thankful for my mouth not being able to comply. I would have sounded so dumb.

  “You don’t have a car?”

  “N-n-no, I-I-I ddddo. I-I-I just d-d-d-don’t neeeeed g-g-gas money.”

  She smiled again, gave me a little nod, and went to move past me, but then stopped. When she turned back, her forehead was creased and she was chewing on her bottom lip. “No
t that you think it is, but I just want you to know this isn’t, like, a date or anything. I don’t…” Her voice trailed off and she sucked on her bottom lip again as she tucked her hair behind her ears. “I don’t really date and I don’t do the whole girlfriend thing, so don’t…I mean, like I said, not that you are, but don’t expect like…romantic anything. We’re just two people who like Russian novels, watching Russian movies, okay?”

  I nodded and I couldn’t help but smile a little. She gave me a parting nod before turning and walking away.

  I was fine with it because the pressure of a date would have been crushing. There was no way that I could expect her to want something romantic from someone like me. Just two people who like Russian stuff. I could handle that, although I hoped the theater wasn’t packed. I didn’t want to have a panic attack in front of her. She didn’t ask Anderson to go to D.C. with her. This brightened my mood.

  The day flew by and I was surprisingly happy. It seemed that my inability to be a normal human hadn’t stopped Sophie from wanting to go to the movies with me. Even at lunch, when Sophie followed Jason Fox out of the cafeteria, my mood stayed positive because she hadn’t invited Jason either. She’d asked me.

  When she arrived twenty minutes late to Biology, I put my notebook in the middle of the desk and took notes on another sheet of paper. She, Sophie Young, the talk of the high school, had asked me, Elliott Dalton, the outcast, to go to D.C. with her on Saturday.

  Even my inadequacies with reading children’s books with Ms. Rice didn’t spoil my good mood. Of course, Jane and David were extremely interested in what Sophie wanted and since I gave them no information during the day, they were waiting to accost me on the ride home. David had practice, so he wanted information as quickly as possible so he could get back.

  I wasn’t purposely keeping information to myself, but it would be easier to not stutter and stammer my way through it more than once. I still needed to get Stephen to give me the okay, which meant asking him tonight when he got home. David and Jane would get the story then.

  Before I could even taste the enchiladas Stephen brought home for dinner, Jane bounced in her chair and said, “Sophie talked to Elliott this morning and he won’t tell us what it was about. Make him.”

  I tried to ignore her while shoving in a small bite of the food. David looked highly amused as his eyes danced around the table, taking us all in one-by-one. I looked at Stephen and while his expression was one of curiosity, he addressed Jane. “Perhaps it’s not our business to know. Elliott doesn’t make you tell him what you and Trent talk about, does he?”

  Jane could barely contain herself as she obviously wanted to know what was going on. It was oddly satisfying to be able to keep something from her. “But Sophie’s not Trent, and Elliott’s not me. Elliott barely talks to anyone and now…”

  I sighed. I hadn’t wanted this conversation to be dictated by someone else. I looked at Stephen and set down my fork, but the moment I opened my mouth, it was apparent that I wasn’t going to be able to push the words out. I thought about music and heard the composition I’d been working on in my head. When I looked back up, I saw that Stephen was patiently waiting, Jane was quivering with excitement, and David looked more amused than he should. “S-sh-she w-w-wants tttto go ttto a f-f-f-fo-fo-fo…a couple of m-m-movies w-with mme on SSSaturday.”

  I was relieved to finally have it out and did my best to ignore Jane’s childlike clapping and David’s not-so-subtle grin. “That’s great. Which movie?”

  This was going to be the part Stephen didn’t like. He thought we were going to Frederick or Germantown to watch a regular movie. “T-th-there’s a f-f-film f-f-fest…”

  Stephen’s eyes widened and he set down his fork, giving me the look I hated. “The foreign film festival in D.C.?” I swallowed hard, the tone of his voice scaring me. Nodding, I tried to stay positive, even though fear was clutching me tightly. He looked at me in silence for a moment longer before twining his hands together in front of him. “No. Absolutely not.”

  I was about ready to protest when Jane huffed, “That’s not fair, Stephen. Why can’t he go?”

  He turned his cool gaze to her. “It’s over an hour away, Jane. It would be an all-day trip and…”

  “Dad, Elliott’s a safe driver and he never gets in trouble ever, and it seems a little unfair to tell him he can’t go simply because it’s far away. We live in B.F.E.; nothing’s close.”

  Stephen sighed and rubbed his temples. “He’ll be away from anyone who can help if he has a panic attack.” He paused, thinking. “D.C. is such a large city and the crime rate’s… Perhaps you can go with him, David.” My jaw dropped. He was actually suggesting I needed a chaperone?

  David laughed. “I can’t cramp his style like that, old man. Don’t you remember what it was like to be seventeen and on a date?”

  “I-i-it’s n-n-n-not a…ddddate.” Stephen turned his focus back to me. “I-I-I w-w-won’t p-p-p-p,” the word “panic” stuck in my throat and I realized with all my stammering, I would never be convincing. I tried again anyway, “P-p-panic.” I locked eyes with him as I took deep breaths, hoping that he could see that this was important to me. I never asked for anything and I never caused trouble. “P-p-p-please?”

  He was silent and then he let out an elongated sigh. As soon as he opened his mouth, I could tell what was coming and excitement filled every part of my body. I almost bounced like Jane. “You will have your cell phone on you at all times. You will let Sophie know that my number is on speed dial. You will tell her about your attacks and indicate that should the situation arise, she’s to call 9-1-1 and then call me, understand?” I nodded. “And you will call in every hour to let me know you’re okay.”

  “B-b-but we’ll b-b-be wwwwwatching a m-movie,” I complained, pushing my luck.

  “Fine. Every two hours.” Stephen picked up his fork and pointed at my dinner. “Now eat.”

  David clapped his hands once and made me jump. “Look, he’s smiling! Dad, when was the last time you saw him smile?”

  My weekend consisted of Jason and boredom. While sex in the woods on Saturday was fantastic, on Sunday, Tom never left the house, so I had to come up with an excuse for going outside just to smoke a little pot.

  The week started out just fine: class, Study Hall, smoking pot, and sex with Jace during lunch. But Rusty Dalton was acting strange. Not that I really knew what strange was for him, having known him all of a couple of days or whatever. Prick Anderson had shoved him, laughed at him and generally treated him like dirt. Perhaps it wasn’t really my place to stand up to Chris like I did, but I couldn’t help it.

  Tuesday and Wednesday were the same. Rusty Dalton seemed…depressed. Of course, it could have stemmed from the full-on body-check Anderson had given him on Tuesday. I didn’t see the whole thing, but it looked like it hurt.

  I felt bad about not going to the greenhouse on Tuesday, but Jason and I had really gone at it and there was no way I could go to class looking the way I did. Wednesday, Rusty Dalton let me copy his notes, but he wouldn’t look at me.

  It was Wednesday night when I found the advertisement about the Russian foreign film festival. I really wanted to go, but I couldn’t very well walk to D.C. Jason would never go for something like that, and he’d think the movie was just another excuse for a make-out session, so I decided I’d ask Rusty Dalton. Even though we’d been forced together last Friday, it was actually okay, and it looked like he didn’t have a bad time either. With all of those Russian novels he’d read, I figured he’d want to go.

  I had thought for a moment that he’d say no. Hell, as he came closer with Big Dalton next to him, I thought that I wouldn’t even be able to ask. But he agreed and so Thursday night at dinner, I told Tom about it. Of course, my sperm donor of a father was actually a little pissed that I didn’t ask him, but I didn’t care. He didn’t own me and if he sai
d that I couldn’t go, I’d steal his stupid SUV and go anyway.

  He asked who I planned to go with and I told him about Rusty Dalton; of course, I called him Elliott for Tom’s sake. After dinner, Tom made a phone call while I cleaned up. By the time the dishes were washed, rinsed, dried, and put away, he was leaning against the counter, his hands crossed over his chest. He was actually kind of close to me; closer than I was comfortable with, so I hung up the towel and moved a foot or two back. “So this Elliott kid’s record is clean.”

  I gaped at him. He’d actually called the police station and got one of his friends to run a report on him. “Tom, seriously?”

  “He had a parking ticket last year, but paid it in full the next day.”

  I shrugged, my arms crossing over my chest, mimicking his stance. “So does that mean I can go?”

  “Yes. But I’m warning you, Sophie, if you betray my trust in you, you’ll have an awfully hard time earning it back.”

  I managed not to smirk at him. He was warning me about breaking trust? How fatherly. “Fine.”

  School was all right on Friday. I smiled at Rusty Dalton in the hall and he actually smiled back. As far as I knew, Anderson didn’t mess with him. Probably because Big Dalton was stalking his little brother’s every move. I was suddenly very happy that I had no siblings. Photography was fun for the first time. The teacher let us pair up and we got to go outside and snap away. Pinny Dalton grabbed my arm and told me that I was going to be her partner. She was kind of a cool chick; a little on the weird side, but cool enough for me not to hate her instantly.

  She talked a lot, but not like Megan Simons. She wasn’t just telling me about her conquests, or what or who so-and-so did last Friday night. Mostly, she talked about things she liked, asking me what I liked in turn. We decided to take pictures of the silent park and the even quieter woods, which suited me just fine, because I could get high a little earlier than planned. Thank the Flying Spaghetti Monster for my one-hitter.