by N. K. Smith
I struggled, trying to figure out what she was talking about. Jane and Trent. David and Rebecca. They were together, as in together. Robin was saying that I shouldn’t be…together with Sophie?
“I-I-I d-d-don’t un-un-undersssstand.” My frustration was definitely affecting my speech.
Robin was quiet for a moment as she inhaled deeply; probably trying to figure out how best to make an idiot like me understand what she was trying to say. “Your…life experiences are unique to you, Elliott. The others don’t have those same experiences.” I wanted to act like a regular teenager and say “well, duh,” but I held it in. “What’s happened to you can haunt you more than what they have experienced. Sophie’s past can haunt her in ways that the others would have no idea about.” She licked her lips. “I’m just suggesting that if you find yourself…attracted to Sophie, you need to think before you act upon it.”
I shook my head as I let out a frustrated breath. I knew my unique history made me different from the others. I thought that went without saying, but if I was hearing her correctly, Robin was telling me that I shouldn’t have a romantic relationship with Sophie, which was laughable. First, I doubted that Sophie would want to be romantically involved with someone like me. Second, she seemed to be involved with Jason Fox and third, we weren’t even friends, really. At least I didn’t know if we were. Besides, she’d made a point to say it wasn’t a date.
“Th-th-that sssseeeeems unf-f-fair, Robin.”
She folded her hands in her lap and gave me a pointed look. “You remember a few years ago, don’t you, Elliott?” My breathing sped up. “That was with someone who didn’t have issues of her own.”
Oh. I wished it hadn’t taken me so long, but now I knew what she was getting at. She wasn’t talking about a romantic relationship with Sophie. She was talking about a sexual relationship. I hung my head as I ran both hands through my hair. Leave it to Robin to dig up memories I had tried desperately to bury.
I didn’t know how long I’d sat there looking at her feet, but when I looked up, she was simply studying me. Elliott Dalton, Lab Rat. “I h-h-hadn’t p-p-p-p…” the word wouldn’t come out, so I went another way, “…Th-th-that w-w-wasn’t m-my in-in-intention w-w-with, S-S-SSSSophie.”
Now Robin was full of sympathy. It oozed from her; from her motherly voice to her creased brow and downturned mouth. “Elliott, it wasn’t your intention back then either, but it happened. It’s okay that it happened, but I don’t want you to go through that again. There’s so much more you need to deal with before you get involved like that.”
I buried my head in my hands. She was basically telling me that of all the freaks in the world, I was the king. Being the “Freak King” meant I would need years and years of intensive therapy just to form a normal, healthy relationship with someone of the opposite sex without some doctor prescribing a multitude of pills and helping me to “work through my past.”
By the time I looked up, I felt tired and annoyed. “W-w-well, y-y-you d-d-d-don’t nnnnneed t-t-to worry. Sh-she d-d-d-doesn’t liiiiike m-m-me liiiiike th-th-that.”
“Elliott, please don’t be upset.”
“I-I’m t-tired. C-c-can I g-gooo now?”
Since it was Saturday, I was not awakened by David yelling at Jane, but by my alarm clock. I groaned as I looked at the time, wondering for a brief moment why I was getting up so early. Then I remembered. I was going to D.C. with Sophie today.
It wasn’t a date. I knew it wasn’t a date, but I was excited nonetheless. I practically shot out of bed and flew out of my room and into the bathroom. I showered and dressed quickly, happy that I’d picked out my clothes the night before. My iPod had finished syncing, and I hoped Sophie would like the music I’d chosen. It had taken me quite some time to pick out the best songs from my library.
I was nervous and my discussion with Robin last night hadn’t helped. Stephen was downstairs as I went to get some quick food for breakfast. I let him say his piece and remind me that I was to check in every two hours before confirming that I’d told Sophie about my attacks.
I poured two cups of coffee into travel mugs, said goodbye, got into my Jetta, and headed over to Sophie’s house. I made good time and was actually a few minutes early.
As I was climbing up the stairs, Mr. Young stepped out of the house. I forced myself to speak. “H-h-hhhhello, ssssir.”
With narrowed eyes, he looked me up and down. Sophie’s father was tall and muscular; an incredibly intimidating man. “Elliott,” he said, stopping in front of me, “bring her back in one piece and if you put your hands on her in any inappropriate way, I’ll find out. Got it?”
I gulped, surprised by the automatic assumption I’d do anything to hurt his daughter. “Y-y-y-y-yes, ssssssssir.”
Finally, he smiled. “Have fun and drive safe.”
I stood frozen until he was in his SUV, pulling slowly out of the driveway. Before I could make it the rest of the way up, Sophie was in front of me, closing and locking the door.
“Hey, Elliott.”
“H-h-hi.”
“Did Tom threaten you with his shotgun?”
I could hear the sarcasm dripping from her voice and I felt myself relax. “H-he m-made sssure I kn-knew to t-t-take care of y-you.”
She shook her head and started off the steps. I followed. “It’s humorous that Tom wants to go all overprotective-Daddy on me now.” She stopped at the car and looked back at me. “Just a few years too late.”
I watched as she got in before I rounded the car and did the same. “I b-b-brought y-you c-c-c-coffee.” I shrugged as she looked at the travel mug. “I-I d-d-didn’t kn-know if you d-dr-drank it or not.”
“Thanks.” She grabbed it and took a sip. “So, are you going to school me or what?”
I glanced at her and she nodded at my iPod. I turned it on, pushing it down into the dock. “I-I-I d-d-didn’t know w-what you l-liiiiked, so I j-just l-l-loaded a b-b-bunch of ssssongs on here.” She looked at me expectantly. “Y-you c-can f-flip th-through it and f-find something you liiiike.”
Sophie smiled at me, but sighed. “The point isn’t for me to find something I like; it’s for you to expose me to new music to see if I like it, right?”
“Th-then just p-p-push play.” She did and Camille Saint-Saëns came through the speakers. I’d made it the first song because it was a sort of lighthearted piece and typically put me at ease. Not only that, but I thought she’d enjoy the story behind it.
From out of the corner of my eye, I saw her eyes narrow. She took a sip of her coffee and then turned to me. “It’s not all going to be Classical, is it?”
“N-no.”
“Okay, so spill it, Elliott. What’s the song and why should I like it?”
The way she said it made me smile. “I-it’s D-danse M-m-macabre and y-you’ll liiiike it when y-you know w-what it’s a-about.” I paused, trying to gauge her reaction. She seemed eager for me to continue. “I-it’s th-the d-dance of d-death.” She laughed softly and instantly the tightness in my chest lessened. “B-basically, D-death p-plays the f-f-fiddle ev-every Halloween in a gr-graveyard and th-the skeletons r-rise up and d-dance w-with him. Th-there is a k-k-king and a p-peasant and a p-p-p-pretty girl. D-d-death basically t-tells them that n-no m-matter wh-who you were in l-life, e-e-everyone ends up the ssssame in the end.”
The road was quite empty this early in the morning, so I risked another look at her, wondering if she was thinking I was an idiot. She said nothing, facing forward as she listened, and then I saw the dawning realization in her eyes. “So, right now, there’re skeletons dancing with Death?” I nodded and looked back to the road. “I like it.”
I was relieved. I’d been incredibly nervous about the whole trip, and the music I’d chosen had caused me a bit of grief. I wanted her to like it because if she did it, then by extension she liked at least
a piece of me.
“Most people don’t understand that, you know?” She’d returned to looking at the road. “People get so caught up with the pseudo-reality of right now that they forget death comes to us all, one way or another.”
The song ended and I felt the need to prepare her for the shift. “N-now it’ll be a f-few C-C-Cash songs sssssince y-you obviously n-need s-some education in the f-fundamentals of music.” Ring of Fire came on. “Th-this is p-p-probably one of his m-most well kn-known ssssongs…but n-n-not my f-f-favorite.” After that Long Black Veil played and I told her that the Dave Matthews Band did a live version of it. Finally, there was The Man Comes Around. While I loved the song, one of Johnny Cash’s best in my opinion, the Bible passages always put me on edge.
There was some small-talk about each song that came after, ranging from Neil Young to JayZ, and from Tool to the Mamas and the Papas. Some songs she knew, and some she didn’t. We were about halfway to D.C. when Sophie wanted to stop at a gas station to use the restroom. While she got out, I filled up the car and called Stephen, letting him know I was still breathing and cognitive.
When she got back, it wasn’t hard to tell that she’d gotten high. We took off again and I tried not to focus on the funky smell or the way her blue eyes were glassy and bloodshot. We drove silently for a while as she leaned her head back, eyes closed, listening to the music. I tried to figure out whether she got high to tolerate being with me, or if she just usually got high in the mornings.
As Tom Petty started singing about wildflowers, I was trying to decide if I should just say something or let it go. It wasn’t like she was shy about asking me questions, so I took a deep breath and tried to relax. “S-Sophie?” She turned to me, a slight smile on her face. “Y-y-you d-d-don’t have to hide th-that you’re h-h-high.”
She was silent for a moment before shrugging. “I didn’t know if you’d care or not.” Suddenly, she sat up a little straighter. “Did you want to smoke? I wasn’t trying to be rude.” I shook my head. “Are you sure? I would think a little pot might help with some of that anxiety.”
Again I shook my head, hating that she knew I even had anxiety. “I j-just d-d-didn’t want you to th-think I w-w-would j-judge y-you for th-that.” Well, it wasn’t entirely true. I didn’t like that she got high and wished she didn’t, but it was less about her, and more about my mother.
“I’m sorry, Elliott. I wasn’t trying to be…I mean, I just figured with your dad being a doctor and all that you wouldn’t be okay with me…”
I had to laugh. “Y-you-your d-d-dad’s a ffffff-ffffire fffffffighter, S-Sophie.” Her smile widened as she nodded. “W-why d-do y-you liiiike d-d-d…g-getting high?”
While her smile remained, it slipped into a lazy grin as she laid her head back again. “Everything’s much fuzzier and I can focus on my thoughts instead of just getting lost in them.” She paused for a moment. “I mean, it’s like this music. If I wasn’t high, I’d hear it and maybe I would like it or maybe I wouldn’t, but being high, it’s totally clear. I can really listen and absorb the music and find the meaning in it.”
Again, we were silent for a while before she asked, “Do you like Damascus?” I shrugged. It was okay. I had people here who cared about me, but I probably wouldn’t have chosen it as a place to live. “You know the worst thing about Damascus? The pot. It’s not as good as what I could find in Tampa.”
“D-do you miss an-anything else a-a-about Florida?”
She took a breath. “I miss all the people. Not everyone knew everyone. It was a lot easier to blend in and…disappear.”
I thought about it. It was strange for Sophie to move here to live with her father. It seemed like an odd fit; a teen-aged girl living with her father instead of her mother. Stephen was still married to Kate when he adopted us. When they got divorced, she didn’t want any of us, so the court had no other choice but to leave us with him.
“D-do you liiiike l-living with your d-dad?”
Her face fell just a little. “Tom’s okay. He drinks, but he’s not much for interaction, so it’s not like I’m subjected to any kind of strict parenting. He’s far better than Helen.” She sighed. “I just wish he’d realize that it’s a little too late for him to play the father figure. I mean, I barely know the dude.”
The song changed and I was about to tell her who it was when she smiled widely. “This is Otis Redding.” I returned her smile, happy that she knew Otis. “My grandmother used to listen to him. Dude’s awesome.”
“I-I kn-know.” Another Sophie-approved musical choice. It was amazing how happy it made me that she not only knew who this was, but also liked him. I wanted to ask her a million questions, but since I’d never really been good at having conversations, I didn’t know how many questions would be appropriate. Luckily, Sophie saved me.
“Why do you like music so much?”
I licked my lips involuntary, hoping that I could get the words out and not sound like a moron. “I-I’m-I’m g-g-good at it.” I shrugged. “L-listening t-t-t-to it m-m-mmmmakes me feel n-normal.” I’d gotten it out, but I was pretty sure I sounded like an idiot.
After a moment of silence, Sophie ran her hands through her hair and pulled it across to one side. She looked absolutely excellent doing that. “Have you always stuttered?”
Her question took me off-guard. I swallowed hard and shook my head. “N-no. M-my m-m-m-m,” I sighed in frustration. I wished I could close my eyes, but since I was driving, I figured that wasn’t a good idea. Taking a deep breath and thinking of one of the compositions I’d written years ago, I tried again. “M-my m-m-m-mom s-s-said tttthhhat it st-started w-when I was f-f-five.”
“Wow. Do they know why?”
“N-n-nobody kn-knows w-w-why p-people start st-stuttering. N-neurological, physiological dis-disruption, m-maybe?”
Again, she was quiet and I thought she was just listening as Otis Redding gave way to Blues Traveler. Honestly, I was happy for the break in the conversation. It would’ve been fine if we were talking about her, but she was asking about me now and that was difficult. “Where’s your mom now, Elliott?”
My heart raced and my breathing quickened. My hands tightened on the steering wheel involuntarily and I could feel the onset of the panic. I desperately willed it away. If I panicked, Stephen would be right. Robin would be right. They couldn’t be right about me. So I took deep breaths.
“Elliott? Are you okay? You don’t have to…”
I blew out a steady stream of air, hesitating at first, but then I figured I should just tell her. This was what I wanted with Sophie Young, wasn’t it? For her to know me the same way I wanted to know her. “Sh-sh-she’s d-d-dead.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
The pity in her voice made my body tense even more. Everyone always pitied me. She didn’t even know the whole story. But I plunged forward, hoping that by giving her some kind of detail, perhaps she’d think of me as something other than a freak, like the rest of the school did. “Sh-she k-k-killed herself.”
“Oh.”
I risked a glance and then turned hastily back. I’d gone this far, so I might as well tell her the rest. It wasn’t how I wanted the drive to go, but it was too late to change that now. I felt nervous energy replacing the panic, making my knees bounce. “Sh-she w-w-was a heroin ad-ad-addict. One d-day sh-she c-came into m-my room and st-started t-t-to ssssay a-all this w-w-w-weird stuff and sh-sh-she had a g-g-g-gun in her hand and…” I shook my head, wishing that I could bang it against something. The story was horrible and came with visuals. Plus, it took so long for me to get it out, which just made everything much more painful. “Sh-she j-j-just p-put it to her h-head and p-p-p-p…sh-shot herself.”
“What the fuck?” She sounded so angry and was staring at me with such a strange expression. “Why the hell would she do that in front of you? How fucking old were you?”
<
br /> I shouldn’t have told her. That was a mistake. Of course she’d have more questions. Now I felt like a bigger freak. “I-I w-w-w-was seven.”
“Jesus Christ!”
“I-I think it w-w-was ssssupposed t-to be m-m-me and h-her.”
“What?”
I didn’t want to say it again, but I knew I had to. “I-I think sh-she w-w-was going t-to t-t-take m-me w-w-with her.”
“Are you fucking serious?”
Her volume made me flinch. “D-don’t y-yell, S-S-Sophie. I’m-I’m-I’m ssssorry.” How was I supposed to correct this now? I was such an idiot.
“What the hell are you sorry for, Elliott? What your mom did was messed up. I’m sorry for getting loud, but Jesus!”
“M-m-my m-mom loved me, S-Sophie,” I said quietly. I knew my mother loved me. I never questioned that, ever. “B-b-but sh-she loved hhhhhheroin m-m-more.” Even that wasn’t the full story, but I’d shared enough and no longer wanted to talk about my family. My mother hadn’t wanted to kill me. In the end, that’s why she didn’t, although there had been many, many nights that I wished she had.
“I’m sorry, Elliott, I didn’t mean to…” Sophie’s voice was softer than I’d ever heard it before.
It took me a while before I was able to force air through my voice box, but when I finally did, my voice was nearly as quiet as hers. “It’s o-okay, S-Sophie.”
I wasn’t upset with her, but I felt tired after telling her all that; having it replayed in my head for what had to have been the millionth time. I scrolled through the music on the iPod until I came to Billie Holiday. Then it moved into Nina Simone.
It was during the quieter tones of Nina’s slower songs that I felt myself relax again.
We were silent for nearly the rest of the ride to D.C., and I felt imprudent for having said anything at all. It was ridiculous for me to think that Sophie would want to know something like that. It wasn’t until we entered the city that Sophie spoke to me again. “I’m sorry I asked about your mom. I know I don’t want anyone asking about mine, so…”
