Old Wounds

by N. K. Smith

  I should have just dealt with the situation on my own. How asinine could I be? I turned and practically ran back to my room.

  With the door shut and locked behind me, I realized that I was back to where I started.

  I very carefully sank down onto my bed and thought about everything I possibly could that wasn’t related to sex. It took a while before my mind settled on something that could possibly work. It was already on my mind and now was the perfect time to relive it.

  As I thought about my blood-and-brain-splattered door back in Chicago, the physical pain lessened.

  I awoke on Sunday to the sound of knocking. The clock read twelve-thirty. It had been a long day yesterday, and an even longer night. It wasn’t until the wee hours of the morning that I fell asleep.

  “Elliott, I’m not going to stand out here forever, you know. I don’t care what Dad says, I’ll open this door and drag you out.”

  I sighed deeply, shoving the covers off of my legs as I rolled out of bed, tugging on my shirt. I had to put up with David waking me up five days a week, but now on Sunday too? Before I went to the door, I looked down, double-checking that the erection hadn’t returned in my sleep.

  Thankful that it hadn’t, I finally unlocked and opened the door. “W-w-what?”

  David was wearing his large, dopey smile and pointed to his head. “Rebecca’s over giving haircuts today and if you don’t hurry, she’ll give you a bowl cut.”

  I rolled my eyes, but nodded. “R-R-Rebec-c-c-ca d-d-did that?” I nodded to his hair. Rebecca was fairly vocal about her enjoyment of David’s slightly longer hair. I didn’t want to know this, but apparently it felt good when she ran her fingers through it.

  He shrugged. “It’s for the Homecoming court.”

  Knowing I needed to leave my room before Stephen became worried and called Robin for another session, I said, “I-I-I’ll be d-d-d-down in a m-m-m-mmmm…”

  “Minute, got it. I’ll tell Becca to choose something other than a mullet or a bowl cut.”

  He winked good-naturedly before turning and retreating down the hall. I shut the door and locked it. Looking down, I saw that the bag of books was still by the door where I had dropped it last night. I bent down to retrieve it and as I created a spot for them in my bookcase, I very carefully trained my thoughts on something other than Sophie. There was no need to accidentally excite myself again.

  Not after last night.

  Monday was the beginning of a strange and confusing week at school. Sophie didn’t speak to me at all on Monday, nor did she look at me more than once. The smile she gave me wasn’t real.

  I didn’t understand it. I thought our trip had gone well, and she had kissed me at the end of it, not the other way around.

  Then on Tuesday we had to complete another task together, and again she barely acknowledged my presence. Maybe my inability to be normal had cost me her respect. Maybe she realized after Saturday that I had absolutely nothing to offer. Maybe she regretted even asking me to go with her.

  It could have been any number of things. Maybe it was my failure to return her kiss or my inept speaking ability. Perhaps it was because I foolishly told her all that stuff about my mother. Maybe it was that I didn’t get high like she did.

  I was a social leper and Sophie Young had figured it out.

  When I entered Ms. Rice’s office that day, I was in no mood to read children’s books. The word “depressed” didn’t even begin to cover the depths of my current emotion. I hated my stuttering. I hated my family history. I hated Stephen and Robin for forcing me to talk to Sophie. I hated just about everything.

  So when Ms. Rice asked me if I’d like to pick the book today, I crossed my arms and refused to speak. She tried, but couldn’t get me to budge. I hated that she took my silence as her failure, but I had nothing to say.

  I didn’t speak to anyone that day. The worried looks on everyone’s faces didn’t escape me, but there was nothing to talk about. I didn’t want to hear my own stuttering, stammering voice. I didn’t want to hear or acknowledge the verbal ineptitude that I was sure had pushed Sophie away.

  Wednesday, Stephen decided that he was concerned enough to call Robin. Once again, I found myself in his study, pinned to the overstuffed chair by the weight of Robin’s stare. “Elliott, what has you silent again?”

  Everything, I mentally answered her.

  “Did something happen last weekend on your trip to D.C.? Was Sophie…?”

  I fought against my urge to speak, but I lost the battle. If I didn’t speak up, Robin would come up with her own scenario. She would decide that something horrible happened and that Sophie had somehow caused me to regress. She would tell Stephen and then I’d never be allowed to go anywhere or be alone in the house again.

  “N-n-no. I-I’m ffffffine, R-Robin.”

  Clasping her hands in her lap, she leaned forward, piercing me with her shrink stare.

  I sighed exaggeratedly. “I-I’m ffffine,” I said again. One day, she’d believe me when I said that.

  That day wasn’t today.

  “No, you’re not.” For a moment, she was silent and then her expression changed. It was as if she was deciding something. Finally, she shifted her expression back to neutral. “Why did you go to Stephen’s room last Saturday night?”

  My eyes widened. He told her about that? I was back in my room before he even opened the door. How could he have known it was me? Had she been in the room with him? Were they a couple now? Were they…

  “Elliott?”

  I was tired of being different. Even if I had a horrible childhood, why couldn’t I at least pass as normal, like David? Why did I have to be the one with no friends? Why did I have to be the person Chris Anderson made fun of? “I-I w-w-want t-t-to be n-normal.” I grimaced as the words came involuntarily from my mouth.

  It was out there now, and Robin was all too ready to pounce on it. “Define ‘normal.’”

  I shook my head and lifted my eyes toward the ceiling. She knew what normal was. Everything I wasn’t. I wished that I could have taken my bumbled words back, but I couldn’t. I had to sit there while Robin scrutinized me, probably making mental notes about my posture or how I picked absently at the skin on my left hand.

  “Elliott, this notion you have about what is ‘normal’ is keeping you from seeing that it isn’t the same for everyone. It’s a very subjective concept.”

  Again I shook my head. I’d already said too much. I couldn’t do much more harm. “N-n-n-no. I-I-I…”

  I took a moment to compose myself. Her appearance radiated nothing but patience, so I tried to articulate what I truly wanted out of life. “I-I w-w-want t-t-to ttttalk liiiiike n-normal p-p-people.” Running both hands down my face, I let them fall to my lap as I closed my eyes. “I-I w-want to have f-f-friends.”

  I heard her sigh but I couldn’t bring myself to look at her again as she processed what I said. I didn’t want to talk to her. Why I had said anything at all was beyond me.

  “You have friends, Elliott.” I shook my head in response. “I know for a fact David and Jane consider you a friend. And what about Trent and Rebecca?”

  “Th-they h-ha-have to p-p-p-put up w-w-with me. Th-they h-have to liiiike me.” I opened my eyes and fixed them on a picture behind Robin’s head, enabling me to look past her, but still see her.

  She smiled as a mother would. If she had been sitting closer, perhaps she would have ruffled my hair. “People don’t do what they don’t want to do on some level. We all like you because we want to like you. What about Sophie?”

  I shook my head, lowering my eyes once more. I didn’t want to talk about Sophie. She wasn’t my friend and I couldn’t expect her to be. She’d given it a shot on Saturday and I had failed to give her reason to like me.

  Thursday, I looked on as Chris Anderson asked Soph
ie to the Homecoming dance in front of me. It would be a complete and total lie if I said that I wasn’t extremely happy that she’d turned him down flat, but when she finally made it to our table, I kept my eyes down.

  It wasn’t until Friday when I finally felt some hope. She was confusing and I had no clue what went on inside her head, but as the group session ended, Sophie didn’t move. It took forever for her to finally look at me and when she did, she remained frozen.

  I had no idea what she was doing and why. I nearly panicked. Was she trying to tell me that she had no intentions of keeping up the pretense of being interested? Was she just being defiant? She was making me insanely nervous. I already felt like a complete idiot around her.

  Then in a last-ditch effort, I nodded toward the stairs and she finally smiled. I felt like I could breathe again. My nerves were still getting the better of me as she followed me to my room.

  We were always good in my room and as I entered, I hoped with everything I had that we could just be like we were before, and forget the strangeness of the week.

  It took her a minute, but finally she said. “Play something for me.”

  Her voice wasn’t confident like usual. It sounded sad, or maybe resigned. It was soft and it seemed as if she actually thought I might say no to her request.

  I followed her eyes to my guitars and for some reason, my nerves settled down immediately. She took her usual seat on the couch, and studied me as I pulled down my favorite Gibson and sat down at the desk chair.

  Although I kept my eyes cast down, I took a few glances up as I played. She just sat there watching me, her knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs. I couldn’t read her face, so I had no real indication if she thought I was good, or if she even liked what I was playing.

  I played someone else’s song. It was too soon to expose any more of myself by playing something I had written.

  After I finished, I set the guitar down. “That was nice,” she said before turning to my bookcase.

  I fixated on her hands. Her fingers were constantly moving. She rubbed the pads of her thumbs over her nails before balling her hands into fists and then uncurling them.

  She was just…odd. Maybe she was high again.

  It wasn’t as if I had lots of experience with her, but she seemed different, and not as relaxed as she usually was. “A-are you o-okay?” I asked before I thought better of it.

  Finally she looked up and smiled. “Yeah,” she answered, her voice airy, “why?”

  I shook my head, but watched her closely.

  “I’m just…you know, its Friday…and I’m here.”

  Oh. I could see why that wouldn’t be enjoyable for her. She was vibrant and fun and here she was, stuck with me. I looked down, feeling that once more there was no hope for me, but when she spoke again, I forced myself to look at her and noticed her whole demeanor had changed.

  “Not that I’m upset about being here, you know, with you. That’s not what I meant at all. It’s just this fucking therapy shit. I mean, really. Between Olivia’s anger and Andrea’s vomit, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.” She gave me a tentative smile that widened when I returned it.

  “I know this can’t be fun for you either, right?” I shook my head in response and she continued. “I mean, you’ve got to be around all this shit constantly.”

  She shifted, and then sat cross-legged. I tried to ignore that her shoes were on the couch. She leaned toward me. “So give me the scoop. I’m sure it was all covered in group before I got here, so there’s no harm in telling me. Besides, I’d find out anyway.”

  I didn’t follow what she was asking me about. “Th-the sc-scoop?”

  Looking like I should know what she was talking about, she said, “Yeah, the scoop about the other Screw-Ups. What’s up with them? Why are they here?” When I didn’t respond, she continued. “Like your brother, or his girlfriend.”

  While I didn’t exactly feel comfortable telling other people’s stories, she was right. Nothing I would tell her hadn’t been covered openly before. There would really be no harm in it. “D-D-David w-w-was c-c-conceived t-to b-be a mmmmatch ffffor his b-brother...”

  “What?” she asked, her expression indicating she didn’t believe me. “A match?”

  “A d-donor.” I watched as Sophie wrapped her mind around the concept. “His b-brother w-was sick. H-he n-needed all sssssorts of t-t-transplants and s-s-so they m-m-made D-David.” She looked stunned. “B-but w-when the t-transplants f-f-f-faaaa, were unsuccessful, h-his p-parents d-didn’t wwwwant him.”

  “You can’t be serious.” Her shock was obvious. I nodded. “They harvested organs from him?”

  “W-well that w-was the p-plan. Th-they took p-part of his liver and sssssome marrow, but w-when it d-didn’t w-work…” There was no need to finish the sentence. I was sure she got the idea and I really didn’t want to talk about what his parents put him through after that.

  Typically, no one saw his pain, but every once in a while, when it got too much, he couldn’t reel it in. Stephen invested in a punching bag for the basement when he came home to a demolished wall and five broken bones in David’s right hand.

  David’s name meant “well-beloved” and “dear.” That was exactly what he was now. It was why he tried so hard to be perfect for everyone.

  “B-B-Becca’s d-d-dad llllleft when sssshe w-w-was little. Hhhhe w-was m-mean”

  “Well, if I was married to someone like Wallace, I’d leave too.”

  It wasn’t a nice comment to make, especially since she didn’t have all the information, but I ignored it. I thought about what I wanted to ask her all week. “S-Sophie?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Ar-are w-we f-f-fr-friends?”

  She just stared at me and blinked. For a moment, I felt a flash of panic. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked. Maybe she was going to say no. Maybe she was going to laugh at me. I didn’t want either of those things to happen. I wanted her to say that we were absolutely friends, but either way, I felt relieved that I’d asked.

  The panic I felt waiting for her answer finally subsided as she gave me a reassuring look and said, “Of course we’re friends.”

  I studied her closely to see if she actually meant what she said or if she was just trying to sugarcoat the situation. Her smile seemed natural and she was looking right at me, so I felt relatively comfortable believing her.

  While her words gave me some comfort, it also stirred up a plethora of follow-up questions. “W-w-why d-d-don’t y-y-you t-t-t-t…” I sighed deeply. I probably wouldn’t be able to get anything out, but I had to keep trying.

  “Why don’t I what?”

  “T-t-talk t-to me at sc-school?”

  The look of confusion faded as she ran her hands through her hair and let out a low breath before biting her lip. “This week was just… It wasn’t you. I wasn’t trying to be rude.”

  That wasn’t a reason or an explanation. It was avoidance and it was clear to me what the problem was. She thought we could be friends outside of school, but while we were there... I really couldn’t blame her. I knew she wouldn’t want to be tied to a social pariah like me.

  “I-is it b-because of hhhhhow I t-t-t-taaaaalk?”

  She sighed and looked extremely annoyed. I felt really small and wished for the millionth time that I could be like David and Jane and just be comfortable and fit in, or at least act like it.

  She leveled me with those intensely blue eyes. “You’re not listening, Elliott. It’s not you, okay?” She shook her head and pointed to herself. “I’m not…Look, we’re friends, okay? And I don’t care about your stutter. I’d much rather listen to you talk than that idiot Anderson, but I’m not like all the other kids. I don’t…” She huffed. “I don’t talk to friends at school. I mean, really, have you seen me really have a conversation
with anybody? Chris? I think you’ve already figured out he’s not even close to being my friend. And everyone else is just…filler.”

  While it was true that typically I only really saw her talk to Anderson, and it was never in a friendly way, there was a piece missing. “W-what about J-J-Jason?”

  She ran her hands through her hair again and pulled it to the side, leaving her neck exposed. I tried not to look. I tried not to focus on how smooth her skin was. I tried not to see that I could pick up the rhythm of her heart by watching the pulsing vein in her neck. I tried not to see the four small raised marks that looked like the tines of a fork.

  “You want to come out to the woods with us during Study Hall and smoke pot? If so, you’re invited. Jason’s…well, he’s a family friend. I used to go hiking with him when I was a kid.”

  She stood up, turning her back to me as she began looking at my books again, her slender fingers gliding along the spines. Her fingernails were short, unlike Jane or Rebecca’s, and she had little nicks and scars on her fingers and hands. “I never took you for someone who wanted to talk at school. Every time you do and a dick like Anderson says something, you go all quiet and look like you can’t breathe. If you really want to have public conversations, we can…”

  “N-no.” That was not what I wanted. She was right about Anderson, and about me. “I-I-I just w-w-wanted to know if w-w-we were f-friends.”

  Sophie turned around. Again, she leveled a look at me. “Well, why wouldn’t we be?”

  Because she was so much better than I was. Because she was normal and I wasn’t. Because she could be friends with anyone and I pretty much had nothing to offer.

  I shrugged. If I was going to take her at face-value, then I could assume we were, in fact, friends, so asking her to do something with me in that capacity should be no big deal. After all, she asked me to go to the movies with her last weekend.