by N. K. Smith
One thing I’m afraid of is the dark. I don’t like it; never have. I’m okay outside at night if there’s no cloud-cover when the moon is bright and I can see my surroundings, but I don’t like going into darkened rooms.
The marks on my neck are from a fork. A fork got stuck in my neck.
Banging does mean injecting. I did it because I was at a party and a guy had it and it was something new. It wasn’t a horrible experience, but I don’t like blood and I don’t like needles. Apart from having to inject myself with insulin and make myself bleed in order to control my diabetes, I’d rather not have anything to do with it recreationally.
Bonus: I was thinking about making chicken and noodles on Saturday. Or I could make a stir fry. Any preference and/or suggestions? Nothing spicy though, because I hate spicy food.
Now my questions:
Do you miss Kate?
Since you asked me, where in the world do you want to visit?
Do you believe in evolution or divine creation?
Even though you don’t like confrontation, I would imagine that you also don’t like it when people make you feel like shit. Don’t you want to punch Anderson in the mouth just once?
What’s one thing that scares you?
Okay, that’s it. Have a good night. I hope you get some sleep and if you can’t, I hope you have some good coffee. S.
Elliott wasn’t in school on Thursday, but I did get an e-mail from him.
Sophie, I read as I let my book bag fall to the floor. I would worry about fixing dinner later.
Jane got to come home and as far as I know, she won’t have to go away. Trent was over today and they seem to have made up. Both of them are acting as if their fight never happened. Stephen is letting her go to the dance, so she couldn’t be happier. I’m not sure what the long-term plans are yet.
I think you should make whatever you want on Saturday. You’re doing all the work, so it should be what you want. Chicken and noodles sounds fantastic though.
I do miss Kate. Apart from apparently never wanting to adopt us, she was always kind. She made good food and was good for Jane to have around. Jane doesn’t remember her mother, or most of her childhood, so she adored Kate as a mother figure.
If I could visit anywhere, it would be Ireland, I think. My mom was born there and she used to talk about it all the time. Well, not all the time. She probably only mentioned it once or twice, but it’s one of the few things I remember about her, so it’s grown to be something very important to me.
I don’t really want to hit Chris. I’m not a fan of violence and I try not to react in a way that would make me be like him. He seems to enjoy hurting people. I don’t. Even though he makes my life harder than it has to be, it would do nothing if I hit him back, even just once.
I believe in both evolution and creation. Just because God made the world doesn’t mean that the world he created didn’t change over time. Who’s to say that God’s seven days and man’s seven days are related at all in terms of time? What was seven days to God could have been a million years for man. Who am I to know the measurement of God’s time? Religion and Science can come together. Most people are just too narrow-minded to see that.
By the way, I respect your use of the term “god” instead of “God.” I don’t believe in pushing religious views on others.
One thing that scares me? There are a lot of things that scare me, but some more than others. One would be college. I want to go but it seems to be giving me quite a bit of anxiety. Everyone thinks I should skip 12th grade and go. It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just that every time I start thinking that today’s the day I’ll mail in my applications, my hands refuse to pick up the envelopes. I don’t know what it is exactly, but I’m sure it has to do with all those people that inhabit a college, and how I won’t know a single one of them.
I could apply to Stanford, which is where David and Jane intend to go, along with their significant others, but I’m not sure that’s what I want.
So, now for mine:
Why don’t you like spicy food?
How does one get impaled with a fork?
Why don’t you like talking about your mother?
Why would you just put something like meth into your body simply because someone offered it to you?
Are you upset with me for asking these questions?
Bonus: I’m thinking of a number between 1 and 100. Guess what it is.
I’ll see you tomorrow. We’ll go to the store directly after school. Everyone will be busy with the game, but if you still want to, we can do something after grocery shopping. It’ll be too late to go to that little spot by the stream, but we can find something else to do.
Have a good night, Sophie.
Elliott
He certainly wasn’t holding back with his blunt questions. I would answer them though, just as he answered all of mine. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I was the one who opened these floodgates and now I couldn’t close them.
It was a weird thing to want to tell someone shit I’d never even wanted to think about before. I had no idea what it was about him, but Elliott was able to make me feel like it was okay to share.
Not that I wanted to. I wished to the FSM that he hadn’t asked me any of these questions, but he did, so I would reciprocate his honesty and trust. I might not tell him everything, but I wouldn’t avoid the questions.
No matter how badly I wanted to.
Elliott,
I’m glad Jane is okay and can still go to the dance. I’m sure it wouldn’t have helped if she had to miss something that obviously means so much to her. She told me all about her dress during Photography.
No, I’m not upset about you asking those questions; however, to be perfectly honest, I hate every single one (except the bonus. You’re thinking of the number 73, aren’t you?).
I don’t like talking about my mom because I don’t really like her. I would rather just banish her from my mind, and not talking about her makes that possible. She’s in Tampa and I’m in Damascus, so there’s really not that much to say.
Banging meth was dumb. I know it was, but I did it anyway. I don’t know why, other than because it was there. I’m kind of a “I’ll try anything at least once” kind of girl. I don’t know.
I don’t like spicy food because it can hurt.
One gets impaled on a fork by falling on it.
I paused my typing for a moment. I wondered if I was being unfair by not elaborating. I wondered if he would pick up on it, and if he’d mind. I wasn’t trying to give less than I took with Elliott, but these answers fell into the realm of things people didn’t need to know. They were things I didn’t want to think about, and I was quite frankly not high enough to go in-depth.
I didn’t want to think about the fork, or about Helen.
Here are my five for you.
1) How did you get the scar on your top lip?
2) Why do you want to be a doctor or a medical researcher instead of a fireman, even if never seriously considered it? I mean, Tom’s a fireman. I think you could do it and isn’t it every boy’s dream to be a super-hero?
3) Do you miss living in Chicago?
4) Why do you want to know anything about me?
5) I’ve never seen you upset. Not even when I think you should be. What gets you upset?
Bonus: If you could do anything, without any negative consequences, what would it be?
S.
Most of the rest of my Thursday was routine, except for a couple of things.
The first was that I had to have a discussion with Tom, since he was my legal guardian and all. I’d been kicking it around my head for a little bit and unfortunately, I needed his consent.
“Tom?” I asked, watching as he looked up. His knife st
opped on the steak, mid-cut. “I want to get a job.”
I needed money. Despite cooking and cleaning, Tom didn’t give me an allowance, like other kids’ parents. Helen never did either, so I wasn’t upset about it, but I needed money.
“You want a job?” I nodded. I’d just said that. Tom looked like he was thinking, finally chewing that piece of steak. “Well, I know the Andersons. They own that fancy clothing store out on 27. I’m not sure if they need any help, but it is going into the holiday season.”
“Anderson’s as in Chris Anderson?”
“Yeah, he’s a good kid. I’ve known his parents practically since birth. You know him from school?”
I sighed and then took a drink of my water. “Yeah. Does he work there?”
“I think he helps out.”
Shaking my head, I continued, “I was thinking about the Breakfast Place.” It was a little dive of a restaurant that served more than breakfast. Serving would give me cash in my pocket after every shift.
“No.”
I looked up at him again, and saw his face was stiffly set. “But, Tom!” I whined, “why not?”
“That place gets a lot of truckers, drifters, and vagrants. A girl was assaulted there two years ago.”
“But”
He cut me off. “No, Sophie.”
I sighed. I could tell I wouldn’t win. “Fine, what about the grocery store? Is that acceptable?”
“What’s wrong with Anderson’s?”
“I don’t want to work there. It’s a clothing store. Look at me, Tom. Do I look like I know about trendy clothes? Don’t you think I’d be a tad out of my element standing there in my Walmart jeans trying to sell a rich kid expensive shit?”
He thought about it a moment. “I suppose the Quickshop’s fine, but you have to keep your grades up. The judge said—”
Not wanting to hear about that asinine judge and his agreement, I didn’t let him finish. “I can keep my grades up with or without a job.” The academics at Damascus High left something to be desired, especially since Tom hadn’t bothered to enroll me in the Honors or Advanced Placement programs, but I was kind of glad since that made it easy for me to pass without trying.
The second thing out of the ordinary was that after dinner I finally called Ian from Baltimore. The conversation consisted of him talking dirty to me and me pretending to care. I hung up about as unsatisfied as I was when I initiated the call.
On Friday, Elliott drove his own car to school. I’d been relatively stoned when I saw him pull up, but it later dawned on me that he’d driven to school alone so he could take me to the store to buy food for Saturday’s dinner.
I was sort of nervous about being with him to be honest, but there was still a whole day to get through before that. Due to Homecoming, the day didn’t even follow a routine and I had to listen to things like, “We are the Hornets, the mighty, mighty Hornets!” Rebecca, or as I now called her in my mind, “Barbie Wallace” and the rest of the cheerleaders chanted stuff like that as most of the high school cheered.
The gym was packed and I couldn’t believe I wasn’t out getting high during this, but I had no idea there would be a pep rally during Photography until the teacher told us to report to the gym.
I sat next to Pinny Dalton. I mean, Jane Dalton. I thought she’d be more into the school cheer thing, but she wasn’t. She sat there rolling her eyes at the cheerleaders and only clapping when they introduced her brother David.
When she wasn’t clapping, one of her hands was continually pressed to the wound on her stomach. I felt compelled to ask her why she cut herself because I wanted to understand since I had no clue why someone would hurt themselves intentionally.
I supposed if I’d had that self-injury urge when I lived with Helen, all I would’ve had to do was get in her way.
Shit. Why was I thinking so much about stuff like this?
I told myself to push it away; to not think about it. I needed something mindless to do, so I turned to Jane and asked, “Is Trent excited about the dance?” I looked around, wondering where he was.
She nodded. “He bought a green tie to wear.”
I noticed she didn’t answer the question, but I didn’t push. “So what’s he like?”
Her expression softened and she finally looked at me. “He’s awesome,” she answered in a soft voice. “He’s really smart about a lot of things. He works really hard.”
What she said was pretty simplistic and didn’t give me much, so I decided just to go for it. If she got mad, it would be no big deal to me, but I figured people shared this kind of information all the time. “What happened the other day?”
Her expression fell again and she returned her gaze to the cheerleaders and jocks on the gym floor. “His dad’s a jerk who moved across country and his mom ignores him, so sometimes he can be an ass.”
“So the other day you hurt yourself because he was an ass?”
She whipped around to look at me. Her eyes were hard for a second, and then almost as if she’d been wearing it all day, a smile formed. “His tie matches my dress exactly!” I guessed we were done talking about cutting and boyfriends who were sometimes asses. “And he’s going to get me an orchid corsage. It’s white with little purple speckles. It doesn’t really go with a green dress, but Trent knows my favorite color is purple. And Becca’s going to wear…”
That was the point where I stopped listening. The cheering was getting loud and I didn’t care about Homecoming at all. I didn’t care about dresses. I didn’t care about corsages, and I didn’t care about any of these people.
Except for Elliott. I scanned the gym and couldn’t find him anywhere. I guessed they didn’t make him attend these assemblies because of his anxiety.
I met up with him outside after school. Jason had been a little put-out that I had plans for the evening that didn’t include him. I reminded him that I wasn’t his girlfriend, that I was no one’s girlfriend, and going out with Elliott wasn’t a date.
We were going grocery shopping. No romance going on inside of a grocery store, but it did give me a great opportunity to pick up an application.
“A-ar-are y-you getting a j-job?”
I looked at Elliott and gave him a smile. He had a sheepish look on his face. With an application in-hand, it was obvious that I was trying to get a job, but I wasn’t going to give him a hard time. He tried harder to communicate and took more care in speaking with me than most people.
“Yeah. Less time at home, and more money in my pocket.” Grabbing a cart, I grimaced. “Tom wanted me to get a job at Anderson’s. How bad would that have sucked?”
Elliott smiled and the sight made me feel warm inside. “P-pretty bad.” He laughed. I liked the sound.
I pulled out a list as we entered the Produce Department. “Here, will you look at this and let me know if you have any of this shit at home?”
Taking the paper, Elliott’s eyes moved quickly down the list. “A-a-asparagus, b-b-beets, p-potato?” He looked at me again. “Ch-chicken and noodles has b-beets?”
I smiled at him and headed over to the green rack. “No. I changed my mind. I think I’m just going to roast a bunch of stuff. It’s pretty easy and incredibly tasty.”
“W-we have p-potatoes.”
“What American family doesn’t?”
“W-what kind of apples?”
I had toyed with the idea of making dessert because if I was going to be in charge of cooking, I was going to hook it up. Since Elliott’s favorite fruit was apples, I decided on an apple crisp. It was quick and easy, and shouldn’t garner too many questions about my diabetes. I was feeding a doctor after all, and the last thing I needed tomorrow was a goddamned lecture about carbs and sugar.
“Y-you like B-Brussels sprouts and b-b-beets? W-what kind of t-teenager are you?”
; His joke made me smile and I shook my head. I liked all the weird vegetables that most people my age had never even heard of and I liked how funny Elliott was. It seemed sad that no one else seemed to know about his wit.
“W-w-why do you l-like to cook?”
I sighed heavily, my mood instantly turning to shit. I didn’t like to cook. I hated cooking. I’ve never enjoyed it. I cooked because if I didn’t, no one would.
“I don’t like cooking, Elliott. I like eating. Eating requires cooking. If I don’t fucking cook, I don’t fucking eat.” It came out harsher than what I had intended. I tried to choke it all back because I was not going to tell anyone about all the horrible things in my life. I wasn’t going to tell him even if a small part of me thought it would feel good to let him in like that.
He inhaled quickly, and his brow knitted together as he looked at his feet. In an instant, guilt flooded me. I hadn’t meant to snap at him, and I had no reasonable explanation as to why I had.
What I did know was that I wasn’t high enough to discuss some shit about cooking. Yes, I cooked. Yes, I was good at it, but I didn’t like it. Why the hell would I want to talk about the day Helen decided that I was responsible for all the cooking? Because at six-years-old, there wasn’t much beyond dry processed cheese sandwiches that you could make without cutting or burning yourself.
Nope, I wasn’t going there, and certainly not with Elliott in the middle of a grocery store.
I wanted to be high now, but he looked like a kicked puppy and I didn’t want him to feel bad.
“I’m sorry, Elliott.” I forced myself to pull my gaze away from the potatoes and look at him again. “I just…cook because I have to, not because I enjoy it or anything.”
“D-d-didn’t your m-mm-mmmmom cook?”
I pushed the rising anger down. “No. She didn’t cook.” He still looked confused and his hazel eyes burned me. “If I didn’t cook, I didn’t eat.”
His mouth formed an “O” and his cheeks puffed out as he tried to say something. Between the shape of his mouth and the general sounds he was making, I imagined that he was trying to ask another question. Elliott’s hands balled up and he hit himself in the thighs. I wondered if he even knew he did that shit.
