by Paloma Meir
Then it would be like we were starring in some from movie from the 50s. There was a diner on Sunset not far from where we lived and we would actually go there after the games. Filling up the little restaurant with the players and their girlfriends.
It was surreal to me, the conversations, the general innocence of his group. Nobody sneaking off to smoke pot or take other drugs. I knew they cursed a lot when girls weren’t around but when we were with them kept their mouths clean.
I didn’t understand it at first, which was a relief but eventually it became clear. It was Danny and Serge, they were the leaders of this little group of jocks and that was just the way they were: respectful, thoughtful people.
Brendan was definitely their equal socially but it was clear to everybody that if he hadn’t had Danny and Serge as his best friends he would probably have ended up in Juvenile Hall, no matter how wealthy and well-connected his parents were.
I grew friendly with Cara, Brendan’s girlfriend, predictable as she was; her genuine sweetness was disarming. She spent most of her time with her dance group so it was easy and Serge liked that I was friendly with her. He was very fond of her.
But the best time was when it was just the two of us in my room at home. My mother never came in without warning. So we were left to do whatever we wanted to do. What we wanted to do was have sex and that is what we did constantly. It was better than even my guitar.
But it wasn’t meant to last because I was me and I always would be.
We had been to a party, always so many parties with this group of kids. It was tiring for me, the constant friendliness. My edges were wearing thin. I sensed my thoughts racing but not the negativity that usually accompanied my mania.
The night of the party, I felt raw, all my nerves exposed even with Serge wrapped adoringly around me. He was very affectionate and attentive but even that couldn’t smooth my mood.
We were in the kitchen getting a bottle of water when I saw the elaborately decorated birthday cake for the girl whose party it was. I rolled my eyes and muttered “predictable,” so sick of the veneer of perfection all of these people lived in.
“What, Celena?” Serge asked as he looked away from the pantry where he was getting me a bottle of water, to see me stick my finger in the center of the cake and swirl the frosted flowers around, destroying the cake.
“Celena, you shouldn’t do that.” He looked down at the cake with shock as if he couldn’t understand that I would purposely do such a thing.
“Were you hungry?” He tilted his head and asked as if he had never seen me before. “Let me try and fix that, there are some cookies in the pantry…if that’s what you wanted…something sweet…” He said questioningly.
He took the knife lying next to the cake and ran it over the top of the ruined cake, trying to fix it.
“What does it matter, Serge?” I snapped at him, “She’ll have something to talk about all week. ’Oh my cake was ruined.’” I mocked the girl’s affected posh-like voice.
“Are you feeling okay?” He put the knife down and placed his hand on my shoulder. I shook it off.
“I’m fine.” I turned and stormed out of the kitchen, out the front door and onto the street determined to walk home.
I heard his footsteps following behind me and ran. He caught up with me quickly.
“Celena…I don’t understand.”
“Just leave me alone…Why are you always trying to control me?”
“What are you talking about?”
He looked so shocked and frightened in the moonlight. I took a deep breath remembering all the calming techniques the doctors had taught me over the years.
“I’m going home. Just let me be.”
“We’re at least three miles from your house and it’s past midnight. I’m not going to let you walk home. Let me go get Adam, okay?” He put his hands on my shoulders and I didn’t shake him off. I wanted to slouch down to the ground and cry, all the beauty of my life was slipping away and there was nothing I could do about it.
“Okay.” I yelled and threw myself down onto the curb and buried my head in my hands. I so much wanted to put an end to this behavior but I had no control and the pain of knowing that was intense.
He ran up the street to get his friend. I promised myself I would be pleasant, that I would keep myself together on the short car ride from where I sat to my home.
It didn’t work out that way. I pouted and made unpleasant noises, flicking Serge away when he tried to hold my hand.
I didn’t thank Adam when he dropped us off in front of my home. In fact, I almost slammed the car door on Serge.
He followed me up the stairs to my room though I whispered loudly several times that I wanted him to go home and I never wanted to see him again.
“Celena,” He said as he shut the door and I sat on my bed, my head in my hands again, “I don’t understand any of this…”
“I have problems,” I lifted my head to look at him, the vulnerability of his eyes and burst into tears.
“We all have problems, Celena.” He sat down next to me on the bed and hugged me, and I felt my insanity melt away.
“I’ve always been like this…You don’t understand.”
“I love you…I want to help you.”
“You make me so happy,” I sniffed and pulled away from him. “I have moods… it’s a disorder.” The beauty of him struck deep in me. I so much wanted to make it work.
“Can we take some time apart? It’s maybe…overwhelming me. I’ve never been this close with anyone before.”
“I don’t want to be without you, Celena.”
“And I don’t want to bring you down with me. You’re perfect…”
“I am pretty special,” He smiled. “We spend all our time together but we don’t really know each other yet. My life isn’t perfect…and maybe we should talk about these things.”
“I’m scared to tell you about myself.”
“Well maybe this will help, Celena,” He said in a mocking serious tone of voice and then relaxed, staring ahead, not looking at me, “Zelda knows all of this…she’s the only one outside of my family…but now I have you.” He turned back to me.
Zelda was his sister Carolina’s best friend. She came up a lot in conversations but he spoke of her as if she were a small child. I had been surprised when I found out that his sister and she were only a year younger than us.
“My mother…she drinks…and I mean starts in the morning and doesn’t stop until she passes out before bedtime. My father… he’s ineffective.” He nodded his head as if he that was that, no further details would be offered because none existed.
“Serge…”
“That girl, Leah? Whose cake you ruined? Her father jumped off the top of his office building downtown last year. He was about to be indicted for something financial…I’m not clear on the details.”
“We can all be broken.” I looked down at the floor, remembering my mother’s words.
“Yes…You’re very smart, Celena. My point is if you’re feeling less than everyone else…well, it’s just not true. I’m sure your moods are…”
“They’re a big problem, Serge.” I laughed. “And you know how to keep a secret, but remember your own words…If you’re feeling less than, it’s not true.”
“As I said, you’re very smart, Celena…”
I looked up and he was smiling at me. I felt light again.
“Do we still need to break-up?” He asked.
“No, but can we take a break for a few days? It’s all been so much.”
“Can I call you while we’re on this ’break?’”
“You can text me.” I stood up, taking his hand in mine and led him to the door.
If only all of our problems could have been resolved so amicably. Well, they were never his problems, only mine that he had to suffer through.
…
I hate to think back on how the rest of the year carried on but the only way to put it behind me is to be honest.
I can pretend that I’m looking for the truth, soul-searching but I sense that I’m only be trying to find sympathy for myself.
But that wouldn’t be fair to anyone in this story. It was me. I was the snake in their Garden of Eden. I truly didn’t want to be and I would like to say that I hurt myself more but that would be a lie. And even at my worst I wasn’t much of a liar, a master manipulator but not a liar. And what could be gained from lying to oneself?
As Serge would sometimes mutter before one of my fits, as he would call them, “And here we go.”
I would say and maybe even Serge would that until the winter holidays rolled around, the days were mostly good. I would definitely accuse him of bizarre things like the time I had the nightmare that he had killed my dog that I had when I was a little girl in Seattle.
I woke from the nightmare, terrified. All of Serge’s kindness appeared to have an ulterior motive as if he wanted something from me, to ridicule me, or that he was using me for sex.
Which was laughable, because if there were a contest in that area I would have won. I used the sex not just for closeness it brought to us but for peace of mind.
I called him angry, so furious. I hate to remember this and really it only got so much worse.
“You killed my dog.” I shook as I screamed into the phone.
“Hmmm,” He mumbled into the phone. It was rather early, 5:00 AM on a Sunday, “You don’t have a dog. What…”
“It was a dream,” I grunted as if he were stupid, “I had a dog when I was seven and you were kicking it.”
“I’m sorry you had a nightmare. Do you want me to come over?”
I hated when he would try and be reasonable with me. Hated it.
“Why would I want to see you after what you did?” I snorted into the phone and held it away from me as if his stupidity were contagious. “I don’t ever want to see you again in my life.”
“Celena… not again…”
I screamed out fuck you and hung-up.
He texted me a half hour later and I didn’t think I would have survived another minute if he hadn’t. The moment I had hung-up on him I felt an all-encompassing grief. I wanted so much to call him back and apologize but a larger part of me needed him to chase me.
serge: Going for a run with Danny and Brendan then to tutor Anthony. I’ll be over after that.
Anthony was Zelda’s little brother. He was probably about ten at the time and had, according to Serge, untreated ADD. He tutored him twice a week.
Being reminded of his job filled me with unbearable guilt. The guilt would simmer into anger over the following hour but for the moment all I felt was guilt at my outlandish behavior.
Serge’s reaction to my ongoing issues was to be open about himself. He thought all my problems could be solved by talking about them. Good in theory, if any of my problems were based in realty instead of faulty brain chemistry.
But we were kids and he went well beyond the call of duty for a boyfriend, friend or even a parent.
It wasn’t easy for him to let down his guard, discuss his complicated family. I was always aware of that and even in my most destructive moments I never betrayed that trust or used his words against him to hurt him. A small miracle.
His family had the appearance of wealth. His home from the outside, though a little run down, was not an eyesore by any means. His parents lived on the dividends of a small family trust.
It was one of the smaller homes on a street with sprawling mansion built in the 1920s, traditional Spanish architecture. Mine was at the end of the canyon and had been erected by an architect in the 1950s as a cul-de-sac of case-study style homes.
The whole canyon was one architectural masterpiece after another. A beautiful place to grow-up.
That’s not so important, other than Serge always feeling behind his friends. The money never flowed to him as it did to them, those whose parents would pass out hundred dollar bills if their kids were going to a movie.
Make no mistake his family was not destitute, there were never worries about the basics like food. But it was a middle class income in a sea of the very wealthiest .1%.
He logically knew this and understood but he was a boy with a competitive nature, not wishing for anybody to pity him. And even I could see that his closest friends, Danny and Brendan were always offering to cover things for him as if it were just easier if they paid.
He appreciated their tact and care but still refused any offers. The whole thing was a bit of a chip on his shoulder.
So the job tutoring Anthony was a big deal to him and Zelda’s family loved Serge. I mean, really, who wouldn’t? They paid him top dollar. If I remember correctly, by this point he was paid 90.00 a session twice weekly.
He was able to keep up with friends and all the things they did. I never thought it was worth it. He never had any free time, always pushing himself, top tier in everything he endeavored.
So hearing mention of his tutoring job in the text left me in a puddle of tears. I knew I needed to get away from him for his sake.
So I did what any fifteen-year old girl would do, contacted a sociopath who was in her early thirties on-line.
selenaslinks: Why do I keep torturing him?
q: You like the excitement.
selenaslinks: Do I?
Sociopathy seemed preferable to mental illness but it never rang completely true to me.
q: It would appear that way
selenaslinks: Leave me alone.
q: I never initiate these conversations
She was right about that.
selenaslinks: Well I won’t bother you anymore then.
q: Okay talk to you later then
She could be so frustrating. I was no mystery to her.
selenaslinks: Yes.
I could feel the prickles in my head of my mood changing, my irrational anger rising. I picked up my phone to call Serge before it unleashed itself.
“I’m sorry,” I said as he answered his phone, “I need a few days…another break.”
“This is our third one in two months, Celena…forget I said that…” He sighed into the phone.
“Then why don’t we just end it for good?” I screeched into the phone.
“Take your break, but if you would just talk to me…”
“Goodbye.” I hung-up before I could yell at him again. I thought at the time this was progress. Wrong.
I stayed in bed all day, skipped school for the following two and wandered aimlessly around the Grove being as rude to strangers as humanly possible until I felt better.
It worked. I apologetically slunk up to him at school, promising to be better, talk to him, not be so paranoid. He nodded his head but I sensed he didn’t trust my words anymore.
Other than a few high-maintenance moments, as Brendan jokingly referred to them once while we were out being social teens, it was a peaceful period.
It’s a shame the winter break was so long. The long lazy days blurring in to each other. I always functioned best with structure.
Chapter Six
We hadn’t gone out much after the dog incident, which I felt bad about because Serge liked groups and being with his friends. The majority of his life was schoolwork and online classes. He couldn’t fit two languages into his schedule so he studied French online.
There was no reason for him to take French. He liked the language because Zelda spoke it.
You would think that his devotion to her would have caused one of my jealous fits but I instinctively knew not to cross that line. She was firmly in his family circle and to disparage her would have been the end of us.
I was crazy not stupid.
Still his borderline obsession with her, which he always framed around his sister, was annoying. I hadn’t met his sister, his parents, or Zelda. He kept his life very compartmentalized but even with that I knew he was embarrassed by his parents. I let it go.
I would see his sister around school, sometimes I would follow her but not too often. She looked nothin
g like Serge. She had frizzy dark hair and was so tiny but self-possessed. She was one of the drama kids, very bossy, always had a clipboard in her hands.
I liked her and I told Serge that, but he wanted to keep us separate. He didn’t want his parents to find out he had a girlfriend and insist he bring her home to meet them.
It was Winter Break and half the school was Jewish, so there were Chanukah parties almost every night and tree trimming parties for the others and birthdays. It seemed like half the school had been born in the latter half of December.
