Memories

Lines

2009-03-22T17:26:00.001-04:00

Absurd. I sat, staring down at the blank piece of paper. Absurd was the only word to describe the situation. As punishment I was being forced to write lines.

The phrase “I will not break things that do not belong to me” covered eight complete sheets of paper front and back. Only two more sheets left to go.

Out the window, the day was perfect. I could hear my friends’ laughter. Every now and then I would see them riding their bikes past the house. Every time they passed the sun had inched lower and lower in the sky. Soon it would be twilight and dinner time.

How I wished to be with them! I knew this was the reason for the punishment, to keep me from having fun. However, writing a meaningless phrase over and over again for the sole purpose of passing the time was ludicrous. Why not make me do extra chores or send me to my room? Why this pointless exercise?

The punishment was not to atone for broken objects. The real purpose was to coerce me into talking about why I had broken said objects. In the past three months I had managed to break a coffee pot, two casserole dishes, four drinking glasses, and an antique vase. The last accident resulted in my present situation. Mom could not accept that I had not meant to break any of these things. She insisted that no one could have so many accidents in such a short amount of time, and that I must be acting out.

No matter how much I pleaded with her, I really, truly had no idea why things were breaking. It was as much a mystery to me as it was to her. I had not dropped or thrown or struck these broken pieces. They had simply fallen apart at my touch – or at least it seemed that way. Usually it happened so fast, I couldn’t remember any details.

As I scribbled “I will not break things that do not belong to me” again and again, I tried to think about each accident. My frustration started to swell. Emotions rose and sank. Sadness, self pity, and anger all came and went.

At the completion of page ten I set down my pen. My hand was cramped and aching. It was getting dark outside, dinner time. As if on cue my stomach growled. I got up; I had to stretch my legs. They were getting that uncomfortable antsy feeling. I walked over to the switch and turned the overhead light on.

Mom entered the kitchen and took up my day’s labor, scanning each page. She sat down and watched as I paced back and forth. Finally she asked, “So, why did you break the vase?”

Startled by her direct question, I stopped mid pace and glared at her. As slowly and as calmly as I could muster, I said, “I don’t know how the vase became broken.”

“Heather, please, don’t lie to me.” Her tone rose as she did, standing now, anger and disappointment evident in her stance.

Irritation and rage swelled up inside me – overflowing into tears. I clamped my fingers into tight fists by my side. And then, the lights went out.

Ugly Step-Sister

2009-03-03T22:06:00.002-05:00

Rehearsals were going well. It was true that I was cast as the lead role, Cinderella. However, I did share the part with another girl. The show ran two nights, one night I would dance, the other night, Laura would dance.

Laura was an exceptional ballerina and dreamed of dancing for the rest of her life. For me, ballet was just a hobby, something I did while other girls played volleyball and field hockey. I liked it well enough and was probably good enough, but I was too practical to think I could make a career out of dancing. Instead I focused on my schoolwork and hoped to get accepted into a decent college.

No better person than Laura could have played the gentle loving character of Cinderella. I didn’t think she could be mean or rude to anyone, even if her life depended on it.

She was a year younger than me, but we were about the same size. This was one reason we had been chosen; we could share costumes. Another reason was because the size we shared was petite. The one male in the class was not tall, and to partner with a tall girl would have been physically impossible. Perhaps this was the main reason Allison was not granted this role.

I was somewhat ashamed at my delight when I had found out that Allison had been cast as one of the ugly step-sisters. It fit her personality exceptionally well, and I was positive she would be able to portray the role without much effort. Ever since that first night when the cast list was posted, Allison fell right into character. She treated both Laura and I with such contempt and malice, I truly started to feel like Cinderella.

While I was able to bear her insults and scornful looks, every jest cut Laura deeply. She was not used to being assaulted in this way. Everyone was always nice to her, because she was always nice to everyone else.

“I can’t stand it anymore!” She exclaimed one night after rehearsal had ended. Everyone else had packed up their things and left the studio. “Why is she so rude?”

I couldn’t help but chuckle darkly before responding, “She’s always like that, you’re just noticing now?”

“Perhaps,” she hesitated, “but she was never like that towards me before.”

“That’s because you were never a threat to her before. Seriously, she’s just used to getting what she wants whenever she wants. Don’t take it personally.”

“I can’t help it.” She sighed and pulled on her coat.

Just then the door opened and Allison came storming back through the studio. Apparently she had forgotten her legwarmers. She found them quickly and left again, throwing Laura and me a dirty look as she made her exit.

“Bitch.” Laura breathed under her breath. Then we both burst out laughing. I couldn’t help it. I almost wished there had been more people around to witness this moment. The laughing felt good; I could feel the tension flowing out of my body.

Then, abruptly, the laughing stopped, and an anxious silence echoed around the empty studio. Allison’s venom had broken down Laura’s good nature. It had turned her into one of us, one of the hurt souls that went about life angry and hurt. My face burned with anger as I threw my arm around Laura’s shoulder and we walked outside in silence.

Cinderella

2009-03-02T21:40:00.000-05:00

I could hardly breathe. My chest was tight with the unexpected mixture of doubt and exhilaration. Auditions were over and tonight the casting would be posted. I didn’t expect much, but at the same time, my heart would not let go of hope. I had worked hard and my heart wanted a good part.

This was the first time my studio had ever conducted auditions for the yearly production. It left many feeling angry. The director spent a large amount of time and energy trying to make all students feel equal, but now she had done a complete 180 and was holding auditions. Clearly some would emerge as better than others.

Not that everyone didn’t know who the best was. But below the best, everyone else was simply not the best. The distinction below number one was not apparent. However, now with parts that were clearly better than others, the ambiguity that kept us sociable had the potential to dissolve friendships into jealousy.

The nature of the Cinderella ballet lent itself to a variety of solos and demi-solos. That was why the audition had been necessary. Usually the studio performed stories that involved large groups of similar parts, with perhaps one or possibly two special roles. Each class level would play a different creature, flowers, birds, fairies, and so on. Then there would be one person that would get the spotlight.

The top student, obviously destined to dance the lead role of Cinderella, was Allison. She excelled in everything she attempted. An excellent athlete, a good student, popular, tall, beautiful; Allison had it all. She used to be friendly too, but in recent years she started to become aware of her perfection, and her attitude all but negated every good trait she exhibited – at least in my eyes. Others seemed to be so blinded by her awesomeness that they didn’t realize she was rude and arrogant.

All the senior students loitered noisily around the bulletin board. Chatting about what parts they had been dreaming about for the last week, reassuring one another that they would be great in whatever role they had been cast to play. No one even mentioned the lead; everyone knew who that would be. In the corner Allison sat reading a book, uninterested, playing it cool.

Suddenly, the babble of voices trailed off to silence. The crowd parted as the secretary walked towards the bulletin board clutching at a piece of paper. She smiled, or maybe grimaced, as she tacked the list to the board and scooted away as quickly as possible. From the back of the crowd I couldn’t see the list, but I was patient, I had already waited a week, what were a few more minutes?

I expected everyone to start cheering, crying, or at least reassuring their friends. But everyone remained silent. For a brief moment their faces held only disbelief and confusion, not the relief of finally knowing the outcome of a week’s worry. Then the moment had passed and life continued as normal, well, almost.

Everyone started speaking at once. And all eyes turned toward me, glowing with an excitement I didn’t understand. I was mobbed then, attacked with hugs and congratulations. From the corner of my eye I thought I saw Allison put her book down and saunter to the board. When I saw her scowl, I finally understood. She would not be dancing the lead. I was Cinderella.

Lava Lamp

2009-02-23T21:46:00.000-05:00

Aaron and I lay on his bed in the near darkness. Alice in Chains played softly, not loud enough to drown out the rumble of noises downstairs. The guests at the party below were boisterous, happy, exuberant. Aaron should be down there enjoying this moment. After all, they were all here for him. Today he had transitioned from boy to man. Today was his Bar Mitzvah.

“Why don’t you want to go downstairs?” I asked casually, staring into the soft glow of the lava lamp just warming up on the dresser at the foot of Aaron’s bed.

“Eh, I don’t know.” He was lying with his head up by my feet, gazing up at the ceiling.

“Aren’t you happy? Isn’t this supposed to be one of the most important days of your life?”

“Yes, well, I guess.”

I didn’t understand the Jewish traditions. Aaron, I understood, was also perplexed, but for different reasons. Of course he knew the Jewish traditions; however, he was also keenly aware of Catholic traditions. He grew up in a house with a Jewish mother and a Catholic father. How confusing that must be! Today was his choice, his decision to become one or the other; a choice that would truly shape his future.

The lava started to heat up at the bottom of the lamp. Slowly it expanded, grew and formed a column of blue goo reaching upwards toward the top of the lamp. It was kind of obscene if one chose to see it that way. The light was soothing, calming. The blue aura pervaded the room with ever shifting lapis shadows.

“Well, I think it’s all pretty confusing myself.” I stated mater-of-factly, sitting up. “I’m glad I’m not you. I probably would denounce it all and forever live in sin.” My wry smile gave away my sarcasm. Aaron knew I wasn’t very religious, maybe that’s why we had become good friends. He knew I wouldn’t judge him, no matter what his choice was.

“Yeah, I’m glad I’m not going to burn in Hell like you.” He laughed and rolled his eyes. He opened the door and together we went downstairs to greet his entire family.

Tilt Table

2009-02-17T20:25:00.001-05:00

The peaceful tones of Pachelbel’s Cannon flowed through my ears, soothing my nerves. This arrangement was a rare gem I had found among my mother’s collection of new age music CD’s. A collection of stringed instruments accompanied by the unlikely resonance of ocean waves washed over me, issuing calmness and washing away fright. The portable CD player was set to repeat this one song again and again and it had been playing for well over an hour as we made the long drive south.

We were almost at the hospital. The car crawled as the expressway ended and we entered the city. My heart was racing now. I didn’t understand the fear, I had no idea what to expect. And maybe that was it, I was afraid because I didn’t know what was coming.

I was vaguely aware of parking, walking into the hospital, getting prepped for the test. And then, suddenly, I was separated from the calming waves of Pachelbel and my surroundings solidified. I was now strapped to a table, stuck with needles; tubes ran across my body connected to bags hanging over my head.

A half-masked face bent over me, “Are you ready to begin?” I gulped hard. What did she want me to say? Yes, please, commence the torture?

“Sure.” My voice quavered with this simple one syllable sentence.

“Relax. Everything is going to be fine. Actually, most people only experience boredom. Let’s hope for that.” I could see her eyes tighten and could imagine a kind smile behind her mask. I tried to smile back.

The table to which I was strapped began to maneuver itself into an upright position. In seconds I was almost, but not quite vertical, standing on a platform attached to the bottom edge of the table; apparently the slight angle was important. Within minutes I was feeling antsy. It wasn’t too bad – I had definitely felt worse. Maybe this would be OK, just boring like the nurse had suggested.

The squirmy feeling continued and I became aware that I had often felt this way in the past. The sudden need to expel energy, the uncontrollable urge to keep moving, this was the same as my nightly dinner time anxiety. The worst part? I was strapped to a table, unable to move a muscle, unable to dispel the unease. Desperation welled up in my chest and I almost cried out in anguish. In response, machines started beeping and squealing erratically.

All these weeks, months, I felt like I was slowly going insane, because surely this was all in my head. However, now, in this frightening little room, my invisible demon was manifesting itself as beeps on a machine and as a jagged line drawn across a paper tape. Others could see my discomfort not only in my body and my face, but also on medical machines. I was not crazy!

Relief swept over me as I felt the table return me to the horizontal plane. Gradually feeling better, I waited for the nurses to unstrap me, to let me go. But their hands were busy getting things ready. Ready for what?

“You passed the first stage.” I thought, first? “Ok, this time we are going to give you something in your IV.” The shock on my face must have been clear. “Don’t worry, it’s just adrenaline. It will help the test go faster.”

“What!?” I squirmed against my restraints trying to catch the eye of a nurse that would help me out of this situation, but all were busy tending to this machine or that. I could feel the adrenaline racing through my veins. My heart beat faster and faster. I felt like I had just sprinted the mile, but of course I was still lying down. It was a queer feeling, like my brain was not in sync with my body.

The table started to right itself again. The sound of my heartbeat pounding in my ears was eerily echoed by the beeping of a machine off to my side. Panic overflowed, streaming down my cheeks. The brief relief I had felt just minutes before was now washed away by my tears. In an instant the irritability and discomfort returned. My legs felt as though they had a mind of their own. They wanted to dance, to run, to kick, and I wanted to scream.

The unease, not content to remain trapped in my legs, began to swell like a rising tide. Soon I was retching. I was exceedingly thankful that I had followed the directive of fasting for the last 12 hours. My stomach only contained acid, all of which the closest nurse caught in a stainless steel bowl. My head swam with incoherent thoughts. I just wanted to lie down.

And then, everything was black. My distress ebbed and I slipped gratefully into the comforting arms of unconsciousness.

Lost and Found

2009-02-11T21:33:00.000-05:00

Where was that barrette? I wore it just two days ago, and now it was nowhere. And at the same time, it was everywhere.

I closed my eyes, I could see it. It was under the bed near my pillow where I had discarded it before falling asleep. It was on the corner of my desk hiding just under some papers. It was in the bathroom drawer. It had fallen behind my desk and now lay next to the back left leg of said desk. I had left it in my backpack. All these places and more I could see it being as clearly as if I were actually looking in these places and found it. I knew the barrette had either been, or will be found just as I had pictured it at some time.

Becoming more unsettled by the minute, I forced myself to check every imaginable setting. No, it wasn’t anywhere. I guessed this is what it meant to really lose something. The feeling was unnerving.

How could all possibilities be wrong? Was it possible to be impossibly somewhere else? Possible for the barrette to have had some other unforeseeable path to its current location? Or was it simply not in this time?

Three days past. I tried not to think of the barrette at all, in fact I almost forgot about it completely. Then on the fourth day, as I was cleaning off my desk, I found the elusive barrette: on the corner, hiding just under some papers.

Blackout

2009-02-09T21:36:00.000-05:00

Talk about feeling weird. I was sitting as still as I could manage on the couch, but it felt like the whole room was spinning. Having just woken up from a nap, I thought perhaps I had simply sat up too fast. I made my eyes focus on a single dent in the coffee table. What was this from? An unsteady glass falling over? A dog claw? A thrown toy? I could see all of these possibilities happening in my mind at once. I focused persistently; probing the shape, each contour of the indentation, determining which scenario best matched the form. Keeping my mind occupied helped relieve some of the unease, the room began to steady.

“Heather, come set the table for dinner,” Mom called from the kitchen. Panic swelled over me and the spinning got worse for a second. What was wrong with me?

Slowly I stood. Inertia took hold of my stomach and it felt as if I left it on the couch. Ugh. Breath deep. Calm down. Relax. One foot in front of the other. I made my way slowly across the living room. The kitchen suddenly seemed to be impossibly far away. Even as I moved forward, I felt like I wasn’t making any progress toward my goal. My mind raced with possibilities. I would make it but would need to sit down. I wouldn’t make it, I would pass out. I could see myself crumpled on the floor of the hallway, and I could see myself getting the silverware out of the drawer, completely composed. I tried to focus on the later image.

A mysterious blackness was creeping into my field of vision. Blinking furiously, I tried to fight it back. I didn’t feel dizzy anymore. And then – I wasn’t feeling anything anymore.

This would take some practice.

Visiting

2009-02-05T21:40:00.001-05:00

This time was it was really bad. Mom had fallen into the deepest depression ever. Again she was being held at one of the best hospitals in the world, but even the best doctors here couldn’t seem to help her this time. She was drowning in her own misery but refused any assistance.

Butterflies danced in my stomach. Today my sister and I would see her for the first time since she was started on a new treatment plan. A plan I thought barbaric and more torture than cure. But who was I? I was just a child and a worried daughter, not a brilliant doctor. My opinion didn’t count. I didn’t know anything about medicine or psychology, but common sense told me that hooking electrodes to someone’s head and shocking them would not help them feel happy.

We waited. At first glance the common room looked homey and inviting with couches, a television set, and huge windows that looked out over a garden courtyard. However, the atmosphere was anything but comfortable. Troubled souls lingered here.

One lady, repulsively skinny, stared out the window ignoring the tray of food in her lap. Her sweater hung on her body like an oversized blanket and her eyes were sunken and empty. She looked as if the slightest breeze would send her toppling to the ground.

Bent over a coffee table in the center of the room, a man sat on the floor scribbling ferociously on a pad of paper with a crayon. His face was so twisted in concentration it almost looked angry. Or maybe he was angry. Abruptly he shouted something incoherent and threw the crayon across the room. I shuddered involuntarily.

My sister threw her arm around my shoulders. I sensed it was as much for her comfort as for mine, and I was grateful. I hated to think of my mom living here. She wasn’t crazy. And even so, anyone who spent more than a day around these people was sure to lose a few marbles. We had only been waiting fifteen minutes and already I felt unsure of my wellbeing.

I caught movement from the corner of my eye. Two doctors were coming toward us supporting another person between them. I turned my head to look, relief, shock, guilt, and anger all flashed across my face in rapid succession. I stood hastily. My sister rose at my side.

Our mother came toward us, frail and breakable. Her eyes were distant and confused. I had to stifle a whimper as I started forward to greet her.

“Mom…”

But she didn’t reply, she just stared at me, then at my sister, and then back at me. Her eyes were empty and confused; she didn’t know who we were.

Rooftop

2009-02-03T20:41:00.002-05:00

“So,” I started, “what’s up with you?”

Samantha continued to stare out into the starry night.

“You don’t have to tell me of course. You just look, troubled.”

“Yeah, I don’t know.” Her voice had a frown in it. She looked at me then, her face aglow in the starlight, but fraught with sadness.

I looked out across the lawn and then up into the clear sky. I wouldn’t push her; I knew she would confide in me when she was ready. I still marveled at our friendship. Started by chance, and kept going by what? We didn’t have any classes together, didn’t share friends until after we had become friends. What was it then that kept us together?

The night air chilled my skin. It felt good, crisp and fresh. I hated the heat of summer days, but the nights were usually refreshing. Samantha and I sat perched on the rooftop. It was amazing how similar we were, even in something like our sleeping habits; or rather the lack of sleeping. We might be mistaken as sisters if it were not for the obvious physical differences; me being a tiny Asian girl and she being as American as apple pie.

“How do you do it?” Her voice broke the silence abruptly and I jumped, startled.

“Huh? Do what?”

“Deal with Jason. You know he loves you, right?”

“Oh.” I had no idea where this was going. Was she trying to change the subject? “He knows I can’t love him that way. I just…” I trailed off. How could I explain this? My feelings for Jason were not romantic; they were more like that of an older sister. I felt like I needed to protect him, shield him from the angry world.

“I try not to lead him on.” I paused and then added, “I can’t help it if I’m irresistible.” I grinned then, trying to lighten her mood.

She chuckled darkly. “Joe.” It was almost a sigh.

I waited, knowing this was it. This had been stewing inside her for days. Her mood lately had been more down, more morose than I had ever seen her before. We had been hanging out with Jason and Joe for the summer. Joe just moved here. They were close like Samantha and me, basically brothers. And from the moment we had met him, Joe had taken to Samantha like a moth to a flame. His affection couldn’t be any more obvious if it were stamped on his forehead. But she had seemed to reciprocate his emotion, so I was unsure of her dark mood now.

“I don’t want to hurt him. He’s such a good guy, inside.” She bit her lip trying to hide its trembling.

“Yeah, why do the tough guys have to be so vulnerable on the inside? Why can’t they just be steely all the way through?”

This time she grinned. “He’s like a marshmallow.”

I leaned over and hugged her shoulders briefly. An awkward move perched precariously as we were on the ridge line. We didn’t say anymore, just watched in silence as the sky began to lighten little by little by the waking sun.

Orientation

2009-02-01T22:46:00.001-05:00

Tomorrow was the first day of school, high school. Tonight all new freshmen were gathered in the auditorium for orientation. Even though we all came from the same middle school, there were so many people I didn’t know. I felt like I was drowning in a sea of strangers. My stomach did a little back flip when I realized this was only a quarter of the strangers that I would encounter tomorrow.

I sat obediently looking through the handouts provided, trying to listen to the speaker. Honestly, I just wasn’t that interested. He was talking about school spirit and other such nonsense. I couldn’t help but let a sarcastic chuckle escape my lips.

“Yeah, I know, right?” A girl to my right whispered. I glanced over at her just in time to see her roll her eyes. “This is ridiculous.” She was pretty but not someone I recognized. She must have been on the other team in middle school, because I was sure that I had never run into her before.

I smiled politely and pretended to continue listening to the speaker. Finally it was over. We were congratulated on starting the next step in our educational careers and wished all the best during “the best years of our lives”.

“Hi, I’m Samantha.” The girl on my right introduced herself with a smile.

“Hello, I’m Heather.” I replied. We smiled at each other and made our way out of the crowd toward the exit. “That was miserable wasn’t it?”

“Absolutely!” And with that, Samantha and I were inseparable.

Homecoming

2009-01-31T22:53:00.001-05:00

Wow. This pretty much summed up my feelings. I had gone to dances before. I had even attended homecoming last year. But this was different. This year I was best friends with Samantha. Samantha was not the most popular girl in school, but close enough. Somehow I had been swept up in her perfect, fairytale like world. Tonight we were double dating – brothers, the Harris twins. They were quite attractive and of course popular.

The day had gone by so quickly, and now it was time to put on our dresses and get pictures taken. Earlier we had spent hours getting our nails done at her mom’s salon. This was also a first for me. Getting so much attention made me feel like a movie star. Her mom’s profession was nails, so it was only natural that we get that service, but still, I felt pampered.

Next we spent a few hours on hair styling. Samantha’s hair was a soft wavy brown. She swept it up in loose curls which framed her face perfectly. My hair was naturally thick and straight as a stick. However, tonight Samantha and her mom managed to curl every single piece, securing each strand with a generous application of hair spray and hundreds of bobby pins. Now I felt more a kin to a Chia Pet rather than a high school girl. But they both guaranteed me that the look was breathtaking, so I resisted the urge to run directly to the shower in order to wash it out. What did I know about good hair? I had to trust their judgment.

Samantha was stunning. She was beautiful in a girl-next-door kind of way; totally natural and at ease even as she was often the center of attention. Her dress for this evening was long and navy, simple and understated. It clung to her perfect figure, accentuating her gorgeousness as she glided into the room. “So, how do I look?” She spun around once to demonstrate the alluring way the dress flared out just a bit at the bottom.

“Spectacular!” I exclaimed. Of course she looked spectacular; she looked spectacular in jeans and a tee-shirt. In fact she would probably look spectacular in sweats, covered in mud, and laying in a gutter. I sighed.

“What about me?” I twirled once around as she had. My dress was borrowed from my sister; a sophisticated black number that had a very low back. I didn’t quite have the curves to fill it out properly, but I thought it looked OK.

“You are amazing!” She smiled and came over to give me a hug. Her tone was honest, warm, and helped relax me a little. I took a deep calming breath. I did feel pretty amazing.

Breakable

2009-01-29T21:14:00.000-05:00

Dinner was thankfully almost over. This time of day was bad for me, I wasn’t sure why. Sitting at the table with my family shouldn’t be so uncomfortable, but for some reason I always felt anxious. It’s not like there was much conversation, and the lack of talking didn’t bother me either. This was more a physical aversion to nightfall.

I picked at my meal as my stomach did flip flops. Mom kept glancing at me, worried. Eating was making me sick. Every night for the last few months I felt nauseous after dinner. I was hungry, but after forcing food down, it often didn’t stay there. It concerned me, but I couldn’t fight it anymore, I knew I would get sick, and that was all there was to it.

Of course Mom and every other responsible person thought I was going through some sort of teenage angst, rebellion by starvation. This was simply not true. And as much as I tried to convince them, it seemed my efforts were fruitless. My explanations sounded more like excuses to them. And it only seemed to be getting worse.

My legs would not sit still. They were restless, my feet banging against the rungs of the tall bar stool. As much as I tried, I could not force them to settle down. It almost seemed like keeping them in motion made me feel just a little bit better. I knew this sounded ridiculous, completely contradictory. But by continually moving, my body was calmer, more relaxed.

Finally everyone was finished and withdrew from the table. I was left alone to do the dishes. This was one of my only chores, and I truly abhorred the task. My dislike was not due to the work itself, but rather to the dirtiness of it, the mess. The unease in my body was almost unbearable now, I thought I would be sick right then, unable even to make it upstairs to the bathroom. It felt as if electricity was racing through my veins instead of blood. My body was alert, restless, and lacking fine motor control.

I forced my hands to be steady and careful when handling the tableware. The first task would be to put away the clean dishes. This part I didn’t mind so much. Everything had its place in the large country kitchen; plates and bowls here, pots and pans there. I went about the task quickly but carefully. I let the energy in my body leak out by banging the cabinet doors closed behind gently placed dishes.

I was getting the coffee pot out of the dishwasher when Mom came back into the kitchen. “Heather, please, can you keep it down in here?” She was irritated at my outward show of what she took as anger. Her tone was warning, yet confused.

I didn’t understand any more than she did. What was wrong with me? Slowly I turned around to face her, the coffee pot still clutched in my hand. I was going to tell her that I was ok, I just didn’t feel well. I wanted so badly for her to understand or at least to hear me try to explain what I was feeling. Suddenly the glass of the pot shattered into a thousand tiny pieces. I was so startled I dropped what remained of the plastic handle I was gripping. It clattered to the floor.

We both just stood there, staring in disbelief. I didn’t drop the pot and break it, did I? Did it break – on its own?

Bunny

2009-01-27T21:14:00.001-05:00

It was hot. Hot didn’t really cover it; it was sweltering, roasting, miserable. I had a love/hate relationship with summer. I loved the freedom, I hated the heat. Jason and I were taking a walk around the property with the dog, a big golden retriever. Jason seemed to be enjoying himself, but I was melting. Soon I would be a puddle of sweat soaking into the dry earth.

We walked in silence as talking only seemed to make it hotter. Suddenly the dog took off. He was across the wide yard in seconds. Ugh, how did he have the energy? I didn’t even have the energy to call after him. He stopped as suddenly as he had started, intensely interested in something on the ground.

Jason ran over to the dog. I couldn’t bring myself to run, I just walked slowly. By the time I reached them the dog had run off again, and only Jason remained, his hands cupped around something small and frail.

“What is it?” I asked, peering into his hands. “Wow!” I exclaimed. It was a baby bunny, all curled up and trembling in fear.

“What should we do?” Jason’s face was torn with guilt and worry, “I think it’s hurt. I couldn’t get the dog to drop it soon enough.”

“Let’s take it in to Mom; she’ll know what to do.” We were already hurrying towards the house, the dog and the heat forgotten.

Inside, Mom looked at the tiny creature. Its eyes were still closed, so young. The dog had apparently gotten it in his mouth, and a sharp tooth had punctured the bunny’s tender side flank. Jason was reluctant to let it go, but finally surrendered the creature. Mom cleaned the wound with warm soapy water. It was just a minuscule hole, and it didn’t appear to be hurt anywhere else.

“What should we do?” Jason repeated again, this time with a quaver in his voice. I had never seen him so emotional before. He took the bunny back into his hands with the gentlest of touches. Here was my big tough friend cradling this innocent life like it was the most treasured thing in the world. The combination of brute and babe was almost comical in its absurdity.

“Well, I don’t think we should put it back outside. It will never survive on its own now that it’s hurt.” Mom said thoughtfully. “We will have to take care of it for a while – at least until its eyes are open.”

Jason’s eyes got big, “Do you think it will live?”

“Maybe, it’s hard to tell. Usually when they get wounded so young they don’t live long.” Her voice trailed off as she saw Jason’s face fall. “But, we should try anyway.” She finished saying, trying to put a positive ring in her voice.

I was silent during this whole scene. My mind wandered back to another time I had attempted to save a small animal. A newborn mouse was found in the lawn mower, its eyes still closed. My sister had brought it inside, and I had inadvertently killed it while trying to keep it warm. Guilt swelled over me now. There was no way I would be able to take care of this bunny just to see it die.

“Mom, why don’t we let Jason take the bunny home?” I hoped my eyes didn’t give away the fact that I was more upset than this moment warranted. I knew I would not be able to forgive myself if I couldn’t keep the bunny alive and Mom didn’t seem confident that it would live.

“Sure, good idea,” she agreed, giving me a curious sideways glance.

Her apprehension dissolved immediately when she saw how elated Jason became. He beamed. I could only imagine how he felt. For probably the first time in his life someone was giving him responsibility for another life, trusting him. He took on this responsibility with a glow that radiated warmly from his smiling face.

First meeting

2009-01-21T21:28:00.000-05:00

I sat alone staring out the window of the bus. On one hand I was excited. The first day of school always brought with it a new chance, a new beginning. This was my opportunity to recreate myself, to make new friends. On the other hand I was resigned. This first day of school was likely to be just like all the other first days of school – dreadfully boring and potentially embarrassing.

Unfortunately, the bus driver happened to also be my neighbor. Which meant my ride was long – always the first one on and the last one off. At least I got my choice of seating. I took a seat all the way in the back and slid toward the window.

I looked up at each stop as familiar faces filled up the seats. At the third stop Kristy got on. She was attractive, athletic, popular, everything I was not. She wasn’t what I would classify as a friend, just an acquaintance that happened to be in all my classes. I smiled in surprise as she rushed to claim the seat with me.

“Hey,” she said, smiling back. “Good summer?”

“Hey, Kristy,” I was honored she chose to talk to me and at the same time horrified because I didn’t know what to say. My summer was boring and uneventful. I didn’t want to embarrass myself by admitting that I didn’t have a summer filled with soccer camp and sleepovers. “Eh, you know, it was ok.” The words sounded dreadfully stupid, I blushed.

“Guess what?” She cut me off, clearly excited. I didn’t even get a chance to ask “What?” before she continued. “There’s a new boy!”

“Really? At this stop?” I glanced around, looking for a new face. People were still climbing on.

She swatted at my arm playfully, “Stop, don’t draw attention!” She grinned. “He’s really cute!” Now it was her turn to blush.

“Oh?” I raised my eyebrows at her. Suddenly her face became even redder. I threw a glance towards the front of the bus. Indeed, a new face. “Cute,” I agreed. Then I did what felt natural, I smiled at him.

“Oh – my – god,” Kristy breathed each word as if it were its own sentence; I thought she was going to hyperventilate. I had never seen her flustered before. I had to stop myself from laughing out loud at her. Instead, I turned back towards the front, amused as the new boy took the seat directly in front of us.

“Hey,” he said with a smile.

“Hello.” I replied, nudging Kristy in the ribs with my elbow. “So,” I started, since Kristy was clearly incapable of speaking at the moment, “you’re new. I’m Heather, this is Kristy.” I introduced us, nodding at Kristy. She nodded politely, apparently in better control of herself now.

“Hi,” she said, “what’s your name?”

“Jason – nice to meet you.”

Rapunzel

2009-01-20T21:57:00.000-05:00

“Where’d it go? – The bluebird I should follow – Back home – But where is home?” I sang along quietly with Natalie, getting ready for bed. It was getting late; Mom had long since been sleeping. My insomnia kept me up, my mind was relentlessly active. I figured, at least I could lie in bed and listen to music. Maybe I would even fall asleep.

Clink.

I jumped. It sounded like something hit my window.

Clink.

There it was again. I went over to the curtain, slowly, cautiously. Peaking out, I didn’t see anything at first.

Clink.

I pulled back the curtain, my heart racing. I was sure that it would leap out of my chest at any moment. And then I saw him. Jason – staring up at me; a handful of rocks in his hand, getting ready to throw another. As soon as he saw me, he dropped his hand letting the rocks tumble to the ground. He waved, grinning.

Amused, I opened the window. “Jason?” Of course it was; I felt stupid for asking. Quickly I added, “What are you doing here?”

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair.” His tone was light but his eyes were troubled as he took a quick look over his shoulder.

I giggled. “What is going on?”

“Just let me in please, quickly.”

“What’s wrong? Are you in trouble?” I asked as I turned to get the fire escape ladder out from under my bed. My giggle faded away into concern. I often used this to sneak out, never to sneak someone in. I lowered it slowly, trying not to make any noises that would alert the sleeping dogs downstairs.

“Just let me in – I’ll explain everything.” He threw another nervous glance around him and began to climb up towards the glow of my window. I helped pull him in over the sill.

“Pull in the ladder,” he said, almost commanded. Shocked, I just gawked at him. “Pull it in!” He was at the window frantically reeling the ladder in. With one last fleeting look out into the darkness, he drew the curtains shut.

“Jason – What – Is – Wrong?” I annunciated each word carefully, infusing each with parental authority. It was my turn to sound stern. He had never come here in the middle of the night like this. I was worried, but also somewhat angry that he was ignoring the most important question of the moment.

Sighing, he sat on the floor. “I just,” he started. “I just…think I am being followed.”

“By?” I asked, impatient for a response.

“By,” he looked sheepish, “… the cops.”

“What! Why are the cops after you?” I hissed, dropping to my knees beside him. My mind swam with a hundred ways a teenage boy could be in trouble. What would it be? Vandalism? Burglary? Something worse?

“Ugh!” He exclaimed. “What are you listening to? It’s terrible!”

“Stop trying to change the subject.” I got up and turned off the CD player. “What is going on with you? Why are you sneaking in my window?” I sat next to him again; he looked nervous, ashamed even.

“It’s stupid,” he looked into my eyes. I didn’t say anything, just stared back at him, waiting. “Kim and Brad were – fighting…” he trailed off. This was not something new. His parents often fought, but it never caused him to go running off in the middle of the night before. I continued staring at him, urging him to continue.

“Well, I just couldn’t take it anymore. He was hitting her! So, I – I hit him – Punched him right in the face.”

The look of horror on my face must have alarmed him; he stopped to give me a quick hug and kiss on the forehead before continuing reluctantly, “I wanted to keep going, to beat him until – until he was dead.” His voice was just a whisper now, “But I couldn’t, not with Kim standing there anyway.”

He paused a moment, and then shook his head, “Oh, he was mad, so very, very mad. Kim was begging me not to hurt him.” He emitted a short humorless laugh, “Afraid that I would hurt him! And then, like a chicken, I started to run. He yelled after me that he was going to call the police.” Another pause, “and that if I ever came back he would hurt me so bad, that I would wish I had killed him.” His voice was barely audible, his head was bowed. I wrapped my arms around his trembling body.

“So, you think the police are looking for you?” I asked softly, not knowing what else to say.

“I don’t know. I just – needed to get away.”

Words failed me, I just held him close. We sat there, together on the floor, for a long time. Eventually he started to feel heavier. I realized he was falling asleep so I gently led him to my bed. He started to protest, “Shhh,” I said, “just sleep.”

He drifted off within seconds. I sat on the floor, silent, just watching him, glad he could find some peace in sleep.

Soup

2009-01-19T20:29:00.004-05:00

Mom stood over the stove, slowing stirring the chicken noodle soup. The smell was concurrently delicious and repulsive. My stomach protested loudly. Mistaking the grumble of my stomach for hunger, concern washed over her face. “Please, Heather, just some soup.”

I sighed, then caught Jason’s glance. “I don’t feel well. And really, I’m not hungry.” Truthfully, I was hungry. I hadn’t been eating well. My stomach was almost always upset, and food didn’t like to stay down. In order to avoid the inevitable vomiting, I simply ate very little. Apparently, people had started noticing.

Jason stared back at me with wide eyes as Mom’s concern look started to eclipse his carefree attitude. I shot him a dirty look which quickly turned his eyes away from mine.

“And you too Jason.” Mom started dishing the soup into two bowls for us. She turned around, handing us each a bowl.

Jason took his bowl dutifully and began sipping at it. His eyes bore into mine, searching for answers. I took my bowl obstinately. Annoyed, I took a sip, hoping this would squelch any of Mom’s notions to stay in the kitchen with us. It worked, and she left with only a short glance over her shoulder.

Sullenly, I walked over to the foot of the stairs and sat on the bottom step. Jason joined me. His concern was plain now. He said nothing, just stared back into my eyes.

“Eat your soup, Jason,” I commanded in a motherly tone.

“Yes ma’am.” He gave a small smile and started eating again. I gave him a few moments to enjoy the hot soup. He often ate here. Dinner at his house was pretty much whatever he could find in the usually empty cupboards. “And have mine too,” I added in the same tone of authority. I thrust my bowl at him. “Please,” I pleaded softly.

“Heather,” he looked stern, almost parental, “what are you doing to yourself?”

“Nothing – I’m fine.” I looked down at the floor.

How could I explain to people? I wasn’t anorexic, or whatever they thought was happening now. I simply couldn’t hold food down. I felt sick all the time. Sometimes it was better, and I would eat. Other times, like now, I knew it would end with me hugging the toilet. True, I had been losing weight, and it would be wrong to say I didn’t like being skinnier; but it wasn’t like I was trying to starve myself.

“Please,” I repeated, “it will only make me sick.” I chanced a fleeting look at him. He didn’t understand, but his eyes were kind. In the lightest tone I could muster, “you don’t want me to vomit on you do you?” I smiled riley.

“I’ll eat half,” he agreed, putting one arm around my shoulders in a half hug. “But you must have the other half.”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

Benadryl

2009-01-18T13:10:00.000-05:00

The thing about Jason is that he was a damaged soul like me. Maybe I had some sort of magnet that drew hurt people towards me. Or maybe I was drawn to them. Or maybe everyone is hurting, in one way or another.

We had spent almost every day together that summer. Usually he would come to my house. It was mutually understood that his house wasn’t safe, and he needed to get away. I had told Mom a little about his home troubles, and this made her understand his need to be here. However, my mom was the over-protective type that didn’t want me to ever, ever be alone with anyone who had a Y-chromosome. As much as this annoyed me, I understood. Since she was almost always home to keep a close eye on us, it was here that we hung out most.

Mostly we went for walks, met up with other friends, and occasionally stayed in to watch a movie. Today we were doing the later. “Heather?” Mom called from the kitchen. I sighed and stood. Really I was sort of glad for the interruption, the movie was boring, and I was getting restless. Jason glanced at me, but quickly turned back to the movie, which he seemed to be enjoying more than I was.

“Hmm?” I asked as I sauntered into the kitchen. She looked so serious, for a moment I thought I had done something wrong.

“Ron and I have to go out for a bit,” she said, almost whispered. Ah! I understood immediately, she wanted me to ask him to leave. “Don’t tell Jason, we’ll be back before he notices we’re gone.”

I caught my surprise before it could boil over into my face. “That’s fine,” I said, “no big deal.” At first her look was stern; I thought she would change her mind. Maybe she had glimpsed the flicker of surprise that I had tried so hard to conceal. But then she smiled and turned to sneak out.

When I returned to the movie Jason was still sitting on the couch. But, I noticed, his eyes were red. Was he – crying? No, that couldn’t be. Then he sneezed. Oh. Jason was allergic to cats. We almost always had at least one cat in the house. I was allergic too, but not nearly as bad. “Hey,” I said as I plopped down next to him, “cat’s getting to you?”

“Just a little, it’s fine,” he mumbled, waving his hand at me to drop it. I couldn’t tell if he was annoyed that I was interrupting the most exciting part of the movie, a flamboyant action scene, or if he was embarrassed at his obvious weakness. I sighed and sat back to finish watching the movie.

By the end of the film, he was sneezing and coughing. “Want something to take for the cats?” I asked politely, now that it was safe to engage in conversation without interrupting the action.

“Like what?” He looked at me wearily. I could tell he hated feeling like he was someone that needed taken care of.

“Like allergy medicine,” I said. I bounced up and flitted off to the bathroom before he had a chance to refuse. I thought we had some of the little Benadryl capsules, but I couldn’t find any. All I could find was a bottle of menacingly red liquid with the same name. Oh well, that would have to do. I carefully poured the red liquid into the small measuring cup and returned to him on the couch. “Here,” I said, “drink this.”

He wrinkled his nose. “Come on,” I pleaded, “this is all I could find; it’s the same as the pills. You look terrible.” He took the little cup reluctantly, and drank it down in one gulp.

“Geeze,” he said, “that was terrible. Why so much?” I hadn’t really even paid attention to the amount I realized; I just poured it to the line at the top. Maybe it was too much.

My concern must have been plain on my face because then he smiled and said, “No, its fine, thank you.”

“Want to watch something else?” I questioned. As requested I didn’t want him to know that my parents were out of the house. So keeping him on the couch was the best idea.

“Sure,” he said, standing to stretch. I decided to put in a movie that I wanted to watch this time and settled in.

In less than ten minutes I looked over to find him sleeping, and starting to slump over to his side. Good, I thought, now he knows how I feel watching his pointless action movies. Or, a little voice in my head tittered; maybe I had given him too much medicine. Just then Mom and Ron returned, their car crawling down the stone driveway. I ran out to meet them at the door.

“Hi,” Mom said, “everything go ok?” I rolled my eyes at her.

“Of course,” I replied, “he’s sleeping, so keep your voice down.”

Her eyes were curious. “Why is he sleeping?”

I sighed audibly, “Because I gave him Benadryl for the cats.”

She started laughing. “I guess I don’t have to worry about leaving you alone with boys,” she was still laughing, “you just knock them out with drugs.”

Kiss

2009-01-17T13:03:00.001-05:00

Jason stared back into my face. Too close now. I didn’t understand. Yes, he was my friend – but no, I didn’t want to be anything more than that. I sympathized for him.

We had spent most of the summer together, getting into trouble, hanging out. It was nice, comfortable. He was my very best friend. His family life was hard, too hard for a young boy. Life didn’t hold much acceptance for him. A tough guy, he stumbled through life with a tough guy attitude. But I knew better, he wasn’t so tough.

He knew I knew, and I suppose that’s what drew him to me now. His eyes were deep with a sadness that no teenager should have to feel. I understood better than anyone, because I had my own sadness, my own troubles. I knew what it felt like to be unable to stop the bad things in life from happening. That feeling of helplessness, the desperation.

I looked down at my hands, resting in my lap. “Jason,” I mumbled, “I can’t – I can’t kiss you.”

He stopped then, looked away. The sadness was overflowing, overpowering, I thought it would crush me. Ugh, why did this have to be happening?

Then he said, whispered, “I know, it’s ok…” My head snapped up. My heart started beating again. Did he understand? Of course he did, he was used to disappointment, to hurt. His life was riddled with these emotions, and here I was just another terrible person causing him pain.

He smiled then, a sheepish smile. It broke my heart. He continued smiling as he put his arms around me – surrounding me with his warmth, his protection. He murmured, “It’s ok, I understand.” I hugged him back.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, “I’m sorry –“

Memories

2009-01-17T13:01:00.000-05:00

For unexplainable reasons, at least for now, my memories are very vague before my junior year of high school. As a writing exercise I am going to try to write about some of my more prominent memories in story form.