Old Wounds

by N. K. Smith

She just looked at me for a moment, a seemingly genuine smile gracing her features. “What’s your earliest memory, Sophie?”

  “What?”

  “The first thing you can remember.”

  “Why?”

  “I find memories interesting,” she answered. Sitting back, she folded her hands over the notebook that sat in her lap. “My first memory is of my father opening the front door. I couldn’t have been very old because I remember how big he was, silhouetted against the setting sun. I remember running to him and hugging his leg.”

  I let myself relax just a little, resting back against the overstuffed chair. “I don’t remember anything like that.”

  “But you do have a memory of something. What is it?”

  I cracked my neck before dragging a hand down my face. “If I tell you, will you not call on me during group?”

  “It’s a deal.”

  “I don’t know how old I was, but I can remember a very long car ride. I was crying and I remember my mother was in the front seat.”

  “Was it day or night?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. It was dark inside the car, but lighter outside.”

  “Do you remember anything else?”

  I let the memory play in my head again. It was hazy and warped as I watched my mother’s hair billow in the wind. “Helen’s hair was long.” Taking a deep breath, I shook my head. “Why’s this important? Why do you give a shit about some stupid car ride?”

  “I don’t know if I give a shit about it, Sophie.” My eyes widened at her use of the word “shit.” “I just wanted to hear about it.” She leaned forward. “What’s your best memory?”

  I swallowed. Even if I didn’t want to comply, my mind was already scanning the past. There were very few good memories and of those, it was difficult to discern the best. “I don’t have one.”

  “Do you have a worst memory?”

  “There are too many to choose just one.”

  As my finger ran along the ridge of the now-worn spine, I smiled when I saw Elliott’s copy of Of Human Bondage. Obviously, he’d read it. “Did you like it?” I asked, turning to him.

  He eyed the book. “Y-y-yes.”

  “I thought you would.” I turned and then flopped down onto his couch, staring up at his ceiling. “I like your room.” I had told him that once before, but it was worth repeating. His room was calm and peaceful. There was nothing soothing in Tom’s whole house, much less my room.

  I glanced up at Elliott. Like most Friday nights, he sat on the edge of his bed, looking incredibly uncomfortable. I didn’t quite understand why he didn’t just sit on it like he owned it. I fought the urge to push him back so he’d look like a normal guy hanging out in his room. As tempting as it was, it’d be hard not to straddle him and run my hands over his chest. Everything about his posture screamed that he was anything but relaxed.

  I wondered if I was the one who made him like that. Perhaps he typically sat on his bed cross-legged and looked all kinds of comfy. I didn’t know, and had no way of ever finding out. I couldn’t just ask him if I made him uneasy.

  Turning my eyes back up to the ceiling, I figured I might as well talk about something. “Dr. Wallace asked me about my earliest memory. Does she ask you about your memories too?”

  “Y-y-yes.”

  “Do you tell her about them?” I turned back.

  He shook his head.

  “She wanted to know my best memory and my worst memory. Why would she want to know that shit?”

  Elliott shrugged. “Sh-she p-p-p-probably w-w-wants to get to kn-know y-you.”

  “Maybe she should start just by asking what my favorite color is.”

  “B-b-brown.” He looked at me. “Y-y-you w-w-wear b-brown a lot.”

  What the hell? I sat up and studied him more closely. He wasn’t looking at me anymore; he was busy looking at his fingers which were fiddling with the bottom of his shirt. My stomach fluttered when I realized he’d been paying attention to what I wore every day. It worried me that I was so excited about this, but I pushed the worry back. Elliott had figured out my favorite color by simple observation.

  “You wear gray a lot.” Nearly every day. It probably helped him to blend in; to not be noticed as much. Maybe that was why I liked brown so much. Brown and gray tended to blend in easily.

  Looking at me again, Elliott nodded, his lopsided smile returning. “I l-liiiiiike g-gray.”

  “But it’s not your favorite.” I looked around his room again and confirmed my suspicions. “Your favorite color is blue.” He had a blue book bag, a blue iPod, a blue computer, and a blue bedspread. His car was blue too.

  He nodded. “I-It’s sssssoothing.”

  I wanted to sit with him on the bed. I wanted to position us so that our legs were crossed. I wanted to hold this boy’s hands. Even though I fought against it, I wanted to soothe him like his favorite color did.

  Elliott picked me up on Saturday at nine in the morning. Tom had already left for his day of rock climbing near the Potomac with some of his firehouse friends, so thankfully, Elliott and I didn’t have to put up with his fatherly antics. Apparently my father and his friends were hardcore climbers and didn’t care about the cold weather. Elliott didn’t tell me where we were going, but he did tell me to wear boots.

  He brought me coffee again.

  We drove south on Burnt Hill Road for a bit, but still said nothing. “Are you taking me to Sugar Loaf Mountain?”

  “N-n-no,” he said, his eyes conveying his panic. “D-d-d-d-do you w-w-w-want to gggggo there?”

  I smiled and shook my head, hoping it was enough to squelch his fears of doing the wrong thing. “I want to go wherever you were taking me. This just felt like it was the way to Sugar Loaf.”

  “I-i-it is, b-b-b-but w-we’re nnnnot gggoing that ffffar. I-i-is that o-o-okay?”

  “It’s fine, really, I just…it’s one of the places I actually remember Tom taking me when I was little, that’s all.”

  “W-w-we c-c-can g-go, S-SSSophie.”

  “No, really, wherever you’re taking me is fine.”

  Soon he parked the car and I realized that we were in what looked to be a park or natural wildlife preserve.

  I hadn’t figured we’d be going hiking, but at least I had on my boots. It was fairly chilly out, so there weren’t many people around.

  We had been walking for at least fifteen minutes before I finally asked. “So, we’re hiking?” It was dumb. Obviously we were hiking. Duh.

  Elliott turned and looked at me. I could’ve gone faster and I think he could’ve too, but we seemed to both be intentionally staying side by side. “J-j-just for a l-l-little b-bit.”

  “Tom used to take me hiking and rock climbing every summer. I didn’t take you for a nature kind of a guy. Do you like hiking?”

  “S-S-SSStephen and D-David l-like c-camping.”

  While that was interesting, I hadn’t asked about Dr. Sexy or Big Dalton. “Do you?”

  He shrugged.

  “But you go anyway?”

  Elliott nodded and stepped over a fallen branch. Then he looked back to watch me do the same. “W-we all g-go. JJJaane, R-Rebecca, and Trent t-too w-when he’s allowed. I t-t-try t-to mmmmake the b-best of it. S-S-Stephen d-doesn’t lllike w-when I’m home alone.”

  He was seventeen. It made no sense that Dr. Dalton would treat him like such a baby, but I chose not to comment on it. “Sounds…crowded. Does Rebecca’s mom go too?” I really wanted to call her “Bitch,” but I left it at “Rebecca’s mom” in case Elliott had some kind of fuzzy feelings for her.

  “S-s-s-ssssometimes.”

  “Do you all sing Kumbaya, eat s’mores and do a little group therapy session?”

  He smiled at me and I swear my heart stopped beating for ju
st a moment. “S-s-sometimes, ex-except n-no ssssinging. R-R-Rebecca h-has a terrible v-voice.”

  I was thankful that he wasn’t offended I’d made fun of his family and friends. “So are they cool?”

  Elliott gave me a look and I answered his silent question. “Rebecca and Trent.”

  “Th-they’re o-okay.”

  I kicked some damp leaves out of my way. “She’s a cheerleader.”

  “Y-yes.”

  “Does she act like one?”

  “Sh-she’s o-okay.”

  “Stop thrilling me with your use of adjectives. You make me want to run out and be their friends too. What with them being so ‘okay’ and all.”

  “S-s-sorry.”

  “It was a joke, Elliott.”

  “I-I know.”

  I looked up and saw an amused expression on his face. “So give me something else. They both can’t just be ‘okay.’ You have to know more about them and have an opinion.”

  “B-B-Becca p-p-pretty much h-has one e-e-emotion th-that she l-lets an-anyone sssssee.”

  I smiled. “Does that correlate with the stink-face she’s always wearing?”

  “Sh-she’s nnnot l-like that w-w-w-with p-p-people she t-trusts.”

  “And Trent?”

  He shook his head. “I-I-I l-lllllike T-Trent, he j-just c-c-c-can’t c-c-c-c...H-he’s g-good with JJJaaane. H-he c-can b-br-bring her b-back w-when her mind is sssssomewhere else.”

  Okay, that made no sense. “What? Where does she go?”

  Elliott sighed as his shoulders slumped forward. “J-JJJaane d-doesn’t remember an-anything b-before sh-she w-was t-ten, a-and s-sometimes s-she zones out.”

  I remembered him telling me that her mind worked differently, but what the hell was this “going somewhere” and “zoning out” shit? “What? She’s like ‘not there’ or something?”

  He nodded, facing forward, his eyes fixed ahead of him. I saw a clearing up ahead and figured that was our destination. “Did you find this place on a camping trip?”

  “Y-yes. N-no one else sssssaw it, sssso it’s j-just m-mine. I t-t-try nnnnot to think of o-other p-p-people c-coming here.”

  It would be mine too. There was something exciting about going someplace with Elliott that no one else knew about. There was something absolutely mind-blowing about him sharing something like this with me.

  I caught sight of a stream. It was truly a gorgeous day. The woods thinned a bit by the water and I could see clouds, but not many, and the sunlight made the colorful fall leaves bright.

  “I can’t believe there are still flowers blooming!” I couldn’t stop my feet as they moved me quickly into the sunlight and the flowers. Sitting down, I brushed a few fallen leaves away and touched the delicate petals of one flower, careful not to pull or press too hard.

  “Y-you like f-fl-flowers?”

  “Apparently.” In truth, I’d never cared much for flowers. Sure, they were pretty to look at, but all the ones my mother ever planted withered and died.

  I liked this place. It felt peaceful.

  “I think I’m just amazed that they’re still blooming. And these leaves! I mean, Tampa isn’t anything like this.” When I was by the stream and the sunlight hit my body, I tilted my head up to the sky, as my eyes slowly closed. “And I love the sun.”

  I knew that I wanted to bring Sophie to this little spot by the stream. The fall day made the scene even more beautiful than ever. The oranges, reds, and yellows of the leaves looked so brilliant against the blue sky. I thought that she would like it, but I never dreamed that she would like it this much. Her eyes lit up and her face brightened, and it wasn’t from the sun, but from excitement over something as small as little purple and pink wildflowers peeking out over top of the layer of fallen leaves.

  I hadn’t known her for long at all, but already I wanted nothing but good things for her. She deserved good things.

  Despite her drug use, and her seemingly careless behavior, she seemed like a good person. Other than a few people who had to be nice to me, she was the only person at school who didn’t look at me like I was a complete waste of space. I hadn’t wanted her to, but she had defended me several times and I couldn’t fault her for some of her less attractive qualities. She was no more in control of her drug use than my mother was, and she held no more peace about whatever past haunted her than I did.

  I’d heard about her and Aiden. No one told me directly, but I’d have to be deaf not to have heard the guys in class talking about it. I didn’t know if it was true. I hadn’t wanted to believe it and I still didn’t want to. I didn’t want her to be like that. I didn’t want her to be with Jason or Aiden, or anyone else for that matter, but she wasn’t mine. I couldn’t tell her what to do or who to be. Or who to be with.

  Even though the gossip at school was that she was loose with her affections, I couldn’t help but think that she wasn’t really like that. People at school exaggerated and lied all the time, and I had no proof that she was anything but who she was with me.

  With me, she was a nice person who treated me as if I was normal.

  I looked down and saw she still had her face tilted up. I loved the way the sunlight illuminated her smooth skin. Her eyes were still closed and I could only imagine what she was thinking of in that moment.

  I wished it was summertime, so that she didn’t have to wear her coat. I wondered if the rest of her skin would shine in the sun too.

  I had to stop myself from thinking about the rest of her skin because that led my mind to thoughts it didn’t need to have. It was well-documented that I had very little control over my body, and I didn’t think I could even go on breathing if I embarrassed myself in front of her like that.

  Sitting down on the leaf-covered bank of the stream, I continued to watch her until her eyes opened and she looked at me. She was still touching the flower.

  “This is nice,” she said, her voice nearly too soft for me to hear. “I should’ve brought my camera. We’re supposed to be taking pictures of nature for class.”

  “Ssssorry. I-I-I sh-should have t-t-told you—”

  She cut me off, as she waved a dismissive hand. “Cut it out, Elliott. It would have ruined the surprise and besides, we can always come back another time.”

  She’d just said she’d willingly come back here with me. I felt overjoyed.

  She brushed a stray lock of hair off of her forehead, and then laid back, pillowing her head on her folded arms. “When you were little, did you ever look up at the clouds and make pictures out of them?”

  I tilted my head to look up at the large puffy clouds, and wondered how long it would be until one of them opened up and pelted us with large drops of rain. I thought back to when I had first met Jane. She’d always made a game out of everything. I could remember lying on our backs in the yard of our foster parents’ house, looking up at the sky. The grass had tickled my ears and I busied my hands by pulling up clumps of it.

  “I-I-I never sssssee an-anything other than c-c-clouds.”

  Sophie shifted, turning toward me. “That’s bullshit.” She wrapped her fingers around my wrist and tugged me down. There wasn’t much I could do but lie down next to her. I liked the sound of the leaves crunching under the weight of my body. I’d never been allowed to go outside and play in the fall leaves like other children.

  She let go and then pointed up. “See that one? Tell me what it looks like.”

  “A c-c-cloud.”

  She rolled onto her side to face me, propping her head up with her hand. “You’re a musician, Elliott. Music is creative, which means you have a creative mind. How can you like art if you don’t let your mind make something out of nothing?” She lay back down again and pointed. “That is abstract art. So what do you see?”

  I sighed. “I-I-I don’t kn-know.” That
was a lie. I could see pictures in the clouds, but I had learned while playing the game with Jane that I didn’t see what everyone else saw. Jane saw bunnies, dragons, boats, and trees. I didn’t see any of those things. Every cloud was interpreted in my mind as something painful.

  I felt inadequate, but that was normal for me. I would have given anything to be able to tell Sophie that I saw a horse or cat, but I couldn’t. I heard her take in a deep breath and I hoped it wasn’t in preparation for telling me how truly defunct I was. I already knew.

  “See that cloud?” She pointed again. “That’s a guitar. And that one? That’s Chris Anderson’s head getting smacked by a volleyball.”

  I squinted. “I don’t see either of those.”

  She chuckled and I looked over at her. “That’s because I’m fucking with you.” She paused. “They’re just clouds.”

  I shook my head. I didn’t want her not to see pictures in the clouds. I wanted her to see horses and bunnies and guitars.

  We were silent for a while and although I wanted to keep looking at her, I forced myself to stare up at the sky.

  “Soooo,” she began, “we established yesterday that you like gray, but your favorite color is blue and mine is brown.” The leaves rustled next to my ear. She was on her side now, looking at me. “What’s your favorite fruit?”

  I couldn’t help but smile. “A-apple. Y-yours?”

  “Red grapes. Favorite beverage?”

  “I-I lllike c-coffee, b-but S-S-SSStephen w-won’t let me drink it a-all d-day.”

  “I like Pom Juice, but it’s expensive.” She reached out with her finger and touched the purple flower again. “Favorite Lord of the Rings character.”

  “Th-that’s e-easy. B-Boromir.”

  Sophie’s smile widened and she was all sparkly skin and twinkling eyes. “Boromir’s pretty bad-assed. I like Gollum and Faramir.”

  As I chuckled, I realized I felt comfortable with her. “Th-that’s llliiiike good and e-evil, S-S-SSSophie. H-h-how c-can you lllliiiike b-both?”

  She laughed and I was taken in by the sound. “Because everyone’s a little bit of both, don’t you think?”