The Tower

by Lynn Moon

  “They found you in the hallway. They said you must have slipped and hit the wall. You have a concussion. Seventeen stitches on the back of your head.”

  “Can I go home?”

  “Tomorrow. They want to keep you here overnight for observation. Your grandmother put a few things in your bag. It’s late. Go to sleep. Call if you need me. Otherwise, I’ll see you in the morning.”

  I nodded. He looked as if he had just lost a battle. A war that played privately inside his soul. With drooped shoulders, he walked out the door. The father I had started to care about now resembled an old, worn out man.

  My bag sat in a chair that seemed miles away. I listened as my phone beeped from somewhere inside. It beeped all night long. More than likely, more texts telling me to end it all. Definitely, they were not from my friends in New York. They didn’t even think of me anymore.

  The following morning, my father arrived early. My X-rays looked good. No internal bleeding. Therefore, they released me. Again, no school or riding for at least a week. With a list of medical instructions resting in my lap, I stared out the window of my father’s Blazer. The real world only existed outside now. Inside, I maneuvered through a fake landscape filled with hate and confusion. My face refused to smile. I couldn’t frown either. My heart just didn’t care anymore.

  “I wish you could remember something,” he said, pulling into our driveway.

  I studied the tall trees that lined our property. Why couldn’t I be a tree? If I grew flowers and offered shade, maybe others would like me. Everyone liked a nice tree.

  “Pete? Are you okay?” he asked, since I didn’t answer him. “We know it happened after lunch.”

  The sound of the word lunch, made me cringe. The foul-smelling napkin, more vivid than ever, roared through me. The odor still as strong as when it happened.

  “Are you okay? Something wrong?”

  “Just want to go to bed.”

  My grandmother seemed a little distant. She brought me lunch and dinner. Guess they thought I would trip on the stairs or something. I wasn’t allowed out of my room. The tutor, Kate, would return, too.

  That evening, Mike told me to fight back.

  “You’ve gotta stand up to those girls,” he said.

  What did I have to fight back with? They already stole everything I used to be.

  “Maybe,” I replied. It didn’t feel right not agreeing with him.

  We talked only a few minutes before my grandmother told me to go to bed. Saying my goodbyes and feeling defeated, I tossed my phone on my bed.

  My untouched dinner sat on my nightstand. Moving the tray to the floor, I stared over at my computer. Succumbing to my fears, I turned off my computer. Almost eight o’clock, so the texts would be beeping in soon. Therefore, I powered down my cell phone. Mike might call again. But what difference would it make?

  Reading texts from unknown callers was nothing but torture. Each line repeated the same message. Do the world a favor and kill yourself. Would the world really be a better place without me in it? Pulling the covers over my head, I cried.

  When the morning light filled my room, I didn’t want to move.

  “You didn’t complete your homework yesterday,” Kate said, after reviewing my notebook.

  “My head hurt too much,” I lied. I stayed in bed all day. No reason to get up.

  “It’s been several days since you hit your head. Do I need to talk with your father?”

  Giving in, I rolled out of bed. “Fine, I’m up.”

  Wearing sweatpants and an old t-shirt, I slouched over my desk. Geology, math, and English held no interest for me anymore. My hands scribbled on the paper as I listened to her mumble. Accepting my bad attitude as finite, Kate left early. With her car leaving our driveway, my mind ran to my horse. Saddlebag loved me. Saddlebag would take me to my towers.

  Listening to birds and watching planes filled my life now. Up in my tower, high in the sky, peace and freedom surrounded me. No one bothered me up there, not anymore. My uncle didn’t put up a fence, but he did post a few ‘Camera Surveillance’ signs. So no one but me went up there anymore. Of course, the place wasn’t under surveillance. He never installed any cameras. Nevertheless, the signs still scared Christina away.

  One afternoon, my uncle paid me a surprise visit. We sat together on my personal tower. Looking at his old face gave me an odd feeling. He no longer felt familiar to me. He was still my uncle, of course, but in many ways, he was also a stranger. Just before dark, we climbed down and rode back, together. Before entering my room, we hugged. Not one word did we speak the whole time. It seemed that we just didn’t have anything to talk about anymore.

  Attending school again seemed like such a waste of time. My mind refused to concentrate on my work. Why study? However, walking the halls gave others the perfect opportunity to trip me. More punishment. Over time, my body learned how to compensate. I wasn’t falling as much. With no reason to remove the nasty notes from my locker, it was almost impossible to find the lock. Mike tossed several into the trash one day, and I laughed.

  “They’ll just add more,” I said.

  “Probably,” he replied. “At least they’re gone for now.”

  Students snickered as I walked the halls. Sometimes, Mike would holler back at them. But nothing would work. His words, just as ineffective as mine, came off as a joke. They ignored us.

  We discovered the perfect hiding place to eat lunch in peace. A grassy spot between two brick walls shaded by a huge oak tree. As the days faded one into another, so did my hunger. About two weeks after the doctor removed my stitches, I stopped taking a lunch to school. Throwing away good food just didn’t feel right. A soda was enough to keep me going. Although Mike objected, I just couldn’t keep my food down anymore.

  “Pete,” my grandmother said one afternoon. “Are you losing weight?”

  “I don’t think so. Why?”

  Not eating actually gave me more energy. Although my stomach growled, it felt good to be hungry, in a weird sort of way. Maybe if I punish myself, too, this constant pain would go away. Maybe others would like me again.

  CHAPTER 25

  THE TOWERS

  ON A FRIDAY AFTERNOON, a text that frightened me beyond anything else, popped in. As I read it, I couldn’t stop shaking.

  Since you refuse to kill yourself, your family will be punished too.

  My family punished? Selecting textbooks from my locker, I glanced over my shoulder. Mike waved as he dug through his books. I smiled back. He’d probably become a doctor someday, just like his mother. With Charles waiting for me in the parking lot, I needed to hurry. Standing on the school’s steps, I could just barely see his car. As I passed the large oak tree, Charles waved. He didn’t look that old as he leaned against his car. Stepping off the sidewalk, a deathly sound of squealing tires echoed through the lot. I stood helpless, as a red truck with three familiar faces inside, plowed right into Charles. His body resembled a ragdoll as it flew over the car’s hood. A loud bang filled my ears as his head struck the pavement.

  “Charles!” I screamed.

  Each foot weighed a ton. I felt like I barely moved as panic spread through me. Was he dead? He wasn’t moving.

  The boys jumped from the truck that now smoldered from inside Charles’ car. Antwan, that hateful boy from DA, flipped me the middle finger. He screamed out something, but I couldn’t understand him. The other two boys laughed and hollered profanity as they ran away.

  “Charles, please, Charles …” Resting my head on his chest, I screamed. Charles was seriously injured and it was all my fault.

  Blaring sirens sliced through the air as people swarmed around us. My afternoon grew darker, and I didn’t remember how I got home.

  That evening, my dad returned much later than normal. As I rested on my bed cuddled inside my uncle’s embrace thinking the worse, that Charles had died and I killed him, my dad entered my room. It was just before midnight. With his swollen eyes and a face filled with gloom, my he
art pounded. It wasn’t until he gave us a little grin that I breathed again.

  “He’s hurt bad. But, he’ll survive.” My dad rested his hands on his hips as he talked. “The truck was stolen, of course. Witnesses said three boys jumped out. Did you recognize them, Pete?”

  “No.” I prayed he wouldn’t see past my lie. Of course, I recognized the boys. If I had told on them, what would they do to me, or to my family that would be even worse?

  “Thank God you were not in the car when it happened.” He leaned over and kissed the top of my head. “Our car’s totaled, of course. I’ll have my office order a new one. Darn kids … the police and my investigators are on the case. You sure you didn’t recognize them, Pete?”

  I shook my head.

  “Nothing more I can do tonight. Before I forget, Teddy can you pick Pete up tomorrow?”

  “No!” I screamed out. If something ever happened to Uncle Ted.

  “This was just a freak accident, Pete,” my dad said. His blood-shot eyes watered as he stared down at me. “Those boys stole a truck and took it for a ride. It happens all the time around here.”

  “I don’t want anyone else getting hurt because of me.”

  “Because of you?” Uncle Ted’s arms tightened. “Why would I get hurt because of you? Close your eyes and try to sleep. You’re just tired. Your imagination is running wild.”

  I couldn’t sleep. When I closed my eyes, Charles’s body would flip over the car again. He should be here, in this house, asleep. Not in a hospital room. Why did I ever have to come here in the first place?

  Pretending to sleep, my uncle finally left me alone. It was a little past one in the morning. My nerves on edge, I couldn’t settle down. There was only one-way to release the pressure; I needed to escape. Jumping from the bed, the cold floor shot little needles into my bare feet. Outside, the lights dimmed and flickered out, timers.

  After changing, I snuck out the back door. The cool air tickled my face. Winter had finally arrived. Halloween and Thanksgiving had sucked, so I wasn’t looking forward to Christmas. If I still lived in New York, I’d be decorating with my mom and friends. Holidays now were just another day to be despised.

  Maybe I could fix things. If only the possibilities were as solid as the ground under my feet. Falling leaves flew across my path as if applauding my decision. A full moon lit the ground showing me the way. Mother Nature seemed to be agreeing.

  Not wanting to disturb Saddlebag, I walked down the long, dark path alone. I smiled as I stared at the towers that ascended high into the clouds. Their dark coldness matched the evening air. Each step took me a little closer to my true destiny, to what I knew I had to do. My deep pain would soon be gone.

  My legs and knees ached. No peaceful sleep for me tonight. What happened to Charles was my fault. My fault and I knew that now. Counting the rungs, I resisted my yawns. Almost to the top now. Stopping to catch my breath and give my knees a rest, a slight wind caressed my face. Glancing out at the skyline, I still felt numb.

  Reaching the top, I sighed as the grade pinged against my shoes, testing my comfort zone. Hot and sweaty, I rested my cheek against the cool slender pole. If only I could become part of this tower. Merge my body into the metal and disappear. I could mix the tower’s strength with mine, and maybe, just maybe, become whole again. I needed its power to resist the demons that followed me.

  Stepping up onto the center railing, I froze. “Who’s there?”

  No one, just the sound of the wind flowing through the trees.

  “Hey, you towers,” I yelled. “Were you put here just for me?”

  Silence … I laughed. In a way, I wanted my towers to answer me. Did they support my decision the same as they supported my weight? Why wouldn’t they? Mother Nature seemed to be behind me.

  Bending my knee, I stepped onto the hand railing. A skinny ladder leading up to a small light helped me to balance. Leaning against the slender pole, I cringed as the metal pushed against my feet. The thought of a gym’s parallel bar flashed through my mind. What a funny thing to think about. I hadn’t taken a gymnastics class since I was seven. Balancing on the thin railing, my feet wobbled as I released my grip on the pipe. My arms floated in the cool air. Closing my eyes, I felt free.

  Opening my eyes, I had to blink several times. Were my eyes playing tricks on me?

  “Mom?”

  With her hair floating in the breeze, my mother smiled. She reached out her arms. Did she want me to come to her? Still beautiful and young, pain slapped against my pounding chest. I missed her so much. Tears fell as I longed for her warm hugs and soft words. Her voice that used to give me strength.

  “Mom?” I whispered.

  Only the sound of the night’s wind touched my ears.

  “Mommy, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  Again, nothing. Just a dead silence. Staring into her beautiful face, I couldn’t understand why she wasn’t talking to me. Was she still angry?

  “I ruined everything, didn’t I? I shouldn’t have asked about Dad. I know that now.”

  My heart pounded. Why wasn’t she answering me?

  “Can’t I take it back, Mom? Please, let me take it back. Take me home, Mom. Please.”

  I needed her to take away this awful pain. Why was she just staring at me?

  “If only my skin was black, like Daddy’s. You’d still be here, right? Maybe you’d still be alive.”

  Chills ran up my spine as the night’s coldness enclosed around me, pushing on me.

  “I didn’t mean to kill you, Mommy. Please, forgive me. Don’t leave me here alone.”

  Reaching out, I leaned forward. The bottoms of my feet ached as the skinny bar pushed back against them. Were the towers urging me to go? Leaning even more into the wind, I took a small step.

  “Mommy!”

  A MESSAGE FROM THE AUTHOR

  When I first heard about a twelve-year-old girl jumping from a water tower in Florida, I was horrified. The thought of how hopeless that child was, to believe she must do such a thing consumed me every second of every day. Because of that one child’s torment, my book is dedicated to Rebecca (Becca) Sedwick.

  The Tower, of course, is fabricated, pure fiction. Just another tragic story about a bullied eleven-year-old girl. Although the story is quite exaggerated, the emotions and chaotic thoughts experienced by my young character are real. The problem of childhood bullying is epidemic. It is pervasive from as early as pre-school to post-secondary school. And, once a pattern of bullying behavior is set, that bully will enter work, marriage, and life as a bully.

  According to the organization Stop Bullying (www.stopbullying.gov), 28 percent of U.S. students in grades 6-12, and 20 percent in grades 9-12, have experienced some type of bullying. That means that almost one quarter of our nation’s children are harassed in some form or fashion every day. Would you believe that 15 percent of high school students have confessed to bullying their classmates? Why is this even happening? What kind of sadistic satisfaction does an individual receive from torturing another? What would you say if I told you that over 70 percent of school staff and their students have admitted to witnessing some type of bullying? The real problem with this societal issue is that no one is stepping forward to stop it.

  According to Bullying Statistics (www.bullystatistics.org) and the Center for Disease Control (CDC), suicide is the third leading cause of death among young people: about 4,400 deaths per year. One child dying from bullying, in my eyes, is too many. Want to hear something even more terrifying? For every successful suicide, there are at least 100 children who attempt to kill themselves. Fourteen percent of high school students across the U.S. have stated that they have considered suicide, and almost 7 percent have attempted it.

  According to a recent Yale University study, bully victims are between two to nine times more likely to consider suicide than a non-victim. A study in Britain found that half of child suicides are related to bullying, and young girls are at a higher risk. ABC News recently reported t
hat over 160,000 children stay home from school each year because of the fear of bullying.

  These days, bullying is so much more than just name-calling. Reciting the old poem, ‘Stick and Stones,’ will no longer work. Our children are now subjected to physical assaults where they experience tripping, pinching, kicking, and pushing. Some children go as far as to damage and deface their victim’s personal property. Social bullying is where children are subjected to nasty jokes, lies or rumors, and where the bully encourages others to ignore and shun their victims. Cyber bullying is quickly becoming the most damaging. Cyber bullying is similar to social bullying, but includes posting terrible things about a child on social websites. The postings are crude and most of the time, false. What this means is that there is no safe place for a victim of bullying, especially a powerless child.

  One trend that totally disgusts me is when the bullying continues after the child is buried. As an example, Rebecca Sedwick’s bully posted online that she was happy that Rebecca was dead. In another case, students wore a noose around their neck at school after a young boy committed suicide. Then there was the incident when a young girl attending a school dance was serenaded with chants about her brother’s suicide. Have we lost that much of ourselves that we are now incapable of relating to another person’s miseries or fears?

  As a society, we must realize that these schoolyard bullies will one day become a part of our everyday life: a co-worker we will have to deal with, a dentist who will drill on our teeth, a lawyer who will represent us, or a police officer who must protect and serve. What a terrifying thought. In the converse, children who are bullied may become an adult who bullies, abuses power, or becomes an individual who perpetrates abuse. So the pattern of behavior continues.

  Some anti-bullying organizations discuss the warning signs that children supposedly exhibit after being bullied. In the cases I’ve researched, many of the parents had no idea their children were experiencing anything unusual. Some parents stated they honestly did not see the suicide coming. Imagine yourself returning home from work and finding your child not breathing. What would you do? How could you live with yourself? Remember, children are masters in the art of hiding things from adults.