Eminent Silence

by Tristan Carey

  'No. N-not really.' I said, then paused, looked up at him. 'Are you?'

  Peter raised his eyebrows, glanced away for a moment. He scratched behind his ear. 'Uh, well, yeah, I've thought about it. Seems like it could be fun, you know? I like watching Jeopardy, and Mr. Harrington is pretty cool...'

  'And I'm sure its got nothing to do with Flash being on the team, right?' I raised an eyebrow. 'Or Liz?'

  'W-what?' Peter spluttered, caught off guard. I had learned Liz was on the team only a few days ago, from Michelle. That's when things started to make sense. Still, Peter put up a good show. 'No! I mean, sure, its cool she's on the team, but she - she is not the reason I'm joining. I'm not that shallow -'

  'I'm j-just joking, Pete,' I said, before he could get himself all flustered again. 'It's n-not a b-big deal. I-I just wished whoever was, like, st-stalking me about this w-would just tell me, you know? B-Because clearly someone wants me t-to join. I-I don't know w-why they're being so weird a-about it; first Mr. Harrington, th-then Michelle, and now these f-freaking pamphlets. I-It's like they're a-afraid to t-talk to me or something.'

  'Maybe you just, uh, intimidate them,' Peter suggested, although it seemed rather half-hearted. 'They don't want to make you angry, or something.'

  'In-Intimidate? Yeah, r-right.' I was about to go on how ridiculous that sounded, but I was interrupted by a sudden coughing spell. It last for a good half minute, and when it was over, I was a little out of breath, dizzy. Withdrawing my elbow shielding my mouth, I could feel something warm drip down my face.

  'Whoa, hey, take it easy.' Peter leaned forward, his smile disappearing instantly. He reached over for the napkin dispenser and grabbed a handful before handing them to me. 'Your nose is bleeding, Mia.'

  He sounded calm, even though bleeding noses wasn't exactly normal. Then again, my nasal track had been pretty dry lately, so I suppose I wasn't surprised that something dried up and cracked, bleeding. I took the napkins and pressed them to my face, pulling back once to observe the wet, red stains. 'Huh.'

  Peter sat back in his seat, frowning. He seemed concerned with my lack of reaction. 'Are you okay? I knew you were sick, but I didn't know how badly. Is it the flu again? You got your vaccines last year, right?'

  'O-Of course I g-got my vaccines, I-I'm not an idiot,' I said, bringing the napkins to my face again. At least this didn't hurt. 'But I've b-been having congestion p-problems and other stuff. Mom th-thinks it's just a-a stomach bug. I'll be f-fine.'

  'Maybe we should go home,' Peter suggested, and I could tell from the tone of his voice that he was little freaked out. As if the concern on his face wasn't already a dead giveaway. 'This was a bad idea. I shouldn't have brought you out here.'

  'Oh, r-relax. I'm a b-big girl, I knew w-what I-I was doing,' I muttered, hoping the bleeding would stop before I got home. If Mom saw this, then she was calling the doctor straight away, and I didn't want to put us through that strain again. 'I-I made my ch-choice. And I-I'm having fun. It's fine. Let's j-just finish our f-food.'

  'Are you sure?' Peter's eyebrows pinched upwards.

  'Yes, I'm sure. L-Look,' I pulled down the napkins, seeing the blood flow had already stopped. 'I'm not even b-bleeding anymore. I-I just look l-like a mess.'

  'I'll get some water,' Peter seemed determined to fix the situation, though, and I couldn't convince him to not get out his seat and get a glass of plain water. I just sighed, slumping in my seat and going back to my smoothie. The back of my throat felt a little thick because of the nosebleed, but otherwise nothing had changed.

  Peter came back a second later, and I dipped fresh napkins into the glass, using it to clean the blood off my face. I checked my reflection in the window, before turning back to Peter with a smile. 'S-see? Good as new. Y-You worry too much.'

  He didn't look entirely convinced, but let the matter drop. 'Well, if you say so. I still think you should go home, soon. In case, you know, there's an accident.'

  'I-I'm not a-a doll, Peter. I'm not g-going to break or-or g-get lost if I'm out for t-too long.'

  Unfortunately, we ended up leaving not too long afterwards. We had been out for only a couple hours; I hadn't even wanted to go in the first place, and now here I was, not wanting to go back home again. I guess I wanted out more than I thought.

  Meanwhile, Peter practically had to drag me home. He was all twitchy again, as the sun started to set. We hadn't walked too far away from my apartment; Peter seemed tempted to reenter using the fire escape again, but there was no need, since no one was home and climbing the stairs was easier for me. Also, less terrifying.

  We took our sweet time, with Peter constantly checking on me, as if I might collapse at any moment. I had to shake him off for the third time, on the fourth floor, saying, 'Peter, for the last t-time, I'm fine. It was j-just a little n-nosebleed. I-I can make it to my f-floor on my own.'

  'Sorry, sorry,' he mumbled, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Peter was nervous, but also withdrawn; he was thinking about something, something hard, and something that bothered him. I thought about prompting him, asking what was up, but couldn't figure out how I wanted to say it. By the time we reached the next floor, Peter had beaten me to it.

  I wasn't expecting it, either, when he suddenly blurted, 'Do you ever miss your dad?'

  'I — what?' I did a double-take, pausing on the steps to throw him a funny look. Peter rubbed his face with his sleeve, looking quite unsure himself. 'N-No. Not really. I've n-never even met him.'

  'Oh, no, I meant —' He grimaced. 'Do you ever wish you knew him?'

  I just snorted. 'Why does it m-matter? I-It's not like h-he's coming back.'

  But the look on Peter's face, the hard press of his lips, his hunched shoulders, said that my answer was important to him. He just gave me a long, hard look, and I bit my lip, reconsidered. '…Well, I-I mean, I guess. I-I don't know. He d-ditched Mom as soon as she learned she w-was p-pregnant. J-Just walked right off the f-face of the earth. She d-didn't even know u-until later she didn't have an address for him, or-or even his real name. S-So no, I-I don't really want to know a guy like that.'

  'Even if he's your father?'

  'He certainly didn't care,' I retorted, anger tinging my voice. Why was Peter pressing this? 'My mom w-was so upset she-she burned all her pictures of him. She won't even t-tell me the name he gave her. She doesn't want to find him, and she d-doesn't want me to find him, either. Why? Why do you care?'

  'I don't know,' Peter just shrugged, turning away from me to scowl at the floor. He continued up the steps on his own, and it took me a moment before I followed him. 'Sometimes I just wonder how things would be different if, you know, everyone was here. Our family, I mean. Your dad. My parents.'

  'I-I-I think the one we have is p-perfectly fine.'

  'You don't think you're missing out?' Peter fixed me with a disbelieving look over his shoulder. 'You don't think that there's some possible world, a better world, where you have everyone, and they're there for you, and they know everything about you? That they can be proud of you?'

  Mom was proud of me plenty, I didn't need anyone else's approval. I just scowled, but the feeling of anger abated when I realized what was really going on. It took me a moment to find the right words, and we climbed almost another floor before I could say them.

  'It's o-okay to miss your p-parents, Peter.'

  He started to protest. 'It's not about me —'

  'Peter, I-I love my mom. I love y-you, and-and Aunt May, and Uncle Ben. I w-wouldn't change that f-for the world. It's n-never bothered me that my d-ad i-isn't here, because I never n-needed him. What I have is-is enough. Y-You-You're enough. It's not worth t-time th-thinking about what m-might've been, what'll n-never happen. It's just…the p-past. It's over. W-we have w-what we have.'

  He heaved a long sigh out his nose, leaning heavily against the banister, perhaps accepting defeat. I came to a stop next to him, and we stood there for a moment, and I let him think. Peter reste
d his head against the wall, staring off into the distance. His voice was soft, almost hoarse. 'You don't think we might've had a better life?'

  I frowned. Was he talking about me, how sick I was? How it might've been easier, how I might be healthy, if Mom wasn't single and working on her own? That Peter might be living in a nicer home, with well-off, mildly famous parents? That we wouldn't be two loners growing up together in a world that only got stranger and stranger as time went on?

  Maybe it was all that, and more. I didn't even know if I should be angry, upset, sad, or all three. I wanted to tell him it didn't matter, but it clearly did to Peter.

  I had to be frank. 'P-probably, yeah. But th-then you'd be a-a different Peter, a-a-and I'd be a different Mia. A-and I like you th-the way you are r-right now. Why, d-do you want th-things to be different? D-do you want that p-perfect world?'

  'Sometimes,' Peter shrugged, turning his head slightly to look at me, still appearing discontent. He pushed off the wall, started moving again. 'Everything just feels so…wrong, sometimes. Imperfect. And I wish I could fix it. Make it better.'

  'D-do you think I'm im-imperfect?' My jaw tensed, and I wasn't sure I even wanted to say that, but it was too late. Is that what Peter meant? Was he unhappy with the way I was? Did he wish I was something, someone different?

  'I — no.' Peter hesitated, backpedaled. But I could see the panic in his eyes, the realization of what he just said. 'I mean, it's just — it's difficult, sometimes. And it shouldn't be. Not for you.'

  'I c-can handle d-difficult,' I said, terse. 'I've b-been handling it all my life.'

  'So you're telling me,' Peter asked, looking skeptical. 'That not once, not once in your entire life, you wished it didn't have to be this way. That this life doesn't slow you down, that it doesn't make you feel like, that you feel like…'

  He couldn't finish the sentence, maybe didn't have the guts, but I understood him nonetheless. I grit my teeth; I didn't like Peter questioning my opinion, and I liked even less that he had a point. That he was right.

  I hated it. I hated being called out for being a hypocrite. I hated that he was right, that I was ungrateful, that I wanted something better, even though I already had more than I could ask for. That I didn't appreciate everything my mom, Peter, everyone has done for me, because of me, because of the way I was, and I just wanted a world that was easier for me to live in.

  It was like a pounding in my head, that anger. It wasn't even at Peter, who provoked it. It was at myself.

  'Y-yes.' I admitted after a long silence, climbing up those stairs. We were almost to the top. Although my words were shaky, my voice was cold. 'Yeah. S-sometimes I wish I-I wasn't this way. Sometimes it's too hard. Sometimes I feel like I'm just a-a burden, that everyone who sees me just—just sees some sick little girl who—who can't take care of herself. I've never felt big, or-or strong, or anything like that. Sometimes I-I hate that I don't have it.'

  I could feel Peter's eyes on me, the surprise, but I couldn't meet his gaze. My hands were fists and my steps were sharp and hard. He came to a stop at the tenth floor landing, bring up a hand to stop me. 'Mia, I-I'm sorry, I didn't —'

  'Whatever,' I shook him off, making a beeline towards my door. I could hear Peter follow slowly behind me, him having lost his energy, while I burned.

  I struggled with the lock, before it finally gave. In my frustration, I swung it open, didn't even stop as I stormed in.

  Until I saw Mom, waiting for me with crossed arms in the living room.

  She did not look happy. 'I was wondering where you were.''So it turns out Bob hired a new waitress, and I didn't have to stay as long as I thought.' Mom started out, lightly as though telling a funny story. 'And I come home, thinking it'd just be another easy night, heating up some noodles and making sure Mia gets better. Only, lo and behold, I come in and find the place completely empty, with no note, no message, nothing to tell me where my sick daughter might've gone to in the spare hours I was gone.'

  She glared at me. 'Care to explain yourself?'

  Peter immediately jumped to my rescue. 'It's not her fault, it was my idea, I just wanted —'

  Mom didn't give him time to finish. Instead, she jabbed a finger in his direction. 'And you are supposed to be home with my brother and his wife. What the hell were you two thinking, walking around Hell's Kitchen at this time? It's not safe when it gets dark.'

  She directed this last part at me. 'I thought you knew better.'

  I knew I should've been ashamed. Embarrassed. Apologizing. But I didn't, and I wasn't going to. Instead, I just glared at a corner of the room, hunched up my shoulders and said again, 'Whatever.'

  Mom blinked, caught off guard. She exchanged looks with Peter, but I didn't check to see what it could be. She just huffed, planted her fists on her hips. 'Whatever? That's all you have to say, after deliberately disobeying me? I told you to stay inside, Mia. You're too sick to be outside. It's too dangerous. What were you thinking?'

  'N-not gonna make m-much of a difference.' I muttered, shuffling past her. I was in trouble, and for some reason I didn't care. Why the hell didn't I care? But it was the truth; it just didn't bother me like it should. If this happened maybe yesterday, I might've been crying, entirely upset with myself.

  Now, I just felt heavy. My heart was a useless, rocky lump in my chest. My fingernails dug into my palms, but it didn't hurt. The pounding in my head continued, dull but constant.

  'Excuse me?' Mom pivoted on the spot as I just passed her. I expected she tried to stop me, but she didn't, just continued to gape as I wandered slowly into the kitchen, opening the fridge. 'What is that supposed to mean?'

  Then, to what I assume was at Peter, she added, 'What happened? Where did you two go?'

  'We just went to get some ice cream,' Peter sounded like I should have. Regretful, wincing, easier tone. He wanted to be helpful. I didn't know why. He wasn't very good at it. 'Well, smoothie, really, b-but that's not the point. I, uh…we had an argument, coming here.'

  'About what?' Mom asked.

  I withdrew the orange juice, and slammed on the counter. I wasn't trying to be hard, but it was loud nonetheless. 'About the fact that I'm just a sick little girl who no one wants to deal with, and there's nothing I can do to change that.'

  Okay, so that wasn't the really the truth, but the bile in my throat wouldn't allow anything else out. And it was pleasing to speak without a stutter, even if it only happened when I was angry. At least then, they'd take me seriously.

  Mom's voice was soft, almost a gasp. 'What?'

  Even Peter sounded alarmed. He threw up his arms, shaking his head. 'What? No, no, that's not what I said. I never said that! We just, we were just talking about what our lives could've been. About my parents. A-about her dad.'

  'Why in the world would you ever bring that up?' Mom demanded, and I felt her gaze on me, even though I still hadn't looked up. I refused to, and just reached for a glass on the shelf, as though this were just another evening, completely normal, not taking place in the middle of a boiling fight.

  Hearing their reactions, I was satisfied, but deep in my gut I felt regret. Why would I say that? It was so cruel, and it wasn't even true. Well, not completely true. It was what I felt, which at the moment was apparently trying to rip everyone else apart as I slowly collapsed in on myself. Years and years of stress and pain and endless waiting, finally cracking my framework, the walls I built up, all crumbling down in one final blow.

  And it was such a relief to finally let go.

  'Mia?' Mom's voice broke me out of my reverie again. Her voice was sharp, reproachful. 'Amelia Fletcher, what is going on? Why are you suddenly being like this? The both of you! Suddenly, you're just acting out, starting fights, getting into trouble, saying the worst things! What happened to the Mia and Peter I knew?'

  I just snorted, muttered under my breath. 'Why don't you ask him? I-It was all h-his idea.'

  'Mia!' Mom scolded.

 
Peter just sighed. Even though I wasn't facing him, I could imagine just how he'd run his hand through his hair, tired. 'It's nothing, it's fine, I was just trying to have some fun — I didn't think it'd turn out this bad, or-or that school would get kind of crazy —'

  'Was it you?' I suddenly interrupted him, spinning around. I hadn't been listening to the last of Peter's sentence, simply because another thought had occurred to me. A thought that made my blood boil. Peter stopped, stared at me when I demanded, 'W-was it you who put those p-pamphlets in my locker?'

  'W-what…?' he froze, surprised, his cheeks reddening. Peter was never very good at hiding his guilt, and I knew I was right. 'Mia, I don't know—'

  'Oh, please!' I cut him off before he could give me an excuse. 'I told you what happened from the start, and you just played dumb! You knew about Decathlon, you probably even convinced Mr. Harrington to say something, because it's not like I have any other friends to worry about going behind my back!'