Throughout the entire conversation, none of them asked me if everything was ok, none of them asked why I wasn’t talking to my friends, or why I felt I couldn’t remain in school. They presumed I was dropping out because I was now failing my classes, none of them felt the need to ask why I was suddenly doing badly in school, I guess my mom was worried I’d bring up the grade changing scandal, the same was probably true of my father, but the principal and the therapist? Isn’t it their job to ask those questions?
They decided amongst themselves that it was all down to self-destructive behavior, and I suppose to an extent it was, because I was doing this to myself, I could have told them the truth, been transferred to a different school, but I couldn’t face that, I didn’t have the strength. So I sat there, agreeing to give home schooling a try, promising I would discipline myself into keeping up with the work. They didn’t look hopeful, and truthfully I wasn’t either.
Three hours, a major headache, and a stack of paperwork later, I was officially a high school dropout, because we all knew that I wouldn’t keep up with home schooling, we all knew I was only saying that to get out of the office. I suppose that it says something about my ability to be stubborn, because I flatly refused to listen to any of them, I had made up my mind and as far as I was concerned, that was it.
Did you know that I’d dropped out of high school? I can’t remember if I ever told you that before. I know that you know I don’t go to school anymore, or rather I didn’t graduate last month when I should have, on June 17th to be exact, but I don’t know if you knew why I didn’t graduate. Did you assume it was because I was put in hospital? I guess it’s easier to believe that I left due to illness, rather than dropping out because I couldn’t cope, even though both of the end results would have been caused by the same thing, the same small starting point. The more I think about that starting point, the more stupid and crazy this whole thing seems, not because of how much I let things unravel, not because of now I handled it, not even because of what it caused with its domino effect, but because of the sheer insanity and unimportance of that first domino.
What it all boils down to is that I declined an invitation to a party, it’s hilarious, I actually can’t stop laughing about it, because that’s all it was, and now it seems so ridiculous. A party, that’s what got me here. I didn’t want to get dressed up, and hang out at a party with loud music, and people that I didn’t know. I wanted to stay home and bake, and read a good book. I ended up dealing with months of bullying, I ended up dropping out of school, and I ended up in the hospital, because of a party. Seeing that in writing just makes me laugh. A nurse actually just came in to check on me, because I was laughing, that’s sad isn’t it, that the nurse thinks something is wrong with me because I was laughing, it says a lot about who I’ve become doesn’t it. There it is though, the start of all this made me laugh, because it’s small and irrelevant. My appearance at that party wouldn’t have made a difference to her, if I’d of been there I doubt she would have noticed, in fact I think she wouldn’t have noticed my absence at all, if it wasn’t for the fact that I emailed her to decline the offer, how ridiculous is that, my tendency toward good manners, started this whole thing. My lack of partying brought me to this point. That’s not a good message to me is it, that I should stop being good mannered and party more. Yeah well if this thing has taught me one thing, it’s that I am not going to let anyone change me, you might argue I have changed, but although I lost myself for a while, I feel like I’m getting back to who I was, just a more mature version of who I was back then. Having said that, if I could do it over again, I think I would just go to that stupid party, because if I had then Kim wouldn’t have started bullying me; she wouldn’t have turned people against me, and wouldn’t have taken my friends away. In turn that means they wouldn’t have found out about my mom changing my grades, and even if that had come out, which it probably would have eventually, I would have been able to go to my friends about it, I wouldn’t have already been dealing with stuff I couldn’t handle, and so I would have been better equipped to handle that. In fact now that I look back I am glad it came out, because if it hadn’t I would have cheated my way into a good college, and that’s something I would have hated. Following on from the grades thing, I never would have been told I was fat repeatedly, if I wasn’t suddenly hated by everyone for getting grades inflated, which means I never would have asked my brother for help with the bullying, so I never would have received his poor advice, and I never would have joined that gym. I wouldn’t have felt so strongly that I wasn’t good enough for my parents, and I wouldn’t have stopped eating. If that hadn’t happened then I wouldn’t have gotten to the point where I needed to drop out of school.
All in all I think things would have been simpler if I went to that party. Next time I get invited to a party, I think I’ll go just to be on the safe side.
Now I have to go, because my wrist aches from writing this; my dinner has just arrived, yes I’m eating even when you aren’t here, though the staff here probably lets you know that. I also need to go because my phone is ringing; it’s you calling.
Chapter Fourteen
Session 7
‘You do realize that I can see you watching me, you can pretend to read that book all you want, but I know you’re watching me, you don’t have to, I promise I won’t hide my dinner, I’ll eat it all up like a good little girl.’ River smiles teasingly, though she knows that it isn’t something to joke about, a few months ago she was hiding meals, pretending like she had eaten them when she hadn’t, and his concern for her wasn’t something to be mocked, she loved that he cared enough to watch her, because nobody else ever had.
‘I’ve read it before, I already know what’s going to happen, takes some of the fun out of it.’ He lays the half-finished book to one side, now his full attention is on her, watching her finish her first full meal she’d had in months. Until this point, since the day on the roof when she’d first eaten, she’d been building up to the point where she could eat a full sized meal, not the small portions that he’d been bringing her, to ease her into it, so that she could handle it, and now she had done it, made it through a normal sized portion of pasta and pesto. He couldn’t be more proud of her.
‘Give me the book then and I’ll read it, I’ve never read it before.’ She holds out her hand for it, but he hesitates, moving it from one hand to another, eyeing the pages folded neatly next to her on the bed. It was raining today, a hot summer rain that brought thunder with it, darkening the sky and bringing a much needed break in the heat. It had meant they couldn’t go up to the roof, which had become their custom, and that had upset River, so she was withholding the letter, foolishly thinking that he’d leave earlier because they couldn’t go outside, thinking he’d want to get home before the storm got worse. She knows it’s stupid, childish even, but she’s feeling stubborn today, and she knows that he won’t leave knowing there is a letter here for him, and she wants to make sure that he stays.
‘I think we should do a straight up trade, my book for your letter.’ He doesn’t want to push her, there’s something not quite right with her today, she’s been a little more withdrawn than usual, when he’d spoken to her on the phone the night before, she’d been relaxed and they’d talked for hours, just general banter about books, movies, their interests and other getting to know you stuff. Today she was a little more closed off, so he kept his tone light and friendly. She considered his request, shrugs and stands up, pacing the room restlessly. He could easily reach out and take the pages from her bed, but he respects her too much to do that, and she trusts him enough to leave them unattended, as she walks over to the window and pushes it open, letting in a gust of cool air, which blows through the room refreshingly.
‘It’s so stuffy in here.’ She sighs as she breaths in the air, ‘I wish I wasn’t in here, I wish I could walk about in the streets, getting soaked to the skin.’
‘Then you really are crazy.’ He stands up and comes to her si
de, watching over the city, casting glances at her every minute or so, just watching her drift into a daydream. After ten minutes like this she turns to him, licking her lips and clearing her throat.
‘I didn’t write much, I don’t know why but this part of my story – I think it’s what I’m most ashamed of, I didn’t want to dwell on it.’ She looks down, clasping her hands together tightly, he can see her discomfort, wants to take her in his arms, tell her that everything is going to be ok, but he can’t, and so she just speaks again, ‘I – I’m afraid that you’ll think less of me, and I can’t bear to think of you thinking less of me, looking at me differently.’
‘River, nothing you write in these letters could affect the way I feel about you.’ He notices his slip up too late, he hadn’t meant to say feel, he was supposed to have said think, reassure her that nothing she wrote would change what he thought about her, but the word was there in his mind, bouncing around begging to be set free, the truth on the tip of his tongue, the truth he knows he shouldn’t have revealed, but he did anyway, one word and the meaning behind the sentence is deeper. If she notices anything out of place about his choice of words, she doesn’t pay any particular attention to it, she does become more relaxed, he can see that she’s not so worried about him reading it anymore, yet she still doesn’t move to give him the letter, and suddenly he doesn’t care if she does or not, he’s happy to just spend time with her, it doesn’t have to be about the letters, not with them, not anymore. So fixing a friendly smile on his face, he shoves aside the comment about how he feels about her, and speaks again ‘Shall we play a game of scrabble?’
‘Sure.’ The smile that stretches across her face tells him he’s said the right thing, and they move back away from the window, each taking a seat on either end of the bed, using the space between them as a table, the letter pushed aside and forgotten for the time being.
An hour later River is sat on the chair that Oliver usually sits on, her legs hanging over the side while she reads the book which he’d abandoned. With no other place to sit, he is left no choice but to sit on her bed, so that’s where he is currently sat, perched on the edge of her bed, reading the letter that she’d finally decided to give to him. However it’s taking him a long time to read it, because he keeps getting distracted watching her read. To him she’s interesting to watch as she reads, everything she feels plays out on her face, something which he isn’t used to with her, because even though she’d more open with him now, she still holds back a lot of emotions, and that’s why he loves to watch her read, because when it comes to books she doesn’t hide a thing, everything she feels for the plot or the characters plays out on her face. She smiles, she laughs, draws her face together in worry, her eyes brim with tears, but the thing that he notices most, the thing he can’t stop looking at, is how whenever she reaches a particularly interesting point, she’ll pull the book a little closer, bite lightly on her lower lip and her pale cheeks turn a little pinker. He realizes he could watch her for hours, just seeing her relax into the story, not feeling self-conscious, and not worrying about anyone or anything. It’s beautiful.
‘I must be interesting today.’ Her eye rise to his for the briefest of seconds, before returning to the page she was on, a blush creeps onto his face and he looks back down at the letter, silently forcing himself to concentrate on the words. Now that he is no longer distracted he finishes the letter quickly, clearing his throat once he’s done to let her know. She raises one finger to tell him she’s almost done, flips the page with her other hand and then scans her eyes across the page, a minute later she folds the corner of the already scruffy book, and drops it into her lap. She looks up at him nervously, his face smiles back at her, and she sees the thing she’d hoped for, his expression is the same as it’s been for a while, a mix of pride and kindness. She springs from her chair and wraps her arms around his neck.
‘What’s that for?’ He asks chuckling to himself, his arms slipping into place around her waist.
‘For not looking at me differently,’ she holds on for another minute, then loosens her grip, he does the same and she drops back into the chair, this time propping her feet up on the bed. ‘I was so afraid you’d think I was stupid for dropping out, especially after I learnt you graduated early, and they gave me the chance to study at home, and I didn’t even do that.’
‘Diploma or not, I know you and you are incredibly intelligent.’
‘Try telling my mother that.’ River says offhandedly, but he can tell it still gets to her.
‘Give me her number; I’ll call her right now.’ He holds her gaze for a second, clears his throat and carries on, ‘Intelligence isn’t just grades; it’s not just about how well you do on tests and essays, or even about passing exams. That stuff is important, I’m not saying that it isn’t, but it isn’t everything. I mean did anyone ever consider that the high school setting wasn’t a good fit for you?’
‘What do you mean?’ Her eyes flit to his, her hands fidgeting on her lap.
‘River I’ve seen the books you read, and the notes you put in the margins of them, I’ve read the stuff you write in your notebooks, you’re an incredibly talented writer. I’m just wondering if anyone considered, that you didn’t get top grades on your work, not because you weren’t smart enough, but because the work wasn’t challenging enough. Sure you might not be the best at mathematics, or science, but you are good at English, and I know you have a head for languages, and art. You’re creative and maybe they just didn’t see that.’
‘I’m not like you Oliver; I’m not some genius kid. I’ve just average.’ She shrugs her shoulders, leaning back into the chair.
‘The writing in your notebook is anything but average.’ He looks at her pointedly, ‘There could be a novel in there.’
‘Maybe you aren’t such a genius after all.’ She rolls her eyes, but a smile plays on her lips and her heart speeds up just a little. She avoids eye contact with him, looking at anything else in the room, because she isn’t used to people talking to her like this, praising her like this, and it’s making her a little uncomfortable.
‘I’d like to read more of your stuff.’
‘My parents are coming in tomorrow, you know for their once a week obligation visit, I’ll ask them to bring in some of my notebooks.’ She doesn’t know why she’s offering, she’s never shown anyone her writing before, not her family, not her friends when she had some, it had always been personal to her, yet there was something so reassuring about his voice, something which made her trust him entirely.
‘Thank you.’ He stands up and walks to the window, watching as the now darkening sky lights up with lightening, ‘You know I used to love thunderstorms as a kid, I would go outside and just watch the sky, the dark colors fascinated me, and the lightening seemed thrilling, my parents thought I was crazy, and I probably was, but I’ve always loved storms. It’s not the same in the city though, to get the real effect you need to be outside, in the open, just standing in a field somewhere or actually not somewhere but on the farm in California. Sometimes I think about trying to buy it back, it comes up for sale quite often, nobody seems to keep it running for long, and I think about getting it back, running it properly, before some business man buys it up and turns it into condos.’
‘Maybe you should.’ He didn’t notice her moving, but suddenly she’s at his side, looking out over the city with him.
‘You would love it there.’ His voice takes on a faraway quality, as if he’s recounting a dream he had, and he isn’t quite grasping what he’s saying, his voice is slightly strained as if he’s holding back his emotions.
‘I’m sure I would, from what you’ve told me about it.’ She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, it takes all his strength not to say that maybe she will see it someday, that maybe he’ll take her there, he stops himself because he knows it’s inappropriate, he’s getting too close to that line again, the line separating a patient relationship, with something much deeper and stronger, somet
hing he’s pretty sure exists, but knows shouldn’t, and so will do everything to push it away.
‘It’s getting late.’ He keeps his gaze ahead of him, but he can feel her tense beside him, she wants to tell him it’s not that late, but she doesn’t.
‘Yeah I suppose it is.’ She replies breathing out a breath she’d been holding, barely speaking in more than a whisper.
‘I should probably let you get some rest.’ He clears his throat a few times, risking a glance at her, ‘unless – unless you want me to stay for a while.’ He knows it’s foolish, he shouldn’t offer, he’s supposed to be the one in control of this, he’s supposed to leave, he’s supposed to make sure things don’t get complicated, but the words are out, and he can’t suddenly change his mind.
‘No, you should go.’ She walks away from him, picks up his book and curls up in her bed, they both know she’s being the strong one now, that she’s the one following the unspoken rules, she’s the one being mature now. He hesitates in the doorway, watching her steadily, but she doesn’t look up from the page, she can’t make herself look up, not even when he says goodbye, with a promise of being back the next day, she mutters a quick goodbye and then he leaves.
He arrives back home a while later, after driving round for a while trying to clear his head. He’s pleased that for once he has the apartment to himself, because his sister and niece are having dinner with his parents, and they won’t be back until late. He still can’t find peace though, he paces his apartment for over an hour, before picking up his phone, holding his finger over her number, all he has to do is tap the bright screen and it’ll call her, but his finger stays frozen slightly above the screen. This wasn’t supposed to happen, he wasn’t supposed to become so attached, and yet here he was, desperate to talk to her, just to hear her voice. He shakes his head and throws the phone across the room, angry at himself for letting things get to this point.
How I Got Here Page 12