Sean Griswold's Head

by Lindsey Leavitt

  “But I really want to make it clear here. You. Wrote. About. My. Head.”

  “Yes.” I close my eyes and brace myself for the inevitable attack.

  The onslaught of words.

  The anger. The hurt. The grief.

  After a few seconds of nothing, my curiosity and thirst for drama motivates me to peek out of one eye. Shockingly, Sean is grinning.

  “That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard! Can I read it? Where is it?”

  “It’s in my—wait—but I just … aren’t you mad?”

  “Sure, I was upset. But I thought you were using me. Were you?”

  I pause. “A little, actually. At first. I was using you for therapeutic research, which is a noble thing to be used for, right?”

  “A true honor.”

  “But it’s different now. It’s bigger than that.”

  “Bigger than my head? Is that possible?”

  “I mean it. I can’t explain how, but keeping this journal, it’s given me something else to think about. Besides what’s going on at home. And it helped me get to know you better. That’s been the best part.”

  He laughs. “Here I’m thinking you’re calling me a loser and running to your counselor for a laugh. But a—what did you call it?”

  “A Focus Exercise. Well, a Focus Object.”

  “Oh wow, that’s just brilliant.”

  “How did you know?” I was so careful around him. Someone had to have told him. Not Ms. Callahan—that’d break some sort of confidentiality. Grady or Jac. Jac. I still think it’s Jac. She had more to gain, plus there was her iciness outside of bio. That quick run-in was probably what motivated her to tell Sean.

  “Doesn’t matter,” he says. “What we really need to be thinking about is how I’m going to forgive you.”

  “Forgive me?”

  “Where’s this journal?”

  “Sean, I would, but it’s personal.”

  “It’s my head.”

  “It is, but—I can’t.”

  “Just one page. Come on.”

  I grudgingly take the notebook out of my backpack. What just happened? I’d worried forever he’d be so upset about it and here he is laughing at himself. I read him the first entry, the outline about his head, and he snorts so loudly at the toilet bowl line that the last few remaining students look over at us.

  “What are you doing now?” Sean asks, placing his hand on my back and leading me out of the hallway. How is it every time he touches me I become so aware of that body part? It’s just my back. What am I going to do when … if we ever kiss?

  I lick my lips. Ten minutes ago I thought he would never talk to me again, and now that possibility is back out there. Seriously, he is so perfect. “Grounding doesn’t end until tomorrow, but I bet my mom will let me off if I say we are doing homework. Why?”

  “That’s good. Go check in. Bring that notebook. First we’ll burn it, then celebrate by watching the TBS Seinfeld marathon in my basement.”

  “Burn it? I don’t want to burn it.”

  “Well, either way I’m going to buy you a new one for your next Focus Exercise.”

  “Which is?”

  “We’re going to work our way down. Next up—my neck.”

  I change three times for our after-school hangout/book burning/date. I finally settle on my favorite pair of jeans with my red SERENITY NOW shirt. This is it. I know it. With the PFEs out in the open, there’s nothing between us anymore. I can almost taste his peppermint sweetness.

  My top lip sweats thinking about it. I wish I knew what to expect. Where should I sit on his couch and what direction do I move my head and do we wait for a commercial break or does he really just want to watch Seinfeld?

  I’m about to bike over to Sean’s to have all these questions and more answered when he calls me. “Hey.”

  “Hey, I’m on my way over.”

  “Can we rain check it?” Sean asks.

  My stomach drops. “Why?”

  “I’m sorry. I’ve got to go back to the doctor.”

  “Back?”

  “Yeah, I went last week because they wanted to run some tests on my headaches.” He pauses. “They think they might know what’s up, but they want to send me to someone else, this specialist, just to be sure. No big deal.”

  No Big Deal. I know very well what No Big Deal can become. “Are you going to be all right?”

  “What? Oh, yeah.” He voice is distant. “So we’ll watch Jerry tomorrow, ’kay? I can’t tell you how excited I am to hang out with you.”

  “Yeah, sure,” I say.

  “Great. Can’t wait. Serenity now, right?”

  “Bye, Sean.”

  PFE

  March 14 5:23 PM

  Talk about a counterproductive project. I’m supposed to be focusing on Sean to get over my dad’s illness, only to discover Sean is sick too. His doctor is sending him to a specialist (ominous, right?) because he gets headaches. So, I looked up causes of chronic headaches and this is an annotated list of what I found …

  REASONS FOR HEADACHES

  — Brain Tumor

  — Neurological Disorders

  — Migraines (can be caused by stress, which can be induced by a high-maintenance relationship, i.e., me). These also can be a symptom of much greater conditions.

  — Other reasons that disprove my theory so I’m not listing them here.

  Isn’t it bizarre that I’m focusing on his HEAD and he gets HEADACHES? Is this some kind of twisted joke?

  This is why I never wanted to get a dog as a kid. Dogs die. And I’m not calling Sean a dog or saying he’s going to die, but this really has just made me realize something.

  Here’s the thing:

  By liking Sean, I’m just setting myself up for a loss. Maybe it’ll happen from a rare brain tumor. More than likely it’ll be in a few months when we decide we’re over each other. Or even more likely, he’s over me. Whenever it happens, however it happens, it’s going to hurt. I’ve seen how it works with my dad. Why am I opening myself up for it to happen again?

  PFE

  March 14 7:12 PM

  Never mind.

  • Sean’s the one who makes me feel secure when everything else isn’t.

  • He introduced me to biking. He GAVE me a bike/valentine.

  • He’s tried to help me work on things with my dad.

  • He knows Seinfeld episode numbers!

  • He’s wonderful and cute and kind and perfect.

  I’d be nuts to let that all go.

  Nuts.

  I wrap my threadbare yellow robe around me. It’s past seven, and I have not heard a peep from anyone else. Normally, I would be tickled to have such privacy, but there is an eerie emptiness in the silence enveloping my home. I suddenly want to fill the void with endless chatter. To tease Trent, or maybe even tell my mom about Sean.

  I slam my bedroom door shut and stomp down the stairs, waiting for someone to yell at me to cut out the noise. I want Trent or my parents to take one look at me and ask what is wrong and I want to spill it out and let the comfort roll in.

  “Anyone home?” I call after all my thumping and stomping has failed to get me noticed. “Trent? Mom?”

  I walk by my parents’ room and hear a muffled noise coming from the master bath.

  “Mom? Where is everyone?”

  I poke my head into the bathroom and discover that the “noise” is my mother sobbing into one of the just-for-looks hand towels. Of course this freaks me out. Like I said, she isn’t a crier. Even more frightening is the fact that my germaphobe mother is lying down with her cheek pressed to the bathroom tile. She’s in her workout clothes, spandex capris and a GO GREYSTONE WILDCATS! T-shirt, headphones still in her ears. It takes her a moment to register that I’m in the room, and when she does she still doesn’t move.

  “Mom? What’s going on? Why are you crying?”

  She finally pulls herself up and leans her elbow on the toilet seat. “Come give your mommy a hug, honey.” />
  No one, least of all my mother, has referred to her as “mommy” since I was five. I kneel down and she dwarfs me in a hug so stifling, I let out a gasp.

  “Mom?” My voice is shrill. “Seriously, you’re scaring me.”

  She jerks away from me and looks down at the tile. “This floor is disgusting. I can’t remember the last time I cleaned it.”

  “Look at me!” I yell, and she finally looks me in the eye. She doesn’t have to say anything, I already know. “It’s Dad right? Is he all right?”

  “He’s okay … he’s … This toilet seat looks diseased.”

  “Mom!”

  “We aren’t going to Florida,” she says dully.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  The next hour is spent trying to coax my mom out of the bathroom. Once she stops crying, she insists on scrubbing the grout between the tiles, squeegeeing the shower door, and Windexing the mirror. She’s about to reorganize the already alphabetized medicine cabinet when I physically force her out of the room and into her bed. She tucks the covers under her chin and lets out a deep sigh.

  Her freak-out consumes me up to this point. Once she calms down, I realize I have no idea what happened to my father. It’s like when you get an injury playing sports but don’t realize how bad it is until after the game. The adrenaline blocks the hurt. That, or the cleaning chemicals just warped my brain. “Mom? What happened?”

  She blows her nose into a soggy tissue. “Oh, honey. I’m sorry you just saw that. Your father had another episode. This time he went numb and … blind in his right eye.”

  “Blind!”

  “Which is most definitely temporary, shouldn’t last more than a day or so, but it’s the first time he’s had this symptom and he couldn’t concentrate on his patients. He sat down and when he went to stand up again he … couldn’t. Trent left to pick him up from work and take him to the doctor since Dad obviously can’t drive. Anyway, the meds he’s on don’t seem to be helping, so we’re thinking about going to a specialist in San Francisco. And spring break won’t be happening.”

  I exhale. I knew this would happen. I knew spring break wasn’t going to happen. It was just a lofty daydream. Specialist. It’s the second time I’ve heard the word today. It’s so sterile and cold. And yet some random stranger would decide my family’s fate. Would decide Sean’s fate. “Why’d you freak me out like that? The way you were cleaning that bathroom, you’d think you were getting the house ready for his wake.”

  My mom shudders at the word. “Don’t talk like that. Your dad will be fine. Just like before.”

  “Just like before …,” I say, but leave it at that. Nothing will ever be like it was before. We both know it.

  “Hey, I’ll be right back.” I retrieve Dad’s shirt from my room and slip it on. Mom looks at me funny when I come back.

  “Isn’t that your dad’s shirt? He’s been looking for it for weeks.”

  “Yeah.” I crawl under the covers and snuggle next to her. “You think he’ll care?”

  “Are you ever going to give it back?”

  “I’ll buy him a new one. This one … I need this one for now.”

  Mom nods and changes the subject. “Where have you been all afternoon?”

  “At home. In my room.”

  “I thought you were going over to Sean’s house.”

  I swallow. “Change of plans.”

  “You two get in a fight?”

  I shut my eyes and don’t answer for a while. It’s like I’ve experienced the three degrees of burns. Finding out about my dad’s disease and lie was the first degree and it stung, finding out about Sean’s headaches was the next, but now, with my dad relapsing again, I’m on my third degree, the one where the nerves are so scorched there is no sensation.

  “Mi sol?” She strokes my hair. “Tell me what happened.”

  Sometimes, the only thing worse than pain is its absence. By opening up, it’s like cutting myself to make sure I still bleed. So I do. I lay it all on the line. No more silent treatment. I tell her about the Focus Exercises, about the field research at the Hall of Terror. I tell her about Jac and the valentines, the real reason I wanted out of counseling. I tell her about the bike rides, the time Sean and I almost kissed, how he said he likes me and how he laughed about the PFEs. I tell her he’s perfect.

  I don’t tell her about his headaches. Or about the struggle I just had in my journal.

  My eyes are wet, and so are my mom’s and we cry together, nestled under the covers, nestled there until Trent and Dad finally get home. Dad looks like a pirate with a patch over his eye and a black cane at his side. They climb into the bed to share a crowded Chinese feast.

  “Hey, that’s my shirt,” Dad says.

  “I’m borrowing it. Is that cool?”

  His good eye crinkles a bit. “Maybe if you wear it, they’ll actually win a game.”

  My dad looks the same, more tired, but you wouldn’t look at him and say—That man looks sick. Except when I see my mom cut up his food for him and I think—That man, my dad, is sick.

  No one mentions the tears, and no one mentions the spring break that never was.

  I wait for Sean at his locker the next morning. He looks like a mythical god today, his blond hair glowing and his smile alight. I want to kiss him so bad, but I don’t. I can’t. I need to be strong.

  “Hey!” He leans against his locker, intoxicating me with his new bike scent. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing. How was the doctor?”

  “They didn’t detect any superpowers.” He winks. “No big deal. I’m sure everything is fine. So we still doing Seinfeld this afternoon?”

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” I look down at my nails. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  “Don’t tell me you want to watch Friends instead.”

  “No, not that.” I try to look back up at Sean, but I can’t quite make eye contact. I focus on his forehead instead. “I … actually, I don’t think us hanging out … period … is a good idea.”

  Sean’s smile fades. “Why?”

  Why. Now there’s the question. Because last night my dad came home looking like Bluebeard the pirate and I don’t want to see someone I like/love hurting like that ever again. I know if I said that out loud, it would sound completely crazy. I don’t think it’s the most sane, or even best choice I’ve ever made, but I thought about it all night.

  It just seems stupid to open myself up to the potential for more pain. So maybe he doesn’t have a brain tumor, maybe it’s just headaches. If there isn’t that problem, there will always be another—Jac drama or Focus Exercises or … anything. Anything can come between us and I can’t control that. Here, now, THIS I can control.

  Now my heart breaks on my own terms.

  “Because, because I was using you for my Focus Exercises,” I say, stumbling on the lie. “That’s what this was all about. That’s why we were even … friends. So I think it’s best, you know, if we both just kind of move on.”

  “If this is about your focus things, I already told you I’m over it.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not.”

  “You’re not,” he says.

  “No.” I raise my chin. “I can’t write about you anymore, and that’s why we were hanging out anyway.”

  “All right.” Sean runs his hand through his hair. “All right. Is this about something else? I’m really confused.”

  “No. It’s just … you’re just going to get in the way of what I need to do. I need to be alone.”

  Sean takes a step closer to me and lowers his voice. “Look, if you need space, I can give you space. Call me the space man. I know things are tough but—”

  I don’t deserve him. I don’t deserve the worried look he’s giving me. I really wish he would stop being so wonderful. “Yes. Space.” I try to make my voice flat. “For good though. Forever. Nothing personal.”

  “Nothing personal, huh?” Sean asks, his voice catching.

  “I’m sorry, but
… I’m sorry. That’s how I feel.”

  I’m reminded of the movies where the main character takes in a wild animal and for whatever reason, has to let it go. They go out to some field, usually at sunset to serve some metaphorical purpose, and lets the animal loose before turning away. The animal doesn’t budge so the person starts yelling at the animal, “Go on, boy. Get out of here. We don’t want you!” And the animal doesn’t understand, thinks it really isn’t wanted when really, really that couldn’t be any further from the truth.

  Sean looks away from me. “I think I know why you like Seinfeld so much. You’re just like Jerry. You have something good with someone and let the tiniest flaw ruin that. I don’t know what checks I have against me, what you see wrong with me, but just so you know, everyone has flaws.” He shakes his head, and I die a little inside when he turns away from me. He pauses before looking back and saying, “Everyone, Payton. Even you.”

  It’s the truest thing he’s ever said. Except, he’s not flawed—he’s so perfect that he manages to end an argument, end a relationship, with a dead-on Seinfeld reference. I watch him walk away and lean my head against my locker.

  And just like I knew it would, I can feel my heart break again.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  PFE

  March 15: 4:41 PM

  Topic: The quest for a new Focus Object

  • My bedroom ceiling has that popcorn covering on it that causes asbestos or something but at least hides a bad paint job.

  • I wonder if the builders knew how many hours I would spend admiring their ceiling handiwork, creating shapes and images from the swirly designs in the ceiling?

  • There’s a vampire right above my bed, a bicycle in the far left corner, and I swear the water stain next to the closet is an exact replica of Sean’s head.

  • Bet that’s loaded with hidden meanings. Ms. Callahan would have a field day if she ever read this thing. Maybe her insights would actually help.

  • Great, now I’m missing Ms. Callahan. Solitary confinement really does cause insanity.