by N. K. Smith
“D-d-did you liiiike your other school?”
She shrugged again. “It was a school, filled with people.”
“B-b-but did you like it?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “What about you? Did you like your school in Chicago?”
“N-no.” I forced myself not to think about the cruelty of others.
“What happened to your hands? They’re bandaged again.”
I would tell her what happened without telling her that I bit my hand. I knew better than to pretend that was a normal thing, and I didn’t want her to know about it. I would tell her I broke a plate and that was all. I wouldn’t mention Scripture either; that seemed to bother her, and I had to admit it was strange and unsettling even to me.
“Robin and S-Steph-phen t-told us they w-wwwere t-together.”
She turned off the heat to the saucepan. “Wow, that’s…kind of big, but what does it have to do with your hands?”
“I b-b-b-b-b…” I stopped trying when the word wouldn’t come.
“Just relax. You get so tense, it’s no wonder you have trouble saying stuff sometimes.” She stopped what she was doing and looked directly at me. “It’s just me, Elliott.”
I took a deep breath. It was just Sophie. “I b-b-br-broke a p-plate.”
She just looked at me for a long moment before saying, “Well, stop hurting your hands, okay? I like holding them without the bandages and the risk of hurting you.”
I couldn’t help but smile.
When she slipped one of her hands into mine, I said, “SSSophie?”
“Hmm?” She looked up with a smile.
“You m-mm-make me happy.”
Although she was still smiling, it faltered just a bit. “That’s because you don’t know what’s good for you.”
I gripped her hand tighter. “You’re good fffffor m-me.”
She didn’t dispute what I said, but she pulled her hand away and returned to cooking.
“Why haven’t you answered my e-mail?”
I took a deep breath, but made no effort to answer her. It was a horrible precedent to set if I wanted her to answer all of the questions I posed to her. There were two questions I’d just dodged. She’d asked about the e-mail and why my hands were hurt. I needed to answer one, so I picked the less dangerous of the two.
“They w-w-w-w-w…” Obviously I was having a terrible time speaking.
“Just relax, Elliott.”
I was trying to do just that. “They,” I began again slowly, “w-w-want m-m-mmmme to sssee a n-new counselor.”
“Um, so you can’t answer my e-mail because some new…”
I shook my head and sighed, hating that no matter what I did, I could never seem to effectively communicate. I held up my hands. “I b-broke the p-plate b-because I was upsssset.”
“Why do you have to see someone new?”
“B-because sssshe’s t-t-too c-c-c-close to mm-mmme n-now.”
Sophie took a deep breath and shrugged. “So you’ll see a new counselor. It’ll be better than having someone who’s essentially your stepmother know all your business all the time.”
I shook my head vehemently. “I liiiiiike Robin. I d-d-d-don’t w-wwwwant…”
“Elliott, breathe, okay? You stop breathing when you get upset, and then your stutter’s worse.”
I looked down at my shoes. I didn’t want her to think about my stutter. I didn’t want to have this stutter. I wanted to shed it like an old skin; like something I used to wear but no longer fit. But I couldn’t.
I looked back up when Sophie stepped into me, sliding her arms around my waist and locking them at my lower back. Her cheek was pressed against my chest and it felt good. My heart beat out a steady rhythm just for her. I bent my neck, allowing me to lay my cheek on top of her head and together we just stood there for long moments of peace.
“You make me happy too.”
After dinner, I was sitting in her rocking chair while she was on her bed, flipping a small paperback book over and over in her hands. I couldn’t tell what it was.
“So are we supposed to give some kind of report for the Brussels sprouts?”
I sighed, but smiled anyway. We had discussed this several times, but it was evident that she was having slight issues with her memory. Whether it was because we’d spoken about it when she was on drugs, or that she was no longer doing drugs, I didn’t know.
We still hadn’t specifically talked about how she’d given up her well-used crutch. I didn’t know if it would help or hinder her. To say that I was curious was an understatement. Even though I wanted her to get rid of those aspects of her life that no longer served her, I hadn’t expected it to be this easy.
It made me think of my mother. She was so incredibly tied to the drugs that I thought even the mention of being clean and sober would make her run far away. She never attempted to give up heroin as far as I knew. When my father would lecture and preach at the dinner table about the clean and righteous way of living, she always just stared at him. From the look on her face, it seemed as though she was listening, but I knew, even back then she was looking right through him. Her mind would be far away, and she would drink her coffee and nod at regular intervals. When he was finished with his sermon, she would go back to watching me eat and waiting on my father, refilling his glass of milk or getting him food.
I remembered being very young, looking up at her as she tucked me into bed and asking her why she always had to do what she did. I don’t remember her answer, but I do remember the sadness that swept over her face. She hugged me tightly and whispered, “I love you, Ellie-bear.”
“Elliott?”
I raised my eyebrows and brought my thoughts back to the present. “Hmmm?”
“You didn’t answer about the sprouts.”
“Y-yes. W-we have to give a r-r-report.”
“So, like, standing in front of the class?”
I nodded. It was not my favorite thing and had I not gotten a lab partner, I just wouldn’t have gone to school that day.
“What if we just skip?” she asked, as if she’d read my mind.
I smiled. “W-w-we’ll l-lllose t-twenty p-points.”
“Totally worth it.”
Sophie rested back on the bed for a while. She seemed incredibly tired most of the time now. I got on the bed when she asked me to. Of course I felt nervous at the prospect, but it wasn’t as if I’d never been on a bed with her, especially since we’d done this just a few hours before.
Just as I thought, we were kissing after less than a minute.
Not that I minded the kissing.
It was the other stuff that was certain to come that made me uncomfortable. So as she scraped her teeth across my Adam’s apple, I struggled to come up with questions to distract her.
“SSSSoph-phie?”
“Mmmm, yes?” she answered against my skin, her voice sending pleasant vibrations coursing down my body.
“W-w-w-w-what’s the m-m-most beautiful thing you’ve…”
“You.”
“C-c-c-c-c-c…”
“Relax, baby,” she whispered before licking my earlobe.
Relaxing was not possible. Although I tried to stifle it, I could no longer hold back a soft moan.
“You’re so fucking hot,” she whispered.
Sophie shifted and was practically on top of me, and yet not sitting on me, which was her usual course of action. I had to extract myself from the situation before it was too uncomfortable.
“I c-c-can’t.”
“Damn,” she said.
I felt horrible as I pulled away and almost jumped up. I wanted to be what she needed, but she couldn’t really expect me to know what to do or how to react, because I didn’t. I’d never done any o
f this with anyone before. I didn’t even know how to give her what she wanted, and Sophie always wanted. I hadn’t even liked Megan, but with Sophie…
I loved Sophie.
“Sorry.” She took my hand and pulled me back to the bed. Together we leaned back against the wall. She laid her head back against me, her hands curled into fists.
“I’m sorry that I…” she began, but then her voice trailed off. “I’ll do better. I don’t want you to…I don’t want to make you feel bad, Elliott, and I’m sorry if I…” She looked away. “I’ve never really met anyone like you.”
She buried her face further into my chest and held my hand.
“Tell me about something happy.”
“Liiiike w-what?” I asked when I could think of nothing. She shrugged. “W-w-will you come over tomorrow?”
She nodded against my chest.
“You’ll come o-over t-tomorrow and that’s sssssomething hhhhappy.”
I didn’t have to see her face. I could hear her smile in her voice. “I meant something in the past, Elliott.” I bet she rolled her eyes too. “Like, I’ve never had a sibling. What is that like?”
I swallowed hard, trying to force down the instant panic. My body and mind both nearly broke in that moment.
“Did you and your brother have fun together? Did you, like, play with Legos or whatever?”
Involuntarily I squeezed her hand as my stomach tightened, suddenly inhibiting proper digestion of the food Sophie had made, and I was overcome with waves of nausea.
I felt sick.
I tried closing my eyes, but that made it worse.
Sophie was still waiting for an answer, so I shook my head.
“What’s his name? Have you told me?”
I couldn’t honestly remember if I had, but I ventured that I probably hadn’t.
She got up to look at me, and I could do nothing to stop her.
“Elliott?”
I looked at her, but didn’t really see her.
“I asked what your brother’s…Ow!”
I was shocked when I saw her sudden expression of pain and followed her gaze to where our hands were connected. My brain wasn’t functioning properly because I had no idea what could have been causing her pain.
“Shit, Elliott, let go.”
It was then when I realized I was gripping her hand incredibly tightly; much, much too tightly for her delicate fingers to tolerate. I couldn’t seem to let go, but was thankful when she managed to wrench free. I knew with my broken bones and barely scabbed-over cuts, I should have been hurting, but I felt nothing.
Finally, my brain, body, and mouth caught up to each other.
“Ssssssorry!” I got off her bed quickly, fists pressed into my thighs as I looked at everything but Sophie. “I sssssshould g-g-g-g-g-go.”
I risked a glance at her.
“Go?” she said as she eyed me cautiously, cradling her left hand with her right as my teeth clenched when I thought about how I’d caused her pain. “It’s only eight. Tom’s gone until morning.”
I was wound tight and felt on the verge of having a real panic attack. I didn’t want Sophie to witness that, so I had to do my best to remain calm while extracting myself from my present situation. I couldn’t answer her verbally, so I shook my head.
I got nervous and my muscles shook with tension as she got up off of her bed to stand next to me. She didn’t touch me, but her eyes never left me and that worried me. “You can stay,” she whispered.
I wanted to stay but I couldn’t, because if I did, Sophie would never see me the same way again, and there was no way that she would continue to want to spend time with me if she really saw my defects. I was incredibly uncomfortable. I didn’t want to talk about my brother, and I had hurt Sophie because of it. Now I could barely breathe.
“I hhhhhave t-t-t-to gggg-g-g-go.”
She looked at me quizzically, cautiously extending her hand. I had to remember how to breathe before she touched me.
But it never happened. She stopped and then cradled it. “Okay,” she said softly. “Will you message me later?”
I nodded, almost overjoyed that she was letting me off the hook and allowing me to escape.
I drove home very carefully and actually had to pull over for about a half an hour until I calmed down enough to operate the car. My muscles were coiled. When I finally made it home, I ignored everyone and went straight to my room.
I wanted Jane, not even to talk really, but just to sit with me because she always knew how to help me without me having to say anything.
But she was busy, and so I was alone with my thoughts.
On Wednesday, we had a two-hour school delay because of ice and snow. David woke us up at the regular time and he was practically salivating to get to school because he had some kind of presentation to give in his History class. He always looked forward to getting up in front of people. I thought it might be because it was a fresh chance to wow them and once again earn their acceptance and love.
So while David was impatiently going over his speech notes, Jane and I spent a little time together. Even though we didn’t talk about anything more than our English assignment and the vocabulary quiz, it was comforting just to be around her. She made me feel more like myself, and I didn’t have to worry about everything.
Jane liked me. I knew that she did with every fiber of my being. She was connected to me instantly, and I never had to struggle with her. Everything had always been so easy between us.
Just sitting in the same room as she was, listening to her talk, was so very soothing to me.
When I finally saw Sophie, she never mentioned my mini-panic attack from the night before, and we went through our day as usual.
That night, Sophie and her father were over for dinner and a session with Robin. Sophie made meatloaf and she had me make roast potatoes and Brussels sprouts. As soon as dinner was over and Sophie and her father were behind closed doors with Robin, I put on my headphones and listened to music as I worked on my math homework.
I didn’t want to find out things about Sophie by simply overhearing them. That wasn’t fair. I didn’t want to know things that she didn’t want me to know.
Thursday and Friday went fine as well, until Sophie and I returned to my house for therapy. She had to wait downstairs until after I met my new counselor. I sat very quietly and didn’t look at him. Robin was in the room while the introductions were made, but then stepped out, letting me know that she’d be close if I needed her. The doctor, who introduced himself as Dr. Benjamin Emmanuel, seemed like he thought Robin shouldn’t have said that.
While I assumed he would start off by asking me something important, or telling me what our time together was going to be like, he surprised me when he said, “My favorite composer is Chopin. He had music published by the time he was eight years old and is considered to be one of the most influential composers to have ever lived, but he would lock himself in a room for days, destroying things as he tried to figure out how to put what was in his head down on paper. Typically, after weeks of isolation and desperation, he reverted back to the first version.”
Composers were temperamental, like any artist or creative person, I supposed.
“Beethoven was a highly gifted child, like Chopin and Mozart, but his father would parade him around town all night long, forcing him to play at tavern after tavern, as he cried because he was so exhausted. His father was an alcoholic who made him practice over and over, punishing him each time he made a mistake.”
I didn’t want to hear anymore.
“So what do you think, Elliott?”
I looked up at him when he said my name.
“Do you think if Beethoven had a loving father, and Chopin hadn’t been so emotionally distraught while writing, that their work would be as famous as
it is today? Do you think that these things helped them define themselves as creators? Would they have even gotten involved in music in the first place?”
I didn’t know, and I didn’t want to answer. I didn’t want to be in this room, and I didn’t want to think about Beethoven being beaten for making a mistake. I also didn’t want to answer Dr. Emmanuel verbally, so I shrugged.
“I understand that you weren’t exposed to music until you were twelve. Is that correct?”
I felt heavy while my mind felt light and airy and removed, even though my thoughts were dark.
It wasn’t true. I’d heard music before then, so I shook my head.
“When were you first exposed to music?”
I didn’t want to say anything, but he’d asked me a question and he’d been wrong, so I felt compelled to answer him, no matter how long it took. “Mmmmmmy m-m-m-mmm-mmm-mom ssssssang to me.”
Rebecca talked about her father during group, and in a gesture of support, David spoke about his. I drowned it all out. I didn’t want to hear about anyone’s father right now. The new counselor already had me thinking about my parents.
Sophie sat right next to me and although we didn’t touch, just the heat of her body next to mine was comforting.
When group was finally over, I was incredibly relieved to go up to my room with Sophie and just be alone with her, but Robin said she needed to speak with her, and so I found myself alone in my room with thoughts of Beethoven. I understood what Dr. Emmanuel was saying, and my rational mind agreed with him.
All of the emotion displayed within any musical work would have been altered had the composer lived a different life. Nobody knew what Chopin would have grown to be if he’d been an even-tempered man. He might’ve even been a banker.
There was a loud knock at my door after what seemed like a long time, startling me out of my thoughts. Knowing it was Sophie immediately brightened my mood. I was at the door quickly, excited to have her sharing my space again.