UI 101
Page 28
And the funny thing is that I’m not mad.
The only thing I felt was hope. Paul didn’t bat an eye; he just put the safe guard back on my razor and threw the offending piece of beauty equipment in the trash. He then reached into the shower, fully clothed, and pulled me out of it. I sat there curled up and crying in his lap as the shower still ran, drowning out the portion of my howls that wasn’t being imbedded and subdued into Paul’s chest. Somehow Paul managed to wrap each of my forearms tightly into a face towel to compress the bleeding.
I don’t know how long I sat there, naked and crying on his lap and bleeding all over him, before I finally started to shiver, but Paul helped me up, dried me off, wrapped me back in my towel, and then gently sat me up against the wall of my bathroom as he went and got the first aid kit his mom had sent with him when he started college, the one that had never been used, even when Brian had punched him in the face and made his nose bleed. And then he proceeded to clean up my damage. The bleeding had slowed enough that he could clean the wounds with alcohol swabs and Bactine spray. Then he applied Neosporin and taped lengths of gauze up each of the tops of my arms where I had cut myself. He turned my right arm over and did the same to the one cut I had on the underside of my wrist, taking tender care not to hurt me—as if I could have felt anything—and never making any noise other than soothing sounds as he fixed me up.
I feel like Humpty Dumpty, although I only need one of the King’s men, and he actually is putting me back together again.
After he finished playing doctor, he gingerly picked me up off the floor and carried me back to the futon, where he brought me clothes and probably would have dressed me if I hadn’t done it myself.
And then there was silence. I had finished dressing myself, Paul had microwaved caramel popcorn and I had made more tea, and we sat there, me leaning against the futon and him against Rae’s bed, just eating popcorn and sipping tea and never, by any means, talking.
“Please don’t tell,” I whispered finally, staring into the dregs of my tea.
“You know I won’t, Ryn.”
I was shocked. “Really? You promise?”
“Do you even have to ask?” Paul retorted, raising one eyebrow in disbelief.
I shook my head, and we sat for a while in silence again, eating more popcorn.
“Are you going to ask what happened?” I said, cautiously.
“No.”
“No?”
“No. This is about you, Ryn. I’m not going to make you say anything. I’m just going to be here because I’m thinking that’s the best thing I can do. Making sure those cuts don’t get infected and being here with you if you want or need me are the only ways I know how to help you on this, unless you can tell me if there’s anything else.”
I shook my head slowly. “They’re shallow,” I said, lamely, as if making an excuse for my poor coping. “You’re not going to leave?”
“No. I would ask you if you’re crazy for suggesting it, but maybe that wouldn’t be the most sensitive thing to say at this juncture.”
And surprisingly enough, I laughed. I laughed so hard that tears leaked out my eyes again, only this time they were tears of mirth. They slowly lapsed into tears of frustration, then anger, and then soft tears of resignation. Because I knew my time of silence was over. No matter what other people were going through, I could no longer hide, and I could no longer ignore what was happening to me. Paul would not ignore this. He was too good a friend for that. And I might as well help myself by at least trying to talk it out with someone who had already promised he wouldn’t leave me if things got too scary.
“Brian—” I started and then stopped.
Do I really want to do this? Yes. So I guess the more appropriate question is, can I do this?
“I surmised as much.”
It was now or never. And I knew which was going to be the healthier option.
“I was reading over all my old blog entries,” I elaborated, “and I realized that all the signs were there the entire time, but I was just too caught up in what I thought was love to notice them. And then I got so angry at myself and so hurt that I didn’t care to live with my stupidity any more. Then before I knew it, I was…doing what I was doing, and then there you were.”
“You were cutting yourself.”
I cringed. It sounded so harsh when he said it like that. But maybe he’d done that on purpose. Paul was like that. He probably was trying to reiterate to me the severity of what I was doing.
“Yes. I was cutting myself.”
“Because you couldn’t stand knowing that you hadn’t realized Brian was a jackass?”
“Yes.”
“And don’t you find that ridiculous?”
“I— What?”
“Brian fucked you over, Ryn. He suckered, manipulated, controlled, used, and belittled you in such conniving ways that even your closest family couldn’t see it, and yet you blame yourself for not knowing?”
“Well, I—”
“And then you hacked yourself up for feeling guilty about not knowing something there was no possible way you could have known because it was too well played out for you to even possibly be aware that it was happening?”
I was stunned. “I, yeah. I guess I did. And I guess since you put it that way, it does sound pretty ridiculous.”
“So, what did you learn?”
And I thought about it. I thought about it until the popcorn was gone and my tea was cold and Paul had warmed it up in the microwave for me and it had gone cold again.
“I learned that I can’t change what I knew or didn’t know, or did or didn’t do, in the past. That the only things I can change are the decisions and choices I make in the future. That I can choose to make myself better and stronger because of this if I want to, or I can choose to let it consume me to the point where I am back in the hole and dying for the light of day all over again.”
“And so what do you want to do, Ryn?”
“I want to be better.”
“And will you ask for my help if you need it?”
I thought about that. “Yes. It will be hard, but I’ll ask. I’ll force myself to ask.”
“All right then.” Paul smiled thoughtfully. “For what it’s worth, I think you made the right choice.”
I grinned. “Me too.”
“Ryn,” Paul said tentatively, reaching across our popcorn bowl for my hand, “I know these cuts were shallow, but they might not be next time. So I have to ask, are you going to do this again? Because my mom’s first aid kit might not be enough if you are.”
I thought about that, too. “No. Because it’s not worth it. As much as it is an immediate help, I know it’s only a temporary fix. And it’s not worth my getting kicked out of Illington because I have to be committed until I can prove I won’t keep doing it.”
“Good, Ryn. Because—” His voice cracked.
And that’s when the worst part of my day happened. After everything I had been through and after all the demons I had battled in the past week, what happened next was the worst of it all.
Paul started to cry.
“Because I couldn’t stand losing you,” he whispered, tears streaking down his face. “You’re the best friend I’ve got and the best friend I’ve ever had, and you really scared me today. I don’t think I’ve ever been more scared in my life than when I opened that curtain.”
And that’s when I knew I would never cut again. Because it wasn’t worth the relief it gave me if it caused someone I loved and someone who loved me this much pain. I crawled across the floor and kissed away Paul’s tears before I wiped away my own.
“I won’t, Pauly. I won’t ever do this to myself again. I won’t ever do this to you again. I promise.”
24
Mitzy
Final exams were coming. I knew I was the only person who seemed to care, but I knew that would change come the arrival of what was fittingly called “Hell Week.” My nerves were frazzled, and for once it wasn’t the pressur
e of an upcoming test that had me on tenterhooks—it was my personal life. As I looked back on the months since I had left Tennessee, I knew that I had changed—somewhat dramatically. I had read somewhere in one of Mama’s parenting books that the child you drop off at university is inevitably not the child who comes home, and I felt that I had never read a truer word. I was a different person from the somewhat naively innocent teenager whose biggest concern was whether people would like her. Now there was a decent-sized part of my heart that knew it didn’t matter one way or the other what people thought of me as long as I liked myself.
And herein lies my problem. Do I like myself? Sometimes I’m not so sure.
When I looked back at the person I’d been five or even three years ago and compared her thoughts to the thoughts that ran rampant in my head now, I started to wonder. Never in my wildest thirteen-year-old dreams would I ever have imagined that I would go to college more than six hundred miles away from home. Never would I have imagined that I would have had a boyfriend, let alone had sex with that boyfriend and enjoyed it to the point of ecstasy. I had always imagined myself a virgin bride, like many prominent women in history, but honestly, how well had that turned out for the majority of them?
As cheesy as it sounds, when I imagined myself on my wedding day now, I looked even more radiant than I’d imagined before, and I think it was because of all the knowledge that I’d gained, both intellectually and socially.
On the other hand, never in my past fantasies had I ever imagined I would have found such a wonderful group of friends who didn’t hate me for being book smart. Never would I have imagined that I would have found who I am so far from my family, nor that I could call someplace besides Tennessee my home. I never would have believed that I could have stood up to someone like Tasha and demanded that the rights I was entitled to by the university be given to me.
Nor would I have ever thought I would be doing what I was about to do right now.
“Hey, Bobby,” I said into the phone, closing the door to my room behind me softly so CiCi could continue studying. “What’s up?”
“Not too much, Mitz. Are you ready for exams?”
“As ready as I can be. I still have more studying to do, but I decided I deserved a break.”
“Me too. So, did you do it?”
“Mm-hmm. How about you?” I inquired.
“I did.”
I could feel Bobby’s grin emanating through the phone line. “Yay!” I squealed. “Oh, Bobby, that’s so great! Mama’s going to be so excited when she finds out you applied to Vet school.”
“Eh, well, she’ll probably say something like ‘that’s not a real doctor’ and then start bugging me about why I don’t have a girlfriend,” Bobby replied grouchily.
“Having a PhD in history won’t technically be a ‘real doctor’ either,” I retorted. “In fact, I’d say that’s less of a real doctor than a veterinarian.”
“I still have to get in, Mitz. Let’s not count chickens.”
“Oh pooh. Don’t make me lecture you, Robert Callaway. You know you are more than capable. You’re finishing your undergraduate degree in three and a half years.”
“But it’s from a satellite campus where the majority of my classes are online.”
“I doubt they’ll care. Look at your application resume. Look at all your extra-curriculars. They’d be a fool not to take you. You’re going to get in.”
Bobby sighed, resigning his loss of the argument. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Mitz.”
“What are sisters for, anyway?” I replied, grinning.
“Lots of things. Like pestering you and stealing your baseball caps and putting them in the wash.”
“Your ball cap was disgusting, Bobby, and you know it.” I giggled.
“Fine, fine. But still, enough about me. How did your interview go?”
I grinned embarrassedly. “Really well. She told me I was in.”
“She what?”
“Off the record, of course. She said normally they don’t accept students below junior year, but that she could see I was an exceptional student and mature enough to handle it. I won’t find out officially for about four to six weeks, but she pretty much said everything short of ‘start packing your bags.’”
“That’s great! Are you excited?”
“Naturally. But I’m a little nervous. I don’t know how they’ll react.”
“Oh, you mean Jamaal, Ryn, Rae, and Paul?” Bobby interpreted astutely.
“Mm-hmm. And Kate and Maliha and CiCi and Derek too.”
“They’re your friends, Mitz. They’ll understand.”
“I hope so.”
“Mm-hmm,” Bobby replied absently. “Hey, Mitz, I gotta let you go. Someone’s on my other line.”
I grinned, wickedly this time. “Ah. Tell Ms. Formosus I will be expecting her for study group in thirty minutes.”
“Okay, I—Hey! I am not talking to Rae.”
“Uh-huh, sure, Bobby. Liars go to Hell, you know.”
“Sure, yeah yeah, whatever. Just save me a seat on the bus.”
I laughed. “Will do, but you can’t have the window.”
“Love you, Mitz.”
“Love you, too, Bobby. Bye.”
“Hey, Jay,” I said, knocking softly to announce my presence. “Y’all busy?”
“C’mon in, Mitz,” Jamaal replied, rolling his chair away from his desk and placing his hands behind his head, stretching his back. “What’s up?”
“Depends on which context. In the studying department, not too much. I’m tapped out for tonight. In other departments, well, lots.”
Jamaal quirked an eyebrow at me. “You have my full attention.”
“I’m leaving,” I blurted.
“Sorry?”
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and counted down from five the way Rae had taught me. “I’m leaving,” I repeated, but more slowly this time. “It’s not completely official, but the only thing that’s missing is the letter.”
“Mitzy, you’re too far ahead of me. I actually can’t follow you this time, babe. What on earth are you talking about? You can’t have gotten kicked out of Illington. You’ve complied a hundred and fifty percent with your scholarship restrictions.”
I laughed, realizing the key detail I had left out. “Sorry. I applied to a study abroad program,” I explained. “I had an interview today to determine whether or not I would be eligible to go, and my interviewer told me off the record that I was in.”
“Okay,” said Jamaal slowly. “Well, that’s really awesome, Mitz, but you can understand why I’m not exactly raising the roof here. Where are you going?”
“Oh, lots of places!” I said excitedly. “We spend seven weeks in England, another seven in Germany, then ten weeks in Egypt.”
“So you leave when?”
“The end of June.”
“And come back when?”
“Just before Christmas. I’ll be back at Illington for spring semester. That’s the advantage of doing a program that commences in the summer.”
“Mitzy, have you noticed a problem, here?”
I thought for a moment. “Um, no?”
“Mitzy, you speak French. Not German, and most certainly not whatever language they speak in Egypt.”
“They speak Arabic, technically Egyptian Arabic, but you know what I mean.”
“Exactly!” cried Jamaal. “How are you going to study abroad when you don’t speak the language?”
“Oh. Right. The classes are all in English, so really I feel like I’m cheating. And as far as the non-academic part of it, I guess I’ll just have to learn, won’t I? There will be other students there from all over, so the fact that I can speak French in addition to English might help.”
“So you’re leaving.”
“Yes,” I replied slowly. “On a jet plane, even,” I added in a lame attempt to make him smile. “I would say I don’t know when I’ll be back again, but that’s not true.”
Jamaal smiled, but only slightly. “Have you told the others?”
I shook my head. “No. I wanted you to be the first to know.”
“I appreciate that, Mitz. Really I do.” He paused. “I think that maybe I should take some time to ingest this while you tell them, okay? It’s a lot to take in, you know?”
I nodded emphatically. “I definitely know. Take as much time as you need, Jay. You know where to find me when you want to talk.”
I kissed him on the cheek and then made a soft exit. I realized that I had effectively just dropped a bombshell on my boyfriend and that maybe I hadn’t been entirely sensitive to how it might make him feel. After all, we hadn’t been dating very long, and now I’d gone and told him that I was leaving for twenty-four weeks. Not that we really would have seen one another over the summer, but still. I’d be M.I.A. all next fall.
Wow. I sound rottenly selfish when I put it like that. And what about Mama’s new baby? Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. I wonder if I shouldn’t go after all.
I told Rae, Ryn, and Paul all together, and their reactions pleasantly surprised me. Rae seemed to think I was being exceptionally brave, on account of the whole language barrier in Germany and Egypt. Paul admitted he was jealous that I would be able to experience the scene that had birthed punk rock, and Ryn just asked if I could bring her back some eyeliner and Egyptian jewelry.
We talked about the logistics for ages in my room—as CiCi had gone home, as per usual, to spend the weekend with her Grandmother—until we were interrupted by a brief knock at the door.
“Come in,” I called.
Jamaal entered, and my three other friends hastily made their excuses and left the room. He locked the door behind him, turned off the light, and lit the lavender candle on my desk, blowing out the match and setting it on the saucer I had “borrowed” from the cafe.
I’m totally giving it back at the end of the year, I swear.
“Are you al—” I began, but Jamaal cut me off by placing his finger to my lips.
“Mitzy,” he said, softly. “I want you to understand something.”