An Imperfect Circle

by R. J. Sable

  I went through a year of intense therapy after it all came to light. I was pretty messed up. I lost everything that week. The only thing I had to be thankful for was that my mum was alive, despite her battle with cancer, and with her treating me like a stranger, my appreciation wasn’t all that great.

  It was only when mum moved to spend some time with her earthen community that I really started to heal. I don’t agree with a lot of their airy-fairy crap but if there’s one thing those people know, it’s how to find yourself and learn your own soul.

  Don’t get me wrong, the therapy helped me come to terms with what had happened and why, but the community and their ways were what helped me begin to heal. If it wasn’t for them, I’d never have discovered my love of working with my hands.

  Bear encouraged me to turn my anger and emotion into art, to show the world how I was feeling. I tried everything. Painting, drawing, sculpting, flower arranging. But nothing felt quite as natural as coaxing out the natural designs hidden in the grain of a piece of solid wood.

  There is so much of my work in my room and that’s part of what makes it my sanctuary. I made a piece of furniture for each corner of the room. Each is floor to ceiling and fits perfectly into the corner with a concave face and artwork carved onto the front.

  Whilst I appreciate the design, what I appreciate more is their function. They take away the corners of the room. I hate corners. My mum’s ex-boyfriend used to stand in one and watch me sleep. Or rather, watch me pretend to sleep. I could hear him breathing. He wanted to wait until I was asleep so he could catch me at my most defenceless so I’d be less trouble.

  I learnt not to be trouble.

  Years on, I know I was just doing what I had to in order to survive and protect my mum, but at the time it made me feel weak. He was the weak one. He bowed to the sickening evil inside him. In turn, he turned my insides impure but I’ll never be defined by impurity. I’ll make myself pure again by living honest and clean.

  I watch the perfectly circular, wooden clock tick by, breathing in and out with the second hand until the little hand makes it six o’clock and I know Bear will have made his way into the nearest village to use the pay phone.

  I pull out my mobile and dial the number. It rings three times before Bear answers.

  “Greetings, glowbug,” he sings.

  “Hi, Bear,” I grin.

  “How’s she treating you?”

  “She’s not been good to me today,” I sigh. Nope. The ‘earth mother’ had royally fudged me over. If I ever decide to fully believe in her, we’ll be having words.

  “How so?” He asks. I love that about Bear. He always seems genuinely interested in my life.

  “I ruined everything on my list,” I groan.

  “Ah,” he chuckles. “I’ve warned you about those lists.”

  This is Bear’s favourite topic with me. He insists that I try to force order with my lists when the world’s natural state is disorder. He thinks it’s unnatural.

  “And I saw him,” I continue before he has a chance to lecture.

  “Oh,” Bear’s voice turns sombre. “And how did that go?”

  “I threatened him bodily harm,” I sigh, knowing Bear will be disappointed.

  “Oh, glowbug,” he offers sympathetically. “Maybe not now, but soon, you need to talk to that boy about your history.”

  “He’s not really a boy any more,” I grumble, not addressing the issue because I don’t intend on doing that. Ever.

  Unfortunately, Bear isn’t willing to let it drop. “Some things you can’t heal by moving past them. You have to tackle them. If you can’t go around it, you have to go through it.”

  “Bear, are you seriously dishing out wisdom from ‘We’re going on a bear hunt’?” I tease him but it’s a genuine question.

  “Where do you think the name comes from, sweets?” He laughs.

  Honestly, I thought it was because he was sort of cuddly but I won’t tell him that.

  He gives me a few more words of wisdom, hopefully ones that aren’t gained from children’s books, and then I listen as he talks about the community. I don’t miss the living style but I do miss the people and the relaxed atmosphere.

  By the time I let him go, it’s almost seven and I know dinner will be on the table soon. I get into the small kitchen-diner just in time to help lay the table.

  My aunt Cecile is quiet, which means we get on just fine. My mum is her younger sister and I know they love each other completely. We’ve never argued and I do my part in the housework so I don’t expect there’ll ever be any reason to start.

  My mum floats into the room just as Cecile and I are dishing out our food: big, juicy steaks and nice fat potato wedges. Monday nights we splash out and eat a proper meal with lots of meat. Meat is expensive so we tend to use it sparsely most of the time but Monday is meat day.

  Mum’s on a raw food diet at current so we watch smugly as she basically places an entire iceberg lettuce on her plate with a tin of coconut milk to wash it down with.

  You wouldn’t catch me eating like that.

  “How was your day, Elise?” Mum asks. She and my aunt are the only people who still call me that. Only they both pronounce it the French way so it sounds more like Eh-leeze.

  “Fine,” I nod, focussing on my steak.

  “Use you words, darling,” my mum urges. “Words are power.”

  “It was fine,” I sigh. I’m not in the mood for this.

  “Did you make new friends? Did you learn something new? Did you see a beautiful flower? Tell me something about your day.”

  I close my eyes momentarily and take a deep breath. My mum loves life and being alive and I can hardly blame her after she came so close to death but sometimes she can be a bit overenthusiastic.

  “I made a new friend,” I offer because I already told Bear about Becky Blossom and I’m sure mum will hear about it on the grapevine.

  “Oh!” Mum exhales excitedly. “Tell me all about her. I must know everything.”

  “She’s great,” I summarise.

  Mum looks at me hopefully and I can see that Cecile is studying me as well. It’s been a long time since I actually had a friend. I don’t need friends. I need to focus on me. Nobody wants to be friends with somebody so imperfect.

  “She’s called Becky. She’s colourful and volunteers at the library,” I add, because they both look so happy at the news. That’s all the information they’re getting.

  “Oh, Elise!” Mum gushes. “This is just wonderful! You must bring her home so we can meet her. She could come round for dinner!”

  “Corinne,” Cecile reprimands gently. “They’ve only just met. Give them a chance to get to know each other before you bombard the poor girl.”

  I shoot a silent thanks off to my aunt. Her accent is way less pronounced than my mum’s. They left France when they were quite young and they rarely speak French any more. I think mum puts it on a bit because it makes her seem more unusual.

  After dinner, I go back to my sanctuary to get ready for the next day. I need a new list. Bear talked about channelling positive energy and pushing the negativity out. He recommended Tai Chi.

  No, thank you.

  But it did give me something to think about. Everything on today’s list was negative and maybe that was what doomed it to failure.

  With that thought in mind, I put pen to paper to make my list for the next day:

  Be yourself.

  Be strong.

  Be good to your friend.

  Embrace your future and forget your past.

  Eat lunch with Becky. Even if it’s just Wagon Wheels.

  Happy with my list, I carefully fold it into a circle and place it on my dresser. I remove my contacts, my wig, and my makeup, making the transition from Ellie to Elise.

  I don’t have schizophrenia. I’m just realistic. The real Elise was lost a long time ago. I can get her back but I need to make sure that what she’s coming back to is worth it. It needs to be perfect. Clean
and welcoming. That’s what Ellie is for. When I’m Ellie, I’m firm to my beliefs and I make sure I become a better person every day. It doesn’t have to be much, but it has to be a step in the right direction.

  I have lists to help me do that and I have lists to remind me who I am and what I’m working towards. I have a list with the most important people to me. My mum, my auntie, and Bear. I have a list with my favourite foods. Wagon wheels, Polos, tomatoes, English muffins, crumpets, to name a few. I have a list of words I won’t say. I won’t go into detail but most of them have four letters in. There’s no place for ugly words when you’re trying to purify.

  I love my lists. They’re all pegged to some fishing wire which is hanging on the wall. They help keep me focussed.

  While I pick out my clothes for the following day, I find my mind drifting to the Carters. One Carter in particular. Those dazzling blue eyes are haunting me. Taunting me. It would have been such karmic justice if he was acne riddled and scrawny. But no. The guy is gorgeous. A gorgeous jerk.

  I think about the way the Carter boys taught that jerk a lesson by giving him a taste of his own medicine. They only really scared him and hit him once. He’d obviously done much worse to his victim. Hopefully, they scared him off from doing the same again. If their father, Andrew, was anything like he used to be, I suspected he’d be proud of them.

  Whenever I let my mind linger on the past too much, it hurts to remember just what I lost. I lost my innocence, I lost my virginity, I lost faith in myself. But what hurt the most was losing Karl. He was more than my best friend. He was my everything at the time.

  I’d spent every waking hour with him, either at school or at their house. We were next-door neighbours and with my mum so ill with Cancer, Helen and Andrew (Mr and Mrs Carter), pretty much took me in. They helped feed me and it was Helen that took me shopping for clothes if I needed new ones.

  I was close to all of them but Karl was always my best friend. We were so competitive. His dad used to set up these awesome assault courses in their back garden and we’d race to beat each other’s times. It usually resulted in us wrestling in the mud and having to get hosed down outside before we were allowed back into the house to clean up, but it was still great fun.

  We’d play together for hours with brothers and Matt but then, sometimes, we’d sneak away. Just the two of us. There was a little gap between the bushes at the bottom of his garden which was covered by a small apple tree. It was completely hidden away and I don’t think the others knew it was there.

  It was our place and when we were there, we were different. The competition was gone but the friendship remained. In front of his brothers, he was aggressive, excited, and a typical boy. When it was just the two of us he was gentle. There were shy smiles and little silences where we didn’t need words. That was something I used to love. We could sit in silence for ages and it was comfortable. We could say everything we needed to with our eyes.

  I think he enjoyed the peace and quiet. Let’s be honest, with six boys in the house, it was always noisy.

  It was in our little den that we first held hands. It didn’t mean anything. It was just during one of our moments of peace and quiet. My hands were cold so I blew on them to warm them up. He saw and took my hands wordlessly, warming them with his own.

  He was the first and only boy whose hand I held. He was also the first boy I’d kissed. Only because the twins dared us to. Neither of us wanted to look like a chicken so we went through with it. We both proceeded to wipe our mouths clean after our lips touched and pretend to be disgusted, but we tested again that night in our den. We were nine. It never happened again but I still remember it.

  It wasn’t long after that mum’s boyfriend’s visits started and I remember being glad that I’d kissed Karl first because I knew what a real kiss was meant to feel like.

  Karl and I used to pretend we were super heroes because when we touched sometimes, our skin would tingle. Now that I’m older, I know it was just static shock, but it was a happy time filled with the innocence that let us pretend.

  I shake my head and force myself back to the present; I’m making myself too miserable and living in the past. None of that tomorrow. I make my way to the cellar to lose myself in a piece of wood. I’ve been feeling it out for a few days and I think I’ve almost understood the tortured figure trapped behind the bark. I’m ready to release it.

  Chapter 5

  The next day, I’ve recharged my batteries and I’m feeling positive. So, I saw Karl. Whatever. We knew each other years ago, I thought we had something special but he rejected everything that I was. All the impurity and imperfection.

  Now, I’m moving forwards. He doesn’t know who I am and, as long as Ian doesn’t blow my cover, he doesn’t need to. I doubt he would care anyway. I bet he doesn’t even remember me. If he does, it will just be that last, awkward meeting.

  I’ve decided that meeting Becky Blossom was meant to be. I haven’t looked forwards to going to school for as long as I can remember. There’s something about that girl and her energy. She makes me feel sort of hopeful that I can get Elise back quicker than I’d planned.

  I find my form room fairly quickly thanks to Blossom’s explanation of the school organisation. She’s already sat at her spot alone in the corner with her nose in a book.

  “Morning, Blossom. What you reading?” I grin, slouching down into the chair next to her.

  “Catcher in the Rye,” she frowns. “I have to read it for English next year but I just can’t get into it. He’s so miserable and he whines about everything. I just don’t get his problem!” She humphs. “And also, why do you keep calling me Blossom?”

  I grin and slide her a drawing I made at the breakfast table. It’s a doodle of her as a powerpuff girl.

  “Oh my gosh!” She exclaims loudly, drawing the attention of the people in the classroom who weren’t already staring at me. “Is this me?”

  “Blossom,” I nod. “You’re just like her.”

  “I love it!” She squeals, grabbing me in another of her Chemical X cuddles.

  She’s so happy, she doesn’t even notice the awkward way in which I return it.

  We don’t have maths until later in the day but we share a free period before lunch and we make plans to meet up. We sit together and get no work done as she fills me in on the school hierarchy. Every school has one.

  “The year twelves and thirteens hang out together quite a bit. The popular gang is fairly tightknit. The guys are alright but the girls are kind of mean. You met Stacy and Annie. They’re good examples. You have to know about hair, and makeup, and clothes, and- well I guess you do,” she gestures to my appearance and I smirk.

  “Blossom, I only do goth make-up. My clothes are all from charity shops, and my hair is a wig.”

  Her eyes widen in shock. “That’s not your real hair?” She looks at my dreadlocks, with thick red ribbons woven through today, and gently pokes at one.

  “Nope,” I shake my head, smiling inwardly because she didn’t blink when I told her where my clothes are from.

  “Can I see your real hair?” She asks hopefully.

  “Maybe one day,” I grin. I really hope that she can. My red hair is part of Elise, I’ve always felt that way. I started colouring it years ago with natural hair dies but that took too much time and effort and I wasn’t convinced it was doing my hair any good so I bought a wig with the profits from the first piece of furniture I sold.

  “Awesome sauce,” Becky grins. “Anyway, where was I… Oh yeah. The popular boys are all the Carters and their friends. I mean, you saw them last night, they’re amazing.”

  I roll my eyes in response because I know at least one of them is a dung beetle.

  “You don’t see it?” She gapes at me open-mouthed.

  I shake my head vehemently.

  “Give it time, you will,” she nods knowingly.

  She’s so wrong.

  “Where are we having lunch?” I change the subject, looking out the w
indow into the courtyard. It’s raining and Becky said she usually ate outside. I’m all for nature but I also like dry clothes and I don’t want my face to run.

  “Erm, well… the sixth formers mostly eat in the common room but-”

  “But what?” I frown. She seems uncomfortable.

  “I think only the cool kids hang out there. Yesterday I just found an empty classroom.”

  I mentally kick myself for making the poor girl eat on her own in an empty room. That was not good of me. I need to be a better friend.

  “You know what, Blossom?” I prompt. “You’re pretty cool. Come show me the common room.”

  She seems hesitant so I make a bold move and hold her hand with a reassuring squeeze. This seems to encourage her and she leads the way.

  The common room is a big, open space area with tonnes of sofas, a sound system, and a silent study area.

  Naturally, nobody is studying and the sound system is on a fraction too loud. The cliques are obvious; the popular kids dominate the room, taking control of the music. The sporty kids to the left and the moderately intelligent but appropriately fashionable kids sit on the right. In the far corner, closest to the study room there’s a cluster of overeager nerdy kids who obviously haven’t let go of their dreams to become part of the it-crowd.

  “We could go sit in the cafeteria?” Becky offers as we hover by the door.

  “Come on, Blossom. Where’s the powerpuff girl gone? We can eat here.” This girl should have tonnes of friends. I need to help her out and she needs to come out of her shell a bit. Her clothing’s not bad today, she actually matches. She’s wearing shades of green and it makes her hair look amazing. She’s vibrant, beautiful, and – as I found out in maths class – a total genius. I can’t figure out why anyone wouldn’t like her.

  “Oh my god,” a tall brunette girl who’s sat with Stacy sneers. “It smells disgusting in here!” Her eyes are firmly locked in our direction and I know what’s coming so I stiffen my shoulders and brush into the room, clutching Becky’s hand and ignoring what is obviously the queen bee.

  “Really disgusting,” she continues. “I can’t figure out if it’s coming from the ginger or the zombie. Don’t you two ever shower?”