differεnt MINDS
differεnt MINDS
Joyce E. Rayess
differεnt MINDS
© 2015 Joyce E. Rayess.
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Library of Congress Control Number:
2015901708
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All characters and events in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
dedication
To my lovely aunt, Marie Rayess, whose words remain in my heart: “Write and keep writing; one day you will become a published writer.”
Summer 1998
table of contents
preface
Chapter 1 illusions
Chapter 2 past dilemma
Chapter 3 ambition
Chapter 4 painting of life
Chapter 5 life cycles
Chapter 6 fantasies
Chapter 7 death
Chapter 8 life
Chapter 9 memories
Chapter 10 memorial
Chapter 11 tree of life
Chapter 12 school of music
Chapter 13 lunch with eric
Chapter 14 stalling eric
Chapter 15 snowman
Chapter 16 collusion
Chapter 17 paris bound
Chapter 18 dad and sam
Chapter 19 robert
Chapter 20 silent treatment
Chapter 21 silence
Chapter 22 jealousy
Chapter 23 eric
note from the author
about the author
acknowledgments
… I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he die, yet shall he live. (John 11:25)
preface
I never feared death probably because I never believed it, all until its frequent occurrence around me proved the permanent disappearance of individuals— mostly when their roles in my life could not be replaced. But even through the biggest loss I never awaited my turn so impatiently.
I watched my steady pen with not a single shake as I signed the papers, donating all my organs upon death or when the possibility of survival would be very minimal. For the first time, I felt I could hear the sounds of the beasts roaring behind my shoulders.
Certainly I had a good feeling that ran in tandem with the horrible echoes, a good sense of decency. My passing away would not be in vain, although I’m not sure if it would really even matter to me since death will prohibit me of any feeling. I think I just cared to feel good right now.
I never really believed I deserved the life in me, as if I had no value to it whatsoever. My reflection has forever been that of a terrible soul trapped underneath lifeless flesh. My contract with death somehow brought me happiness because I had now set a date for an end. Or so I believed.
I brought my knees to my chest as I leaned my back on the wall beneath the window, the rain tapping gently, my soul resting on the sound.
Chapter 1
illusions
i waited surrounded by my luggage as my father brought the last one from my room. My nine-year-old brother’s face wasn’t a happy one as he watched me stare at our family photo with Mom in it before she died. I don’t think he totally understands what it is like that Dad and I know. He was only two years old when, well, things weren’t the same anymore.
My flight to Colorado was in five hours, but Dad had always favored being ahead. Paris was definitely the most common place for student life, but I wanted a far distant university, a reason to get away from the place that detached from me so many people I loved. Dad became quieter after the loss of Mom. They had stayed together not because of love but as a sacrifice for Sam and me. With time though they got used to not agreeing on things, but they had managed to find ways to maintain the family that we were, even go out together occasionally when they liked each other. Sometimes they were married, sometimes they were together only for us.
I disliked any place that resembled the weather in Paris. I picked the one place that had three hundred days a year of sunshine. I didn’t know how to live in a place whose nights are longer than its days. It’s not that I loved summers, but I had dark days even during the sunniest ones. I just needed light and a lot of it.
“Cassandra,” Sam called as he fit a green apple in his tiny hand. “Do you want one?”
I nodded as he threw me the apple. I looked at it as if it were a living creature in my hand, breathing maybe. I took a bite of it and put it on the shelf near our family picture. Dad handed me my backpack; my life was fitting in these small pieces of luggage and that purse.
“Stay away from trouble,” Dad said while shaking his head. I knew he didn’t need to say that, but he didn’t have much to say anyways. These were the best words he was able to choose as a good father. I knew that if he could, he would have left Paris too—but Dad thought for my brother’s best. In his calculations, Sam needed to grow up in one place.
“You too, Dad,” I said. We both somehow understood one another. Sam on the other hand stood annoyed, looking at our expressions. He picked up one of my bags and dragged it down the stairs toward the car. I walked after him while Dad remained still. He followed shortly afterwards.
In the car we were very silent; the only sound was Sam’s eating an apple. I quickly noticed I had forgotten mine on the shelf. I ran out from the car to get it. When I was back Dad had started the engine and Sam was smiling, seeing the apple in my hand. I dropped it in my purse, intending to eat it at the airport while waiting for my flight.
Dad was calm during the drive; he had the radio on, some French classic station. Sam was seated just behind Dad and kept his eyes on me all the time.
“When are you coming back?” His baby voice was changing and sounding a little older.
“I’ll visit during summers,” I said, though I knew it wasn’t my real intention. “If you like you can visit instead.”
“When?” he asked again.
“Next summer,” I assured him.
Dad wasn’t reacting or saying anything. It seemed as if he was too concentrated on the drive. It was him I worried about. He had lost his sister and Mom during the same accident, his own mother only two years later. My going away might have meant to him just another loss.
“Dad?”
“Yes.” He smiled but I knew he was pretending.
“How about you and Sam come to Colorado next summer?”
“We can discuss that later.” He smiled again while keeping his eyes on the road. “Don’t forget to as
k for Elionora in the students’ residence. I texted you her number just this morning.”
“Yeah, I know.”
I wasn’t worried for Sam like Dad was; he was too young and wasn’t aware of the things we went through. I worried more for Dad because he had become silent and sad throughout the years.
The airport was only twenty minutes away from our home in Paris. I had barely slept for the last two days, and I was hardly able to keep my eyes open. My seat was a middle one somewhere at the back of the airplane. Luckily, the passengers on either side weren’t the chatty type. I kept my eyes opened until the flight attendants picked up the meals. Finally I closed my eyes without making any effort to sleep—and woke up only forty minutes until the first landing. A little astonished at how quickly time had passed, I was glad I wasn’t awake to witness any turbulence. I was a little dizzy and dehydrated, but I waited calmly for the landing. The second flight from Newark to Colorado was almost free of turbulence; I just stared out the window until arrival.
The sun was stronger than anything I had seen in Paris. It gave off more light than I had expected—or it was possible that I was seeing what I really wanted to believe. I couldn’t be sure; my imagination was becoming as real as reality. I looked for a taxi and asked for the students’ residence near the state university I chose. The room Dad had rented for me was supposed to be only a short walk away from the campus. Yes, I needed to ask for Elionora at the residence. She used to be Mom’s old friend according to Dad. I had never seen or even heard of her before and was totally surprised to learn of her existence. He coordinated with her to provide me with a nice room, and probably also to update him on me every now and then.
Upon my arrival I asked for her. Elionora was a skinny woman in her late thirties; she had black curly hair and a pale white face. I immediately noticed she was Italian from her accent. She gazed at me with her blue eyes and hugged me. I had a feeling that she knew so much about me, way more than I knew about her.
“Welcome to Denver, little Miss Kelly,” she said, her whole face smiling. She asked an old man to help me with my luggage and handed me a key to room number ten. I was supposed to unpack and then meet with her later that evening at the library. Of course I didn’t know where that was, but I was pretty sure it wouldn’t be hard to find.
My roommate was a girl my exact height; she had a funny way of talking. She paused in the middle of every sentence before she continued. I think she wasn’t a native English speaker, as though she had to gather her thoughts before she continued. I wasn’t sure where she was from exactly and hesitated to ask her.
“Cassandra, right?” She paused. “I’m Sarah.”
“Right.” We shook hands. “I suppose we’re roommates.”
“Um...no. But I live here anyways,” she said with a serious tone, but I knew she was joking. She looked like a nice person. I waited for her to laugh and then I followed with a smile. “Where are you from anyways? They said you were French, but you don’t look like it.”
“Ah no, we live in Paris, but we’re not…we’re not French.”
She nodded as though she heard nothing of what I said. “You’re very skinny. They don’t cook well in Paris? Um, sorry, this is your bed.” She paused again. “I thought you’d like the room with the window view near the bed.”
Our shared room looked more like a hotel suite; our bedrooms were separated by a door. We had a shared bathroom and a studying room that was too small to fit even one person.
“Oh wow, I love it.” I was happy indeed with the choice she had made for me. I liked to watch outside while being in bed. Somehow having my back to the wall made me feel safe.
I spent the next two hours unpacking and arranging my stuff neatly. Sarah read a book and watched me while lying on my bed. I was not so comfortable having her eyes on me. I made sure my stuff was very organized—not that I’m usually that neat, but it made me more relaxed having her think I was. She had her hair tied up in a ponytail with a thin hairclip on the right. She wasn’t too elegant or stylish. She dressed like she was afraid to catch a cold, although it was pretty warm that day. I stopped unpacking for a second and took a look outside the window, got carried away with my thoughts over the green fields.
“Do you need help?” she said.
“Excuse me?” I asked as she pointed with her head to what was left of my unpacked luggage. “Oh no, I think I’m almost done. Thanks.”
“The cafeteria here doesn’t have good food, but you can try the place on the street corner. It’s cheap and they cook the best around here. You’ll find most of the campus students there around two.”
“Oh, that’s great!” I lied. I didn’t really like crowded places, but I found it rude to refuse her first proposition when she was just being helpful for my “too-skinny condition,” although her attempt of help made me feel like I was sick. I always felt tense when people referred to my physical appearance. I don’t really like how I look. My mom used to tell me how beautiful I was, but I never gave much attention to her words. I cared more that she loved me. Sometimes when people stare into my green eyes it troubles me and I try to avoid the contact. I’m a little scared to hear their comments, and I’m not used to taking compliments either as I don’t know how to deal with them. I don’t think people give compliments because they mean them; rather they say them because they want to be loved, and that makes me even more nervous. I don’t know any way to express love, especially to those I don’t know. My automatic reaction to any compliment is to drop my head down and follow the lines of the floor to the nearest door leading outside the room. Although harsh comments have always outnumbered any compliment, as strange as it might sound, I favored them.
I was skinny for a Colorado girl, skinny for any girl. I was pale, with dark circles around my eyes and a face that could express anything in my heart easily. My hair was fairly long and my fingers looked like they belonged on a seventeen-year-old boy; those I hid in my sweatshirt pockets at all times. There was nothing that I really liked about myself or believed that a little care or change would make me feel different toward them anyways.
“I’m going to get us a drink,” Sarah said. “Would you like something cold?”
“I’m good.” I quickly remembered I was very thirsty in the airplane and hadn’t had anything to drink since then. “Wait. I could use some water.”
“Cool.” She left the room.
I found myself happily alone with my thoughts. I don’t think I live completely in the real world. I think here I only survive on water and food. My most comfortable zone is when I’m alone in my own world. It’s when the dark room is suddenly lit and everything in gray becomes colorful. I start to hear the sound of a sweet music playing in my mind, a very magical world that I never want to leave. My only fear of course is to be interrupted or seen by someone of the real world having a conversation with no one that truly exists to them. In this case I was interrupted by the noises of the students in the adjacent room.
I opened the window and welcomed the sound of the birds. The smell of the green was refreshing. I closed my eyes and let my mind drift into the peace of nature. Overhead was a blue sky with little white clouds. I knew I would find worry and anxiety sooner or later, even in such a peaceful environment. My body is the type that self-generates anxiety due to the traumas I went through in my childhood. I could hold myself tonight and tap my fingers over my shoulder like my mother used to when she put me to sleep, but when I wake up I know I will be stalked by a restless feeling of worry. Slowing down my breathing could only relax my muscles until I was asleep; it never prevented nightmares or even lowered their frequency. But I needed not to think of this right now because I would start worrying about when night would fall. I was glad my roommate was a nice girl; it made me more comfortable.
I remembered at once to call Dad. Sam picked up the line quickly; it made me think he was waiting near the phone for my call. Dad’s words were encouraging, and he was obviously happy that I had called. I felt ligh
ter as I hung up the phone.
As I put my purse on the bed the green apple rolled out onto the cover. The side of the bite had turned yellow. I picked it up and placed it on the shelf near my bed, with the bite side facing the window.
“It wasn’t on the menu.” Sarah handed me a mini-sized water bottle. “I managed to find you one though.”
I didn’t know I was so dehydrated; I enjoyed drinking that bottle of water like no other in my life. I suddenly realized that my fingers were slightly shaking. Mentally, I was way more tired than my physical body was.
We went for a walk that afternoon to discover the surroundings. Sarah knew every corner like the back of her hand; the place was like her own hometown. I don’t think I ever saw larger trees in my life. It was then that I discovered my favorite color; it had to be green. Something in that color reflected a quiet type of life. These plants seemed unaffected by mankind’s activities. They stretched so beautifully in the area. The space between each tree was almost equal, as if someone had planted them intentionally in this manner for decoration. I fell in love immediately with the grass and the shade from the tall creatures.
Sarah explained in detail everything I needed to know for survival. She introduced me to every restaurant we passed, every shop and street. I didn’t say more than simple words such as “wow” or “great” or “lovely.” I had lost my hearing for a few minutes, carried by my own usual worries, until she said, “Robert is a very handsome guy. He only moved to Colorado last year.” She paused. “If he wasn’t so stupid, you know.”
“Robert?” I asked with interest. It couldn’t be the same Robert; he never said he was moving to Colorado. Utah was his destination. She didn’t appear to notice my sudden interest.
“Brownish hair, glasses.” She pointed at a guy sitting on a bench under the shade of a very large tree; he was at most twenty-two. His glasses gave the impression of an intellectual person. An Asian girl was seated next to him. He had one hand stretched out over her shoulder while they both looked into a book. They looked like a couple. Sarah didn’t look very happy with them; she was avoiding looking at them.
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