He’s right about that. I do know the way I am. I move the same way here as I do at school or pretty much anywhere that’s public really. I keep my head down because it’s easier than making eye contact and I drag my feet. It’s just the way I’ve always been. My doctor told me it was a motor skill concern though, so I don’t give it much attention.
What I don’t think he’s right about is me doing it differently today. Nothing about the way I came in here felt different.
“I don’t know what you mean, Doc.”
“When you walked in today, even though it was only for a split second, your eyes connected to mine. You turned away of course, which is to be expected, but your head did not gravitate toward the floor like in times past. It stayed level with me, the same way it is now.”
“Uh, okay. Not sure why any of that matters, but it’s a good thing right?”
“It’s a very good thing. It means that you’re making progress.”
If that’s what he thinks, I’m not gonna argue with him. Doctor knows best.
“So tell me Eric, how have the last two days been for you? Have you done anything interesting?”
“No, not really. Same routine as always. School, home, art, all of the usual stuff.”
“Nothing else?”
“Nope.”
It’s not exactly the truth and something about the way he’s looking at me, questioning me about changes to my routine tells me that it is what I thought earlier and he knows something that he’s not letting on.
Is it possible he knows about Amy?
“How have things been with Belle and Kayden now that you’ve spoken to them about what was troubling you?” he asks, deviating completely away from his probing questions and throwing me off in the process.
Nothing about this session seems right.
“It’s all good. She understood and like you said, she wants to fix it. I’m pretty sure she let Kayden know too since he’s been different with me since then.”
“I’m glad that you did as I suggested. It’s a step in the right direction. How are things on the home front?”
“The same as always. My dad is doing everything in his power to be oblivious and it’s causing issues for my mom.”
“Are you still taking their problems on as your own?”
“No. I guess you’re right about that too.”
It’s not exactly a secret that I blame myself for everything going on with my parents, but with everything else that’s been happening lately, the blame game I play, it hasn’t really been an issue.
“Eric, I want to speak to you about something that I have noticed over the last couple of days.”
Swallowing the lump in my throat, knowing that any minute I’m about to find out why he’s acting so differently, I go over the last few days, our sessions, trying to figure out exactly what it could be that he noticed that is big enough that he wants to talk to me about it.
The only thing that’s different is Amy and with as much as she’s been on my mind lately, it’s not exactly something I’m feeling the most comfortable talking about. I can’t even figure out what’s going on, so bringing it up, picking it apart, I can’t see it doing any good.
“How well do you know Amy Evans?”
“You already know the answer to that, Doc.”
He smiles and it just makes me uncomfortable. One of the first things we got into after the move was the bullying at school, the way it made me feel. He knows all of them by name because I let it all pour out after the incident with the pills. He knows just how well I know Amy.
“You’re right I do, but it would appear as though over the last few days, things have changed.”
“If you say so.”
“You don’t agree?”
“I don’t know. Why do you wanna know about this?”
“Because the way I’ve witnessed the two of you interacting, it’s another step in the right direction. I am aware that this line of questioning may make you feel uncomfortable and for that I apologize, but in order to help you, we need to openly speak about all aspects of your life. Even the ones you would rather keep to yourself.”
What I said to Amy the first day about him being paid the big bucks, it’s true. The way he just knows that it’s something I want to keep private, it’s like he’s inside my head, which I know is absolutely impossible.
“I’m not sure what you want me to say. I’ve been talking to her, sure, but I don’t think it means anything.”
“Interacting at all with one of the people that brought you to the point you were at last fall, it means a lot, Eric. I know that you do not see it that way, but the fear that Amy and the others instilled in you at one time, it doesn’t seem to be present when the two of you interact here.”
Another thing he’s right about. As awkward as things got outside a little while ago, it wasn’t because of fear or anxiety the way it always was before. It was awkward because I can’t make sense out of what’s happening. Why I react to her the way I do and when we’re apart I think about her so much.
“There’s more to her than I thought.”
He leans back in the chair and nods his head knowingly. Like what I just said is common knowledge and I’ve just been oblivious.
“It appears as though Amy makes you happy. Do you think that’s a fair assessment?”
“Yeah, it’s fair.”
“Do you think that it’s the same for her?”
“No offense, but how should I know? I’m not her.” I answer back quickly, not wanting to admit how much his question gets to me. Do I make her happy the way she does with me or am I just reading into things because I’m inept socially? “I don’t really understand what’s going on with us. It’s confusing, but when we’re hanging out here, it’s nice and I’m happy. I don’t feel the way I normally do.”
“How do you normally feel?”
“I feel like I’m less. Different, but not in a good way. Like I’m defective.”
“Besides happy, what else do you experience during your time with Amy?”
Normal is overrated.
Her words, just like before fill my brain making the next word that come out, the truest one I’ve ever said because for the first time, I believe in it completely.
“Accepted.”
Chapter Ten
Amelia
I think the reason you find it funny is because no one’s ever explained it to you before.
I want to do that for you. I want you to understand me and maybe even others like me. Maybe if you know the way things really are, you’ll see we’re really not so different. We’re actually a lot more alike than I thought.
I’m tired of being the defective waste of space.
I want you to see the real me.
Your secrets are safe with me Amy; even if you don’t believe it. You should also know that it’s not just your secrets that are safe. You are too.
~*~*~
The entire time I was in Thompson’s office, the envelope was burning a hole in my pocket. I had to keep my hand resting on it just to get some relief from the urge inside of me to just rip it open right there and read it.
Reading it now, after somehow making it through the entire appointment as well as the bus ride home without giving in, I’m a mess.
I don’t think it was his intent to make me cry, but he did. Not at first. At first, the way he started off, it just made me interested, like I knew he was going to tell me things about himself and I really did wanna learn them. I was the one that was curious for once, though I’ll never admit it to another living soul.
There’s only room for one Curious George and that’s him.
The more I read, especially when I got to the part where he listed a lot of the names he’s been called, one’s that I’ve called him every single day for the last year, the more things became even harder to handle.
I felt a whole lot of things and didn’t have the first clue how to handle them. I was angry, but not at him. I was pissed at myse
lf for being the one to call him all of those things, but I was also sad. I put myself in his shoes, imagining how I would feel if my secret got out and people reacted that way to it. The names they would call me, the way they would look at me.
His words, they broke my heart and up until a few days ago, I didn’t even think I had one left with everything I’ve done. Tears started falling before I even realized it was happening and all I wanted to do was put the letter down, find my phone and call him.
I didn’t do it though. I can’t. Not until I process everything I’ve read. It wouldn’t be fair and even though earlier today I was prepared to completely bail out on him in the worst way possible, I do want to be fair with him.
His letter, the words there; it wasn’t the only thing in the envelope. He told me it wasn’t, but he never said what the drawing was so when I pulled it out, I had no idea what to expect. If it’s possible I think what he sketched, along with the words in the left hand corner of the page turned me into the mess that’s sitting in the middle of the bed right now.
It’s a phoenix surrounded by ashes. The detail in the picture is amazing and if I didn’t know he was the one that did it, I would assume he pulled it from a magazine or found it in a book somewhere, that’s how well done it was. The words though, him defining the phoenix for me and then what was said after it, that’s what makes the difference.
That’s what changes everything.
“The phoenix when it’s reborn rises from the ashes and that reminds me of you. I know that it won’t make sense, but the Amy I knew three weeks ago and the one I know now, it’s like you’ve been reborn. You’re different, but my kind of different.”
His kind of different.
For a year, I’ve believed that his kind of different was a stain on the world. He was a mistake, someone who because of the way he is, shouldn’t even exist at all and here he is telling me that the way I am when I’m with him is his kind of different.
Even though he’s seen the worst parts of me and the broken bits that I’ve shared with him despite the risk I’m taking opening up about it at all, he still reaches out to me, accepts me enough to let me know the deepest, darkest parts of him the way he did in text the other night and also in the letter today.
I know what I’ve gotta do now. With everything I’ve read and seen, the time we’ve been spending together away from the rest of the world and the things that seem to haunt the both of us, it’s the only thing left to do.
I want to be his kind of different and before I have the chance to overthink it, change my mind and go back to the way I’ve always been, I need to tell him that. He shared so much of himself with me even though I still don’t quite understand it, so now it’s time for me to do the same.
Reaching across the bed and grabbing my phone, I pull up the conversation from two nights ago and I start typing the message, hitting send before I have a chance to back out. I only hope that when he gets it, he understands what I’m trying to do.
My names not really Amy. It’s Amelia.
Eric
Hi Amelia.
It’s been on my mind for hours now, how she was going to react to everything I wrote, the picture I made and just knew belonged to her. As unfamiliar as all of this is, the rapid heartbeat, sweating, overall craziness over what someone thinks about something I’ve written and drawn, when I get her text telling me her name, the reason for all of it makes complete sense.
We’ve all got issues, things about us that we don’t like and wish we could change. We’ve also got secrets, things we don’t want the rest of the world to know. For some people, the weight of all of that changes them, turning them into something they never thought they would be. For others, we just keep moving forward, not allowing it to change us but desperately wishing for some kind of relief.
It’s just the way life is. I’ve been dealing with it one way and Amy has been doing it in the other way. She became someone else because of everything she’s dealing with and I just continued to glide, wanting things to be different, wishing for them to be even, but accepting that they couldn’t and going through the motions.
Different, yet somehow the same.
Seeing her name, the one that she doesn’t share with anyone, knowing that she’s trusting me with it, means everything to me. It means that what I wrote, the things I shared with her, even if she doesn’t entirely understand it, she accepts and she’s giving me a piece of her in return.
Waiting for her to text me back, I realize something and it’s so intense that it scares me because I’ve got no experience with it.
I want more pieces of her. The real her. Amelia, not Amy.
Hi Eric.
It’s just these two little words on my screen, but they’re powerful ones. Gone are the names I normally hear from her and in its place is my name and a greeting. Not a smirk, a scowl or even a disgusting comment—just a simple hello.
I want to ask her if she’s read what I wrote, if she likes the picture, but I can’t get the words out. Even with everything I’m realizing, the fear is still there, the worry that she’ll hate everything I did and turn it around on me in the end. I don’t want to be this way but I can’t help it.
It’s not as easy as I want it to be to erase the past.
So you think I’m a phoenix?
Yes.
I think you’re wrong.
Why?
If a phoenix looks the way you sketched it than it can’t possibly be me because I’m broken and scarred and it’s beautiful.
When I defined the phoenix, wanting her to understand exactly what it means, how it’s a symbol of rebirth, starting over, rising from the ashes and being something far better than ever before, I thought she would have gotten the idea, but with what she just texted me, it’s obvious that she didn’t.
She doesn’t get it at all.
It can go through battle, be marked, burned, scarred and completely ripped apart and when it’s reborn, it comes back more beautiful than ever. So you think I’m wrong, but you’re the one that’s wrong.
What happens to the imperfections?
They’re washed away.
So I’m still right and you’re wrong.
Explain what you mean?
Where we’ve been texting consecutively back and forth with only a few seconds break in between, time drags on after I ask her to explain. Did I touch a nerve somehow and it’s something that’s too personal for her to be able to say to me? Or is her response to the question just more drawn out so it’s taking longer for her to respond?
If I was normal, I’d get this, but because I’m not, I have no idea what’s happening now and it frustrates me. Going into whatever this is, I’m like a blind person. It’s going to be up to her to guide me because I’m not sure with the way I am that I’ll ever be able to see.
The way you think is sweet. It made me blush, but it’s not right because while it can have its imperfections washed away, I can’t. My imperfections, they’re always going to be with me, almost like battle scars. I’ll never be that beautiful.
I have no idea if it’s the right thing to say or if it’s just going to make everything worse, but if I don’t say it, I’m never going to be able to settle completely. It’s made even worse because they aren’t just words. They’re the god’s honest truth.
You already are.
Ms. Taylor, when I first moved here, sat me down away from everyone else and told me that no matter what my diagnosis was, how it made me react or the things I would experience, it didn’t mean that I wasn’t deserving of acceptance and understanding.
When I tried to argue, she told me that every single person on the planet deserved to know they were special; they were worthy of something, no matter how bad a person they were. I’m not sure she realized it at the time, but what she told me that day, it’s exactly what’s happening here.
Amy can’t see it, but just as much as I’m worthy of acceptance, understanding and meaning something to the world past my diagnosi
s, so is she. The things that she’s been through that have turned her into the person she thinks she needs to be in order to block out the pain, they don’t define her. She deserves the same things as I do and that’s why I said what I did even though everything’s gone silent again.
If I have to spend time doing it every time we’re at Thompson’s office together, I’m determined to make her see that she’s worth something. That we’re all worth something.
What are you doing after school tomorrow?
Tomorrow. Thursday. A day that we wouldn’t normally see each other because our appointments aren’t until Friday. Is she really asking what I think she’s asking?
Nothing. Straight home after school. Why?
If I said I wanted to hang out, would you do it?
Sure, I guess.
Do you need to ask your mom, like make sure she knows?
She doesn’t have a clue that she’s doing it, but she’s proving to me that she read the letter and that at least a little, she understands everything I told her. It might seem like nothing to most people, but picking up on the fact that my mom wants me home every day after school and hates me going off on my own, it’s huge.
I can tell her that I’m meeting a friend but she’s gonna wanna know where I am. So where am I?
The bluffs.
Okay.
So, you’ll meet me?
Yeah. I’ll meet you.
It’s only when her next text comes through that the pieces start to fit together and I understand exactly what hanging out with her is really going to be about.
Awesome. There’s something I need to show you.
I might not understand most social cues and a lot of the time, I take jokes seriously and make serious things into jokes, but I’m the master at reading between the lines.
What she needs to show me, it’s her.
Amelia
“Come on baby girl, lean up against wall the way I showed you so Daddy can get the perfect picture.”
I don’t wanna do it. It’s cold against my bare skin. Doing what he says before his eyes get angry and he balls his hand into a fist again, I press my back fully against the wall and shiver the second my skin makes contact.
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