There aren’t any photos lining my walls, I keep all my pictures in boxes now. I used to love photography until the day of the accident. Now every time I look through the lens of my camera I see Harlan tumbling to his death.
My old room at my Gram’s place used to be littered in photos. I had them taped and stuck to every inch of my walls. It drove Gram crazy. She said I was depreciating the value of the house and that it looked tacky. It’s not like I had a lot of people coming over to see my room. I had friends I guess, well more like acquaintances really, if you want to get technical about it.
I don’t connect well with kids my age, well other than Harlan. But he didn’t always seem to get me either. Have you ever been right next to someone and still felt like you couldn’t reach out and touch them? That is what my life with Harlan was like, but he was the best thing I never had.
My Gram has always said I am wiser than my years. Maybe I am or maybe it comes from being raised by an old southern woman who had already raised her own child by the time she took custody of me. Either way, I have a hard time connecting with people and making real friends. There is something lacking inside of me, I can’t form an emotional bond with anyone except Harlan, and he’s gone. I love my Gram, but she is my family, so she doesn’t count in the friend department.
*—*
I’m not sure what I was thinking when I signed up for a photography for beginner’s class. Not as if I need to worry about it though. It’s not like I plan to attend my classes. Part of my therapy was trying to get me back into photography. I just couldn’t do it. I do good to pick my camera up, but to actually think of trying to use it again makes me physically sick.
I still have to see my therapist once a week. The word therapist itself perturbs me. I roll the word around on my tongue…I hate it. I mean it has the word rapist in it and isn’t that what a therapist does, rapes your mind. They intrude upon your innermost secrets and feelings, even when you say no, they keep prying and pushing.
My current doctor isn’t one of my doctors from the hospital; there is no way I would willingly agree to see one of those quacks. They didn’t really care about helping me. They were there to collect a check and dole out meds.
Gram arranged for me to see a family friend or, so she calls him, I don’t care who or what he is, as long as it keeps me from going back to that hospital. I am supposed to be on anxiety medication, but I don’t feel like I need it. I fill the prescriptions and leave the bottles in a box in my closet. Have I thought about going the overdose route again, yeah, I have but it didn’t work out the last time I tried that method.
I have an appointment with my therapist this morning—he is concerned about me more than usual, because the anniversary of the accident is getting closer.
Tick tock, I check the clock. Shit, better hurry, if I am late he will send my Gram over to see what is keeping me. I was five minutes late one time and he had my Gram sniff me out like a damn police canine. Those two know more about how and where I spend my time than I do.
Throwing on my favorite t-shirt, I laugh as I pull it over my head and stick my arms through the sleeves. It annoys the hell out of my Gram when I wear it. I find it quite funny. There a picture of a waffle with the word twat slapped across it. It is my big F-you to all the people in this town, the ones who like to stare and whisper when they pass me on the sidewalk. People can be so cruel.
What hurts the most is when I see my former classmates and they cross the street or duck into a store to avoid me. Gram says they don’t know what to say to me. She says I come across as unapproachable, and that they are afraid of setting me off. However, I know the truth. They all hold me responsible for Harlan’s death, every single one of them. And that is fine, I am responsible, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt—the looks, the gossip, and the accusations. You will hear me say that it doesn’t bother me all the time. I figure if you tell your something enough times that eventually it will be true—the power of the mind and all that jazz.
I put on my favorite denim cut-offs. my Gram hates them too because they are so short. She says they look like blue jeaned bloomers. Next, I slide my feet into my black chucks. I swear they are the most comfortable shoes ever made.
I blot my lips on a piece of tissue after applying my mascara and lip-gloss, then I sweep my hair into a messy bun on top of my head.
Chapter 2
I take my seat on the chaise lounge in Dr. Peter’s office. His office is in an older building, and it shows. It smells like dust and dead plants. How can he expect to keep me wanting to live when he clearly can’t keep a fern alive? I cross my ankles and debate on what I want to talk about during this session of thera-rape-me as I stare up at the cracks in the ceiling, counting the lines to pass the time.
“How are you today, Bella? Are you ready for your fall classes?”
Dr. Peters is a middle-aged man, who seems to be quite lonely. I think my appointments are the most excitement he gets all week. I wonder what his story is. I mean, he is attractive enough for an older man. He dresses nice. He probably gets most of his wardrobe from Macy’s or JCPenney. His hair is stylish, he keeps it cut short on the sides and long enough on top to spike the tips. He makes grey hair look sexy. In a hot doctor way—not in a young girl fantasizing over an old guy way. Gross.
“Thrilled.” I roll my eyes. He is so boring. He never wants to talk about anything different; it’s always the same with him. The guy is like a broken record. Some days I wonder if he is even really a certified shrink. He hasn’t done a damn thing for me so far. In fact, I think he aids in making me worse off.
“Let’s explore that for a moment, I sense you are sarcastic in your tone.” He eyeballs my shirt.
I snicker to myself. Damn, what gave me away? This is such a waste of my time, but it gives me something to do at least. Well, other than making my final preparations—waiting to die. I do have to have dinner with my Gram tonight. I hope she makes homemade chicken dumplings. They are my favorite.
Dinner is one thing that is nonnegotiable with my Gram. I must attend her dinners. She doesn’t like to eat alone, but I on the other hand have grown to love being on my own. She needs to get accustomed to life without me. I was hoping she would meet someone and remarry, so she would have someone to occupy her time—someone to keep her mind busy, once I am gone.
My grandfather passed away long before I came into the picture. His name was Redford Rose. My Gram married him while she was still a child herself, but in her time, such things were accepted. He was much older than she was. Today it would be considered child abuse to let such an old man marry a young girl at the age of thirteen. But Gram says back then if you were single at the age of twenty, you were thought to be old and unwanted.
Her sister was considered a defective spinster at twenty-five.
The thought of being given as a child bride to an old pervert makes me shiver. I suppose I am getting sidetracked with my family history—now getting back to me.
“I want to talk about your relationship with Harlan. How did you meet him?”
“We met at a dance my freshmen year. He was a senior and he made me feel special. He was the only guy to ask me to dance. I felt lucky that he chose me out of everyone that night. I mean, I was no one special or popular by any means. There were lots of girls vying for his attention.”
I was wearing my favorite white and red polka-dot dress paired with my red ballerina flats. My lips were painted a vixen red. It was a retro dance and I felt like a real Betty that night. I can still remember being able to feel Harlan’s eyes on me from across the gymnasium. My cheeks blush at the memory.
“So, he made you feel special. Did he treat you well?”
“Depends on how you define well. He had his moments. He knew how to make me feel like the only person in the world that mattered to him, but other times he made me feel invisible.”
“How so?” He leans closer like he’s listening intently.
Go ahead pretend to care like the rest
of them
“He wouldn’t call me his girlfriend, but he would threaten anyone that asked me out.”
“How did that make you feel?”
“Like he was ashamed of me and didn’t really want anyone to know he was seeing me, even though everyone knew it to be so. I mean, he wouldn’t outright deny it or anything; he just didn’t make it a known fact. He never—not once did he ever call me his girlfriend. It always hurt my feelings.”
I flip back to when Harlan was alive—he had a megawatt smile, and he could charm the panties off a blind girl with his devil's tongue. He just had away about him that made you want to have any part in what he was doing, no matter how small it was. I think girls would have lined up to watch him get his teeth cleaned. He was that sought after. He was that good looking.
“You have been made to feel that way from a lot of people in your life. It’s a hard feeling to take from those you cherish most. Did he tell you he loved you?”
“I don’t want to talk about him anymore today.” It hurts too much to think about what I am missing. And what I can never have—someone to love me, and someone for me to love in return. Besides, everything with Harlan was so complex; things were never simple with him. Nothing was ever black and white, we were always somewhere between, in the gray of things.
“Life is full of doing things we don’t want to do Bella. It is a part of life.” He puts his notepad down and starts pacing the room. “I want to help you, Bella, but in order for me to help you, you have to want it too. You have to be an active participant in your recovery. I can’t do it for you. You have to work for it.” He gets almost in my face, he seems so passionate about my recovery. Maybe he isn’t like the rest of the quacks after all.
“Tell me one of your fondest memories of Harlan.” He bites the lid of his ink pen in a way that has me picturing him as a chipmunk munching on an acorn with his big teeth.
I take a deep breath and try to suppress the image of my doctor as a critter from my mind.
“He surprised me one Christmas. He had never bought me anything, ever.”
I let myself slip back in time.
Harlan called me. It was Christmas Eve and my Gram had long gone to bed. Let’s face it she’s old and is out before the moon is up, which was a good thing during my school days.
“Meet me at the end of the street, I want to give you something,” he said. I had snuck out plenty of nights to meet him, so I wasn’t afraid of getting caught. I put my boots on and crept out my window in my pajamas. I was always sure to leave my window slightly cracked to prevent my Gram from hearing me opening and closing it.
If my Gram had been smart, she would have made my bedroom on the second floor.
I snicker to myself thinking about how much I got away with. I climbed out my bedroom window so many nights.
I never cared much about my appearance when it came to seeing Harlan. I knew he thought I was pretty. He had chosen me out of all the other girls, well at least, I felt that he thought I was the prettiest, and I didn’t have to paint my face to grab his attention, unlike some of the other girls he had dated—and believe me, he had dated plenty of them.
The fact that he dated many girls before he met me didn’t bother me. It was the ones who came around while he was with me that bothered me. But I know I was lucky that he liked me best. He was Harlan Rivers for Christ sake.
If you had grown up in this town and gone to school with me, you would realize how significant it was that I was his girl. Every school has one, a guy that girls could only dream of getting with. Well, in Cold Creek Falls, Harlan was the guy, and I was the girl to get him. Well to unofficially get him, but you know what I mean.
Anyways back to my memory—I made my way to his black Chevy pickup truck parked in his usual spot one block away. It always made me think he didn’t want anyone to see his truck parked at my house. It pissed me off, but not enough to deter me from getting my present. Besides if anyone seen his truck there they’d know he was with me. No other girls lived on my street.
I opened the passenger door and scooted close to him. “Look in the glove box.” He spoke to me with indifference, like he didn’t care if I were there with him or not. But I was too excited to be getting an actual present from him to let it bother me.
I eagerly opened the box to find a bottle of perfume. “Thank you.” I kissed his cheek. I had already given him a present the previous day— a set of headlight and taillight covers for his truck he had been hinting about for weeks. My Gram jumped all over me for spending so much on his gift, but Harlan was worth it.
He kissed me softly, and we sat making out in his truck for hours that night. He didn’t try to pressure me into more. He was only sweet like that when he wasn’t around his brother—Nolan, aka captain douche-waffle-extraordinaire. I tense up thinking about him. I don’t exactly hate him, but I don’t like him either.
Nolan was an even bigger jerk than Harlan could ever think about being, even though Nolan taught him everything he knew...
Nolan was always getting Harlan into trouble and bringing other girls around. Girls who weren’t me—girls who would have sex with Harlan at the drop of a dime simply because of who he was.
“That’s good, Bella. Now I want you to tell me one of your least favorite memories of Harlan,” he stresses.
I really don’t want to go down this road today, but I know there isn’t any point in fighting about it, he will increase my sessions if I do. I suck in a deep breath. I have plenty of stories I could tell the good Doctor, but I wouldn’t want to curl his toes.
Which story do I share?
“We were at Nolan’s house—Harlan and me. Nolan had been living in his own place since he was sixteen. I was sitting in Harlan’s lap, it was one of the rare times he was affectionate with me in front of his brother. It was always weird and tense between us when Nolan was around. It was like Harlan was afraid for Nolan to see how much he really liked me.” I pause remembering what it felt like to be with him.
“My hands were around Harlan’s neck and my face was barely an inch from his. I can still smell his cologne, and his favorite gum. I will always remember the way he smelled. Like ‘Cool Water’ and ‘Winter Fresh.’ I couldn’t believe Harlan was going to kiss me in front of his brother.” I smile at the memory.
“Then Nolan had to open his mouth and ruin it.”
“Did Harlan tell you his big news?” Nolan wore a devilish grin on his face.
I continue telling Dr. Peters the rest. “I should have known it wasn’t anything good.”
I shook my head no. “Harlan here is going to be a daddy. I am going to be an uncle in four months.”
“Harlan's face went pale and stoic. His body tensed beneath mine as all the color left my face. I wouldn’t let him, or Nolan see me cry. I don’t know why Nolan wanted to hurt me like that, but he was always doing and saying cruel things about Harlan to me.”
“Wow, Harlan, a daddy. That is something,” I had exclaimed. What was I supposed to do, if I showed the hurt I was feeling, Nolan would just find something more hurtful to keep his cruel and unusual torment going.
“Harlan didn’t say anything, he didn’t have to. All the rumors I had tried to deny about him were true. He was sleeping with anyone that was willing to lay down with him.” Nolan would always brag to me about the things he could get Harlan to do when I wasn’t around. Later on, I found out that it wasn’t his baby, just some girl from another school hoping to latch on to Harlan, but it still hurt, because even though it wasn’t his baby it still meant that he had slept with her, whoever she was.
“Good, that will be all for today, Bella. Schedule your appointment on your way out.”
My therapy sessions are as pointless as a broken pencil. I step out of the office after scheduling my next session, same time, same place, every week. It is always a repeat of the week before. He keeps pushing me to let Harlan go, but I can’t.
I know he is waiting for me.
Lighting up my ciga
rette as I step onto the sidewalk, I take a long drag. I don’t really care for smoking, but it takes the edge off. Taking another drag my heart skips a beat when I see who I think is Harlan looking straight at me. But it is only his brother, Nolan. They are three years apart in age but they have always favored one another. Well at least they did.
I haven’t seen him—Nolan, not since the day before the accident. I turn and quickly head in the opposite direction, pushing my bike. I am sure he blames me too. There is no love lost between us. He is one of my least favorite people. Well, let’s be honest. The sight of him is hard. He reminds me of what I lost.
Their mother tried to visit me while I was in the institution, but I refused to see her. I have enough of my own grief to deal with; hers would have been too much to tackle.
I hear his footsteps gaining behind me. “Hey, Bella, wait up. I want to talk to you,” his raspy voice calls.
I don’t dare turn back, I keep walking forward and further the down the street. I would hop on my bike, but the street is too crowded this time of the day.
I tuck my lighter in my back pocket and make a straight shot to my Gram’s house. She lives on Meadow Lane, directly behind the courthouse in a historical home. Her home has been in our family for over 60 years.
Not that I know any of my family. I have never met my parents—I only have one picture of my mother. Gram says that all the photos she had of my parents were ruined in the big flood of 1998.
My father was killed while overseas on a secret mission. He was part of the CIA. My mother couldn’t fly because her pregnancy was high risk, or else we may have been killed along with my father.
My mother died shortly after I was born. My Gram took custody of me, and I have been with her ever since.
It doesn’t bother me that they are gone. You can’t miss what you have never had. But I have my Gram, God love her, she has tried to be who and I what I needed. I walk into her old plantation style home. I never knock. The door is usually unlocked.
I look at the shoes on the rug. Piss! I forgot today is her quilting club luncheon. They meet at Gram’s every third week of the month. I grab a finger sandwich and walk out back to the garden.
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