by Anthology
“I don’t know Blake, I just don’t know.” I hear my mother to my right and her voice is either on the verge of crying or she is already crying. What is she crying about? She knows god damned well how I feel about her being with that prick I called Dad for the past twenty some years. She deserves better. Much better.
So why tears? I try to make an effort and open my eyes but nothing happens. It’s like my body doesn’t want to cooperate with my brain.
Open your goddamn eyes Payton.
Nothing. Not even a tiny flutter of my eyelashes.
“I guess you need to have a mirror ready, that’s the best way to break the news. She will see it and then we will decide how we deal with it.”
Mirror? Truth? How they are going to deal with it? What the fuck is going on? I’m fine. I try to wiggle my toes, nothing, and then try to move all my ten fingers slightly, nothing.
This is the moment that I should start to panic but I’m too numb all over to even do that. I know my brain is working because I can hear them very well, and most importantly I can understand what they are saying. That’s a plus, right?
I wish I could tell them that I am fine. If I could just say it out loud and let them know that there is nothing wrong with me and I am just way too sleepy, probably from all the drugs that pump in my system. I open my mouth to say something but I can't hear anything coming out.
“OMG Blake, she is waking up.” I feel my mother’s hand grasping my own.
“Good, then we can get all this over with.” My father's voice comes way too loud.
“Oh stop it Blake, this is your daug…….”
Darkness is all I see.
I DID NOT want to wake up from that stupid coma I have been in for two weeks. I swear if I knew what I would be waking up to I would just sleep. Forever.
But I did wake up and my mouth made a sound.
“Mom?”
“I’m here honey.” Her tearful voice welcomed me.
“What happened? Why am I here?” I whisper, dying to know what all the conversations have been about.
“You don’t remember?”
“No, the last thing I remember is getting in the car.”
“Ohhh, honey…”
“What happened?”
“You ran a red light.”
“I did huh?” Now the red light seems bright in my memory and the motive behind that reckless run through makes more sense.
I guess I did it then.
“Yes, you did, but honey I’m here for you no matter what.” I see her eyes roaming over the left side of my face. “I’m here, no matter what.” She repeats and that repeat scares me. She never repeats herself. At least not when she is sure of something.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I try to raise my left arm to touch my face, touch the exact place that makes her eyes tear. But I fail. My arm is way too heavy.
“Give me the mirror. I want to look at myself.” I insist, looking straight into her eyes.
“Honey, I don’t think that is a good idea.” Her calm but panic filled voice drills through me.
“I said give me the mirror.”
“Just give her that damn mirror and we can be over with all of this,” My father's voice cuts through like a saw. He is as caring and loving as always. I swear if I would have just a tad more energy I would snort at his comment. Instead, I let it go, I let it melt into the air like an unexpected fart.
“Can you just stop for a second and be a father for once?” My mother malice cuts through.
“Give me the mirror.” I stretch out my right hand towards her, the one that feels much lighter, and somewhere deep inside, I know the outcome of that won’t be glorious.
My mother hands me the mirror with her eyes full of tears, her face nothing but sadness.
I take the square glass of truth between my fingers and look at myself. One part of me looks perfect, just how I was before, but when I turn my head to the right, exposing the left side of the face, I see someone I don’t know. Someone who scares me. I hear my mother cry softly at my side and now I know why. I can feel my tears welling up but for some strange reason they’re not coming out.
I fight with my left hand and use all my powers to bring my fingers to my face and trace the skin, or what’s left of it, with my fingertips. Twisting my mouth in disgust at the first touch. The skin is bumpy, scaled, and feels raw to touch. There are visible and touchable cuts that make my skin look like one of those alligator bags you pay a fortune for. My whole left cheek is ruined along with my forehead and my neck. I bring the mirror to the right and I look like the old me, like a normal me. I bring the mirror to the left and I see a monster, this ugly, terrible looking person that I’m not sure I want to be. Now, I feel my tears stinging my face but I feel nothing on my left cheek. I touch my face again and there is no feeling in my face, only in my fingertips. I throw the mirror away, which is not far considering that I am weak.
“Honey,” my mother is by my side, tears running down her face, horror in her eyes. “We will get the best plastic surgeon, we will fix this, I promise you that.”
“Hell yea we will fix this, there is no way you’re showing up at my campaign like this.” I clench my jaw at my father’s voice.
I want to scream at him that one of the reasons I ran that red light is him, the other is Jimmy. Two reasons that pushed me to make the stupidest mistake of my life are males, both close to me, both not caring for me enough. Both betraying me every time I needed them the most.
But I will never say that out loud, I will keep that secret with me. I will let them believe it was just one of those unfortunate accidents and I am the victim.
Victim for life.
“I WILL MISS you so much honey. If you need anything, and I mean anything just give me a call and I will be here” My mother is looking around the tiny dorm room that is going to be my home for the next two years.
“Mom, I’m going to be fine. Promise. It’s not like this is my first day in college or something. And yes I will call if I need anything but I’m pretty sure I’m going to be just fine.”
“I know you will, I know it’s just… I hope you are strong enough to-“
“I will be just fine Mom. We talked about this a million times.” I know she is concerned and to be honest, so am I, but I will never let her know that. I thought long enough about changing colleges or to go back to college at all, that I will not give her any reasons to doubt my decision.
“Yeah,” she smiles softly and brings me super close for a hug. “Are you sure you don’t need my help settling in?”
“No, mom, I’m sure, just go, Dad is probably going crazy over whether you make it or not.” She tries to smile at this but she fails. And I know why. We both know that she is nothing but an accessory in my father’s political life. And we both also know that she deserves much more than this. I talked to her once about it, and she cut the conversation short, so I had no choice but keep my mouth shut as well. The divorce that was supposed to happen a year ago was put aside once my father was elected to the higher chair. ‘The image is what makes me successful’, he once said.
“You’re right, ok, I’m going.” She takes my face in her hands and brushes big waves of my hair from my left side to behind my ear. “ You’re beautiful, remember that, don’t let anybody tell you otherwise.”
“Thank you, mom.” I bring her in for a hug and loosen my hair, letting it fall over my face before anybody can see my face. The truth is, I’m a hell of a good actress. In the past year while I was seeing my shrink I made her believe that my scar, my looks are not an issue for me even though the truth is far from it. I just want to deal with it on my own terms and in my own way.
I did one thing that the shrink asked me, though. I accepted it. I accept that this is the way I look and nothing is going to change that. I accept that people will turn their faces from me and exchange weird looks, maybe even smiles, after looking at me. I accept all that. But there is much more to this than just acce
ptance and I need to do it on my own when I feel like it, not when I’m told.
We exchange few goodbyes and when she is finally out of the door I sit on my bed and take in my living space for the next two years. Honestly it’s nothing much. Two beds across from each other, two little desks that can almost fit my laptop and maybe some papers, and that’s it. That’s definitely much, much less, in comparison to my own room that I have at home, with walk in closet and a huge bathroom, but this will have to do.
I walk to my suitcase and unpack my stuff, putting my clothes on the right side of the tiny closet, taking out the sheets and throwing them on my bed, taking out a few pairs of my shoes and putting them underneath my clothes. I hear the door open and someone laughing uncontrollably.
“Babe, I will be out in a few, just let me drop my shit and I will meet you downstairs. Oh hell no, let me call you back.” I turn slowly; making sure that my hair is covering the left side of my face and smile at my new roommate.
“I need that bed.” She points to the side of the room that I have already occupied. No hello, no how are you. She barely stepped into the room and just like that she demands something I claim as my own, first. “There is no way I’m sleeping on the left side of the room.” I take a better look at her and think that this must be a joke, that I’ve been paired with a real life Barbie. Long, blonde hair that is sleek and not one is out of place, long legs that are on full display thanks to her super short pink skirt, breasts, that are in no way real, are peeking from her skimpy top.
I thought they would be doing some kind of pairing process more carefully, like going over the personalities and people's interests. I guess I was wrong.
“I already put away all of my stuff.” I gesture to the closet and the bed.
“I see that, you should have waited for me then we could decide who takes which side.” She drops her bag on the floor and heads over to my bed and throws the sheets on the opposite bed. “There, I am taking this bed and you can make yourself comfortable over there.” She gestures the bed across with her chin.
There is a big part of me that wants to say fuck you and throw the sheets back on the bed I owned just a second ago, but that would mean attention and unnecessary conflict so I just shrug, even though the left side of the room is going to be painful to adjust to.
I don’t do left. I do everything in my power to forget that left exists. I want to scream that to her face and put my sheets back where they were, but instead, I keep the words in and turn around to make the bed. My new bed. My new bed on the left side of the room. The side that simply doesn’t exist to me.
“See, we are already great roommates.” She smiles like nothing happened and that her sabotage of my bed was nothing.
“Super great.”
“Do you mind making my bed as well? I need to head out.” She is out of the door before I have a chance to refuse. Is she out of her goddamn mind?
I finish making my bed and stand next to her bed trying to figure out if I should be naive enough and make her bed, or should I be who I am and say screw you, make your own bed, you already kicked me out of my favorite side.
I go and grab the basket with my toiletries and head to the showers, another great challenge I will have to get used to. Community showers. Gross.
The last thing I think about when I fall asleep is how I might look broken on the outside but I will never be broke inside.
SOMEWHERE IN THE middle of the night, I hear ‘you gotta be kidding me’ when Barbie comes back to the room and I smile. Not because I’m proud of the unmade bed, but because for the first time in a long time I didn’t do what was expected of me. I hear my roommate, who’s name I didn’t learn yet, trying to fight with the bundle of sheets as she tries to put them on the bed, and all I have is a smile on my face.
“Life is a bitch,” I mumble to myself.
“Tell me about it.” She answers me back and I cover myself with my sheets pretending I never said anything.
“TELL ME ABOUT Jimmy.”
You don’t need to be a psychologist to see Payton’s body go rigid at the mention of his name. Invisible armor, slowly creeping around her whole body like a protective blanket.
“Jimmy is just…Jimmy.” Payton’s voice is barely audible, and that’s how Laura knows that there is much more to Jimmy, than just Jimmy.
FIRST DAY OF class. Kill me now.
I know exactly how college life goes; I’ve spent two and a half years living the life. But I’m not simply transferring to another place. I’m starting a new life as a new person. More damaged, more broken and definitely scared.
I managed to avoid people while I was home for the past six months. It was fairly easy because most of the time I was trying to catch up with studying so I could come back, or rather go back. My family is not one of those super close ones that see each other every weekend; so my mom and my shrink were the only people that I really had to deal with.
Those few people that I saw on rare occasion, while going out to the store or running errands, simply acted like nothing happened. Their greetings were nothing but “How are you, Payton?” a meaningless, empty, formal sentence. They didn’t even wait for an answer. And besides, what kind of answer could I give them? I’m sure they didn’t want to hear how I really was. That’s just not what people want to hear in general when they ask you that question. They don’t really want to know how you feel inside or how you deal with something that has happened to you. They only want to hear the good stuff. There were moments when I wanted to tell them how I really felt. There were moments that I wanted to scream in their faces that I felt like shit, that my life has been ruined and the only person who is responsible for all of this is me….and maybe Jimmy. Yes, Jimmy for sure, but nobody knows that.
So for the past six months, I became a loner. I was ok with that. I have my own circle of me, myself and I. I didn’t need those pitying looks. I didn’t need anybody to tell me how lucky I was to escape with just this. JUST THIS!
Half of your face to be destroyed!
The rest of your life to be destroyed!
Everything to be destroyed!
How the hell do you come back to being normal after this?
I would love to think that I came back stronger after this, that all of this would teach me something and I would stand strong on my two long legs and be, like, “See life? See Jimmy? No matter what you do it won’t break me.” But the sad truth is I’m nothing like that. I crumbled every time I recalled that night. There is a lot that died that night. There is a lot that has been scarred; my face is not the only part of me that needs to heal.
But I promised myself this one thing: If I go back to college, I will forget about my face and be the best person that I can be, the best plastic surgeon in the country. I will forget about my looks and be who I am, or maybe I will try to bring back the person I used to be.
Yes, my appearance is my own doing, not that I ever tried to blame anyone for that in the first place. When I pushed the gas pedal and somewhere in my foggy mind decided that I would run through that red light, I knew I was asking for disaster. What I didn’t know was what kind of disaster that would be.
My shrink never found out, that all this was intentional. That none of that night was an accident. Accident my ass. I planned this for the whole two minutes while standing at the green light, waiting for the red to appear, and I knew how busy that intersection was. There was no denying that when I pushed that gas pedal, exactly five seconds after the red light appeared, there would be cars coming out from the side. I knew exactly what I was doing.
It just happened to look like a terrible accident. One that I had caused.
Premeditated. That would be the term they would use if my case had been a murder. It was a murder to some degree. I killed my old self, and I’m not sure if the new me is ready for the new life I created.
I check my schedule once again and head for my first class this semester. Biology. Something I actually enjoy learning about. I step insi
de the class or rather auditorium and I immediately scan the left side of the room for any empty seats. There are a few empty spots in the upper left corner so I lower my head slightly and maneuver between the occupied chairs to get to my destination. I take a corner seat, with none available on my left, and I put my messenger bag on the seat right next to me. I hope that nobody will sit here. I am not here to make friends, meeting new people means explanations and I don’t feel like explaining myself or have to go over that time in my life again.
I see the professor walk in the room, introducing himself on his way to his desk. He doesn’t waste time, that’s for sure. He starts the session immediately and I am glad there is no high school crap like student introduction here. My name is blah blah and I’m here to do blah blah.
I’m putting the notes on my second sheet of paper when my bag lands on the floor next to my legs and I see someone taking the seat I wished would stay empty. I side glance at the guy and curl my face or half of it, as the numb feeling on my left never went away.
“I hope you don’t hold this seat for your boyfriend or something cause it’s taken as of now.” I turn my head slightly towards him at the sound of his voice, it’s this fascinating mixture of rasp and music. Voices like that shouldn’t exist; they should be reserved for movies and crappy romance novels. His head is lowered as he is taking his stuff out of his backpack so I can’t see his face, but I hope that his voice is the only thing that is irresistible.
“I didn’t hold the seat, it was already occupied if you failed to notice.” I can’t hide how annoyed I am at his presence. I came up with the brilliant plan to always find a seat on the left side of the room, preferably the first seat so no one would see my face in case my hair failed me.