“So, Christine. You prefer to be called Crissy, your mom told me?” The woman looks perfect, hair and nails done professionally, skirt just long enough to be considered appropriate. I hate her on sight. Even more than the pictures.
“You can call me Christine.” I give her a charming work smile and sit up straight in the chair. I want to get out of here with a recommendation that I don’t need to come back.
“Alright, Christine it is.” She hates me back. Good. “So, how are you doing after the death of your little friend? Your parents seem to think you’re suffering.”
“I’m fine. It’s always difficult when we’re confronted with proof of our own mortality, but I have faith in God to give me strength. My grief doesn’t impact my daily life at all. I get sleep, eat healthy, go to school and get good grades, work, socialize with friends. Everything I’m supposed to do.” Psychoanalyze that, bitch. I might not feel together, but I know what I need to say to get out. Sure, lying is bad, but this woman won’t be able to help me through it anyway. I don’t see the point in being honest.
“Well, it sounds like you have a pretty firm grasp on reality.” She raises an eyebrow like she doesn’t believe it. “Do you think you could benefit from one-on-one sessions?”
“That’s what I’m here to find out. My parents sometimes worry a little too much. But what’s your professional opinion?” I give another one of my charming work smiles.
“I think you’ll be fine. I hear his death was drug-related. Does that have anything to do with you?”
Her question cuts deep, and my chest hurts. All I have to do is walk out the door and I’m home free. William, send me strength. That question was mean to hurt. I can see it in her face. Just like Amanda. Once an addict, always an addict, so why waste time trying to act like he was a person too? This woman must be the world’s worst counselor. I won’t give her the satisfaction of losing my cool.
“I don’t use drugs and I didn’t know he had any at the time. I’m not really sure what that question is trying to ask.”
“You’ll be fine. You don’t need to come back.”
I walk to the car with my parents and carry a glowing recommendation that I seem sane and don’t need to come back. My mom isn’t convinced. I can tell by how she tugs at her hair and tries to look at me in the rearview mirror. I don’t know what she expects. People get upset when people die. She might just think it’s weird I’m so upset about a guy I dated two-and-a half years ago. I forget sometimes I kept people from knowing the whole truth. Still, I try to act content until I have a chance to get up to my room and get on Facebook.
Amanda is posting about another awesome girls’ night someone had forgotten to tell me I was invited to. I tell myself not to care, that there are more important things in the world to worry about, but none of it helps. I think, no matter how refined we get, no matter how rational or wise, something in women is programmed to make us go emotionally haywire if we’re left out or talked about. Especially if the one behind it is someone we consider a friend. It’s not my fault, it’s my nature as a woman. I sit at my computer for several hours and look at all my friends proclaiming what a great time they’re having and looking through pictures Amanda is uploading from her phone. I don’t even want to deal with people right now, but I still feel upset at not being thought of. I mean, come on, not one person there thought to ask “Hey where’s Crissy?” I hate social networks. Not only can people instantly tell how popular you are by looking at your profile, but you can instantly tell how popular you aren’t by looking at your news feed.
I know I was probably neglecting the group more than I should have, even before William died, but it wasn’t just me. Everyone started thinking about college and we went off over the summer to figure out who we were on our own. It wasn’t just me. I didn’t even get an epiphany out of it. I still have no idea what I want to do with my life and now it feels like I don’t even have anyone to discuss it with. Life sucks. I don’t think anyone should be forced to age beyond a point where naptime is a required activity. Oh well. I can’t go back in time and I don’t want to die, so my only choice seems to be to move forward. At least Facebook has one redeeming feature.
To: William Davis
Message: Okay, so, life goal. I need one. What should I do with the rest of my life? I obviously won’t spend it with you so that’s one possibility crossed off the list, but I have to have some kind of talent, right? I’m not great at math, but I get good grades in everything. That’s gotta be a good sign. I should be able to do something. Even you had a life plan. You were going to be a substance abuse counselor. I wish I could do something so noble, but I don’t think I’m cut out for it.
There has to be something I’m suppose to do with my screwed-up little life. Right? The fortune cookies won’t help me. Even the universe is shutting me out. And just because you might have a better excuse than everybody else doesn’t mean you shouldn’t help me out. Maybe weird book-buy-back-guy had a point. Maybe I should go on a road trip and then I wouldn’t have to deal with anything for awhile. Drive across America like Jack Kerouac and write a book of bestselling poems. Wouldn’t need a college education then. But I’ve never been much of a poet. It was a good almost-plan. I should probably just take things one at a time anyway. First problem: figure out how to deal with losing you and move on. Then figure out what to do with the rest of my life.
I can do that all by the end of the year. Right? Yeah… chance in hell. Love you anyway. Miss you like crazy.
“Doing the same thing leads to the same results.”
“Alright, I know it’s early but I need you all to say something. Anything. Come on, people.”
“Well, I think Kafka’s going for an anti-conformist philosophy. Gregor is obviously overwhelmed by society’s expectations and he changes to break free from the mold and prove he’s an individual. Kafka thinks society has become too stereotyped and he thinks more people should refuse to conform, even if it leads to death.”
Amanda is my complete opposite in the classroom. Where I only like to talk when I really have something to say, Amanda likes to chime in about everything whether she has something to add or not. She also has certain themes all her responses seem to revolve around. You can put money on the fact that if she opened her mouth she was going to throw around the words society, conformity, anti-conformist, and death. She isn’t even a nihilist, she just liked to throw the terms around because she thinks it adds to her “image” as an outsider. I don’t think anyone else thought of Amanda as having an “image”, but it’s important to her. I guess if it makes her feel better, we all need something that’s “ours”. If this is her thing then I don’t want to judge. She might believe all those things she says, you never can tell what people are thinking.
“Good, very astute.” Miss R. nods but I can tell she wants Amanda to be a little more original. “Anyone else?” That is always her follow-up to answers she didn’t think went deep enough, or answers she thought were a little too trite. Everyone just looks down at their textbook ,including me. I think we all like to pretend Miss R. actually believes we are reading and trying to find an answer. “Come on, Amanda made some very strong points. Not everyone can agree with those. Let’s get a good debate going. Come on, class!”
I don’t normally comment in class, and when I do I never respond after Amanda. There’s this unspoken rule that, no matter what, we always agree with Amanda and even if you don’t agree you keep your mouth shut. I realize that’s ridiculous and if we’re friends it shouldn’t matter but it was just another one of those things. I really liked this story though. I felt for Gregor, or I should say I felt like Gregor. Since William died it’s like I’ve somehow transformed into another person and none of my old friends want to be around me. Even my parents are treating me differently. I get Gregor. It makes sense. I don’t feel like I had something to say very often, but I never pass up a chance when I do. I don’t want to go against Amanda, though. No one in our group has ever tried bef
ore -- in three years it has never happened – and I’m not sure I want to be the one to find out what she’d do.
“Christine? You look like you have something to say.”
I’ve made the mistake of looking up from my textbook and Miss R. chooses that moment to pounce. She is always on me to speak up more in class, so whenever I look like I had something to say she calls me out. In her defense, when I look like I had something to say I usually do.
“Well, maybe it’s more personal than man and society. I mean, people change and sometimes when they change in unexpected ways people start to shun them. I mean, at the very end, Gregor’s sister starts to transform too, but because everyone expected that change, it’s implied she won’t go through the same thing. Like when people talk about the sophomore switch and how people change in high school and end up finding new friends.”
“Excellent! And way to tie it into real life. That makes my job a lot easier.”
Miss R. walks over to the board and starts her lecture. I force myself not to look at Amanda, but I can feel her eyes burning into the side of my head. I’m not sure what I did that was wrong, but I know it won’t do any good to try and argue the point with her. It’s hard to pay attention to Miss R. I’m not sure if other people have this problem but whenever something happens and people seem mad at me it’s always harder to concentrate on the rest of life. Miss R. might be talking about Kafka and themes and reminding us to take notes, but I don’t care. I just can’t handle anything else right now. I don’t want Amanda to make a big deal about something so ridiculous because I can’t deal with any more problems on my own.
The bell rings for lunch. The moment of truth.
“So I guess that was your grad once-a-year contribution to class discussions?” Amanda’s smiling but I’m not sure what she’s thinking. It’s hard to tell what people are thinking in general, but with Amanda it’s even tougher. She doesn’t follow normal people rules.
“Yeah, sure.” I smile back and try to act like it’s not a big deal. Have you ever noticed how hard it is to act like things aren’t a big deal when you tell yourself to act like it’s not a big deal?
“We all know I don’t have that problem.” This is the point where it could go either way. I’m never sure how Amanda will respond; it’s like walking on egg shells. I hold my breath. “I mean, no one would ever accuse me of not being able to fill a room with hot air.” Amanda laughs and I start breathing again. She’s having a good day. “Come on, Crissy. Let’s get lunch.”
My little group and I have sat at the same table for lunch every day since we found each other freshman year. Back then I think we thought it was lucky. Now I think we just don’t have anywhere else to sit. It could be the losing William thing, it could be the growing up and not knowing what to do next thing, but I’m starting to see everything with different eyes. The table doesn’t seem so safe anymore.
“Crissy! Amanda!” Mars always seems to be the first one everywhere and she screams when she sees us. It is nice to have someone excited about whether or not I’m there, even if she does the same thing for everybody. “So, how was work Saturday night, Crissy?”
“What work?” Alright, I realize I shouldn’t be tempting fate with Amanda like this after I was so worried about what happened in class, but I can’t help it. I’m only human. Not just human, but a woman scorned at that.
“Amanda said you worked Saturday night so you couldn’t come to our epic baking night. We made cake pops!” Mars rummages around in her backpack. “Here! I saved you one.” It looks like every textbook Mars owns has been laying on top of it at some point, but I take the crumbled cake pop anyway. It’s just nice to be remembered.
“Thanks, girl, but I don’t work Saturday nights.”
“Then your schedule must have changed because I know you mentioned working all night.”
“The store closes at five. Can’t work that late.”
“Are you calling me a liar?” There it is. Amanda’s bad side. I knew I pushed her too much already today.
“I’m just sayin’. Can’t work at a store that isn’t open. Maybe you misheard me?” I don’t know why I bother trying, Amanda didn’t even bother to ask and we both know it.
“Yeah. You probably misspoke.”
“Oh, Amanda’s mad. What’d Crissy say now?” That was Liz. Liz and I had never really clicked. We only called each other friends because we were friends with everyone else and it made things easier. I don’t dislike Liz; we just weren’t meant to be friends. She’s really loud, even louder than Amanda, but loud in an awkward way. She is the kind of person who’d yell something inappropriate in a public place for the sole purpose of making people angry or uncomfortable. Her whole personality is like that. It’s like she is physically incapable of toning it down. I work hard never to be alone with her in public. Some people are loud like Amanda, and some people have loud personalities. These people with loud personalities don’t even need to open their mouths to be obnoxious. That’s Liz. At least she doesn’t sit next to me.
“Oh, you know Crissy.” Amanda rolls her eyes. I’m still not sure what I did that could be considered “wrong” by a sane jury, or even a jury made up of those not currently in high school.
“I thought you guys were kidding. Are you actually fighting?” I love Mars for being so oblivious, especially now.
“Yeah, I was just joking around, Amanda. Weren’t you?” Amanda nods and turns to talk to Liz so I can’t see her. Probably talking about me. I still won the round, although I can’t help but worry about how I’ll be paying for it later.
“Hey, what’s lunch?” Prudence comes flying to the table and the dynamic is reset for now. Prudence, usually “Pru” , always looks flustered and is always running. She’s a little flighty too, not like Mars. She’s just flighty in a forgetful way. Pru is the musician of the group and is always carrying around piles of disorganized sheet music and composition paper. She is the daughter of two hippies gone corporate, but some of that 1960s love must have found its way into her genes. Her parents put those Woodstock days behind them to become lawyers, and are heartbroken their only child is going to be a musician. Ironic, considering they’d named her after the Beatles’ song. They’d had Pru when they were already old, and I guess the cynicism that comes with time just built up so much they’ve forgotten their youth. They’d passed on their rebellion to Pru, though. I’m sure their younger selves would be proud.
“Well, lunch is this meal we have at the middle of the day to keep from passing out at the end of it,” Amanda snaps. She goes from happy to bitch in under sixty seconds. I wish I could say that was a record.
“You know what I meant.” Pru rolls her eyes and sits down with a paper bag.
Liz and Amanda ignore her and go back to their conversation while Pru and Mars start talking about a test in some class they have together. I’d heard an old wives’ tale about how odd-numbered groups of friends never survive and I’m starting to think that is the case with us. Who do I have when the group pairs up?
I’m not really sure where the idea came from (probably from an overwhelming desire not to be alone) but I say it out loud before I have a chance to stop and think about it. “Hey, since no one has said anything about weekend plans, how ‘bout you all come over to my house for a movie night? I’m sure my parents will supply pizza or something.”
“Yeah! I haven’t been to your house in forever.” Mars looks genuinely excited.
Pru nods in agreement.
“I never turn down free pizza,” Liz smiles. Even she seems happy, calmer even. I like Liz calm.
“Um…” Amanda seems caught off guard. “Yeah I guess. I was tired of having everyone over to my house all the time anyway.” She glares at me when no one else is looking. She must have been planning to forget to invite me to something else. Beat her to it. At least I wasn’t refusing to invite her. It hadn’t really occurred to me that I could sink to her level, but it makes me feel a little better about myself knowing I didn
’t. It’s the first not-bad day I’ve had in awhile.
To: William Davis
Message: Hey, Will. The fortune cookies still aren’t speaking to me, or maybe they are and I’m just not listening. I haven’t bothered with Chinese food since you died.
But if the universe won’t talk to me, I’m just going to have to start putting my fate in my own hands. You were big into making your own fate, especially once you went to ‘“That Place”’. I was always the one who wanted the universe to present me a solution. Funny how that ended up for us. But I guess no amount of faith or effort can change the past.
Things seem to be working out a little, though. Maybe if I just force myself to make my own fate things will start working out? I mean, it obviously won’t bring you back, but it could bring my friends back. You think? I don’t know. Have you ever thought about how life works, and if we can just tell ourselves something’s going to happen and then it will? Or maybe we believe it’ll happen so badly we make it happen without realizing it? Or maybe I need to be more realistic? I guess that’s what ‘“That Place”’ taught you, or tried to. I wonder if I tell myself to stop hurting when I think about you it’ll stop? I’m not sure I want that, though. I’m just glad I still feel something when I think about you. Not feeling anything for someone, not even painful feelings: that’s how you know you don’t care about someone anymore. I never want to forget to care about you. Do you still care about me wherever you are? Well, I hope you do.
“A true friend and an honest man are worth their weight in gold.”
Chasing William Page 3