Where All Things Will Grow Read online

  I was assigned a seat near the back. The school was set up so that seventh graders spent most of their time in one classroom, but switched rooms twice a day and went to new classrooms with new teachers for a couple of subjects. Once I was in the seat in my main class, they couldn’t get me to move. I was glued there and if I wasn’t in the seat, I was under the desk or underneath the table directly to my left where extra books were kept.

  I must have had a pretty bad attack one day because Isa came to get me, along with a state psychologist, and they never made me go back. They did, however, put me in a school that was designed for severely “emotionally disturbed” children.

  At least there I wasn’t the only kid hiding under my desk. It was an uncomfortable place and I didn’t think I actually learned anything. Everyone was loud and there was one girl who was unbelievably filthy. I never went near her for fear of the dirt and grime transferring onto me.

  One day, they called Isa to pick me up. My hands were so bloody that it bothered some of the other kids. I had chewed them to bits. I couldn’t remember why I had bitten them so much, but I remembered how the filthy girl took one look at them and let out a yell that hurt my ears.

  It wasn’t long after that day that Stephen and Kate came to visit for the first time. They sat on the couch next to the table I was under. I worked really hard not to hyperventilate. I thought they didn’t know I was there. I watched Jane move around the room in an obvious attempt to get them to notice her before she just wriggled between the two on the couch. I nearly bit the heel of my hand down to the bone when I heard the doctor say my name.

  He spoke with Patrick about me going to live with them. He said that they had a room that could be mine. I tried not to think about going anywhere new, even if having a room all to myself again was tempting.

  After they left, Jane pulled my hand from my mouth and slowly coaxed me out of my hiding place. It wasn’t time for dinner yet, and I would have preferred to stay under the table, but she led me to the bathroom where she dumped peroxide on my hands and then bandaged them when they were dry. I hardly even noticed the sting. My mind was too busy processing everything else.

  Jane was like nobody I’d ever known. There was a freedom about her that I envied. She couldn’t remember what her life was like before they found her with the watermelons, so she never seemed to be weighed down by much at all. Later, her episodes began to happen more often.

  “She’s so pretty and so nice,” she said, speaking of Kate. “She’s going to be my mom, I just know it.”

  I wanted to tell her that during the whole conversation, the doctor’s wife never spoke, so it was difficult to say if she was nice, and even if Jane wanted her for a mother, how could she know the woman wanted her for a daughter?

  I didn’t say anything.

  “She’ll do my hair and we’ll sing songs and...”

  There was knocking at my door that pulled me out of my memories. It was soft. Sophie didn’t stir. For a moment, I was paralyzed, but when I heard the soft voice, my muscles loosened. I moved quickly to the door and opened it after Jane whispered my name.

  I was upset with her, but I would never ignore her. Her eyes were red and her skin was pale. “I cut myself,” she whispered.

  I immediately scanned her body for the wound. She lifted her shirt just enough to show me the blood seeping from a cut on her stomach. That was one of her favorite places. I didn’t know what she had used, but from the look of the cut, it was only sharp enough to rip the skin.

  Her body shook as I stepped out into the hall and took her hand. I led her to the bathroom, and cleaned her wound. While the skin around it looked sore and painful, I realized I was right; the cut was not deep at all.

  We didn’t speak until I let her shirt fall down over the bandage. “I’m still mad at you,” she said quietly.

  I responded as I put the antiseptic back underneath the sink. “I-I-I-I’m sssstill mmmmad at you, t-too.”

  “Come to the funeral, Elliott.”

  I shook my head and then left her there to get herself back to her room.

  I slipped back into bed and fell asleep next to Sophie.

  I probably should have gotten Stephen to look at Jane last night, but I was pretty sure she was okay.

  I was not looking forward to leaving my room at all. On the other side of my locked door lay the real world with all of its nonsense about churches and Chicago and Kate being dead.

  I would have to deal with everyone’s expectations.

  I would have to tell them again that I wouldn’t go.

  Plans would have to be made because Stephen wouldn’t let me stay here alone.

  Sophie woke and rolled out of bed. I tried to keep her with me, but she was quick and my hand fell to the warm bed instead of on her. I smiled as she stretched, her belly button peeking out over the top of her pants as her shirt rode up.

  “What?” she asked as she smiled and ran her hands through her hair.

  “Y-you’re p-pretty.” Pretty didn’t begin to cover it, but I’d noticed that Sophie didn’t seem to like when I called her beautiful. She never said anything, but she always had a certain expression, a small flicker of pain, when I said the word.

  “I hate sleeping in jeans,” she said as she ignored what I’d said, hooked her thumbs into her pockets and tugged her pants down a little.

  “Y-you’re p-p-pretty when you ssssss-ssssleep,” I tried again, but she still said nothing. “Y-you t-talk in your sssleep.”

  “You’ve told me that before.”

  She crawled back into bed as I sat up and leaned back. She sat on my thighs.

  “What did I say this time?”

  “E-E-Elliott.”

  She stretched again, this time on top of me. My hands went to her hips as she let out a contented sound. “You’re hot all the time, not just when you sleep.”

  She leaned in and kissed me. Before it became too much and my body couldn’t handle it, she pulled back and moved off the bed. “I’m going to shower and maybe see if Jane is up and okay. Then we’ll go downstairs and get coffee.”

  I loved Sophie Young.

  The small things meant so much to me. She didn’t come right out and say it, but it was evident that she was manipulating the morning to make me completely comfortable. Not only would she leave the room so that I could get my body under control, but she would check on Jane and accompany me downstairs so that I wouldn’t have to face everyone alone.

  Sophie was so good to me.

  What I found when I got out of the shower confirmed not only how deep my love for her ran, but also let me know just how mutual that feeling was. In the fogged mirror, there were dripping letters in Sophie’s handwriting:

  I stared and stared at the mirror. I read the words over and over, forgetting about my nakedness; forgetting about everything beyond the fading four words.

  Sophie loved me.

  My heart seemed too full and my mind found the words difficult to process.

  Sophie loved me.

  She had written those words to me after her shower. They hadn’t been visible until the steam collected on the glass.

  What she couldn’t say, she wrote.

  Sophie loved me.

  Despite my happiness, panic trickled in as her writing faded until I almost couldn’t make it out. I needed to run the hot water again. I needed a camera so that I could save those words forever.

  They were for me. I didn’t want anyone else to see them, but I couldn’t wipe them away until I recorded them in some way.

  However, there was nothing I could use except my mind. I stared until I had memorized every little detail of the words on the glass.

  My body grew cold and I finally wrapped a towel around myself.

  It didn’t matter anymore that everyone in the world ha
ted me.

  It didn’t matter because Sophie loved me.

  Slowly, I took the hand towel from the bar and wiped her words from the mirror, feeling sad that I now only had my memory to recall the drop of water that had wound down from the point of the “V.”

  I dried myself off and dressed with what had to be a large, silly smile on my face.

  When I entered my room, Sophie was lying on my bed, flipping through a book of Mary Cassatt paintings while listening to Band of Horses. She closed the book and sat up, looking very nervous.

  I knew she had written that on the mirror and she knew I had seen it.

  For a brief second, I wondered if I should comment, but from her anxious expression, I could tell that even though she had wanted me to see it, acknowledging it would make her uncomfortable. She had such a strong fight or flight response, and I didn’t want either of those reactions from her.

  I didn’t mention the words or the sentiment behind them, but instead just moved to the bed, took her hands and pulled her up. I hugged her tightly but carefully and was happy when she didn’t pull away and her body actually relaxed into mine.

  What seemed like a long minute passed before I loosened my hold.

  “B-B-Band of HHHHorses is kind of c-country.”

  “No way!”

  I smiled and nodded, even though I knew they were classified more as Indie-Southern-Rock.

  “They are not country, Elliott.”

  What I did next was a bit shocking, even to me, because I’d never done it before. I wanted to tease her like she sometimes did to me. It was a natural and fun thing for people who cared about each other to do. So in a singsong voice, I said, “Sophie liiiiikes country!”

  The shocking part was that I didn’t stutter and the elongation was placed there deliberately.

  In typical Sophie fashion, she rolled her eyes and bit her lip, and leaned in and kissed me softly.

  “Coffee?” she asked when she pulled away.

  I nodded, giving her hands a squeeze. “Thank you fffor ssstaying w-with me, Sophie.”

  She gave me a small smile that reminded me again of her written words. She pulled me toward the door and we embarked on the new day together.

  “Are you set on not going to the funeral?”

  I thought I’d made myself perfectly clear, so I gave Stephen a look that let him know my mind hadn’t changed.

  “Robin’s guest room has a lock.”

  As long as I had known them, I had never been to the Wallaces’ house. While doors with locks were wonderful, I wasn’t happy with the thought of being anywhere other than my own room. Stephen’s assumption that I would stay at Robin’s annoyed me.

  “I-I-I’m ssstaying here.”

  He sighed. “Elliott...”

  “I’ll b-be eighteen ssssoon. I-I-I can sssstay a f-f-f-few days by myself.”

  “I’m not comfortable with that.”

  My hands curled. “I’m n-not comfortable w-with ssstaying at Robin’s.”

  “Kate loved...”

  I stopped him before he could finish. “N-nnnno, she d-didn’t.” It was okay that she didn’t, but I wouldn’t hear Stephen’s lies.

  “She wasn’t capable of...”

  “J-Jaaane l-l-loved her. K-Kate c-could’ve llloved her.”

  “She tried. It wasn’t her fault, I... I pushed her into...”

  “I d-don’t c-care.” And I didn’t. I didn’t care why they adopted us. I didn’t care why Kate wasn’t able to be a proper mother. It didn’t matter. She hurt Jane when she left. It didn’t matter what was in Kate’s past that had left her unable to nurture a daughter. Even with me, while we had positive interactions, I always felt as though she would have been happier without children, especially children like us.

  “Please stay at Robin’s.”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head for good measure.

  “We’ll be gone for three days.”

  “I-I-I’ll be here.”

  Stephen looked away, rubbed his stubbly chin and took a deep breath. “Fine, but you’ll check in with Robin every day. You’ll check in with me every night.”

  I nodded my agreement.

  “And you’ll have a session with Dr. Emmanuel tomorrow.”

  A Sunday visit from a shrink would cost Stephen a good deal of money. I wondered why he was always so worried about me being alone. Regardless of whether there were people in the house, before I met Sophie I had almost always been alone.

  Dr. Emmanuel was over early and I sat quietly as he reviewed some notes. I wondered how he was going to lead off. We had exhausted music and for a while we spoke about art and I had to tell him that apart from the illustrations in my reading books, none had been allowed in the house when I was growing up, not even religious paintings.

  Today he just jumped right into it; there was no lead-in at all.

  “Stephen is concerned about leaving you alone. Everyone’s leaving tonight?”

  I nodded.

  “I’ll be honest with you, Elliott; he has a right to feel worried.”

  “W-w-why?”

  “Your family history is full of mental health issues. Some of the things you deal with are troublesome to say the least but coupled with your mother’s suicide and your tendency to go deeply inside yourself when you’re upset, his concern is justified. Suicidal tendencies increase...”

  I was shocked at his words and didn’t let him finish. “I’m n-n-not going to k-k-k-k-kill mmmmyself.”

  He folded his hands together on his lap. “I don’t think you’re a risk, but can you see where someone less objective might have that fear? You do have a self-injury issue.”

  I didn’t know what he was talking about. Jane had a self-injury issue. I had never cut myself. “N-n-n-n-nnn...”

  “Look at your hands before you say anything.”

  I immediately did what he asked and saw the teeth marks and scars. I pulled my hands from my lap and hid them between my thighs and the arms of the chair. “I d-d-don’t mmmmmmmmmean t-t-t-to.”

  “Does Jane mean to?”

  I shook my head with a sigh. I saw the connection he was making, but didn’t like it.

  “So far we’ve skirted the major issues, but now it’s very important for us to start focusing on some of the things I know you don’t want to talk about.”

  He must have seen the fear in my eyes because he added, “Don’t worry. I’m not talking right now. The fact that you’ll be alone for a few days keeps me from focusing on too much today, but be prepared for us to start soon.”

  The rising panic was abated, but I did have to force myself to be calm when he leaned toward me though, holding out a pen and a few pieces of paper.

  Slowly and cautiously, I reached out and took them. “W-w-w-what’s this?”

  “Talking is somewhat uncomfortable for you and the questions that I’m going to ask won’t make it any better, so you’re going to write for me. You have six pieces of paper there. On three of them, I want you to write one thing that is relatively well-known or inconsequential about your family. I’m talking about your biological family, so one sheet each for your mother, your father, and your brother. On the other three pages, I want you to write something about them, or your feelings about them, that either no one but you knows or that you wish no one knew. Make sense?”

  I didn’t respond because my mind was still stuck on the part where I had to write something about my real family.

  “It doesn’t have to be anything bad. You could write what color hair your brother had. Take as long as you want and when you’re finished, fold each paper twice.”

  He reached for a book next to him and opened it on his lap. “Let me know when you’re finished.”

  I watched him for a moment as he began to read. He
wasn’t even paying attention to me.

  It took me forever to think of things to write. I didn’t know how long it had been but he didn’t seem like he cared if it took all day. When I was finished, I cleared my throat. He didn’t look up, so I had to use my voice. “D-D-D-Dr. E-E-Em-Em-Emman-manuel?”

  Finally he looked at me with a smile. “Finished?”

  I nodded, gripping the folded papers tightly.

  “Which one is the stack with the well-known information?” I held up my left hand. “Good, put those on the arm of the chair and take the others over to the desk.”

  I didn’t want to get up, but he was silent as he waited for me to comply. I finally did what he asked and then stood there, waiting further instructions.

  “There’s a shredder.”

  I looked at it sitting there beside the desk.

  “Shred them.”

  I didn’t move. Surely he didn’t want me to shred these pieces of paper I had just spent so much time on. I assumed he wanted to read them.

  “Elliott?” He didn’t even turn around to look at me.

  I felt confused and disoriented, and a little frightened because none of the rules had been explained and I didn’t want him to be upset with me. For some reason, the sound of his book closing propelled me into motion. I bent down carefully and sent the papers through the shredder.

  “Now pull the basket out and look at the contents.”

  I did what he asked.

  “The pieces are so small no one would be able to put them together without an amazing amount of time and patience on their hands, yes?”

  I nodded, but then remembered he couldn’t see me. “Y-yes.”

  “You can return to your seat now.” Before I sat down, he asked me to hand him the other folded papers.

  With shaking hands, I complied.

  “We’re going to read and discuss these. Afterward, you’ll shred these as well.”