Old Wounds Page 9

  Today, though, I was annoyed that Jane and David were watching me as I sat at the island on a kitchen stool while Stephen took my temperature, examined my ears and eyes, and tested my reflexes. While he checked my blood pressure, he asked all of the normal doctor questions like how I’d slept, how I felt, and if anything was bothering me. As usual, I kept my answers short. Afterward, he held my face between his hands and looked directly into my eyes, as though he was searching for something, and they would somehow give him the secrets of deconstructing Elliott.

  After a long moment, it became really uncomfortable, so I averted my eyes and grabbed his wrists to pull his hands away. Nothing like being a lab rat first thing in the morning.

  I ate my sandwich and listened as Stephen and David discussed whatever sport interested them at the moment. I thought it was basketball, but I could never keep track. David had practice this afternoon and then was taking Rebecca shopping. I could tell Jane desperately wanted to be included. It was moderately amusing to see David casually ignore Jane’s pleading eyes.

  It wasn’t until Stephen stood and glanced at his watch that David finally asked her if she’d like to go to Gaithersburg with them. Jane let out a squeal of delight she’d been containing, and clapped her hands like a three-year-old about to take a trip to the ice cream parlor. After Stephen gave her the speech about the importance of thrift and knowing the credit card limit, all eyes turned to me.

  “Please go with us,” Jane begged.

  I just shook my head, my eyes squarely on Stephen, hoping he wouldn’t make me. I could see the dilemma working itself out inside his brain. If he made me go, I would most likely have another attack and since I’d had one on Monday, and then another one last night, he had to figure it would be too much stress for my body to handle. Then again, he also hated leaving me alone.

  Just thinking about that made me upset. I’d been with Stephen for five years and I had never done anything to harm myself or others, or his property. All I wanted was a moment’s peace in my own house, and I didn’t understand why he always had to make such a big deal out of leaving me alone.

  “All right, Elliott,” he said with a sigh. “But keep your phone on, and if you need anything, page me.”

  He turned to David. “How long do you expect to be gone?”

  David gave me one of his signature pitying looks, and then addressed Stephen. “Maybe eight or nine? He’ll be fine, Dad.” He turned to Jane. “Be ready by four. Becca can’t stand to be kept waiting.”

  Jane sighed. “As if we don’t already know that.”

  Finally, Stephen and David left. I rinsed my plate and put it in the dishwasher, marginally happier now that I would have at least three or four hours to myself. I could play the Grand Piano or even sing if I wanted to. Not that I ever had, but Ms. Rice had told me once that people who stutter could usually sing without impediment. Well, at least most of them could. I was interested in hearing my voice stutter-free.

  “Want to watch TV?” I turned to find Jane behind me, and shook my head. “Please? Don’t spend the rest of the weekend in your room. If you’re not going shopping with us, then at least spend a little time with me.” I sighed and she smiled, knowing that she was the one person I couldn’t say no to, especially when she started pouting. “Yay! We can listen to music instead.”

  So I found myself lying on the floor with Jane, no lights on, as the sounds of her favorite New-Age musician filled the room. The weather was overcast so without lights, the living room was dim enough to be comfortable and relaxing. Typically, I found some of this music a little “out there,” but this CD was nice and soothing. It was peaceful to lie on the floor and stare up at the ceiling, not feeling pressured to think about anything in particular.

  “Elliott,” Jane broke the silence, her voice very soft and soothing like the music, “what happened last night?”

  I sighed. Jane wasn’t really being nosey just to be nosey; she was just a curious person and I couldn’t fault her for it either. We met when we were eleven, and even though we’d only known each other less than six years, she was the closest thing I had to family. From the moment I met her in our foster home, she was my best friend. If there was anyone in the world I could talk to, it was Jane.

  “S-she asked a-a-bout mmmy p-parents and J-J-J-Joseph.”

  She rolled onto her side, facing me, and ran her hand through my hair. Almost instantly, I closed my eyes, bracing for the tears. I didn’t want to cry, but Jane had a way of making me feel safe enough to do it.

  “So did you tell her anything?”

  I shook my head. I’d been too busy freaking out and failing to get adequate air into my lungs. “S-she already kn-knows. Sh-she haaaas th-the files.”

  “Maybe, but Robin likes it when she can get you to have a breakthrough. She’s supposed to push.”

  “Y-y-you t-t-t-tell hhhher things?” I turned to look at her.

  She shrugged. “It’s easier that way.”

  “Sh-she asks a-a-about your p-p-past?”

  “Yeah, but I can’t help her with that so much, you know? If I can’t remember it, I can’t talk about it. We talk about things like shopping or movies, and when I zone out, she asks me questions.” I narrowed my eyes and she shrugged again. “I guess I talk because when I come back, she’s got pages of notes and she brings it up in our next session.”

  “D-do you liiiike th-that?” I asked, because I knew I wouldn’t like having someone talk to me when I was basically not there mentally.

  “Not really. There are some things that are meant to stay in the past. I don’t need to know about them.” Her hand stopped its movement in my hair and she lay back down again. “One of my old therapists said once that old wounds are the hardest to heal and the scars they leave are the most painful,” Jane sighed and let her eyes slowly close, “so I’m not really in a rush to remember my old wounds.”

  We continued to lie on the plush carpet, not really speaking, and more just enjoying each other’s quiet company. Finally she had to get ready and I sat down at the Grand Piano and played for nearly two hours, nodding to Jane as she ran for the front door, as fast as she could go. David’s constant honking distracted me, causing me to shift from one of my most soothing compositions, to something rather aggressive and violent.

  The phone rang. It was Stephen checking up on me. I hated talking on the phone. My stuttering never seemed to improve, even though it wasn’t face-to-face contact. It took me nearly three minutes to spit out that I was fine. I wondered what he thought could happen to me in a few short hours.

  It didn’t take me long to migrate back up to where I was most comfortable; my room. I’d been strumming my guitar mindlessly, letting my fingers find a melody while I let my mind go blank. It was pleasant, listening to the music I was producing without really thinking about anything. This was why I liked music. Depending on my mood, it could either have a lot of meaning, or none at all. I’d been at it for a while before any coherent thought passed through my mind and when it did, I was surprised that it was about Sophie Young.

  I wondered what she was doing with her weekend and why it was that Robin and Stephen seemed to think her past was similar to mine. I hoped it wasn’t. I didn’t think it could be. She didn’t seem to have any problems engaging people socially, and exuded confidence in all of her actions. The only negative trait I could find was her association with Jason Fox and her obvious use of the “product” he sold.

  I couldn’t deny that I would have preferred she not hang out with him, but I couldn’t very well expect her to spend time with me when she didn’t have to. I mean, my company left a lot to be desired.

  If I was normal, we could talk about books, and I could…

  I needed to stop. This was a waste of time. I thought I’d killed the part of me which dreamt of magically being different, but every once in a while, it popped back
up and I was shoved back into reality once more. Of course, part of me wished that Sophie and I could be like David and Rebecca, or Trent and Jane, but Sophie liked boys who could talk and converse - who were normal.

  Setting down my guitar, I lied back down on my bed again and let myself wish that I was someone else. It was unfair that not only had God given me the inability to speak fluently, but also saddled me with one of the worst childhoods anyone could imagine. I was happy to have Stephen take me in, that was for sure, but there was no erasing the past.

  Jane’s old therapist was right. Old wounds were hard to heal and what’s left behind hurts. It wasn’t like I didn’t want to heal, because I did. I knew that I would stutter with or without the emotional baggage that came along with a childhood like mine, but it would help if I didn’t have so many things nagging inside my head all the time.

  I could live with the stutter if I could give back the past, but I couldn’t help thinking that if I didn’t stutter, I could better deal with my past. My stutter kept me isolated. I knew most of the students at school thought I was mentally challenged as opposed to just verbally challenged. My stuttering brought forth my social ineptitude, and they interpreted it as a mental deficiency. There were occasions when I’d been able to do something close to socializing with someone outside of my family, but it hadn’t lasted long. Usually I found out they did it on a bet.

  That’s why Robin and Stephen’s expectations concerning Sophie had me worried. What was her motivation for getting to know me? Why would anyone want to put that much work into getting to know someone like me? I mean, I actually felt bad for people who had to sit and wait for my mouth to catch up with my mind.

  I fell asleep before anyone came home, but was woken up by David banging on the door. I responded with “Wh-wh-what?”

  “Nothing,” he said, and then “No, Dad, he was just sleeping. He’s fine.” Obviously Stephen called him to ensure I was okay. I seriously didn’t understand why he was always so worried.

  I spent Sunday in my room, only emerging to eat. Stephen tried to engage me in conversation, but I just wasn’t up for it. I shrugged, nodded, and shook my head in answer to all his questions.

  This morning, just like every weekday morning, I awoke to David pounding on the bathroom door. Remembering his trick of wiggling the doorknob, I got out of bed and flung open my door. “Morning, Sunshine,” David beamed.

  The ride was no different than any other day. To be completely honest, I’d really wanted to stay home, but that would never happen. The highlight of my morning, however, was when I passed Sophie in the hall, this time without having some kind of incident with Anderson, and she smiled at me. It was just a second or two, but it was a real smile. The only bad thing was that I didn’t get to smile back.

  For the remainder of the morning, I wondered how her weekend had gone and what she had done. But by the end of lunch, when I saw her leaving the cafeteria just moments after Jason Fox, I realized that her weekend had probably included him. It disturbed me and then I felt ridiculous for feeling that way just because Sophie had most likely hung out with her friend. I didn’t own her. She wasn’t mine, she wasn’t going to me mine, and she wasn’t even my friend. She was being forced to spend time with me.

  I just wished she was my friend.

  When Horticulture rolled around, I was feeling incredibly down. She was late again, giving an obviously fake apologetic glance at Mr. Reese before slipping into her seat next to me. For whatever reason, my mood had turned angry. I wasn’t really upset with her, but more with my inadequacies as a human being. She turned to me and shot me a small smile. “Hey.”

  I sighed and gave her a nod, thinking that if I attempted a verbal greeting, it would sound stupid or hostile, or not come out all. She leaned a little closer, taking a peek at my notes, and that annoyed me. It wasn’t fair for her to use me simply because she was too busy doing whatever it was she did with Jason. “Did I miss much?”

  My jaw clenched. “N-n-no,” was all I managed to get out, but then I grudgingly slid my notebook closer to her so she could copy my notes, because honestly, it wasn’t her fault I was so incredibly socially defunct and undesirable.

  I tried to pay attention to what Reese was saying, but since I’d given my notebook to Sophie, and couldn’t take notes, there was little point in it. After a few minutes, she slid the notebook back and I readjusted it and looked down. She’d written “Thanks!” in the margin and drew a little smiley-face. As I looked out the window, I wondered if Jason Fox got smiley faces. She didn’t seem like a smiley-face kind of girl.

  The rest of the class went by in a blur. All I did was stare out of the window. I wondered if people like Chris Anderson, Megan Simons, Aiden Montgomery, or even Connor Hamill realized how appealing their lives were. I wondered if they had a clue as to how much people like me coveted the ordinary, boring life they probably thought they were living.

  I had to stop. If I didn’t snap out of this mood soon, Stephen would notice and then he’d make me talk to Robin before Friday. Tomorrow was another session with Ms. Rice. I might implode if I had to have sessions with both Ms. Rice and Robin.

  The bell rang, startling me. I looked down at my notes with the smiley face and realized I hadn’t written anything else. I would have to get them from Jane tonight. I slammed it closed and shoved it into my bag, along with the textbook. “You okay?”

  Turning to my right, I found Sophie looking at me, her mouth twisted up and her eyebrows knitted together as if she were trying to figure out a puzzle. She was incredibly pretty. Too pretty for me to look at, too pretty for me to talk to, and definitely too pretty to even imagine her wanting to know me. “F-f-fine.”

  “Fine? Fine, like, you’re fine or fine like, you’re agreeing that you’re okay, or fine like…”

  I sighed as I stood, swinging my bag up onto my shoulder. “I-I-I’m f-ffffine, S-S-S-SSSS…

  At that point, Chris Anderson noticed I hadn’t left the room and was talking with Sophie, so of course, he came over, shoved me, and said, “So-phie. It’s not that fucking difficult, you ‘tard.”

  He’d shoved me into the table behind me, forcing me to sit down on it. The table squeaked and the feet scraped against the floor loudly, which only drew more attention to the scene. My thigh hit the edge of the table and while I hadn’t thought Anderson shoved me that hard, I could feel the heat of the impact down my leg.

  “Why do you have to be such a dick?”

  For a quick moment, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. What a perfect situation. Yet again Sophie was defending me, so not only was I not a normal person, I was also an emasculated, non-normal person. Opening my eyes, I stood up straight and pulled my bag back up my shoulder as I tried to slip out behind her.

  “For Christ’s sake, while I think having pity on the less fortunate is admirable, he can’t even say your fucking name.”

  “So that makes it okay to physically assault him?”

  I had extracted myself from behind Sophie, but as I was walking away, leaving them to continue their argument, I felt fingers encircle my wrist. Immediately I looked down to where Sophie had a hold of me. “He’s a person.”

  “Not much of one.”

  I barely looked at her as I pulled my arm free. With a deadly glare, she looked at Anderson, her face flushed. As soon as she turned to me, though, her face softened and she got the same look of pity that I’d seen a thousand times before. “S-st-st-stop.”

  Anderson laughed as I hurriedly left the classroom. “Yeah, S-S-Sophie, just s-s-s-st-st-stop!”

  Ms. Peters saw my face and didn’t make me do anything for my final period. I just sat in her tiny little office, sinking further and further down into the old armchair in the corner. The final bell rang, but I continued to sit there a few more minutes. As usual, David would make us wait, and I didn’t look forward to sitting in
the Scout with Jane. She would try to talk to me and I was in no mood for talking.

  Most of the students were gone by the time I walked through the parking lot. My whole body tensed even more when I saw David’s Scout. Jane sat on the bumper with Trent standing between her legs, while David was sprawled atop Rebecca on the hood of her car. There were times when I didn’t mind their very public displays of affection, and then there were times like now when I wished I could just burn my eyes out to avoid having to witness it. As I moved closer, I realized that I would have to burst my ear drums as well, since they weren’t the quietest bunch.

  None of them even realized I was there until I opened the door, slid into the back seat, and slammed it loudly. It was another five minutes of “ohs” and “uhs” and “damn babies” before David and Jane extracted themselves from their respective partners and decided it was time to leave. I sat perfectly still, my eyes fixed on the clock in the dashboard as they hopped in, both rubbing their mouths and straightening their clothing out. It was disgusting.

  “Hey, Elliott,” Jane said happily, but I didn’t respond or even react. I was upset and angry. I knew they didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of my anger, but I had no other outlet. I didn’t want to talk to them and they couldn’t make me.

  “What’s up, bro?”

  I continued to stare at the clock as the time changed and wondered how long it would take my two genius siblings to figure out I wasn’t talking. “What happened today?” For a moment, my eyes flicked to Jane, but I recovered quickly, moving them back to the clock. I hated how transparent I seemed to be.

  “Elliott, don’t be an ass.”

  I didn’t respond. David had no choice but to start the car and drive home.

  Tuesday was even worse. Sophie smiled at me in the hall again. Unfortunately, today Anderson made it a point to be waiting for me and gave me another signature shoulder shove. Typically, they didn’t hurt all that much, but this time he didn’t just connect with my side, but with my ribs. I spent most of the day pretending that it didn’t hurt, and trying to convince myself of that fact.