I’m running. As far as I can, as fast as I can. But it doesn’t matter, does it? Because you’re still here; my shadow, unshakeable.
I wish I could escape you. The pain that fills your eyes when our gazes meet. The fleeting warmth that passes through me when I brush your arm, your leg, your chest. When our hands touch, instinctively reaching for one another, then we realize what we’re doing and pull away. Always reluctantly, always too fast.
Hearing something you say, wanting to laugh with you, knowing I can’t anymore. Seeing you, sad, hurt, but finding myself unable to comfort you, to cheer you up. Knowing it’s my fault your eyes don’t shine when you smile, my fault your laugh is hollow. I know what I need to fix everything, but I don’t dare say it.
So, I keep running.
You watch me, some days. You can see that something’s wrong, but you know me too well to say anything. Besides, I am the one who hurt you; it’s not your job to fix things between us. You’ve noticed that I don’t spend lunch at school anymore, I disappear. You don’t know that I go home, change into my sweats and a t-shirt, and run.
I have to run; it’s the only way I survive. You see, if I don’t run, I’ll get swept away by the currents that are dragging me forever down, down, down. I never have a route, and it’s never been a problem when I get back, because I don’t have a class after lunch. At first, after the fight, I couldn’t run the whole time. Now I feel like I could run forever.
I shower after my run, throw my hair up into a messy ponytail, and sit through my last class of the day. It’s mind-numbing. The teacher has nothing to say, and says it all period. I watch you, doodling all over your page, no idea what’s going on. I can’t stop the slight smile that steals across my face. I don’t dare. I haven’t smiled in months. It feels like eons.
You turn around, because your friend is talking to you, catch my sad smile. I turn away fast, but I know you have something to say to me. So I raise my hand, and tell the teacher I’m going to throw-up. He lets me go without question.
You watch me leave, knowing I will look back in the last second. I wonder if you can see the remorse, pain, hurt, and above all, loneliness, that has shaken me to my core. Maybe, because I hear, “Hey, can I go with her? She looks awful.”
I don’t hear the reply, but I guess he said no, because I don’t hear your footsteps as I head to the office to tell them I’m going home. And then, I’m running again. Running home, where I slam the door behind me, lock it, and slide the dead bolt.
Then I slide my back down the door, and just sit there. Staring, staring off into nothing. Nowhere. I’m too empty to see, feel, think.
I don’t wait for my parents to come home, like you will remember doing. We used to eat together, along with my sisters. We can’t anymore. Life is complicated. I’m here; I don’t do much besides school, and running anymore.
You think I am eating what we nearly always used to eat; spaghetti and cheese sauce. I nearly make it tonight, but remembering how you’d laugh at us because a normal family ate spaghetti and meatballs, makes me shut the cupboard and opt for cereal.
The dry cardboard squares are tasteless. I could be eating anything really. It doesn’t matter anymore. They catch in my throat as I try to swallow, but I ignore it. It doesn’t matter, either. The only things I taste are the salty tears that I fall victim to whenever I am home. Here, my walls fall away, as though stepping through the front door is like stepping out of my safety.
When I’m not home, I can be indifferent and strong around even you. That’s why I’ve pretended I’m not home when you’ve come to see me. I’d probably tell you everything if I let you in.
Just two more months, I tell myself a thousand times every day.
The days are impossible, the nights are worse. I can’t keep them out of my head. Memories, swimming, travelling, hiking, camping, swim in front of my mind’s eye. The only thing that keeps them away is the thought of your arms around me. Encircling me, protecting me from everything.
If memories of them are unbearable, I have no word for memories of you. Here, now, surrounded by the darkness, I want to call you, talk to you, only hear your voice. Needless to say, I don’t. I guess I don’t love you, really.
They say love is to surrender my heart completely to another person who I think will treat it better than I did. I wish I could give mine to you. I nearly did, but then…
You gave me your heart, and I’ve just made a mess of it. I wish you hated me. It would be that much easier to move on, to forget you, to run away. And I could hate myself that much more. It would be one more thing I am at fault for.
You’ve seen that I keep my distance from my friends now. I don’t allow their attempts at hugs, I don’t allow them to poke me, I don’t allow their playful shoves. I need to stand strong right now. I need space from everything. It’s just easier.
This morning, however, you decide that yesterday’s abrupt sickness is not to be forgotten. You stand beside my locker, you know me well enough to stand behind the door. I don’t look at you, but you refuse to be ignored.
“Are you feeling better?” you ask, voice careful.
I take a deep breath. Close my eyes a moment. I’m making sure there are no cracks in my defense. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
You don’t let it drop. “Leoni,” you begin, “What’s wrong?”
I start to shake slightly, but you don’t notice. Maybe if you had noticed you would have dropped it. “Nothing’s wrong, Seth. I’m fine.”
You grab my arm, my trembling has become something much, much more. Having you this close is the single most frightening thing in my world. Why? Because if I don’t run away, my sanity will dissolve. The thin thread I cling to in my life will sever, and I will be falling, falling, falling. I can’t afford to fall now. Not yet.
You see my eyes widen, and then I freeze. You’re no longer leaning against the locker. You stand a full head taller than me, and I know I can’t escape. You let go, seeing the fear I used to reserve for spiders. I drop my books and run.
My running is very uncoordinated. Not the steady running I’m used to, but a frantic dash for who knows where. You’ve put my books into my locker, and you see me running under the window, out onto the field, towards home. Then you see me trip. I hurtle to the ground, its arms reaching up to pull me, smashing me hard against the cement slabs.
That’s when you start to run. You race towards me, and somehow you maintain that graceful lope I was so in want of. You reach for me, trying to gather me into your arms. That’s when I start to cry. Your hectic attempts to pick me up suddenly succeed, and I am supported by you, and only you. I am shaking, harder than I’ve ever shaken before. It’s been awful lately, but this is the worst.
I briefly miss when the trembling was only caused by memories of them. Now even you can cause the earthquakes.
You don’t need any words. We both know how the other feels. We both know that we want to sit here forever, just like this. We both know we can’t. Out here alone, I look up at you. You see the dew drops caught in my spider’s web eyelashes, framing my aquamarine eyes. I see your deep, deep brown eyes, seeing through me. My walls can’t deter you.
Finally, I speak. “Sorry, Seth. But, I can’t.” My speech is halting.
Your voice is broken. “Why not Leoni? Why not?”
I just shake my head, then bury it in your strong, safe, chest. You can’t see me here, and I can’t see your pain. I can’t see your eyes, begging me, pleading me, to end my misery and tell you the truth.
I don’t know when, but at some point, I gently untangle myself from you, and I wait for you to get to your feet. Then, I whisper a thank you, and I walk away. I’ve never walked like this before. Burdened, weighed down. I’ve always refused to let anything show, but you already know.
When my psychiatrist comes by at seven, I have calmed down quite a lot. She asks me simple questions, just how am I coping and so on. I give her the same answers every week. “It’s easier not to cope. When school is over, I’ll need you. Until then, I’m fine.”
She looks at me with that practiced psychiatrists look. It’s supposed to make me feel as though she has great insights into me, but I know she knows absolutely nothing about me. The only person who really knows me now, is you. And I don’t even tell you everything.
Today, my psychiatrist asks me how school is, if the students and teachers are any help. I remember my brief conversation with the principal, Mr. Setan, and the vice-principal, Mrs. Lucine.
“Ah, Ms. Vorsen,” he says. “I’m so terribly sorry to hear of your loss. My condolences.”
“Your condolences change nothing, and thus I ask you keep them to yourself. I have absolutely no need of your sympathy.”
“Of course,” Mrs. Lucine replied, feigning comprehension, “Well, Ms. Vorsen, why are you here? Do you need something from us? I’d thought the doctor recommended staying home while the student body adjusts?”
“That is exactly why I’m here, in your office. I don’t want the student body to be aware of my… tragedy. I want this to remain between you two and myself. I have spoken with the police and the newspapers, and they are willing to withhold the information so long as you agree. Neither students nor staff, nor your own families. The spoken word tends to travel fast.”
“Of course….” They are at a loss for words. I am sorry for their loss, words are breathing.
“Well, that is all I wanted to say, I don’t want to be late for home room.” And with that I left.
I realize that I’ve just said this aloud to my therapist. I make sure my mouth is shut as the rest of the day floods into my mind.
You’re sitting at the science table, beside me, ready to start the second unit of chem. I’m unusually quiet, and you notice. You ask if something’s the matter, but I just shake my head. You laugh quietly, and my heart warms, but nothing more. It used to soar when you smiled. It’s too heavy now.
We sit through the class; all the while you talk to me, telling me anything and everything. I miss when I used to be able to do that. It was only three days ago, but it feels like forever. You wrap your arm around my waist, my friends behind us, notice, and we get a few wolf whistles. You just smile, and tell me, “As long as they know you’re mine, it’s all good.”
I smile, the corners of my mouth barely touching my cheeks. “I love you, Seth.” It’s the last time I ever say it. You wink, turn around to make sure they’re watching, and kiss me. I’ve always admired your timing, it’s in the moment the teacher has turned to the blackboard to write out some equation no one cares about.
There is a chorus of, “Damn!” and “Oh no he didn’t!”. You laugh, and for the last time, I feel warm, comfortable. As though maybe the world isn’t gone completely.

randallicious

February 18, 2011 at 10:46 PM PST

sorry...i didn't mean to post that twice

randallicious

February 18, 2011 at 10:45 PM PST

i'm curious about leoni's tragedy. what happened?? write some more!

randallicious

February 18, 2011 at 10:45 PM PST

i'm curious about leoni's tragedy. what happened?? write some more!

Lefellow

February 3, 2011 at 12:29 AM PST

Wow. Good stuff. Wow again.