Herald Page 2

  I leapt quickly out of bed and threw off my nightshirt, walking over to the dirty mirror on the bureau with its missing shelves. I turned around, looking backwards over my shoulder and feeling around. Still nothing. I could have sworn that something had poked me. Physically, forcefully poked me. But there was no sign of anything but the redness from where my hands had pulled at the skin.

  “What the hell is going on?” I asked out loud, turning around and scanning the darkness for my discarded shirt. I tripped over unseen objects as I somehow found it, and throwing the ratty thing back on, I walked to the window and pulled back the blinds. There was nothing outside but the dirt-ridden yard, the familiar fence with its broken panels leading into the landfill that was our neighbor.

  I turned around and leaned against the wall, listening to the pitter-patter of the rain as it slowed its assault. I thought abstractly that I should empty the pans and pails of collection around the house, but my fatigue was suddenly too great. I felt pleasure, knowing that sleep wouldn’t be far behind such a feeling.

  I crept back into bed and pulled the covers, such as they were, around me. My back had returned to normal.

  If you could call anything about my life normal. I closed my eyes and slept.

  This time, I didn’t dream.

  The next day found me sitting outside my school on a bench, waiting for my friend Kaila. My other best friend, Gee, knelt on the ground ransacking his backpack as I picked at my nails.

  “What are you looking for?” I asked him, not looking up.

  “I can’t find my phone,” Gee said, tossing his bangs out of his eyes. Gee was embroiled in his current obsession – a guy he’d met online but never in person. Kaila and I had both told Gee on multiple occasions he was being catfished, given the guy’s profile picture was reminiscent of an Instagram model as opposed to a real person. This was usually met with angry admonitions about how we weren’t supportive friends.

  “We are supportive,” Kaila had said, rubbing Gee’s back before he angrily shucked her hand off. “We care about you, that’s why we don’t want to see you get hurt.”

  “If you were supportive, you wouldn’t ride me so hard about Tripp,” Gee said, indignant.

  “Tripp,” I had said, smirking. “Honestly, Gee. Even the name sounds fake. Come on, all we are asking is that you don’t go too deep with this guy until you get proof of. . . you know. . .” I faltered, trying to find the words.

  “What, until he shows me his. . .” Gee started. He raised his eyebrows at us and we couldn’t help but giggle in response.

  “Stop!” Kaila laughed, struggling to grab Gee’s phone from his hands. He pushed her back, visibly unamused.

  “Kaila!” he shouted, annoyance flashing through

  his eyes and coloring his cheeks. “Give it back!”

  “Fine,” I said, waving at Kaila to cease her assault on Gee, “but don’t say we didn’t warn you. Remember, it’s only because we care that we’re trying to help.” I had never really known what it meant to be protective of someone you love. I had no examples of it previously. But Gee and Kaila both had found me, and all the love I had been denied in my life came tumbling out all at once, and they became mine. As a child, we were all together, moving forward through classes and mingling in the schoolyard. They were always kind, but one day something changed.

  I was obviously always the quiet one, wearing more layers of clothing than was necessary in the heat to hide the evidence of my previous assaults. I kept my distance, watching the other children. Listening. Trying to understand what it meant to have a normal life.

  I remember one particular Valentine’s Day. It must have been the fifth grade. Everyone was sharing their Valentines, simple cards with stupid sayings. Nonetheless, I looked over their shoulders, envious. I hadn’t received a single card. I tried to take all these omissions of my inclusion as signs I was succeeding in my deception. That I was invisible but normal. I had trained myself to do enough, just enough, to escape the notice of anyone who may threaten my already tenuous existence.

  “Come hang with us,” Kaila had said to me one day when we were in middle school. I looked around, thinking she was speaking to someone else. Kaila was always a happy, bright girl. Full of spirit. She was well-liked by teachers and classmates. I was certain it wasn’t me she was speaking to.

  “Larin?” she asked, looking at me with a tilted head. Gee stood behind her, engaged in a conversation with another boy whose name I can’t remember now. Gee, on the other hand, was someone you couldn't forget. He had always stood out – both for his bright attire and outspoken attitude. Neither had said much to me before, but for some reason that day was different.

  “What, me?” I asked, surprised. I wiped my nose with a dirty hand, the hole in the sleeve I used to slip my thumb through less of a fashion statement and more of a means of keeping my sleeves appearing even. I was not popular by any stretch of the imagination, but I wasn’t unpopular either. I was simply ignored. I felt it was better than drawing unwanted attention from the monsters my father would have me believe lurked in every corner of the school system.

  “Yeah,” Kaila laughed, turning around as though to end the discussion. “You’re sitting there all by yourself. Come hang out with us.” Her eyes sparkled kindly as she smiled at me. I stared at her, trying to think of something to say. Fortunately, Kaila wasn’t one to take no for an answer. “Let’s go sit over there.” And she walked off, expecting me to follow. I waited a moment, realizing something was popping open within me. A desire to be included. A fervent desire, and a hope. Gee stopped talking to what’s-his-name and looked up at me, smiling and waving a hand at me to follow as he turned and traipsed off with Kaila. I followed.

  That day was the first day of every day. The only thing I had to look forward to. The only thing with meaning. My friends.

  They never knew the full extent of what happened at home, but I knew they suspected. As our friendship grew, so too did their concern for my well-being. They prodded a lot, initially. So much so I started to withdraw from them to protect my secret life. Rather than lose me, they accepted my desire for privacy. And as I said, I was good at hiding my scars. I learned to hide the internal scars as well as those that hid below the layers of clothing. Instead, they tried a different approach. I found myself saturated in their lives, distracted from my ordeals at home. They ensured I was always included, and I always felt there were acceptance and affection. Their families responded in kind, taking me into their homes and making me a part of their lives. There I learned how to be normal. How to converse with others and how to learn the nuances of social inclusion. Kaila’s family often invited me over for dinner, and on those nights, I went to bed with food in my belly. Gee’s family was almost as colourful as he was – full of life and happiness. They loved each other. Gee had a massive family, and I almost lived for his family gatherings. I ate until I nearly burst, and I would always be sent home with plates overflowing with food.

  Once, I came home with a container brimming with contents. My father was waiting, angry.

  “And where the hell have you been?” he demanded. I could smell the liquor on his breath from across the room. Frowning, I looked down, walking towards the kitchen.

  “I was at Gee’s and they had piles of leftovers. I thought you’d like some,” I said, trying to distract him.

  There was a smashing sound. “Does he think we’re a goddamn charity case?” Dad asked, storming across the room to me. I froze, still looking down. Dad reached me and slapped the container and its contents of food – what could have been our meals for several days, out of my hands. The container burst open from the force of his strike, and I frowned unhappily as I felt it hit the wall and end up in a pile on the floor. But I knew the safest move was to make no move at all. I continued to stay frozen, staring at the ground.

  “I don’t want you to see that stupid fag anymore!” he shouted, and I finally looked up.

  “Don’t you dare call him that!” I
cried, immediately regretting it. Dad was drunk. That was never the time to engage. But Dad was almost always drunk.

  The next day I didn’t go to school. Or the day after that. My bruises from that incident didn’t go away for weeks, but Gee and Kaila didn’t see them, as I hid them under my usual layers upon layers.

  “Lar?” Gee was saying.

  I looked up, the reverie broken.

  “Yeah? What? Sorry,” I said, taking a deep breath. I remembered myself and smiled.

  “I said Tripp wants to meet up this weekend!” Gee smiled, triumphant. I didn’t want to mention this was the umpteenth time Tripp had offered to meet him, but some emergency always seemed to arise at the last moment. Kaila and I were convinced this guy was probably some fifty-year-old, super-morbidly-obese man who lived in a basement somewhere and got his kicks from stringing the young lovelorn along on the internet.

  “Just do me a favor,” I said, smiling despite myself. It was hard not to smile around Gee, even at the worst of times. “Don’t give him any money, ok?”

  It wasn’t like he had any money to give. Gee’s part-time job at a shoe store wasn’t exactly raking in the big bucks.

  “I’m just gonna stop talking to you about this,” Gee glowered, and I laughed, getting up and walking over to him. I sat down and put my arm around him, giving him a squeeze as I forced his face towards mine. I kissed him quickly on the forehead quickly as he continued to scowl.

  “What’s up?” Kaila had finally turned up from wherever she’d been and plopped down beside us. “What are we talking about now?” she asked as she pulled her dark hair into a bun. The hair tie in her mouth, she kept speaking, changing the subject to the latest scandalous rumour at school. “Did you guys hear about Jacob?”

  “We’re talking about ‘Tripp,’” I grinned, unable to resist giving Kaila a knowing smirk.

  “Oh god, this again,” she moaned, rolling her eyes and giving Gee a pointed look. He stared back at her unhappily.

  “He’s real, ok? And we’re in love.”

  This statement elicited groans from Kaila and I, and we went on to discuss the matter in some detail before the school bell rang.

  I always detested school. I had no job, but my full-time job had been hiding my home life from the eyes of people who would take me away. Being taken away had meant potentially losing my dearest friends – frankly, my only reason for going on. I was eighteen now, having just become legal. I could be on my own, but the reality was that I had nowhere else to go. I endured my home to protect my relationship with the two people I loved the most. My friends. My heart. They accepted me despite my secretiveness around my life, my dirty and worn-out clothes, and my constant deflection of anything that got just a little too personal. I loved them. So much I could never risk losing them. I couldn’t afford college, had no desire to go, but I was determined to graduate high school and follow one or both of them wherever they went. With a diploma, I hoped to have a few more options. I just hadn’t figured them out yet.

  In homeroom, I pulled out homework I didn’t finish. I really didn’t care about my schoolwork, but somehow, I always pulled it together at the last minute to pass. My English teacher had pulled me aside recently, trying to get me to see reason.

  “Larin,” he had said kindly. “I know you’re capable of more than this. I read your poetry unit, and it was. . . honestly? It was superb. Why can’t you be consistent? Is there something you need? Something you want to talk about?”

  Something I want to talk about. How I am a product of an abusive home, a father who hates me, a brother who could not care less about my existence, a home that could barely be called even that? A house falling apart around me, a life being held onto by a thread?

  “I’m fine,” I said, mustering up a smile. “I’ll do better, I promise.” I hoped to end the conversation. The last thing I wanted to do was fail. It meant I’d be trapped another year in my present prison, while Gee and Kaila moved ahead without me. The thought of them graduating and leaving for college while I languished in this hellhole town made me choke. I felt tears threaten to come to the surface and I pushed them back down. Hard.

  “Larin. . .” the teacher said, trailing off. He was looking at me with such concern I nearly broke down. But I was too well trained at the art of hiding things and I met his eyes, unblinking. He shook his head. “If you need to talk about anything,” he said, his words seeping with meaning, “just let me know.”

  “Thanks,” I managed a fake smile and looked him straight in the eyes. “I will. But it’s fine, honest. I know I need to focus more on schoolwork, and I will. Thanks so much for your concern.”

  I tried a little harder after that. My grades were fair, which is almost unimaginable looking back on it now.

  That day in homeroom though was different. I was leaning forward on my desk, ignoring what was going on around me. I turned my head, lazily staring at the board and the writing about our latest assignment without interest. That strange poking sensation started again. This time, I felt it in both shoulder blades.

  I sat up, reaching behind me casually as though to scratch an itch. I slipped a hand into my shirt, feeling around my right shoulder blade as the poking sensation stepped to a full-on throbbing. I frowned, pushing my hand against my skin. Feeling nothing, I rubbed it quickly and withdrew my hand. I looked around but all was normal. Somehow, things did not feel normal. I raised my hand. Ms. Channer, the teacher, looked up.

  “May I be excused?” I asked as the sensation picked up again in earnest. It felt as though two small fists were trying to punch their way out of my back. There was a sense of urgency to the assault, and I felt as though something was compelling me to flee. A bead of sweat form at my hairline and wiped it hastily away.

  “Are you alright, Ms. Thompson?” Ms. Channer asked.

  “Yes, ma’am, I just need to use the restroom, please,” I said, a note of urgency slipping in unintentionally.

  “Go ahead.” She turning back to her work, but a few curious stares from my classmates followed me as I nearly ran out to the restroom.

  Once there, I rushed to the mirror and turned my back to it, lifting my shirt and trying to stare as best I could from over my shoulder. I groped around with my hand, trying to identify the source of the throbbing sensation.

  Nothing was there.

  I turned around and frowned into my reflection in the mirror. I was a thin girl with extraordinarily pale skin. So pale as to almost see the veins underneath the surface. My hair was a golden blond. Under normal circumstances, you might consider it a beautiful color, but as it was, it hung slack and unwashed. Water was often a thing of privilege – there were weeks where the utilities were shut off at home. During those times I would try to bathe secretly after classes in the change rooms behind school gym.

  My dull grey eyes stared back at me, unblinking.

  I sighed, turning on the tap and splashing some cold water on my face. I was rewarded with a brief rush of color in my cheeks as my body reacted to the sensation of cold. I felt nothing in gazing at my reflection. My exterior was a shell, most of it hidden to avoid attention to the constellation of scars that covered my body. If ever I could have been called beautiful, it was lost under the burden of the life I’d been given. My features reflected my reality. Nothing more.

  I was about to turn and head back to class when I suddenly felt an acute sensation of pain and itchiness. I gasped, scratching at my back. I ran into a stall as another girl came in and slammed the door shut behind me. Once inside, I took my shirt off completely and scratched desperately at my skin. The itching was giving way to a sense of my flesh being on fire, and I stifled the urge to whimper, suddenly frightened.

  After a short time, the feeling subsided, but not before I was holding the edges of the toilet as though my life depended on it. I felt a sudden urge to vomit and retched violently.

  “Are you ok?” asked an unfamiliar voice outside, as I continued to gag.

  “I’m fine,” I
choked out, “food poisoning!”

  “Ok. . .” said the voice. I heard the door of the restroom open and shut, and I knew I was alone.

  I ran back out to the mirrors and yanked my shirt up quickly, checking again. The sensation of fire was back, and it was getting to unbearable heights. As I stared, I noticed something different. Two small bumps formed under the flesh of both shoulder blades.

  “What in the hell?!” I said to myself before the door of the restroom opened again. I pulled my shirt down hastily and pushed past two curious girls without saying a word. I walked quickly back to class, a full sweat breaking out all over my body. I felt feverish, suddenly incredibly ill.

  I didn’t have to ask to be excused again.

  “Ms. Thompson!” Ms. Channer nearly gasped, looking at my pasty complexion. “Are you ill?” It was stating the obvious, and I nodded tightly.

  “Yes, ma’am.” I croaked, gathering my things as another stab of pain in my back threatened to cause me to double over. I asked to be excused again, intending to leave despite the answer.

  “Yes, go to the office,” she said, staring at me with a concerned and perplexed expression. I had absolutely no intention of doing as instructed but said nothing. I gathered my bags and nearly ran out of the room, ignoring the questioning stares behind me.

  I ran all the way home between pauses to vomit uncontrollably in the occasional bush.

  I was so relieved that nobody was home when I arrived that I nearly sobbed. I dropped my things at the front in my usual fashion, stepping over the trash that covered the floor of the living room. Someone had left the television on, and a reporter was discussing the implications for the change in stock prices that day. I ignored it completely and limped into my room, taking off my shirt and dropping it haphazardly as I made my way to the bureau. The pain and itching in my back had reached epic heights. I felt I couldn’t stand it and started scratching the bumps until I drew blood, crying in pain.

  “What IS this?!” I cried, to myself, to nobody. “What’s going on?!”