Authors: Leen Elle
Guilt (8 page)
The rusty mineral well pump still stood in its place by an old shabby looking house that no longer belonged to my family. Many times, I'd been tempted to see if the thing still worked, but it was surrounded with vines and thorns. Even if I could get to it, I'd have been afraid of intruding. The police in the town had nothing better to do than to stop teenagers for trespassing and loitering, so I kept my distance.
I used to go up to The Giant's Grave, though. All by myself with a sandwich and a book, I'd spend hours on top of the mound when the weather was good. It was deserted and quiet. The wind rustled the leaves high in the treetops, and the gully's cliffs drowned out the distant rumbles of car motors and the hums of lawn mowers. It banished the hisses of the last working steel mill and the chimes of the city hall's clock tower. Those noises that could not be avoided anywhere else in town, were completely erased in that small piece of wilderness.
Looking at the drawing, it seemed fitting that Corry would choose that spot for the little girls' honorary grave. A peaceful resting place with a larger than life mythical protector to watch over her. Corry had a deep soul, and I hoped that he found the same peace for himself that he tried to give to the little girl through this drawing.
I decided that the Giant's Grave was a site I would definitely visit during this trip home. It was one place in my past that I could enter without tarnished memories. Perhaps there I could find a little of the old peace from my youthful innocence that had evaded me now for so long.
Even if it was just for a little while.
"You skirt around unpleasantness . . . and [it] underscores your naivety of the world"
. Mr. Dart's words irked Claire like nothing ever had in her life. Sure, she wasn't experienced in the ways of the world. She lived in Brickerton, for God's sake. The whole town floated in a disconnected time warp.
That's the reason the townspeople couldn't comprehend the only major crime that had touched the community in years. It shook them up, made them scared. Claire knew she wasn't the only one who couldn't make sense of the event regarding the missing child, but she berated herself for responding like so many of her neighbors did by shielding her mind from the disagreeable things that happened in life.
How would someone more in touch with the outer world react, though? Would they be impassive? Would they brush it off or shake their head and declare 'what a shame'? Did imagining a happy ending really make her regrettably idealistic, detrimentally impractical?
Perhaps her naiveté distracted her from the true advice her art teacher was trying to give. The very thing that he pointed out as her fault kept her from seeing that he saw potential in her work, if only she didn't hold herself back.
But the real question wasn't
how
Claire was holding herself back. The question was:
why
? And the answer must have been that she got in her own way. It appeared to be a 'catch twenty-two'. All this time, she'd been so naïve that she was unaware of her naïveté.
Humans are a strange species. Our deep thoughts and ideas draw us apart from all other species on Earth, but our doubt keeps us from seeing beyond our self-imposed limitations. We're our own worst enemies. And teenagers in general have a special knack for self-inflicted inhibitions.
For Claire, Mr. Dart's critique became the mirror she needed to see herself. The ability to observe from a more objective perspective gave her the opportunity to change her perception of self.
She always knew that she wanted to get out of Brickerton, and now she knew why. A small life stifled the boundaries of the mind. People here only seemed to think what they were told to think.
No more repressing her spirit. Claire determined to experience life more fully, to see events from all angles, to ask why instead of just accepting that things were so because she was told they were so, or that she should shield her eyes from tragedy because it would cause a dark spot in her pretty little picture of life. Damn it, she was her own person. She could draw her own conclusions.
Of course, fifteen years of restricted education and manipulated personality development didn't change overnight. Claire found that executing her new view towards life was easier said than done, and being surrounded by people who droned through life each day in the same manner that she had done before her awakening turned her tenacity into struggle.
Her first course of action on her road to a new and improved sense of self was to be more outgoing with people. No more of this inability to relate only to one person at a time. Her best friend, Laura, had been a security blanket up until this point. Now that she was gone Claire realized that the reason she didn't relate to people was because she was afraid of them. She had been a recluse out of fear of finding out other peoples' opinion of her.
She forced herself to initiate conversations with her classmates, but the ones who had tried to converse with her earlier in the year viewed her intentions suspiciously, as though she had an ulterior motive for talking to them now. The people she'd never really spoken to before seemed confused by the sudden, albeit amiable, exchange. Corry remained the only person she could hold a casual and comfortable conversation with. He seemed to think the same of her, too, because he began to make a habit of walking with her to her last period after art class. It was enough that she opened up to Corry, so she gave up her attempts at chatting with others.
The next decision she made in an effort to attain worldliness was her art. She tried to open her imagination up to a broader scope, but the outcomes were gloomy and depressing depictions that didn't really reflect her attitude. She felt dissatisfied with her work, and every project in which Corry's genius shined made her more and more frustrated with herself.
She turned to her clothing, determined that her style should reflect her originality. The day that she spent sporting a long rayon skirt and a retro batik fabric tunic that she borrowed from the back of her mom's closet felt awkward for her. Even Corry, who never seemed to give notice to Claire's appearance before, couldn't keep the puzzled look from showing on his face upon seeing her. She slipped back into her usual jeans and simple sweater the next day. Maybe the clothing thing was too big a step so early into her 'self-transformation'.
Sitting in art class a week later, still unable to find joy in her work while trying to be worldly, Claire watched Corry and the Freak work with intensity on their own projects. That's when she had another revelation. She realized that her attempts for self-improvement affected the same outward appearance as the Freak's own singular personality (other than the fact that she didn't draw all over herself).
She studied him a little closer. He tried so hard to be different, and he was labeled. Was that what it was like to be a nonconformist? You became an outcast? Claire didn't want that. She'd rather crawl back into her state of obscurity. She told herself that she'd wait to until she left Brickerton to find herself if she had to. Then she'd have a clean canvas on which to paint her individuality.
And so, after weeks of unsuccessful experimentation, she sank back into her old routines and habits. The only thing she didn't let slip were her conversations with Corry. The time of day that she felt the most comfortable and content with her high school life was during her walk from art class to algebra. She didn't know why Corry had taken up the inclination of walking with her, but she enjoyed his company.
Whenever they chatted during art class, the Freak picked up on their amity and teased them about being 'boyfriend and girlfriend'. Claire just brushed it off, by ignoring the guy, but inwardly she felt embarrassed. She had no interest in Corry Murphy beyond friendship. Corry only ever shot the Freak displeased looks and became reserved during the class period. He appeared to share Claire's feelings about their relationship. It was
just
friendship.
During their short walks in the hall, Claire enjoyed Corry's company. His conversation was reasonably intelligent for a teenage boy, not the hormone-ridden sex on the brain thoughts of most boys. But he also seemed more distracted and depressed than he did earlier in the year. Sure, he was always a bit withdrawn, but was he always so dejected? Did she simply not realize it until he opened up? Or did he seem to be sinking slower and slower into some form of depression?
Their topics as they strolled along the hallways of Brickerton High were always about his past. He and his brother use to do this, or he and his family used to go there. Not that Claire was turned off by it. The boy could spin quite an enthralling anecdote. But the wistfulness in his voice and his eyes made Claire aware of his increasing unhappiness.
She didn't know how to behave or to cheer him. So she just walked with him. And that seemed to be enough for the moment.
Lil had the tact (or was it simply resentment?) to stay away from our parent's house until Thanksgiving dinner was ready to be served. I spent the day in the kitchen, helping Mom with the turkey and the sweet potatoes. Jacob made himself scarce of our company. We assumed that he wandered out to the garage with Dad. I still had yet to receive a proper hello from him. Not even eye contact.
Mom made her usual small talk, asking me about my job, if I'd gotten the leaky water pump fixed in my car,
if my boss was single yet.
I wished I had never taken my parents to my workplace when they came for their visit. Mom hadn't ceased to mention Graham since I introduced them. Even during their short meeting she tried to interrogate him about his relationship status, bound and determined that he was perfect for me. At the time, he was engaged to a lovely young woman who worked in the marketing department at that same pharmaceuticals company. Now he was married to her, and Mom was disappointed.
She couldn't understand that I felt no love loss because I had no one in my life. It's not like I was incapable of attracting a man. Sure, I kept my hair tied back most of the time, didn't wear makeup and wouldn't be caught dead sporting high heals. Still, I managed to attract a guy or two on occasion. I just couldn't be attracted back.
Mom refused to understand that I felt uncomfortable and sometimes even defensive when approached by those of the opposite sex. I tried to explain to her once again, how I felt about men after I had been raped. Other then understanding that I had been violated and duped into letting my guard down to a complete fiend, I couldn't find the right words to explain to her the anxiety that could be brought on by a man who showed me even the slightest signs of attraction.
Mom just rubbed my shoulder and told me that not all men were like Luke. I knew that. But I wasn't going to take my chances that the next guy I let in wouldn't be like him. She just rolled her eyes at me.
* * *
As I set the gravy boat down on the brown linen covered table, I heard the front door open. Then, it closed forcefully. Lil.
Things became edgy after her entrance into the house. I had an involuntary urge to remain quiet and non-provoking. It was Thanksgiving, after all, and I didn't want to cause my parents distress. Lil seemed to have the same idea, too. Finally, we had something in common.
Mom just looked back and forth between us, feeling grief from our lack of conversation. At the dinner table she tried to initiate several topics – all congenial – but beyond a few words said to please her, we just kept ourselves closed up.
Half way through the meal, Mom made another attempt to expel the quiet. "Claire, have you heard from Laura lately?"