Old Wounds (14 page)

“Th-then just p-p-push play.” She did and Camille Saint-Saëns came through the speakers. I’d made it the first song because it was a sort of lighthearted piece and typically put me at ease. Not only that, but I thought she’d enjoy the story behind it.

From out of the corner of my eye, I saw her eyes narrow. She took a sip of her coffee and then turned to me. “It’s not
all
going to be Classical, is it?”

“N-no.”

“Okay, so spill it, Elliott. What’s the song and why should I like it?”

The way she said it made me smile. “I-it’s
D-danse M-m-macabre
and y-you’ll liiiike it when y-you know w-what it’s a-about.” I paused, trying to gauge her reaction. She seemed eager for me to continue. “I-it’s th-the d-dance of d-death.” She laughed softly and instantly the tightness in my chest lessened. “B-basically, D-death p-plays the f-f-fiddle ev-every Halloween in a gr-graveyard and th-the skeletons r-rise up and d-dance w-with him. Th-there is a k-k-king and a p-peasant and a p-p-p-pretty girl. D-d-death basically t-tells them that n-no m-matter wh-who you were in l-life, e-e-everyone ends up the ssssame in the end.”

The road was quite empty this early in the morning, so I risked another look at her, wondering if she was thinking I was an idiot. She said nothing, facing forward as she listened, and then I saw the dawning realization in her eyes. “So, right now, there’re skeletons dancing with Death?” I nodded and looked back to the road. “I like it.”

I was relieved. I’d been incredibly nervous about the whole trip, and the music I’d chosen had caused me a bit of grief. I wanted her to like it because if she did it, then by extension she liked at least a piece of me.

“Most people don’t understand that, you know?” She’d returned to looking at the road. “People get so caught up with the pseudo-reality of right now that they forget death comes to us all, one way or another.”

The song ended and I felt the need to prepare her for the shift. “N-now it’ll be a f-few C-C-Cash songs sssssince y-you obviously n-need s-some education in the f-fundamentals of music.”
Ring of Fire
came on. “Th-this is p-p-probably one of his m-most well kn-known ssssongs…but n-n-not my f-f-favorite.” After that
Long Black Veil
played and I told her that the Dave Matthews Band did a live version of it. Finally, there was
The Man Comes Around
. While I loved the song, one of Johnny Cash’s best in my opinion, the Bible passages always put me on edge.

There was some small-talk about each song that came after, ranging from Neil Young to JayZ, and from Tool to the Mamas and the Papas. Some songs she knew, and some she didn’t. We were about halfway to D.C. when Sophie wanted to stop at a gas station to use the restroom. While she got out, I filled up the car and called Stephen, letting him know I was still breathing and cognitive.

When she got back, it wasn’t hard to tell that she’d gotten high. We took off again and I tried not to focus on the funky smell or the way her blue eyes were glassy and bloodshot. We drove silently for a while as she leaned her head back, eyes closed, listening to the music. I tried to figure out whether she got high to tolerate being with me, or if she just usually got high in the mornings.

As Tom Petty started singing about wildflowers, I was trying to decide if I should just say something or let it go. It wasn’t like she was shy about asking me questions, so I took a deep breath and tried to relax. “S-Sophie?” She turned to me, a slight smile on her face. “Y-y-you d-d-don’t have to hide th-that you’re h-h-high.”

She was silent for a moment before shrugging. “I didn’t know if you’d care or not.” Suddenly, she sat up a little straighter. “Did you want to smoke? I wasn’t trying to be rude.” I shook my head. “Are you sure? I would think a little pot might help with some of that anxiety.”

Again I shook my head, hating that she knew I even
had
anxiety. “I j-just d-d-didn’t want you to th-think I w-w-would j-judge y-you for th-that.” Well, it wasn’t entirely true. I didn’t like that she got high and wished she didn’t, but it was less about her, and more about my mother.

“I’m sorry, Elliott. I wasn’t trying to be…I mean, I just figured with your dad being a doctor and all that you wouldn’t be okay with me…”

I had to laugh. “Y-you-your d-d-dad’s a ffffff-ffffire fffffffighter, S-Sophie.” Her smile widened as she nodded. “W-why d-do y-you liiiike d-d-d…g-getting high?”

While her smile remained, it slipped into a lazy grin as she laid her head back again. “Everything’s much fuzzier and I can focus on my thoughts instead of just getting lost in them.” She paused for a moment. “I mean, it’s like this music. If I wasn’t high, I’d hear it and maybe I would like it or maybe I wouldn’t, but being high, it’s totally clear. I can really
listen
and absorb the music and find the meaning in it.”

Again, we were silent for a while before she asked, “Do you like Damascus?” I shrugged. It was okay. I had people here who cared about me, but I probably wouldn’t have chosen it as a place to live. “You know the worst thing about Damascus? The pot. It’s not as good as what I could find in Tampa.”

“D-do you miss an-anything else a-a-about Florida?”

She took a breath. “I miss all the people. Not everyone knew everyone. It was a lot easier to blend in and…disappear.”

I thought about it. It was strange for Sophie to move here to live with her father. It seemed like an odd fit; a teen-aged girl living with her father instead of her mother. Stephen was still married to Kate when he adopted us. When they got divorced, she didn’t want any of us, so the court had no other choice but to leave us with him.

“D-do you liiiike l-living with your d-dad?”

Her face fell just a little. “Tom’s okay. He drinks, but he’s not much for interaction, so it’s not like I’m subjected to any kind of strict parenting. He’s far better than Helen.” She sighed. “I just wish he’d realize that it’s a little too late for him to play the father figure. I mean, I barely know the dude.”

The song changed and I was about to tell her who it was when she smiled widely. “This is Otis Redding.” I returned her smile, happy that she knew Otis. “My grandmother used to listen to him. Dude’s awesome.”

“I-I kn-know.” Another Sophie-approved musical choice. It was amazing how happy it made me that she not only knew who this was, but also liked him. I wanted to ask her a million questions, but since I’d never really been good at having conversations, I didn’t know how many questions would be appropriate. Luckily, Sophie saved me.

“Why do you like music so much?”

I licked my lips involuntary, hoping that I could get the words out and not sound like a moron. “I-I’m-I’m g-g-good at it.” I shrugged. “L-listening t-t-t-to it m-m-mmmmakes me feel n-normal.” I’d gotten it out, but I was pretty sure I sounded like an idiot.

After a moment of silence, Sophie ran her hands through her hair and pulled it across to one side. She looked absolutely excellent doing that. “Have you always stuttered?”

Her question took me off-guard. I swallowed hard and shook my head. “N-no. M-my m-m-m-m,” I sighed in frustration. I wished I could close my eyes, but since I was driving, I figured that wasn’t a good idea. Taking a deep breath and thinking of one of the compositions I’d written years ago, I tried again. “M-my m-m-m-mom s-s-said tttthhhat it st-started w-when I was f-f-five.”

“Wow. Do they know why?”

“N-n-nobody kn-knows w-w-why p-people start st-stuttering. N-neurological, physiological dis-disruption, m-maybe?”

Again, she was quiet and I thought she was just listening as Otis Redding gave way to Blues Traveler. Honestly, I was happy for the break in the conversation. It would’ve been fine if we were talking about her, but she was asking about me now and that was difficult. “Where’s your mom now, Elliott?”

My heart raced and my breathing quickened. My hands tightened on the steering wheel involuntarily and I could feel the onset of the panic. I desperately willed it away. If I panicked, Stephen would be right. Robin would be right. They
couldn’t
be right about me. So I took deep breaths.

“Elliott? Are you okay? You don’t have to…”

I blew out a steady stream of air, hesitating at first, but then I figured I should just tell her. This was what I wanted with Sophie Young, wasn’t it? For her to know me the same way I wanted to know her. “Sh-sh-she’s d-d-dead.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

The pity in her voice made my body tense even more. Everyone always pitied me. She didn’t even know the whole story. But I plunged forward, hoping that by giving her some kind of detail, perhaps she’d think of me as something other than a freak, like the rest of the school did. “Sh-she k-k-killed herself.”

“Oh.”

I risked a glance and then turned hastily back. I’d gone this far, so I might as well tell her the rest. It wasn’t how I wanted the drive to go, but it was too late to change that now. I felt nervous energy replacing the panic, making my knees bounce. “Sh-she w-w-was a heroin ad-ad-addict. One d-day sh-she c-came into m-my room and st-started t-t-to ssssay a-all this w-w-w-weird stuff and sh-sh-she had a g-g-g-gun in her hand and…” I shook my head, wishing that I could bang it against something. The story was horrible and came with visuals. Plus, it took so long for me to get it out, which just made everything much more painful. “Sh-she j-j-just p-put it to her h-head and p-p-p-p…sh-shot herself.”

“What the
fuck
?” She sounded so angry and was staring at me with such a strange expression. “Why the hell would she do that in front of you? How fucking old were you?”

I shouldn’t have told her. That was a mistake. Of course she’d have more questions. Now I felt like a bigger freak. “I-I w-w-w-was seven.”

“Jesus Christ!”

“I-I think it w-w-was ssssupposed t-to be m-m-me and h-her.”

“What?”

I didn’t want to say it again, but I knew I had to. “I-I think sh-she w-w-was going t-to t-t-take m-me w-w-with her.”

“Are you fucking serious?”

Her volume made me flinch. “D-don’t y-yell, S-S-Sophie. I’m-I’m-I’m ssssorry.” How was I supposed to correct this now? I was such an idiot.

“What the hell are you sorry for, Elliott? What your mom did was messed up. I’m sorry for getting loud, but Jesus!”

“M-m-my m-mom loved me, S-Sophie,” I said quietly. I knew my mother loved me. I never questioned that, ever. “B-b-but sh-she loved hhhhhheroin m-m-more.” Even that wasn’t the full story, but I’d shared enough and no longer wanted to talk about my family. My mother hadn’t
wanted
to kill me. In the end, that’s why she didn’t, although there had been many,
many
nights that I wished she had.

“I’m sorry, Elliott, I didn’t mean to…” Sophie’s voice was softer than I’d ever heard it before.

It took me a while before I was able to force air through my voice box, but when I finally did, my voice was nearly as quiet as hers. “It’s o-okay, S-Sophie.”

I wasn’t upset with her, but I felt tired after telling her all that; having it replayed in my head for what had to have been the millionth time. I scrolled through the music on the iPod until I came to Billie Holiday. Then it moved into Nina Simone.

It was during the quieter tones of Nina’s slower songs that I felt myself relax again.

We were silent for nearly the rest of the ride to D.C., and I felt imprudent for having said anything at all. It was ridiculous for me to think that Sophie would want to know something like that. It wasn’t until we entered the city that Sophie spoke to me again. “I’m sorry I asked about your mom. I know I don’t want anyone asking about mine, so…”

“It’s o-okay.”

She turned away from me to look out the window. “Do you know where you’re going? The movie should be starting soon.”

I had to smile. She obviously didn’t know what an over-thinker I was. I had Googled the film festival and the theater, and had it programmed into my GPS.

The theater was almost empty. We watched the first movie,
Prisoner of the Mountains
, which I had no real feelings about. I was sure it was a perfectly fine movie, but I was preoccupied because I was sitting next to Sophie, and I was much more interested in her. I’d read the story before, but she was entirely new to me.

I tried to pay attention. I really, really did, but since we were sharing an armrest, at times we’d go to put our arms there at the same time. I’d never believed it before when I read it in books, but I swore there was some kind of chemical exchange between us. It wasn’t like the sedatives from Stephen’s syringe; a sharp whip of pain followed by heavy lethargy. It was more like a constant flow of oxymoronic calming excitement traveling through my veins.

When the movie was over, we had about two hours until the next one started. “Do you mind if we go get something to eat?” Sophie asked. It was lunchtime and I was hungry too. I was about to tell her that it was fine and ask her what kind of food she liked when she continued. “It’s just that I can’t…I have to eat on a semi-regular schedule or my blood sugar goes all wonky. I must have too much insulin or something. I’m sorry.”

She looked almost nervous when she said it. “T-th-that’s f-f-f-fine, S-Sophie. Ther-there’s f-f-food all u-up and d-down this r-r-road.” She smiled at me and to my complete and utter amazement, grabbed my hand and started pulling me toward the exit.

I barely had time to rid myself of the shock when I found myself out on the sidewalk, still being yanked behind her. She pulled me into a small pizzeria. “I hope you don’t mind. Pizza’s quick, cheap, and easy.”

She let go of my hand as she slid into a booth near the front window and I sat across from her. There were a million things I wanted to say, but stutter or not, I wasn’t sure if I would be able to say any of them.

I wanted to know why she looked nervous when she told me she had to eat. I wanted to know if she felt the chemical surge between us too. I wanted to ask how she got the little scar on the top of her forehead that was mostly disguised by her hairline. I wanted to ask why, out of everyone, she asked me to go to the movies with her.

But I didn’t ask any of those things. Instead, I just watched as she pulled a small black pouch out of her bag and unzipped it, then sanitized her hands and looked up, giving me a little shrug. “Sorry, I have to.” I had no clue what she was apologizing for, or what she had to do, so I just sat, watching her.

The pouch held a little plastic container, a digital monitor, and some flat thing with a button. Finally, I realized she was going to test her blood sugar. She put the lancet in the little stabbing device and pushed a test strip into the monitor. I winced with her as she depressed the button on the device and pricked her finger.

A small drop of blood formed and she held it to the testing strip. It beeped five times as she took her napkin and pressed it to her bleeding finger. A number appeared and she shrugged. “Good thing pizza’s full of carbs.”

“I-i-is it o-okay?”

Again, she shrugged as she removed the lancet from the device, closing up the pouch and sanitizing her hands again. “It’s okay. A little low, but…”

“D-do you h-haaaave t-to take in-insulin?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I just took too much or didn’t eat enough...I should’ve had popcorn at the theater, but it seemed too early.”

The waitress arrived and Sophie and I decided on a pizza. When she left, I continued asking questions, but not the ones I really wanted to know the answers to. “S-ssssso, w-w-w-what’s the w-w-worst thing a-about h-h-having di-di-diabetes?”

She took a sip of water and thought for a moment. “Knowing that it won’t just go away. Not being able to eat everything I want. Making myself bleed at least four times a day. Jabbing myself with needles. Knowing my life will probably be shorter than everyone else’s because of it. Yeah, basically everything.” She was quiet for a moment before adding, “I hate needles and blood.”

I just nodded. I wouldn’t like any of that either. I didn’t have a blood phobia or anything, but I’d seen enough of it gushing from various parts of my body that I wouldn’t want to stab my finger every day.

“So what’s the worst part about having a stutter?”

My breath caught. I hadn’t been prepared for that. I should have expected some kind of reciprocal question, but for whatever reason, I hadn’t given it a thought. She was looking at me now, her eyes questioning as she stirred the ice around her glass with a straw. I took several deep breaths. I wasn’t going to freak out. If I wanted to be normal, I would have to talk to people, even beautiful people like Sophie.

“Uh...” I began smoothly. There were so many things that I hated about having a stutter, it was hard to know where to begin. “I-I-I c-can’t ssssay everyth-thing I w-w-want to say. N-n-no matter h-how h-h-hard I t-try, I c-c-c-can’t c-control it.” I shrugged. “B-b-basically everything.” I’d looked away from her, but then forced myself to turn back. “P-p-people think I-I’m s-s-stupid.”

I mentally kicked myself for saying all that, even if I was proud that I’d gotten through it. Sophie was looking at me with what had to be pity in her eyes. I hated pity. I looked down at my hands as I fiddled with the edge of my napkin.

“I don’t think you’re stupid, Elliott.”

I looked up at her and I was sure my expression reflected my shock. While I knew she didn’t think of me the way Chris Anderson and the other kids did, I still operated under the assumption she thought I was somehow mentally deficient. She gave me a small smile and I returned it. “Th-thank you.”

She shrugged. “I’ve seen your room. I don’t think stupid people read the books you read, or know anything about art, and I’m sure some stupid people play music, but they’re probably not all that good.”

I allowed myself a chuckle over that. “Y-you h-haven’t heard me p-play.”

“Doesn’t matter; I already know you’re awesome at it.”

Wow. That was such a nice compliment.

“I’m sorry about earlier.” I gave her a questioning look. “When I asked about your mom. It wasn’t…”

Sighing, I dropped my head and looked at my hands again. “I-it w-was a long t-time ago, S-Sophie.” While it was true that it was a long time ago, I could still see the scene before me when I closed my eyes. There weren’t any words to describe the lifeless body of your heroin-addicted mother slumped on the floor in front of you, while her blood and brains slid down your door.

I could still remember the smell.

She had done it in front of my door, so I couldn’t get out without stepping over her. The doorknob was red with blood. The only thing I could do was back away. No one else had been home at the time. I had no idea how long it took for my father to come back, but I remember shivering as I sat in the dark corner of my closet. I had never been so happy to see him in all my life. That feeling was short-lived.

“So ask me something.”

I looked up, blinking, willing myself to come back to the present. “W-what?”

“It’s only fair, right?”

“W-why did y-you m-move to D-D-Damascus?”

She shrugged. “I stole a car. The judge said I had to come here.”

My eyes widened. “W-w-why d-did you steal a c-c-car?”

Her smirk faded quickly. “Um, I had to go someplace.”

“W-was it y-your m-m-mom’s c-c-car?”

“No. Helen’s piece of shit wasn’t worth stealing. It was our neighbor’s.” She rubbed her hand over her face like she was tired. “But it wasn’t like I was out joyriding, you know.”

“W-where d-did you h-have t-to go?”

She took a deep breath and shifted her eyes away. When a bell dinged behind her, she turned toward the sound, and then turned back. “Look, it’s our pizza.”

We ate very quietly and I was amazed that I’d thought asking her a few questions would clear things up, because in reality, all it did was add more questions to the list.

I tried to pay for the pizza, but Sophie took out her own money. I didn’t want it. I even tried to give it back to her but she wouldn’t take it, telling me once again that it wasn’t a date and so she could and should pay for half the pizza. I felt bad. It was fine that it wasn’t a date, but Stephen had been giving me money since he first took me in and I rarely ever spent any of it. Sophie’s dad was a civil servant and I knew he couldn’t be making that much. Not wanting to offend her, I folded up the bills and stuck them back in my pocket.

When we got outside, I turned to head back to the theater since it was nearing the time for the next movie, but Sophie stopped me by putting her hand on my arm. “Do you want to skip
Anna Karenina
?” She tilted her head as she looked up at me, and her big blue eyes locked with mine. “I mean, we both already know the story or whatever and there’s a cool-ass bookstore over there,” she said, jabbing her thumb up the road.

“S-sure.”

She looked happy and I was glad that my agreeing with her made her smile. “Great.” Then it faded as her brow creased. “So, um, would you mind if I smoked?”

It took me a moment to process her question. It’s not like I was asked every day if I cared if someone used an illegal substance. “Uh…n-n-no.”

She let out a relieved breath before smiling again. Once more she took my wrist and tugged me toward the bookstore. Before we got there, she ducked into a small alleyway. It was filthy-looking and made me feel quite uncomfortable. “You stay here,” she said as she let go of me. “I’ll only be a second. Just…just cough really loud if you see someone coming.”

Now I was Sophie’s lookout. That made me uncomfortable, but to be perfectly honest, she probably could’ve talked me into robbing a bank. So there I stood, facing the street, watching for any signs of someone headed our way.

It wasn’t long before she emerged. The odor clung to her, faint, but definitely there, and probably just like Jason, she didn’t think anyone could smell it. Her eyes were a bit glassier than at lunch and she had a certain kind of lazy look on her face.

I wished she didn’t get high.

“Ready for the bookstore?”

I just nodded and she turned, taking off up the street. Of course, I followed, my long legs making it too easy to catch up with her. The bookstore was old and dusty, and nothing like the new chain bookstores. There was a small café attached to it and plush armchairs scattered throughout. It was easy to see how much Sophie liked it from the moment she stepped in. She even turned around to look at the tinkling bells on the door as it closed behind us.

Personally, I didn’t care what kind of books were in this little shop, as long as they made her happy. I followed her through the weaving stacks until she found a section that interested her and ran her hand lightly over the spines of the hardback books.

I couldn’t help but smile. She was lost inside her head and from the look on her face, she was enjoying it. “I love this place. They should get one just like it in Damascus.” I silently agreed; then I could take her every day and see her happy like this all the time.

I watched Sophie closely as she pulled books halfway off the shelf and studied the covers, and I suddenly wished I owned more books that interested her.

“I couldn’t bring all my books from Tampa.” She turned to me, her cheeks reddening for some reason. “Not that I had that many, but I could only bring a few paperbacks.” She grabbed a couple and then went over to an armchair before stopping and looking back at me. “I promise I’m not going to make you stay here until I read all of these. I’m just going to skim through them and remember the best parts.”