Old Wounds (26 page)

I’ll send you my five, but I probably won’t read your responses until tomorrow.

1) You said that smoking pot doesn’t help your anxiety, but how do you know that?

2) How long have you been in speech therapy? Does it help?

3) Do you like chocolate?

4) Do you think that people are inherently good or bad? And why?

5) Anderson’s smaller than you, so why do you let him get away with that shit?

Bonus: If you were famous, what would you want to be famous for?

See you tomorrow,

Sophie.

School went by quickly on Tuesday. I had intended for Sophie to just ride home with us, but she said she’d meet me in a half-hour or so. She left the school property with Jason Fox, as usual, and when she rang the doorbell around four-thirty, I could tell she was high.

I didn’t ask her about it as I led her through the yard to the greenhouse out back. I’d gathered all of the supplies and sat down on an overturned bucket, letting her sit on the bench.

“How do you know about organic gardening?” she asked as I pulled the starter plants out of their plastic pots. Like every other time, it took a second to get used to the dirt on my hands. I’d just started taking Horticulture in September, so the practice still wasn’t easy for me.

“K-Kate l-liked plants.” She bought them all the time and would “rescue” them from other people. Before she divorced Stephen, our house was filled with them. I’d counted one time and we had over fifty plants, each with their own watering schedule and sunlight needs.

“She’s Dr. Dalton’s ex-wife? So she would be your adopted mother, right?”

Although she was technically correct on both counts, I said nothing.

“She taught you about them?”

I nodded, twisting my body over to the raised bed, digging into the dirt. It took some concentration, as always, but I managed to scoop up the soil. “W-we never t-talked mmmuch, b-but w-when she had to re-pot something, w-we did it t-to-together.” I punctuated my words with a shrug.

Her eyes narrowed as she watched me tuck the first plant into the soil. “Should I help? Is there something other than planting I need to do? I told you I wasn’t going to let you carry me through the class.”

I smiled, remembering how awkward that day was for me. I’d wanted to say a million things to her, but next to nothing came out. The awkwardness of talking with Sophie was still present, but it had changed a bit. Now there was a slightly different tension between us and I recognized that I was having difficulty balancing our e-mail conversations with our face-to-face interaction. It was easy to type words out onto a computer and hit send. It was incredibly hard to speak the same words.

“Y-you can help if y-you want.” I pointed to the rest of the plants on the floor. “W-we have t-to p-p-p-p-p-pppp,” I stopped trying to push the word out and sighed. I’d said “plant” just moments before, but now it refused to come out. “do all of th-them,” I finally finished.

I glanced up at her, feeling embarrassed about the verbal block I’d just had in front of her. “Y-you can t-take p-p-pictures. W-we have to document e-each sssstage.”

Sophie nodded and reached into her bag, pulling out her camera. It definitely wasn’t up-to-date, and now I understood why Jane had wanted to buy her a new one. “Didn’t we need to take pictures of the seeds and sprouts and stuff?”

I nodded. “B-b-but I d-downloaded the p-p-pictures ssssince we d-didn’t have enough t-time to grow them from sssseeds.”

Sophie nodded and started snapping a few pictures before and after I planted them. It only took a minute or two and then she found herself a white bucket, turned it over, and sat down next to me.

“I love dirt.” I looked at her questioningly and she graced me with a smile, like the one she’d given me that day in the bookstore. “Seriously,” Sophie said, her voice light and airy, “don’t you just love how it smells? How it feels?”

If my mouth worked like a normal human being’s, I would have joked about her being some kind of Earth-loving-pagan-hippie or something, but since I knew I would stumble over the words, I just smiled at her even though the concept of
playing
in dirt sort of frightened me. “I used to get into so much trouble for playing in the mud!” She laughed a little as she said it.

Her eyes softened just for a second, but that moment passed quickly and she sighed, the light leaving her eyes as her mouth settled back into a frown. I wished she would smile again. I wondered if she was reacting to the thought of getting into trouble. Trouble meant punishment, and I remembered what that was like.

“I-I-I’ve never p-played in mm-mmmud.” I looked down at my hands in the soil and wondered if that was why I actually enjoyed working with plants. Plants lived in soil and soil was dirt, and dirt was dirty, and I’d never been allowed to be dirty like that.

“Oh, come on,” she scoffed, “no child has ever
not
played in mud or dirt, at least once anyway. It’s like a…a thing, you know, rite of passage or something.”

“I-I c-couldn’t.”

“Why?” Her voice still held a disbelieving tone, but there was curiosity within it as well. I wished I hadn’t said anything. It was like talking to Robin; any small detail I dropped would be picked at until meaning was given and everyone understood it.

Not that Sophie was like Robin. She didn’t pry. She wasn’t asking in order to press me into saying something about anything. She was just asking, but answering was harder than typing. “A-ask m-me in an e-mail.”

It was the first time since we’d begun the e-mail correspondence that one of us had mentioned it. I looked at Sophie out of the corner of my eye to gauge her reaction. While I heard the sigh, her face held no clue as to what she was thinking.

“This is seriously what you guys eat for dinner?” Sophie pushed a piece of overcooked broccoli to the side of her plate. Nervously, I watched as she turned to Stephen. “You’re a doctor. Aren’t you supposed to be peddling good, whole foods?”

Stephen cleared his throat, taking a quick glance at me before regarding Sophie. “We all keep pretty crazy hours. It’s just easier to bring home take-out.”

“Did you already invite Tom to dinner on Saturday?”

He blinked, looking at me and then back at Sophie. “Yes, will you be able to attend?”

“What were you planning on serving for dinner?”

Stephen looked down. “Take-out.”

Jane, who’d been remarkably quiet through most of the meal, said, “You’re having Sophie and her father over for dinner on Saturday? The dance is on Saturday.”

“Which is precisely the reason why we invited them. The house will be quiet.” Stephen smiled.

“Aren’t you going to the dance?” Jane asked, running one of her hoops over and over through her ear and turning to Sophie. “It’s Homecoming.”

Sophie groaned and shook her head, twirling a long noodle on her fork and sighing again. “What time is dinner on Saturday?”

“I figured around six or seven.”

Sophie licked her lips, looked at me, and replied, “Then I’ll be here at four to start prepping food.”

I had no idea that not only would she
want
to come for dinner, but that she would volunteer to cook as well. I wondered if she liked to cook and where she’d learned.

“S-S-Sophie, you d-don’t have to…”

She held up her fork, the noodle hanging limply off of it and scrunched up her face. “Seriously? This isn’t food. It’s mush.” She turned to Stephen before continuing. “Not trying to be a bitch or anything, but I’d rather spend a few hours cooking than eat something like this again.” She blinked, chewed on her lower lip, and then added, “No offense.”

He grinned. He admired people like Sophie. It seemed to me he wanted me to be more like her and say things like that. “None taken. We haven’t had a home cooked meal in—”

“Years,” David finished, giving her one of his most charming smiles, and then nodded. “You’d be my favorite person in the whole world if you made enough for leftovers.”

Everyone was excited about the meal and I could tell it made Sophie uncomfortable, so after dinner we put our dishes in the sink and I took her upstairs where we did what we always did: listened to music and enjoyed each other’s company.

Sophie’s father arrived at around seven to take her home. We’d made plans to shop either Friday night or Saturday afternoon for the ingredients for whatever it was she’d be cooking. Truth be told, not only was
I
excited, but I could tell that Stephen was just as enthusiastic about the prospect of a home-cooked meal. Of course, Jane and David were disappointed that it would be taking place while they were at Homecoming, but the idea of
leftover
home-cooking was still cause for happiness.

We hadn’t had much decent food since Kate left. Stephen worked so much, Jane wasn’t to be trusted with the cooking utensils, David burned everything he touched, and I had no creativity when it came to food. If I were responsible for feeding everyone, we’d have peanut butter and jelly sandwiches every other day with grilled cheese and canned soup in-between.

It was hard not to be excited about Saturday. Honestly, just the fact that Sophie would be coming over again was exciting.

Immediately after she left, I sat down to reply to her e-mail from the night before, wanting her to have it when she got home, just in case she felt like reading something from me.

Sophie,

Thank you for coming over tonight to work on our project, and staying for dinner. We’re all looking forward to the meal on Saturday. I feel bad that you will be cooking for all of us, but I’ll help as much as I can. I don’t know much about cooking, but I’d like to learn.

Jane and David actually contemplated staying home from the dance just to get some decent food, but abandoned the idea when they realized that Rebecca would be on the warpath. An upset Rebecca is a sight to behold. I don’t think David’s room could take another beating.

I’ll get into your questions right away.

I have no idea if pot would help with my anxiety, but I don’t want to try it to find out either. It’s not something that’s ever appealed to me.

I didn’t have chocolate until I was eleven, so I didn’t develop quite the addiction to it as other people seem to. It’s okay. I like chocolate, but as far as sweet things go, I could take it or leave it. Though I seem to be smitten with all things gummy: bears, worms, fruits, anything. I love them for reasons I don’t quite understand, but when David gave me my first gummy bear, I knew it was meant to be.

I’ve had speech therapy sessions twice a week since Stephen adopted me. I think it’s helped. It takes a lot of effort to try to make a stutter diminish, get better, or go away, and I don’t think mine ever will, but I still hope for it. That’s why I see Ms. Rice every week; that’s why I spend at least an hour or two reading to myself every night. She has a thing for children’s books, but I tend to like non-fiction or classic literature.

If I were famous, I would want it to be for doing something important. I don’t know. I don’t really want to be famous.

I can’t say if people are inherently good or bad. I would like to think that people all start out good and may become corrupted over time, versus thinking there are people who are just plain evil out there. If a good person is corrupted, at least they were good at one time. Evil people who are born evil would have no concept of being good. That’s fairly scary.

I’m not sure what I think. Like I said, I would like to believe that people are good, but experience tells me that perhaps what I would like to think, and reality, are two different things.

I don’t like confrontation. Nothing Chris Anderson has ever done is
that
bad. I’m sure that makes me a wimp or something, but I don’t need or want a physical altercation, and since I can’t do much verbally to set him straight, I let it go. There’s only another year and a half of high school and then I’ll be free of him.

What do you think I should do? It’s not like anything he says to me is inaccurate.

So here are my five (and I promise to stick to five this time):

1) When is your birthday?

2) Do you have friends back in Tampa?

3) Describe yourself in three words.

4) What was the best day of your life?

5) What are you most afraid of?

Bonus: If you could be any animal on the planet, what would you be?

Goodnight, Sophie.

Elliott

School on Wednesday started off just fine. I avoided Anderson in the halls and a minute later I received a smile from Sophie. Nothing major was being covered in any of my morning classes, so I didn’t need to pay close attention, but when lunch came, the ease of the morning faded quickly.

Jane wasn’t at lunch and Trent was silent, but fuming.

Rebecca and David both tried to engage him in conversation, but he wouldn’t respond.

After a short while, I felt a presence over my shoulder and when I turned, I was shocked to find it was Sophie standing there, chewing her bottom lip. She looked at Trent and then to me. I couldn’t tell if she was worried, upset, or nervous.

“S-S-S…”

I trailed off as she locked eyes with me. “Jane’s in the bathroom.” Then she glanced at Trent, her eyes narrowing. He looked up, but when I saw his face, he didn’t seem worried.

Turning back to me, Sophie motioned to her torso as she said, “She’s, um…” She shook her head, her coloring paler than it usually was. “She’s bleeding.”

I looked at her in surprise and I stood up as my brain processed the information. Jane was bleeding. Sophie wouldn’t have come to our table unless it was bad. I looked at Trent and he was doing nothing. It was as if he was frozen. I wanted to hit him until he moved, but there was no time. Jane needed me. Not Trent, but
me
.

She was bleeding.

I probably should have said something to Sophie, perhaps a “thank you,” but I could only think of getting to Jane. It wasn’t until I hit the hallway that I realized there were at least four girls’ bathrooms and I had no idea which one she was in.

“Over there,” Sophie said, pointing to one a few yards down.

I quickly looked back at the double doors to the cafeteria. I wondered if Trent was still sitting in his seat, paralyzed with fear. Realizing that every second wasted out here was a second that Jane was alone in there, I made my feet move.

I couldn’t have cared less that it was a girls’ bathroom. I didn’t care who was in there or what I saw and how inappropriate it would be. I pushed open the door and went in.

She was in the very last stall. It felt strange and wrong to be in the girls’ bathroom, but it was Jane.
Jane
. I couldn’t just leave her there or wait for Rebecca to save the day. I doubted that Rebecca
could
have saved the day. She was good with David, but when talking to Jane, tact was important, and Rebecca didn’t really have any when it came to her.

I could see the lower half of her body. She was sitting on the tiled floor, her legs crossed. I wanted to cringe.
Jane
was sitting on a public bathroom floor in front of a toilet. When I saw a small pool of blood on the floor next to her, and that made everything else unimportant.

I could hear her sniffle as I knocked gently.

“I didn’t mean to, Elliott.”

I pushed the stall door open and looked down. She peered up at me, all crumpled and wilted like a dying flower. Mascara ran from her eyes, leaving two black and gray streaks down her cheeks. “It was an accident.”

The white fitted button-down was red near her belly. The fabric clung to her abdomen. “J-JJJaaaane?”

“I swear I didn’t…”

It wasn’t important what she said after that because I would only nod my head like I believed her, even if I didn’t. She was this way every time, and I didn’t know what to believe. Every time she’d done something like this in the past, she swore up and down that she didn’t actually mean to cut herself.

I could tell it was deep; much deeper than some of the other times. She’d been doing so well. As far as I knew, it had been seven months since the last time. Stephen letting her get piercings had seemed like it was helping.

I squatted down, and looked closer at her torso until my eyes were drawn to her right hand. “J-Jaaane.” She looked up and I glanced back down at the scalpel in her hands. Her hollow gaze followed mine, and she seemed to hear my unasked question as if I’d spoken it aloud.

“I don’t know, Elliott.” Her voice was barely a whisper now, her other hand coming up to cover her mouth. More tears welled in her eyes as she shook her head. “I don’t remember getting it.”

I sighed and then carefully removed the instrument from her hand. I knew she’d never intentionally hurt me, but it didn’t matter who was wielding a sharp implement, I was going to move as slowly as possible. Being stabbed and sliced was painful.

Taking the scalpel from her, I froze as I felt her hands wrap around my wrists and I looked up into her panicked eyes. “Don’t tell Stephen, please. Don’t tell him, Elliott.”

“C-c-can I-I s-ssssee?” I pointed to her stomach. It looked like blood was still seeping.

“Don’t tell Stephen,” she said, louder.

“J-JJJaaaane,” I began, knowing there was no way to keep him from knowing, “D-D-D-David p-p-p-p-probably already c-c-c-called hhhhhim.” It was difficult to get the words out with her hands grasping my wrists so tightly, coupled with that panicked look in her eyes.

“David was dialing the phone when we left the table,” I heard behind me. I hadn’t known that Rebecca was there.

“No! No, no, no!” She got onto her knees, moving her hands from my wrists to fist my shirt right under my chin. “I don’t want to go back, Elliott. Don’t let them put me back there.”

I took hold of her hands and sighed. I knew she was talking about the hospital, and I knew she never wanted to go back. I also knew that she was being watched like a hawk to see if she would “accidentally” cut herself again. I felt so bad for her. I didn’t know how to help her; how to get her to stop cutting.

I knew it wasn’t an accident, but I had no idea if she remembered it or not.

The theory was that her episodes made her lose time or black out. Usually when it happened she’d just sit and stare at nothing, but sometimes she would do stuff. Crazy stuff, like taking the ashes of Stephen’s dead mother and sprinkling them onto the kitchen floor. Or shredding a piece of clothing she’d just bought. Crazy stuff like taking Biology supplies and cutting herself until she bled.

I dropped the scalpel behind me and uncurled her fingers from my shirt and held her hands. “Y-you w-won’t go aw-w-way, J-J-JJJJJane.” I gave her hands a squeeze and she closed her eyes.