Fear To Live For

CHAPTER 8

  Yesterday, after landing in Seattle

  This isn’t my home. Nothing’s the same! My mind kept screaming at me even as I met up with my mother. She looked beautiful as always, with her black hair pulled tightly in a bun. With only a bare touch-up with makeup, her appearance even in the grey non-descript business suit was turning head. Sickening, I know. “Hi, Mom.” I smiled at her, a completely genuine smile I didn’t think I could give.

  “Hey, Jonah. How are you honey? You must be tired from the flight. Let’s get your luggage and on our way so that you can rest. I have a spare room prepared for you to decorate however you want it too.” She speaks as she kisses my cheek. She is genuinely happy to see me here but in the blue eyes I got from her, I can see that she is trying to hide her pain and fear. Dad’s comments of their splitting up being the cause of all this must have hurt her badly too. As I look over her once again as we wait to get my luggage, I realize that aside from her black hair and blue eyes, I got almost nothing from her in my physical features. My olive-complexioned skin, my tall height and my well-defined facial bones were all from my Dad’s side. Even granny had said that if I coloured my hair brown and closed my eyes, I would look exactly as my Dad did at my age. Mom’s heels make a clacking sound as she waits and realizing once again that she was in work outfit, I ask, “Mom, where are you coming from?”

  Surprised by my sudden question, she takes a moment to answer, “I was just at work, dear. I took the rest of the day off so that I can help you settle down properly and have a nice relaxing bath myself.” Considering that she was a member of a team in advertising agency, thanks to her skill in coming up with suitable visualizations to the clients’ requirements, it was a big thing for her to take a day off. I felt a little relaxed at this, comforted that she cared enough to take time off her job to help her ‘disturbed’ son settle. By now my luggage was in sight so I just said a thanks to which she replied, “Anything, son.”

  As soon as we stepped out of the busy airport, my mind once again whined that it wanted to go home. I faked a smile at my mom, which she probably saw through but didn’t comment, as we got in her car, Toyota Camry Hybrid, a car quite common in this city, it seemed. More things that make me fade into another of those faceless beings we pass on the streets without taking notice of. The ride to the house was silent as she didn’t speak anything to interrupt my deep thinking expression while my mind continued pointing out how everything was different in this place. By the time we reached her apartment, even I was sick of my whining. And depressed as this whining only pointed out that I had to leave home indefinitely because no one wanted me back there. Even the people here on the streets seemed too busy to notice anything outside of their own little worlds. No one needs me anywhere. They won’t even notice if I am gone.

  The doorman greeted my mother when we entered with my luggage. It wasn’t much stuff, only one travel bag, and even that was lightly packed. Mom’s apartment was on 14th floor of the 18 floor building and considering my suffocating thoughts, even the elevator couldn’t get us there quickly enough. After we settled in, Mom gave me a small tour in her newest house. She had bought this one just a month after my last stay, about eight months ago. It was a simple one with three bedrooms, a kitchen and a large balcony. The view was just perfect. I had the second largest bedroom of the house, which presently held only a bed with sheets, a table, a chair and a table lamp. It was nice to see that she gave me my own space to decorate. But it is not home. It just doesn’t have that feel.

  After a nice relaxing shower and a long sleep to get rid of the jet lag, I woke up to see that it was already dark outside. And being in one of the busiest areas of Seattle, the street down below was full of cars. And the buildings in the distance shined like diamonds. I loved the view but I didn’t feel anything good or inspired by it. I still wanted to just sit down somewhere and lay down as if I were a rock. And I could count the words I had said to my mother since I woke up on one hand. I felt bad about being ungrateful and unhelpful while she cooked but at the same time, there was a feeling to let things happen as they are and just do nothing. Even during the dinner, I kept pushing the food around as the thoughts of how all this was so different from home. Physically I had left the place but mentally, I was still there. In every inch of that place, I felt at home. And I wanted to go back.

  “Jonah.” Mom’s voice breaks my thoughts and from her tone and expression, it is clear that it wasn’t the first time she called me. “Honey, I don’t think this change of place is helping you. Aside from that one smile you gave me, I have to see one sign that you love being here. And I don’t mean the balcony view.” She added when I opened my mouth to protest. “You know you have to finish your school here but you didn’t ask anything at all. At first I thought you must be tired but now it has been an entire day without you asking me about anything. I even kept thinking you wouldn’t have asked me anything about this apartment if I hadn’t given you a tour. Jonah…” She then covered my empty hand lying next to the plate with her empty left hand and I knew I wasn’t going to like what she said next. It was her tell. “… I think you need to see a psychiatrist.” The spoon I held in my hand while hearing all this fell to the ground as I looked at her in shock. It was soon forgotten.

  “I don’t want to pressure you but you must realize that I am doing this for your own good. You won’t talk, you won’t explore, and you weren’t even eating properly. I am worried about you Jonah. Donald told me that Kevin said that you told him that this was an addiction. And a shrink would help you get cured of it.” She quickly continued when I didn’t respond. Great job Mom, you are now sending me to a shrink. Then, maybe you will deliver to the nuthouse too? God, I will never live this down. What if someone here finds out? Where will I go then?

  Thankfully since Mom, like Dad, didn’t date unless she expected a serious relationship, it was clear that that wouldn’t be how, if it does, this gets out. I began to open my mouth to raise my concerns but she began again. “I am so sorry Jonah but I was only looking out for you. I told Donald to get you one quickly so we could get an early start in curing it and put it behind us but he didn’t think you needed one. But after what happened in the last month there and how you behaved here, I have to. Jonah, honey, please don’t be angry.” Mom is caring but not this much that every sentence is an apology. She must be seeing the psychiatrist herself for advice. Advice on how to deal with her depressed teenager son who prefers suicidal stunts to ‘feel’. Can’t really blame her, even I would seek advice of a professional.

  Realizing she wouldn’t give this up until I agree to her request, I give her an unbothered okay even though I am becoming a mess inside. What will this shrink think of me? What if I am declared crazy and sent to be in a nuthouse? What if I have to live on some drugs like an addict? What if he accidentally tells anyone about me, someone with contacts? Would people make this a media circus for the unique form of addiction? What if it isn’t curable?

  Before I can worry myself further, Mom gives me a smile and speaks, “I love you Jonah. Both I and Donald hope that you get better soon. We are here for you.” Then we finish the rest of the dinner and go to bed, thankfully without any more discussion regarding this topic. This discussion was slightly less embarrassing than the ‘bird and bees talk’ Dad and I had when I was twelve. I still shudder from that one.

  Dr Zachary Collins. That’s the name of the shrink whom I had to see tomorrow. After hearing his name, all I could think of what kind of person would he be with his name. Would he be kind? Cruel? Fat? Bald? Skinny? Hippy? Sensitive? Distant? He will probably dissect my brain and then publicly call me a crazy and send me to a nuthouse. I just want to be home. This place is getting worse by the minute. It’s so noisy outside. And the lights, they might as well blind me. It is nearly eleven now, don’t they ever sleep?

  So today, when I woke up, I really wasn’t in the best of moods. When I did fell asleep last night, I tossed and turned as even a bicycle’s ring woke me up.
Who even bicycled at midnight anyway? Usually I was a morning person but as soon as I woke up and looked outside at the sunlight filtering into the room, I pulled the covers back up and went to sleep again.

  When I woke up again, it annoyed me to see that only twenty minutes had passed. I took another ten minutes just to get off the bed and walk into the bathroom and it took an hour for me to be done there. Couldn’t the water be colder? I understand that it is almost December but that doesn’t mean the water couldn’t be colder. It would wake me up well. Well I am hungry. Might as well walk out and grab something to eat.

  When I walked out, Mom was just finishing making pancakes. “Morning honey. I made your favourite pancakes just how you like it. Would you mind getting that chocolate syrup for me? It is on the top shelf of the cupboard. I can’t reach it.” Ugh, I am not a kid anymore to need chocolate syrup. And why do you have a cupboard so high that even you can’t reach it?

  The inner grumpiness didn’t end then and there. Even when she served my breakfast, all I could think of was how fake her smile looked. And the pancakes? She might as well be serving them burnt food to me. That’s so dry! God, even that chocolate syrup sounds good now. This must be to ensure that I do behave at the psychiatrist. “So how is it?” Mom asks excitedly. Calm down woman, this isn’t your first attempt cooking.

  “It’s fine.” Her smile fades instantly. Oh no.

  “Did I overcook them? Or are they undercooked? Maybe I mixed something incorrectly while making the batter. Sorry honey, let me make you fresh ones.” Please don’t.

  I made a show of gulping loudly before saying, “It’s great Mom. Just didn’t want to speak much while eating.” I try to smile at her but I barely manage to keep it for a second. And then I bury my face back into those disgusting pancakes to hide how quickly it faded.

  “Okay Jonah. Now I have to go to work. Your appointment with Dr Collins is half an hour past noon. You have the address right? I may take a break to get you there for the first time, this being a big city and all.” Okay, just leave already and let me eat this vile stuff in silence. With no external response from me, she leaves after a moment of uncertainty. Once alone, I feel guilty for the rude behaviour I showed to her and decide to apologize later. Just because I am not sure about today doesn’t mean I can be rude to others. She cares for me. I shouldn’t be so hard. She was being annoying though. She should have just left me alone. And all that apologizing last night? God, that was pathetic. This shrink doesn’t seem to give that good advice. Maybe he isn’t fit for me.

  I spend the rest of the day just lounging around in the apartment like a lazy old man and only begin to dress for my appointment when its five past noon. Even though I want to, I don’t think showing up in boxers only for the appointment would be appreciated. With this thought, I quickly don a pair of faded blue jeans and a green sweatshirt that advertises ‘Angry Birds’. Fashion is weird. I am just fastening my sneakers when the door opens and Mom walks in.

  “Andy! What are you still doing here? It’s twenty past noon. It is a good thing I took that break or you would be late. Come on, now. The traffic would only delay us further.” She points out. Good, then I wouldn’t have to go. Maybe I should have stayed in boxers.

  Mom believes in punctuality and today, it is well tested as with some crazy driving – that is sure to earn her some fines – and a lot of dragging me with her to keep up, we reach there just before my name is called. “We are here.” Mom screams as soon as the male assistant calls out my name and all the people, about ten or twelve in total, turn to look at us. I mean it. She screamed, not shouted or anything else. It was beyond awkward as she kept shouting that Andrew Jonah Peters was here even though they had their full attention on us. A few of the people waiting were in their mid-thirties and in short, they gave me the creeps. So at that moment, aside from being embarrassed by my mother’s antics, I was glad that I made it just on time. At least I was until the shrink walked out of his office to greet me.

  At first sight, my first thought was who gave this man a psychiatrist degree? He looks just out of high school. And it was true. He was my height with reddish brown hair and hazel eyes and looked like he was only twenty years old in formal wear. It was dislike at first sight.

  “Hello, Ms Winters. I guess that this is your son, Jonah.” He greets my mother while my mood worsens on the inside. Stop talking about me as if I am not here. Mom gives her usual smile at seeing a nice man and I mentally gag. Please don’t be interested in her. Thankfully, he doesn’t encourage her initial, and usually only, stage of flirting and turns to me. For a moment we both size each other up and I am pretty sure he sees exactly what I am showing him. I am here not by will and don’t like him at all. And he gets extra dosage of dislike because of my mother’s flirting attempt and his young appearance. I could bet he wasn’t even thirty yet. Becoming a cougar now mom?

  “Hello Andy. I can call you Andy right?” He gives me a smile that looks fake than what some of those plastic surgery enhanced models give. “Yeah.” I speak in a sour mood and hearing my tone, both the shrink and mom respond. Both their smiles fade as mom scolds me with just a ‘Jonah!’ In response, I just cross my arms at him and let out a clearly hesitant ‘sorry’. If the shrink doesn’t get my opinion of him clear from these, I am gonna demand that he gives up his degrees.

  “Alright, Andy it is then.” The shrink tries again before turning to mom. “We will be in contact later Ms Simmons if need arises. Would you be coming to pick him up again?” To stare at him again, she probably would.

  Which is why I pipe in, “Oh, she doesn’t need to bother because I can go back on my own. There’s no need to bother her.” I smile sweetly at them both and am pretty sure they both see through it to my inner disgust as scenarios come up of them both being interested. Not what I need. Ever.

  “Alright, then. Let’s begin. Time’s money.” With that a fake laugh, he walks back into his office and I follow after a ‘goodbye’ filled with as much care as I could manage. To him, time really is money. As soon as I walk in his office, the first thing I notice is the interior decoration. Or the lack of it really.

  The place is barely furnished, aside from some basic furniture and cabinets. And a green plant. The walls have no photo. Only a clock. Even with my worst imagination, I couldn’t have come up with a terrible decoration like this. It looked like Dr Collins was just about to grab his handful of stuff and run away from this place before the real owner came and enquired where all the stuff went.

  “Have a seat, Andy.” Dr Collins says as he takes his seat on a single comfortable chair and opens his notepad. He opens his notepad before even beginning. I shouldn’t have behaved like that, giving him ammunition to declare me crazy.

  “How are you feeling Andy?” He asks me and I wonder that of all the possible questions, why he started with the most obvious one. Asking if I feel suicidal and stuff.

  “Okay.” I say without a pause and in response, he lets out a sigh. Now that’s confusing. Was that a good sigh, a bad sigh or ‘I think you’re crazy’ sigh?

  “Take a moment before answering. I want you to be as truthful as you can to me. Without your help I can’t really help you. So, let’s try again. How are you feeling?”

  “Bored. Irritated. Bored again. Scared.” The last one slipped out. I didn’t mean to say that one but once I do, I see his pen freeze while writing. And as he looks back up at me, I can see that he is interested by the honesty I showed. He really wasn’t expecting this. How insulting. How correct.

  “Why scared Andy? What are you afraid of?” He prods and I feel like a dead frog being dissected live on national television. And this is not an exaggeration. Having slipped out already once and really willing to heal from this, I tell him the truth.

  “Of being declared unable to be cured and shipped off to a nut- sorry, to a mental asylum. Of being a disappointment to my parents. Of never returning home to Witchbury Falls.” I speak in a complete seriousness. And then, because i
t is one of my fears at the moment, I add, “Of you hooking up with mom.” His pen stumbles as he looks up at me with a ‘what?’ and a blush. At least he doesn’t deny it.

  While he recovers, I peek at the clock and control a groan when I see that it has only been five minutes. “Don’t worry about that, Andy. I… We… Let us just leave it for now. Now, tell me about your home, Andy.” He asks after that stammer. And from his expression, he looks genuinely interested.

  “Witchbury Falls, based on the waterfall nearby, is a small town really. From only what I have seen of Seattle, we can easily have twenty of it here. The people are nice, until you do something bad, that is.” I can’t help the bitterness that leaks out. “People love to gossip, whether it’s true or not, even while trying to act all saintly. Reminds me of wolf in a sheep’s clothing. At least nature is nice there. The weather is always cool there and the months of different seasons are almost fixed. The buildings though are ancient. I mean, one earthquake and the entire city will flatten in moments.” Even I notice the faraway nature my voice has now acquired. As I talk about the place, I can feel myself there even now. “The sight of the town from the hill near the end of the town is beautiful, not that any kid would now be allowed anywhere near it. Similar is with the view of the falls. The view is so captivating that I could spend an entire day just staring at it and I still won’t be bored. It feels like I am not on the same Earth that suffers from hunger, crime and poverty. It feels like I am in a special part of heaven.” My voice is completely wistful and a tear falls down as I remember the calmness it brought and why I couldn’t go back. It takes a moment to calm down. “Sorry about that.”

  He gives me a smile. “No problem. The place sounds absolutely magical. You really love it, don’t you?” It is a question presented as a statement and I feel a little bit of me finally like it. Remembering where I am, I peek at the clock again only to see that more than half an hour has passed. After that, Dr Collins asks me about various stuff related to me like how were the people I lived with for the various years. What I liked to do at home.”

  I answer them as much truthfully as I can but even I can feel myself keeping things from them. And I know why too. The change in behaviour that took place last month has altered my perception and there is a bitterness when I recall what I have lost. And soon, our time is almost up. Only five minutes are left by the time his questions are answered, unsatisfactorily according to both of us, and we still haven’t mention the main reason we are here. The reason I am here with him.

  “Andy, I really appreciated all the work you did but we both know you weren’t completely open. I tried various approaches but every time things seemed to get very personal, you closed to me. As a result of these recent events, you have become bitter. But you aren’t really releasing it. Considering your answers, you are afraid of being judged even though the stuff eats you on the inside. Which is why, my only advice to you is to keep a journal and record the events related to the stuff that happened in the last month so that you can let your true emotions and feelings out. You can write until the end of this session, no need for a word-to-word transcript, of course. If anything feels hard to write, I recommend writing it here. When you are done, we can pick up from there after I read it. Now I just said I would read your journal. This doesn’t mean that you should lie or hide things in it. Be honest, be truthful and be complete. It is only to help you. And no lying to me either. I am here only for helping you.” Dr Collins suggest and I agree with him.

  Just before I leave though, I finally ask, “No medication?” He looks up at me surprised, no doubt thinking that I had left already instead of standing at his door, and gives a small amused laugh before saying, “The medication is for extreme cases. You have shown signs of extreme cases in past behaviour but it isn’t anything that serious. I prefer no side-effects and so rarely recommend medication. Still, to calm you, I will give your mother one bottle of anti-depressants when your condition absolutely worsens. Whenever you want to come here to write the hard stuff, I want you to inform my assistant a day before so Bryce can make an appointment, alright?”

  I was just about to close the door behind me when Dr Collins looked up from his notes and said, “Oh, Andy. One more thing. You aren’t crazy.”

  I cannot emphasize the power words have over us. They can make us or they can break us. And those three words made me. They gave me strength as I left his office with a genuine smile. I am not crazy. It became my mantra. My power. My strength.

  And now, as I close this journal finally having come up with what happened so far, until that particular session with Zach five weeks ago. Apparently my fear of them hooking up has now some credibility since he indirectly expressed interest in her. God help me.

  As for school, I have been doing all the assignments and stuff from home while going to school only for tests. Mom pulled a lot of favours for that. And now, I am ready enough to go back to school to finish my senior year. Zach made me accept that what happened at Witchbury High was wrong. People, especially adults, shouldn’t have reacted as they did. He didn’t need the journal to know what had happened. I almost had a panic attack when mom first mentioned me going to school and we had to arrange an emergency session next day where I confessed all that had happened. Unwillingly, he gave me sleeping pills for that night. And it took an entire week worth of sessions to finally help me exorcise that fear. It is now seven minutes past midnight now and I feel sleep coming on. My journey isn’t over. The road to recovery is long. But I finally see the finish line at the end and for now, that is enough.

  I will close this final entry on the very words that gave me hope.

  I am not crazy.

  EXTRA: THE NEW GUYS

  “Honey, if anything happens then call me immediately, okay? Or call Zach.” Mom instructs me as we drive past the blur that is the city of Seattle, my new home of five and a half weeks. I don’t know if I even respond as I try to keep my breathing even. Nothing but my thoughts wade in even as I struggle to get them under control. Will everyone already know about me? Is this the right choice or am I just feeding my ego? Would they treat me worse than in Witchbury High?

  All of a sudden, a hand touches my left shoulder and I jump in my seat with a shriek. I immediately turn and feel the guilt gnaw at me internally as I see Mom’s hurt and confused face outside of the car. I hadn’t even realized that the car had stopped before she snapped me out of my thoughts. And I responded at her with a shout that could not be misinterpreted. “Sorry mom. I was just distracted.” I apologize while internally wincing at how clearly my weak voice reveals my inner feelings. It isn’t the voice of a distracted teenager. It’s the voice of a little kid scared out of his mind about to do something he fears the most. A voice that would concern even the most careless parent and my mom has been the farthest thing from careless.

  “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.” She murmurs and I feel despair pool within. More than just the return to school, this was a test to see if I can ever manage to settle back into the society easily. If I give up today, I am not sure that I would ever be confident enough to try again. I feel the scars of the past trying to consume me while I stand just out of their reach. Many things scare me, most of which are a result of the past three months, but this fear of never-emerging from the grip of fear is the most powerful and I don’t want to let it have me. If I can defeat nothing else, I will still try to defeat this.

  “No, mom. Let me give this a try. Otherwise I will always look back and regret this.” I plead in a stronger voice. I figured she wouldn’t deny me and would agree with a little persuasion. After all, she had been so caring for my choices and hadn’t tried to force me into anything.

  Which was why my eyebrows raised above my hairline when she sarcastically snapped at me, “Oh, yes. I should do it because you don’t want any regrets, do you? Oh no, you can risk your life for silly things but not have regrets. What will you try to know if you really regret this one, Andrew?” The last thing I notic
e on her face is the beginnings of guilt replacing the anger as I fall deep inside.

  She doesn’t trust me. She hates me for it. She will never forgive me. It will always be the unacknowledged elephant in every room I will ever be in. She won’t forgive me. She can’t forgive me. I always remind her of all that happened. Of what she believes is her role in forcing me this way. I should have died. I should have just given up. I should have let that car crush me. I am not crazy but to the rest of the world I will always be. Should I accept it as well? Should I let it define me? It seems it already does, why should I fight when I have already lost? It’s getting harder to breathe. I can hear mom speaking but it sounds as if she stands very far and is speaking through water. Am I that big a burden on her that she can’t even bother coming near me to talk? Am I such an embarrassment that she can’t even stand next to me in fear of being despised of having a son like me? On having a loser like me? And here I thought I could take on the world without any sort of failure. I couldn’t even convince my mom I was normal, for God’s sake!

  “Andy, can you hear me? Focus on my voice Andy. Focus.” A voice penetrates my thoughts and I instantly follow it. “Good. Take deep breaths Andy. Do as I say, Andy. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.” I do as the voice suggests and after a few deep breaths, I can hear other things too. Of my mom sobbing at a distance. Of my own wet cheeks. Of my own uncontrolled broken sobs. I feel the presence of a man standing next to me and feel warmth and comfort from his presence. Zach. It has to be him. He’s the only one who could be helping me. He’s the only one who believes in me. “Very good, Andy.” Yes, my mind points out. It is him. “Now slowly open your eyes, Andy. Take a deep breath while opening them.” I open them slowly and realizing at the same time that I had closed them. I open them and am disoriented to see that we are no longer on that blurred side of the road and instead in the parking of his office building. When did I get here?

  “What happened?” I ask in a slightly groggy voice and Zach frowns at the question as if I asked him the meaning of life.

  “You had a panic attack.” He states in a simple tone, as if instead of telling someone he had a panic attack, he is saying that the weather is nice. Giving me mere seconds to process that I just had a panic attack, he continues. “Continue the deep breathing exercise and answer my questions as best as I can.” Duh, I know the drill, doc. I had one a week ago, remember?

  “What day is today?”

  “Monday.”

  “What date is today?”

  “June 9th, 2013.”

  “What’s your full name?”

  “Andrew Jonah Peters.”

  “What’s your hometown?”

  “Witchbury Falls.”

  “Where are you now?”

  “Seattle.”

  “How do you feel?”

  “Shaken. Annoyed. Irritated.”

  This questioning session wasn’t really required after panic attacks, only a question or two would have done but Zach stressed on it, claiming that it might be easy to fool people with only a question or two. He stood up away from me and knowing the routine, stopped the deep breathing exercise to help calm my pounding head. If the last time was any indication, my limbs would not function properly for a few more minutes and my tongue will definitely be out of control for some time. “He’s okay but his angry mood is emerging. You will need to go to the school with him, which he’s late for now, and explain the matter to the principal.” Immediately turning to me with a smile, he assures my rising fears. “It will be okay, Jonah. He will understand. You can sit out of this meeting if you like.” Then he turns to my mother and speaks, “Calm down now, Madeline. It was an honest mistake and the stress talking. He knows that you didn’t mean a word. Just make sure to talk to the principal, okay?”

  After my mother nods affirmatively, he continues, “And now I need to go. A client is waiting for me from where I ran out during our session.” He adds a small laugh before continuing. “Don’t feel guilty. He is a paranoid one so I was just listening to his wild conspiracy theories.” The comment kills the guilt within me while a new curiosity rises. What kind of patients does he have, aside from me of course?

  “Shall we go, Andy?” Mom cautiously asks me while returning to the driver’s seat. She is looking apologetic and I try to control my anger. Unfortunately, my loose tongue isn’t controlled though.

  “Mom, you said some pretty harsh things and I had my breakdown. I am almost fine now and I realize that I am late for school on my very first day. Shall we go now or do you still want to treat me like I would fall apart again under some words of yours?” I wince internally at my cruel tone but am relieved at how she barely flinches. She took note of Zach around my first time when I behaved similarly.

  “After recovery, he will still be a little disoriented and will have no censor in trying to aggravate anyone.” He had pointed out while consoling my mom, whom I had reduced to large body-racking sobs with my harsh comments, and glaring at me futilely for aforementioned comments.

  We drive silently to the Seattle High and the air is thick with tension and unspoken words between us. It is as if both of us wait for the other to acknowledge them first. It is only when she shuts off the engine when the wait ends. “I’m sorry for what I said. I won’t lie to you by saying that they were just words. I meant them, even though I shouldn’t have with all the progress you made. It is just that I still worry and the guilt and stress overcame my senses. I’m sorry.”

  I give her a smile and hope she doesn’t realize that it is a fake. I am still stuck on feeling the words ‘I meant them’ tear up my heart into shreds. Even though she apologized, I can’t help but feel the effect of the hidden meaning behind the words. “I am sorry as well for saying the words I couldn’t help but mean.” She presses her lips together tightly and I know that she understood my unspoken words as well. With those final words, I end the conversation and get out of the car.

  And instantly I feel paralyzed at the intimidating sensations all around me. The loud sounds of other students and faculty around me, the millions stares boring into me from all directions and the giant school building in front of me fills me with a painful anticipation. Of someone to recognize me. Of the jokes and mockery to begin. Within moments, I see every single eye turned towards me even as they talk among themselves and even the loud sounds seems to be fading into nothingness. I hear my mom leave the car as well and it is as if every stare turns into a laser beam, tearing me into imaginary shreds with their instantly magnified intensity.

  Feeling a need to hide from the entire world, I bend my head down and can’t help but notice how my hands are shaking. From how it appears to me, I might be shaking entirely. Internally, I try thousands of different ways to encourage myself to remain calm on the surface even if there is a tsunami brewing within. Putting my hands in my jeans pockets, I turn to mom and speak in a controlled voice. “It looks like I am not late. You don’t need to talk to anyone then. I will take care of things here. You would probably have things to take care of right now, don’t you?” I internally pray that she gets the hint and leave.

  Thankfully, she does get what I desired and after a moment of digging in the car, hands all the necessary paperwork to me. “Here are the papers. I’m still coming with you. I need to talk to the principal.” Obviously I thanked the gods a bit too early. I suppress the urge to shout a ‘what?’ as she snatches the documents back from me and starts to walk towards the entrance doors. I too walk behind her, silent only so as to not create a scene in front of my potentially future classmates and friends. Still, I see a few grins and/or giggle at the two of us and I feel like digging myself underground for having a scene like this. At the door, though, she turns around and I pray that she changed her mind. My wish isn’t granted. “You can just get your schedule and leave for your classes. I will handle the talk on my own. Okay?” Despairing what they might talk about, I silently nod.

  Finding the principal’s office, mom gets me my schedule a
lmost immediately and sends me on my way. “Have a nice day, Andy.” The last sight of the inside of the office is how she waves me bye (talk about embarrassing) while the secretary lady, Ms Adams, stares at me in not a friendly way while she goes through my old school records. What did she read there? Did Mrs Johnson write a biased character report on me in my records?

  Within moments of leaving the office though, these thoughts shift to the back of my mind. Because my mind finally realizes that I am standing among thousands of strangers with no hope of finding even one familiar face. All confidence and hope of making a better new start fades as I walk to my locker while every person stares at me. It seems as if I am not some new guy but a god who demands absolute silence in his presence. The whispers begin soon enough behind me, commenting on every single inch of me. I am not able to hear the words clearly and am grateful for it, thinking that it is better to not know some things than accept them once there is no room left for doubt. Opening the locker, I stare at the empty inside while wondering what to do with it.

  “Dude, you gonna keep something in or keep staring at it like you expect something invisible to appear in front of you?” A female voice, full of attitude I might add, comes from my left and I turn to the tan blonde next to me. Before I can even speak, she continues, “Name’s Melissa James, new guy. Don’t call me Mel or I swear I will hit you where the sun doesn’t shine. Same goes for trying to hit on me. If I like you, I will make it clear. I hate silly games and even more I hate players wasting my time so if you are even thinking of trying, know that you are limited to being a friend, if you are lucky. Now, since we are going to be locker neighbour, don’t you agree that we should be friends, at least until there is a reason not to be?” Without letting me respond, she continues. “I think so too. So, what’s your name, new guy?”

  “Andrew Jonah Peters. People call me Andy. Jonah is parents-only. Pleased to meet you, locker neighbour.” She opens her mouth to speak and I continue, smirking at her annoyed glare. “I have been in this city for around five weeks. My past is for me to share. I know no one of my age and I am recently single. That’s my bio data in short. Now what can you tell me about this place?” In the small moment she shoots me an impressed look, I am awed at myself and thank myself for this temporary loose tongue. I can image the scene very clearly where I would have badly stuttered while trying to respond to her.

  “Well then. Jonah it is. So what kind of person are you, Jonah?” She responds with a smirk and once she’s done speaking, she makes a face at me. “Jonah is a cool name but Andy’s my preference, I think.” Just then the bell rings and the student population around me, which was still partly staring at me, begins to disperse as everyone begins to head off to class. “Seriously bad timing. We were just getting started. Andy, show me your schedule. Let’s direct the new guy.”

  Reluctantly, I hand over my schedule to the mini firecracker and she whistles as soon as her eyes land on it. “Wow, it is an exact copy of mine. What did you do? Hack the school computer to make this connection? Remember though, don’t you dare hit on me.” Then leaning in while handing over my schedule, she conspiratorially whispers to me, “I’m already interested in the other new guy. So don’t bother with me. Or the mindless cheerleaders. Or the bumbling nerds. Stay away from those two groups. You won’t regret it.”

  With that as my only warning, she begins to walk where our first class of the day would be. “What other new guy?” I ask, curious of who will I be sharing the attention of being the new guy with. She makes an irritated face, which is extremely cute, that hurts me in the heart. Because I can only think of Kylie making that kind of face at me. The mere thought of Kylie sends a thousand of desires, wants and regrets flowing through me. How is Kylie? Where is Kylie? Does she miss me? Did she get my note? Did she move on? Would she move on? Is she happy? Did I hurt her very badly by leaving? Should I have given her a chance? Should I have told her everything a long time ago?

  Mom may have meant it as a nonsensical outburst but she hadn’t lied with what she knew, even if it was only incomplete. The truth was that ever since the ‘revelation’, there had been thousands of regrets festering within me. None of them could be controlled and all of them originated from the one choice I made twelve years ago moments after ‘Ed’ left me there. And by a paradox, the urge to satisfy the addiction was now gone. Its price wasn’t though.

  A loud clap in front of my face snaps me out of my thoughts. “Where did you go Andy?” Melissa asks with a slightly concerned expression. “That was some place you went to. I think we are late now. Thankfully, since you are the new guy, it is your job to get us excused.” She continues as she drags me to where our class would be. I am pretty sure my mouth is open a little in surprise but thankfully no insect dares to try sticking itself inside my mouth.

  By the time she ends up at a classroom door – and I am completely lost to trek in these halls on my own – I have barely formulated a weak excuse for our late arrival by about five minutes in which Melissa has helpfully (and unnecessarily) told me all about the different teachers here. And I mean everything. Including the internal wars and the dirty soap opera-like drama details. Her excuse for telling me all this? Ammunition. “For when it might be urgent to be used.” She says. She obviously doesn’t know that my background info would be enough to create a large explosion in the school society.

  Slamming the door open, Melissa pushes me inside the room while the surprised teacher and other students stare at me enter. Then she enters and I hear her name murmured along with some low-pitched whistles. Aside from the teacher, Mr Martin Snow – a balding man who looks like he is approaching his mid-forties in a crisp formal outfit, my gaze is immediately directed to one other person. Among all those who stare at me, I see a variety of emotions. Except at him. He’s blank. There’s no emotion in his brown eyes and from the way he looks at me, he’s assessing me as if I am a threat.

  “What is the meaning of this rude behaviour?” The balding Mr Snow fumes and I turn to focus on him, only to realize that he isn’t talking to me but my female companion. Being slightly behind me, she prods me towards the teacher and I get her message instantly. Make the excuse.

  “Sir, I’m sorry.” His angry eyes shift to me the instant I begin to speak. “I was lost and this girl found me just in time to help me get here as soon as possible. Please don’t scold her for my incompetence.” There is a silent clapping on my back, implying that she’s impressed and I mentally congratulate myself for having a good vocabulary to show off in front of this English teacher. He doesn’t respond to my words with a verbal response as he turns away from us and once again I feel Melissa drag me away from the door to the two empty seats. As I am just getting past his table, he asks.

  “What’s your name, kid?” His voice, when calmer, is a bit rough and thick. Without thinking of any repercussions, after all why would I, I respond instantly.

  “Andrew Jonah Peters.” The tightening of his face is the immediate sign of recognition and fear fills me immediately. This time when he responds, his voice is far less welcoming and far worse than what he greeted us with.

  “You? Let’s hope you won’t continue such activities here. I would be watching you very closely.” Once again I feel the eyes of the entire class upon me. Melissa drags me once again but I feel her stare on me as well. But he interrupts as just as we reach the first row of seats. “Mr Peters will be sitting with Mr Layweigh in the front. I will be keeping a close eye on the two of you.” Before he is done speaking, I hear the whisper that makes my blood run cold. ‘Freak.’ I look around but no one shows any sign of saying anything. Did I imagine it?

  Whoever this ‘Layweigh’ is, he is the most introvert teenager I have ever known. And I like him for it. We don’t talk but I keep observing him from the side of my vision and he doesn’t even sneak a peek at me. He’s around five feet eight inches and around one hundred and fifty pounds. His hair is completely brown and along with his easily distinguishable blue eyes, his tanne
d skin creates an attractive appearance. From the amount of stares the two of us gather, I am pretty sure that he is the new guy Melissa is crushing on. I am afraid that he won’t be enough to stop me from gaining too much attention though.

  The class ends in fifty minutes after our arrival but it feels like a lifetime. The two of us are blessed with another set of glares from the teacher and I immediately turn to Layweigh kid. “Hey, wanna be friends?” Most people would think I was going for the brothers-in-suffering route at the moment. I was. He stared at me as if the concept of friend was completely foreign to him before he awkwardly nodded. “Cool. My name is Andrew Jonah Peters. People call me Andy. What’s yours?”

  “Simon Layweigh. People call me … Simon.” He responds and the pause makes me wonder if he really has had much social interaction in his life. It doesn’t look like it. “What’s your next class? Mine’s AP Calculus.” He asks me and I smile at him for trying to make an effort.

  “Ours is same. Come on, let’s go.” Melissa butts in on our conversation and Simon looks at her politely. There goes the dream of her getting him. “I’m Melissa James. Never call me Mel. Okay? And smile a little! It brightens every face.” She barely pauses for a breath before continuing. “Now we all know each other – though Andy seems to have some things to tell later – let’s go to our next class so I can introduce the two of you to the rest of my group. Come on, hurry.”

  As she drags the two of us with her, Simon remarks. “She’s quite energetic. ADHD?” He asks and Melissa instantly freezes while I erupt in laughter.

  Pinching the bridge of her nose, Melissa points out, “Just because I am active and not dull like the two of you doesn’t mean that I have ‘Attention Deficiency Hyper Disorder’. Don’t ever bring this up again.” No matter what she said, I can’t help but recognize how obviously she’s lying. Though she may not be. It’s her secret to share anyway.

  And as she drags me to our next class and new friends, I can’t help but wonder what this means. Just an hour ago, I was scared of being unable to ever fit in. But now it seems that I can and all those fears were useless. As Mr Snow just demonstrated, there would always be some who would judge me but there would also be folks like Simon and Melissa to have my back.

  After a long time, I have hope that things would be okay.