Burden of the Soul

6.

It had been over a week since I had last been at school, and just as long since I had bothered opening one of my textbooks. But despite the constant cloud cover in my mind, I was told I had to return and play out my role in the story—abandoned daughter.

There was a lot they weren’t telling me, and I hated that feeling, but I didn’t have the energy to fight it. I was a giant meat puppet driven only by the obligation to keep the show going, as Aunt Grace directed, but even that was difficult to do in private let alone out in public.

I would wake up. Wander around the huge brownstone Dad and I had moved into. Sit in front of the TV, sometimes remembering to turn it on. Eat, if I was told to. Sleep, if I remembered. Nothing seemed to register anymore.

We were in limbo without the promise of heaven.

Aunt Grace helped us move into the fully furnished brownstone on the Upper West Side, a “favor from Brik,” she said. Dad had taken the third floor, and mainly stayed there. I took the second and sometimes wandered to the first. We never really crossed paths.

There was a room on the second floor at the top of the steps decked out in a similar fashion to my former bedroom, in my former home… my former life.

Aunt Grace had popped in and out that week to help us get settled, though that process took no more than a few minutes given how little we had brought with us. The kitchen cabinets and fridge were already packed with dishes and food. There was toilet paper in every bathroom, and plush towels stacked high in the linen closet.

The place seemed like it had been lived in for years. By who though, I hadn’t a clue. Nor did I really care.

Over the weekend Grace sat us both down at the kitchen table and told us it was time we both went back to our lives—me to school and Dad to work. The rest that followed was some sort of heartfelt pep talk to both of us, and a reminder to stick to the story.

The words were a blur. I got up from the table before she had finished and slowly walked up the stairs to my room and laid down in the dark.

Now, standing on the corner of 97 Street and Central Park West waiting for Alli, it occurred to me that I probably should have returned her messages. She had tried by phone, text and email over the past week or so, but eventually gave up. The last one she sent, a simple one-line text on my cell phone, read, “I’m here if you need me.”

Then she let me be.

I hadn’t even warned her that I was going to school today, or that we had moved a few blocks south of 97 Street. When I saw her heading toward me across the intersection, I could see her looking north on Central Park West scanning the faces. Her expression dropped when what she was looking for couldn’t be found. She turned her head back in front of her and paused slightly as she crossed at the light finally seeing me.

She approached with care.

“Hey,” I said in a muffled tone. I couldn’t stand to look in her eyes for too long. They were filled with concern and confusion, not knowing if she should ask or pretend like this was a normal walk to school like the hundreds we had already shared.

Before she could say anything, I turned and started walking toward the park. She followed right behind.

“So, what all have I missed?”

“Clara, you know you can…”

I stopped her short by shaking my head. “Alli, I’d rather not, if that’s okay.”

I wasn’t quite ready to deliver the lines Grace had fed me. Besides, Alli had already been given the story through her mom the night of my birthday. She had all the details she needed, and if I couldn’t bring myself to play my assigned role, I could at least avoid contradicting it. It was bad enough that the events of the past week were beginning to make me think I was crazy. I didn’t need my best friend thinking the same.

“Okay,” she said with a nod, and our pace picked up as we followed our path through the park around the Reservoir. I stood as far from it as I could. Alli rattled on about the assignments I had missed and some hazing the Seniors had done on a poor Freshmen who wandered into their hall by mistake.

“I heard the ink wouldn’t wash off her lip so she had to walk around school the whole day with a blue handlebar moustache on her face. So embarrassing,” Alli tried to keep it light with her tone, but I noticed her glancing over at me more often than usual.

As we got onto 95 Street on the East Side, other students dressed in autumn layers slouching under the weight of their backpacks rushed by us, casting inquisitive looks back over their shoulders at me. So the story had spread in my absence.

The stares went on throughout the day, and teachers went out of their way to pat my shoulder or offer me assistance catching up with homework saying, “Just take your time,” or, “Let me know if there’s anything you need.”

I met the Chapter 11 group on the first floor for lunch, but it wasn’t the relief I thought it would be. I knew they had questions, but it seemed Alli had gotten to them first and warned them to act natural. Or maybe Aunt Grace had been right. Maybe this was a topic that made people uncomfortable, enough to keep a safe distance at least.

Walking back to school, both Alli and Scott stayed close, flanking me on either side ready to protect me if needed. Crossing the intersection I heard him and his cronies laughing before I saw them.

“Gaber! Where you been?”

I looked up and saw Jason jogging over to us.

Alli and Scott pulled in tightly, packing in at my sides with their arms just behind my elbows guiding me to the school’s door at a quickened pace. But Jason was on the other side of Alli then matching our stride. He leaned forward and looked across at me, but I refused to look back.

“What’s wrong, Gaber? Your mom finally ditch you? Can’t really blame her.”

The fury boiled up and over in my stomach before I could even register what I was feeling. It burned through each limb and froze my feet into the sidewalk in a defensive stance. The reaction made him smile. He stopped and turned to face me.

Alli’s hands went to my shoulders pushing me back. “Clara, let it go.”

Scott came across us and stood by Jason, pushing him back and looking completely out of place. There was nothing intimidating about Scott though he hovered a good four inches above Jason’s head. It was like watching a baby bird get ready to fly for the first time—like I needed to protect Scott from getting hurt when all he was trying to do was protect me.

I pushed back on the fury that wanted to see red, to see Jason’s broken nose or crumpled body on the sidewalk, and gave in to Alli’s pushing back toward the school.

“Guess your dad won’t be putting any notes in your lunch, eh Gaber?”

The fury was back and I turned ready to snap him in two, his friends’ laughter feeding the monster inside of me. The pleasure I would feel when that laughter turned into gasps of fear was decadent on my tongue. Jason would pay.

Scott was in front of me in an instant using his whole body to push me back, and Alli’s grasp around my wrist pulled. A crowd had started to gather—some looking concerned, others chuckling along with Jason’s clique, but all anxious for a fight.

I closed my eyes pressing back on the fury and gave in to Scott and Alli’s force, going limp and allowing them to pull me back into the school. They guided me all the way to the third floor never letting go.

“He’s an idiot, Clara. You can’t let him get to you,” Alli said, still pulling me to English class.

If it were possible, there were even more eyes on me now. Somehow word of the incident outside had made it up to the third floor before we had. I pulled my arm out from under Alli’s hand and looked down.

“I can’t,” I said.

“Can’t what?”

“I just… I need a minute.” I turned and left her there in the hall. She called after me a few times, but I ignored her. As I made my way to the stairwell going up to the fourth floor, students strolled into the classrooms looking over their shoulders at me, waiting for the snap to happen.

By the time I got to the stairwell I was looking for, the halls were nearly empty. Just a few scattered students struggling to fit books into their bags or lost in conversation. I put my hand on the fencelike cage that separated the darkened stairs from the hall and ignored the posted sign warning people not to go farther.

I yanked on the cage and it sprang open. I had heard from others that it was unlocked sometimes, and often used as a place to skip class. I headed up the stairs and used all of my weight to open the large metal door, and then spilled out onto the roof.

The air was cool against my flushed skin and I became aware of the sweat that had gathered on my forehead. The sun was glowing behind a cluster of white clouds traveling at a quickened pace across the sky. The sounds of street traffic far below me were softened. The relief of finally being alone sank in.

There was no other presence there with me. Dad with his anger and grief was far way. The mobs of students with their questions and speculations were locked into windowless rooms distracted by lectures. I was finally alone and the cool, clean air washed the residue of everyone else’s emotions off of me.

I used my backpack as a pillow as I lay there staring up at the sky, watching the clouds float past. The longer I lay there leaving my mind closed off to any thoughts or memories, the more relaxed I felt. The thought of skipping class before and coming up to the roof had always filled me with anxiety. I was constantly afraid of getting caught breaking rules, and scared of the disappointment and punishment I would undoubtedly find once I got home. But that didn’t matter any more did it? Nothing waited for me at home.

And frankly, under the circumstances, it was hard to believe school mattered.

I heard the scratch of metal on metal as the large door was pushed open. I sat up, anticipating a faculty member or even a love struck couple skipping class to come out from behind it, but there was a pause.

Then a few delicate fingers adorned with fire engine red nail polish curled around the side of the door. Her head slowly peeked out, short red hair dangling from her angled neck.

“Oh, hello there. Looks like I’m not the only one who ignores warning signs or dark and dreary stairwells,” she said.

She stepped out from behind the door onto the roof, her high-heeled leather boots catching the sun. She pulled at the collar of her fitted jean jacket and straightened her petite figure. She looked older than a student, but too young to be a faculty member. She certainly wasn’t one I recognized. I stumbled for words realizing I had just been caught red handed.

“Oh don’t worry, I’m not going to tell on you. Just saw the cage open and got curious myself.”

I felt relieved at what seemed to be sincerity in her voice. She kept looking at me with a smile.

“I just needed… a break, is all,” I said, standing up and wiping off my jeans.

“Don’t let me stop you,” she said. “I was just checking.” Her eyes scanned out across the roof and then came back to me. “Everyone deserves a break now and again.”

She seemed nice. A bit intimidating under the circumstances—a complete stranger on a rooftop wearing boots capable of stabbing someone straight through the heart with a single, perfectly delivered kick.

“Just promise me you won’t jump, ‘kay?” She smiled with a wink and turned back to the door, pulling it closed behind her with just a crack of space to spare.

I was alone on the roof again and stayed there for what could have been an hour before a Junior couple came giggling up the stairs on their way to what I assumed was their usual make out spot. I stood up and grabbed my bag, not even wanting to deal with sharing the space with them. I figured it was safer at this point to get myself back into the darkroom for last period.

I brushed past them with a little too much force as they jumped back, startled at the sight of another person on the roof. But I didn’t linger. I could hear them whispering to each other as I walked down the darkened steps.

“What’s her problem?”

I slammed the cage shut with irritation. The echoes of the clanging metal sent a message up the stairs, which satisfied me. Their whispers stopped at that point, or I just traveled out of earshot. Either way, I was relieved.

I made it down to the art studio before classes had been excused and was able to check in with Mr. Stark before the next lot of students began filing in. It was obvious he wasn’t prepared for my return to class, and although he looked at me with a bit of sympathy at first, he quickly reverted back to his academic apathy, which I preferred. He told me I could use the day to finish up what I had been working on, but the next day I would have to join back with the class and try to catch up on what I had missed on my own time.

That was fine by me.

I grabbed the supplies I needed and got into the empty darkroom, exhaling a deep breath once the door clicked shut. I was alone again.

I took out my sheet of negatives and remembered what I was holding. Silvery shadows of Mom’s face repeated in rows and columns stared up at me. My fingers tensed and crumbled the edges of the plastic sheet.

I pulled out a single row that had one shot I could use. I hadn’t meant to take the shot, so it was blurry and on a diagonal. The counter top took up a third of the photo and bounced the light back to the lens with a flare. The windows of our family room were blurred in the background, but there was no figure. There was no person in the image looking back at me, so it was the only one I could bear to stare at for the next hour.

I didn’t bother mixing new chemicals. I just started using the basins leftover by whoever had been there before me. My back was to the door when I heard it open as quietly as it could. My shoulders stiffened.

Then it hit me. I remembered who I had shared the darkroom with the last time I was in here and I felt my cheeks flush, this time with embarrassment about what he may have heard, if anything. For some reason, I didn’t feel like I could lie to him—that I wouldn’t want to lie to him, if he asked.

He said nothing though. In silence he went to his enlarger, opened his bag and crossed the room to the stereo system and docked his phone. It was a new playlist, but that was normal for Dave—new week, new find. Any other week I probably would have recognized the band, but I hadn’t been checking in at his blog.

But I did recognize it, which was a first without the help of his blog. A song by Greg Laswell started playing. Alli had shared the same song on my Facebook wall over a month ago and I loved it. If circumstances were different I probably would have done emotional cartwheels to find out Dave and I shared a musical taste in common.

The song soothed me, and I kept my head down soaking it in for a moment.

He took a step closer to me, his hands in his pockets. Out of the corner of my eye I watched as he took a deep breathe in and let it out. He was wearing a thin, plaid shirt with the snap buttons undone and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The faded blue t-shirt he wore underneath rose again and froze as he made the decision to say what he wanted to say.

I braced myself.

“Clara.” His arm reached out to me and then, thinking better of it, pulled awkwardly back to his side.

There was a deep and easy feeling that blossomed at my core when he said my name. I felt the urge to confess everything to him, as if his voice had the power to cut through the role I was being forced to play—through the lie I was being made to live.

I wanted to turn to him and cry into that blue t-shirt. I wanted so badly to bury my face into his chest and feel his chin lightly rest on the top of my head as his arms wrapped around me. All of this desired familiarity just at the sound of my name, a name he had no doubt learned from the passing rumors that circulated the school last week.

He stumbled over words, making another attempt at what he had to say. I couldn’t help it—I turned to look at him despite my efforts to keep my eyes locked on the developing image in front of me. The urge to cry swept over me with a piercing force as my eyes met his in the reddened shadows.

There was no teasing or mocking in his expression. No curiosity or confusion. Only sadness, as the deepest part of my heart hidden away by layers of anger was finally reflected back to me in his face.

“Clara, I’m so sorry.”

His eyes held mine for a moment, but then I blinked and the embrace of his eyes was carried away into the room’s shadows and it no longer felt comfortable standing that way. I felt exposed. I felt vulnerable. I felt as if he could see everything I was trying to hide.

I cleared my throat and turned back to the large metal sink my hands were clinging too, but he didn’t move. I closed my eyes, pulling in just enough air to push the words out while holding the tears back.

“Thank you,” I said softly.

After a pause, I heard his sneakers pad across the linoleum floor back to his enlarger. We were silent the rest of the hour, never again saying a word to each other then or any day after.

My encounters with Dave Shaw faded into nothing as the year dragged on. He fell away just as other friends and acquaintances did. Even Jason left me alone, though whenever I passed him in the hall he seemed to glare at me with a desire to finish what had been started out on the corner of 94 Street and Madison Avenue.

I ventured through the school like a ghost, keeping to myself and eventually bowing out of any activities I had once enjoyed. No one was angry when I eventually stopped going to Chapter 11 meetings. I hadn’t turned in an assignment since before my birthday, so it must have come as a relief to them that I was finally making it official rather than stringing them along.

Eventually the stares and whispers would stop and everyone’s gossiping attention would flip to the rooftop couple that broke up in a dramatic scene at Homecoming, or the rumored affair between two teachers, or the ass kicking some tenth grade kid got care of Jason and his crew.

All of that would come eventually that year, but in that moment I was thankful to be cloaked by the darkroom’s shadows. I peeled my focus away from the whispers, from the stares, and even from Dave just a few feet away from me. All I allowed myself to consider was the black and white image of my old, empty home swimming in the stop bath.

I focused on that image and the familiar music that filled the room until my heart slept and emotion vanished.