The Watcher

Chapter Eight



I awoke before my alarm Monday morning to the sound of dogs barking and got up to see what it was about. Drawing the curtains aside, I noticed a couple of terriers had chased the neighbor’s cat up a tree. They barked at each other and then ganged up on the cat. I rooted for the cat. On the horizon, the sun tried to pierce the dark clouds that loomed threateningly above, exposing a cold blue sky, so I dressed for more rain.

In English class, Mr. Bidwell had me read Ophelia to Michael’s Hamlet. We were reading Act III Scene I, and the class started with Hamlet’s famous “to be or not to be” speech which Michael read perfectly, his clear and exquisite voice mesmerizing the room. In the scene, Ophelia returns Hamlet’s tokens of love to him. It was the perfect scene to let out some of my frustration. I’d read the play enough times now that I was even getting comfortable with the wording.

Hamlet’s soliloquy ended with Nymph, in thy orisons be all my sins remember’d. When Michael said it, his eyes were hooded and soft. Even though I couldn’t understand exactly what Hamlet meant by that line, I knew it had something to do with regret. I found myself wondering what Michael could possibly regret. Or was he that good an actor?

In my mind’s eye, a scrambled image of blood and shadow flashed before me. Trying to focus on the image made me dizzy. It took a moment for the words on the page to stop moving so I could read my next line.

“My lord, I have remembrances of yours that I have longed long to re-deliver,” I read. “I pray you, now receive them.”

“No, not I!” Michael said, “I never gave you aught.” Again, such remorse emanated from him, as though what he was saying was in fact real and not a play.

My anger returned as I continued to read, losing myself in the script. Like Hamlet, he had been sweet to me and then turned into a jerk. But it was more than that, as though we had a connection that went really deep, and that’s what made it hurt. I used to think Ophelia was weak, but now I could relate to her. Her brother was away, her father was a total ass, and she was in love with a guy who was nice to her one minute, cold the next. Everyone had abandoned her.

We continued bantering as Hamlet and Ophelia. As we argued our lines about the role of beauty to deceive, Michael read pointedly and seemed to be enjoying himself. I don’t know what he thought was so funny about beauty being deceptive. He was the beautiful one.

“I did love you once,” he read. Hearing those words from him caught me off guard, most of all because they sounded so true. My mind blanked. He eyed me expectantly.

I flushed, suddenly remembering my line. “Indeed, my lord, you made me believe so.” This isn’t real; it’s a play.

“You should not have believ’d me; for virtue cannot so inoculate our old stock but we shall relish of it. I loved you not.” He read the words sharply, coldly.

Ophelia never had a chance! “I was the more deceived,” I read, more bitterly than Ophelia might have ever been.

Michael read Hamlet’s famous “get thee to a nunnery” speech angrily, as though he really meant it. And when he said the line “Why wouldst thou be a breeder of sinners?” his voice did that strange thing I’d heard before, where it sounded like a chorus rather than a single voice. As he spoke, I saw a flash of two red lights amidst blackness. Eyes! I stopped breathing as I remembered that shadowy dog.

Completely assuming the role of Hamlet, he continued mercilessly through the speech, each word slicing into me. When he had finished, I had to bite my lip to keep it from quivering so I could continue with my lines. How could this play seem so real?

We ended the reading with Ophelia’s “O, what a noble mind is here o’erthrown!” speech, and I couldn’t stop my voice from trembling as I read. I wasn’t acting, but it seemed the class thought I was.

“Well done. Both of you.” Mr. Bidwell praised us when we were done, encouraging everyone to clap. He went on about our acting abilities and how much passion we brought to reading our parts. If he only knew.

The class discussed what had happened in the scene, but I barely listened. It was strangely personal, as though they were talking about my feelings and not Ophelia’s. While Michael focused on the discussion, seemingly unperturbed, I stared down at my open textbook, smoothing its worn edges with my fingertip. This used to be one of my favorite scenes in the play. Now Ophelia’s words taunted me from the page, “Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh.”

Mr. Bidwell asked the class, “What does Hamlet mean when he says ‘for the power of beauty will sooner transform honesty from what it is’?”

Everyone gave him blank looks. It was Michael who raised his hand.

“It means beauty makes men lie,” he said.

Readjusting his glasses, Mr. Bidwell repeated what Michael said thoughtfully.

“Isn’t that sort of misogynistic?” Elaine asked, leaning forward in her seat as though she were preparing for a debate. “Blaming the woman for being beautiful and using it as an excuse for men’s lies?” Mr. Bidwell smiled and leaned on his desk. “Good question, Elaine, but we have to take Shakespeare’s time into consideration, and the fact that Hamlet is angry and possibly playing crazy at this point. How about if we rephrase it to ‘men choose to lie when presented with beauty’? How’s that?”

“Better,” she said smugly.

“I don’t think we should whitewash it,” I interjected, refusing to let Elaine win. “Maybe Hamlet really thinks that way. Maybe he is a misogynist. I mean, look at the way he treats Ophelia, kind to her one minute, cold the next.” Michael shifted in his seat and glared at me, obviously catching my insinuation. “Then there’s the way he feels about his mother.”

Mr. Bidwell took the opportunity to guide us into a discussion about Hamlet’s alleged oedipal complex. I only half-listened and was glad when class was over. It wasn’t until then that I noticed Damiel hadn’t been there at all.

I didn’t see him until lunch, and even then it was only briefly. I was eating with Heather as usual, and Fiona, Dean, Jesse, and Farouk all joined us. We were a full table, and everyone was discussing a new action movie that was coming out on the weekend.

“The previews look amazing!” Fiona exclaimed. “Even the critics gave it four stars.”

“I think we should go this Friday,” Heather said, turning to Jesse. “You in?”

“All in,” he said, grinning at her.

None of us thought he meant for the movie. Heather blushed and leaned back in her chair so she could prod him under the table with her foot. Jesse made a face. They were being too cute. Seeing them that way made me wish I had someone to banter with, someone I could be close to. It made me feel even more alone.

“How about you, Mia?” Fiona asked, biting into a carrot stick.

“Sure,” I said, and turned to Dean and Farouk. “Are we all going?”

Outside, it started to rain, hard enough that I could hear the raindrops slapping the pavement. Damiel and Michael stood in the wet field, facing off. They exchanged loud words I couldn’t hear, clouds of breath escaping their mouths. Usually this kind of argument would draw a crowd, but around the cafeteria people were focused on their own conversations—some laughing, some playing. Nobody noticed the scene outside.

Even angry, Michael was stunning to look at: intimidating, but stunning. Cultures dating back as far as Ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia used lions to represent warrior-hood. Male lions fight to the death to protect their pride from intruders. When these guys faced off, it was that intense; the air itself crackled between them. The wind picked up, blowing wet, dying leaves off the bending branches. After a few moments, Michael stormed across the field to the trails behind the school grounds. Damiel followed and I wondered what would happen next, what they were fighting about. Was it about me?

Don’t be ridiculous, Mia!

“Mia?” Heather’s voice called me back to reality.

“Mm-hmm,” I replied absently.

“Farouk was offering you a ride,” she whispered. “He lives the closest.”

“Oh.” Composing myself, I turned to Farouk. “Do you mean Friday?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“Uh, sure. What time?”

“We’re going to meet at the coffee shop by the theater at six-fifteen.” Heather filled me in on what I’d missed. I was too embarrassed to admit I had been staring at the two most attractive guys I’d ever seen and wishing they were fighting over me.

“How’s six?” he asked.

“Good.”

Curious about the argument between Damiel and Michael, I kept an eye out for them all afternoon but I didn’t see them again. By the end of the day, I began to worry. What if Michael had been hurt? The fact that I was concerned only for Michael was telling. I didn’t expect things to happen with Damiel, and when he wasn’t around I found myself completely un-attracted to him. It seemed whatever I felt resulted from being in his presence, like he had some kind of vortex of charm everyone got sucked into—including me.

Not being around Michael filled me with a kind of longing I’d never felt before. He made me angry, he made me happy, and I would endure anything to spend a few moments with him.

The rest of my classes dragged and the teachers piled on the assignments, trying to prepare us for mid-terms. By the end of the day, I carried the burden of a full workload to my locker. I was packing for the bus ride home when a warm hand touched the base of my spine, sending a tingle right up to my neck.

I whirled around and saw Damiel smiling wickedly beside me. “Got enough books?”

“Uh, yeah,” I stammered, shouldering my bag.

“What do they say about all work and no play?” His dark eyes twinkled, but I noticed for the first time they weren’t warm. He stroked his hand up my spine to my shoulder, and another tingle ran through me. “Maybe it’s time you played a little. How about it? You game?”

I wondered what kind of game he meant. He stood so close it was almost dizzying.

“You should see the homework they’ve given me this week.” I wasn’t sure how to say no to him, or even if I wanted to, now that he was near me again.

He lifted his hand from my shoulder to brush my cheek, and I noticed small cuts on his knuckles that appeared to be mostly healed. When I looked into his eyes, my reserve buckled, like I was forgetting where I was—who I was—and the pull of his presence drew over my skin. He was bewitching, and I was being reeled in.

Then something broke the fixation, a sound perhaps, or a rush of cool air. Suddenly remembering where I was, I looked away. A few students milled around, talking at their lockers, filling their backpacks, and readying themselves for the trip home.

At the end of the hall, Michael focused on the two of us, singling me out. My spine stiffened. I’d done nothing wrong. Was I supposed to be some kind of nun? A vestal virgin? I swallowed the lump forming in my throat and wished he’d stop looking at me like that, as though I’d disappointed him.

Damiel glared at Michael and the air snapped between them, sending a ripple right through me. Touching my chin, Damiel turned me to face him. His smile spoke of pleasures promised. Pleasures I wasn’t sure I was ready for yet, but I found myself yearning for them nevertheless. Bringing his lips to my ear, he whispered, “Think about it,” before he turned and walked away.

I blinked in the direction where Michael stood and shook the feeling off. He was gone, too. Sadness settled into the base of my stomach. Why couldn’t we talk? Wasn’t that what normal people did?

I grabbed my bag and rushed down the hall to where I’d seen him. He wasn’t there, so I ran outside and found him striding toward his car.

It was pouring out but I didn’t care. My umbrella was at the bottom of my bag and fishing it out would take too long. I didn’t want to stop for fear I’d miss him.

“Hey!” I shouted after him.

When he stopped and turned back to me, my breath caught. He could be such an impressive figure. Tall and strong, he wasn’t afraid of his anger; it seemed to be a force that welled up inside him, one he could completely control. While he didn’t throw it around, I sure didn’t want to cross him.

“What?” he said hotly as I approached his car.

On the road behind him, deep puddles formed into gray pools. Michael stood, his car door open. Rain soaked his already damp hair as tiny streams of water poured down the sides of his face. Even his eyelashes were wet.

My step faltered. My own anger cooled.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

He shrugged. “You tell me.”

“I don’t get you. Why do you seem to be watching me all the time?”

He mumbled something under his breath that I couldn’t hear. At least he didn’t deny it.

I tried a different approach. “Did I do something wrong?”

“How do you feel right now?” he asked, as though that answered my question.

“Fine,” I said, though it wasn’t entirely true. I was confused, exhausted, sad, and ashamed of myself for that look of disappointment on his face when he saw me talking to Damiel. More than anything, I wanted him to touch me as Damiel had.

He sighed and pressed the remote on his keychain. I heard the passenger doors unlock. “Get in.”

I looked at him, hesitating. Did he mean it? He gave me a nod and motioned inside. Gathering my dignity, I got in and closed the door.

“Fasten your seatbelt,” he said, shifting the car into gear. It still smelled new inside.

Rain had already soaked through my shirt; it clung cold against my skin. I wished I’d worn Gore-Tex. I tried to wipe the water off my face with wet hands, for all the good it did me. “Where are we going?”

“I’m taking you home.”

A ride home. That meant I had five minutes with him, tops. I was going to ask my questions even though I didn’t expect to get any answers.

“Why does it bother you when Damiel speaks to me?” I blurted out, telling myself I wanted things, Michael, to make sense.

His expression was intense but completely unreadable. I had to remember to breathe. He returned his focus to the road. “He’s taking from you.”

“What does that mean?” I wondered if taking meant flirting. “What is he taking?”

“How do you feel when you’re with him?”

How did I feel when I was with Damiel? Flattered, as though I was someone attractive and interesting. It was never about Damiel. It was about me. Being alone with Michael in his car was different. It wasn’t about how attractive I felt, it was a deep longing that I could hardly put into words. In that moment my whole body thrummed with it, and I found myself wishing Michael would notice me the way Damiel did, even once.

I could sense his attention on me as he waited for an answer, but I couldn’t face him. I focused on my school bag, playing with its stuck zipper.

“Wishing I was with you,” I whispered.

All the color left his face and it was his turn to look away. I realized that for as much as I’d listened to Heather advise Fiona about guys, I didn’t know a thing.

He pulled the car over to the side of the road and parked it. A heavy silence grew between us. The rain thrummed against the roof of his car and my heart stuttered anxiously against my ribs, like a hummingbird flapping its tiny wings.

He took a deep breath and his voice was thick when he said, “If I misled you…”

My heart stopped, and I blinked at him as heat filled my face. He hadn’t misled me. The feelings I had for him were one hundred percent my own doing. I should have known better.

“I’m not available,” he continued, “the way you want me to be.”

What did he mean,the way I wanted him to be? Any way I could be with him would be fine. Anything was better than not speaking at all. And then the pieces came together: gorgeous and unavailable. He had a girlfriend. Oh God! Why hadn’t I seen the signs before? He didn’t flirt with anyone because he was in love with someone else.

Not caring about the rain, I opened the door and dashed out of the car.

Michael caught up with me and grabbed my arm. I pulled it away.

“It’s wet,” he said. “I’ll take you home.”

Tears burned my eyes, making me grateful for the heavy rain that washed them away, cooling my skin. “I’ll walk.”

“Come on,” he said, “don’t be foolish. You’ll catch a cold.” A wet strand of hair clung to my face. He brushed it aside, so gently, and a deep current trembled through me, compelling me toward him. It was all I could do to hold my ground. His eyes widened and he stepped back. In that moment, I knew he felt it too.

I glared at him. How dare he touch me? Why did he care? Why did he pay attention to me at all?

He shook his head sadly. “Mia, I’m…”

Taken. I know. I shook my head, not wanting to hear any more, and there was this look he gave me, a mixture of pain and something else—something forbidden—that made me want to kiss the rain from his lips.

The sky was filled with black clouds that made it seem more dusk than afternoon. Small rivers formed on the side of the road and dead leaves floated downstream to the gutters, filling the grates. If the rain didn’t let up soon, it would flood.

I couldn’t be alone with him now. It was too humiliating. So I turned and walked off. After a minute, I heard his footsteps on the wet pavement, his car door open and close. I wanted to look back but didn’t. I could tell he was still watching me. But as to why, I figured I’d never know.