“Do you hear me, Clara? I’ll never leave you. I’m always here for you. I love you, and I’ll never leave you. Do you hear me?”
Clara’s voice came from a distant place deep in her heart when she was six years old playing in the fall leaves, the breeze whipping about her long brown hair. Her mother stood at the open kitchen window and asked if she’d like to come in for dinner, and Clara flung the pile of leaves into the air. She walked to the kitchen window and looked up at her mother who smiled down at her. She smiled back and responded in the soft lyrical voice of a young girl.
“Yes Mommy.”
***
Clara, we need to talk about why you insist on wearing unflattering clothes, her brain said.
Leave her alone. It’s not her fault she’s poor and can’t afford nice shirts. You have a stain on your shirt, by the way.
Clara didn’t know where the second voice came from. She looked down at her shirt and noticed the small stain. She couldn’t remember where she got it. It didn’t look like a food stain, and she didn’t spill her food while she ate anyway.
No, you just spill it off your tray.
You are so cruel to her.
Well, it’s time she knows the truth. She’s a freak, and that’s that.
She’s not a freak.
She is! She told me she wanted to be a ladybug and go crawl under a rock.
That’s because you pester the shit out of her.
Clara kept her eyes glued to her notebook. Her brain had split in two, she thought horrified. She wanted it dead. Maybe then it would stop arguing, stop talking to her. She couldn’t think straight, couldn’t concentrate, and all she wanted to do was concentrate on the lecture.
She looked up at the white board. She searched for the meanings of the words written in a blue dry erase marker, but they eluded her.
I wish he would have used a green marker. Green is my favorite color.
That’s because Evan’s eyes are green.
“Stop,” she whispered, and a few students turned to look at her. She froze, eyes fastened to the board, and they turned away.
You’re still in love with him, Clara. Why don’t you get up right now and tell him that?
Are you really suggesting she interrupt class with a declaration of love? Get real.
It would be so romantic. Of course, you’d be sent directly to the principal’s office, Clara, but who cares? Who cares when it’s romance we’re talking about?
You do have a good point. It would be terribly romantic. Do you think Evan would forgive her?
I don’t know. She did fuck a man. I think that’s considered the ultimate betrayal.
“SHUT UP!” Clara screamed jumping to her feet.
Every person in the room turned in her direction, their eyes wide with disbelief as Clara stood trembling, face coursing with tears. She didn’t know why she was crying. She didn’t know why she was standing next to her desk during the middle of class.
“Excuse me?” Mr. Stevens asked.
Clara looked wildly about the room. She saw his face for a split second—the green-eyed boy—and she wanted to run to him, let him gather her up in his arms and hold her, hide her away from the stares of all of her classmates. They were beginning to stir and whisper, snicker and giggle.
“Clara?” Mr. Stevens asked when he noted the look of panic on her face. It was panic mixed with something else. He couldn’t quite pinpoint it, but she looked like she had no idea where she was. In that moment he knew. He knew she didn’t tell him to shut up. He knew it.
“I’m not well,” she said, placing her hand on her sweat-slicked forehead. The sounds of quiet laughter ceased, and a few students shifted uncomfortably in their seats. “Please, I’m not well.” She shook watching Mr. Stevens, reaching her arms to him, pleading with him silently to take her out of the room.
“It’s okay, Clara,” he said walking over to gather her books. She placed her hand on his forearm as he led her out to the office. “It’s okay.”
***
“How are you today, Clara?” the doctor asked.
Clara looked at her oddly, and the doctor drew in a patient breath.
“You remember that I’m Dr. Morton?” she asked.
Clara nodded then looked at the window.
“You’re mother says you’re not eating, Clara,” Dr. Morton said. “Remember we talked about that?”
Clara nodded, her eyes fastened to the window panes. She was not looking past them, through them. Her eyes couldn’t go that far.
“Would you like to tell me what happened at school today?”
Clara furrowed her brows. “What about it?”
“Well, your mother said you had a hard time in health class. Did you get upset about something?”
“No.”
Dr. Morton pressed on. “You interrupted class. Something must have been bothering you.”
“No.”
“Clara? Do you understand that I want to help you?”
Clara felt the sting of the tears. She focused on each one as it slid down her cheek to hang on her jaw line before plopping onto her shirt. She looked down at her shirt.
“Do you know I have a stain on my shirt?” she asked the doctor.
“I get stains on my shirts all the time,” Dr. Morton replied. She paused before continuing. “Clara? You have to let me help you if you want to get better.”
Clara’s tears distorted her view of the doctor. She leaned in close, and after blinking a few times, she saw a tissue waving in front of her face. She placed it on her lap.
“Did Evan talk to you today?” Dr. Morton asked.
Clara shook her head.
“Clara, your mother is concerned about your grades. You’re an A student, Clara. Tell me what’s going on.”
“Would you like to hear a poem?” Clara asked suddenly.
The doctor sat back in her chair and sighed. “I would love to, Clara.”
Clara stared straight ahead, not at Dr. Morton but at a point just right of the doctor’s face. Her voice was weak, but it did not falter. It said the words of her new prayer, not to God, but to a place far away she wished she could go.
“I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree. And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:”
Dr. Morton got out of her chair as she cooed to her patient: “Keep going, Clara. It’s very beautiful.”