I didn’t like sitting in the kitchen. I felt like I had something wrong with me, a cloud or an aura of what had happened, some evil that I didn’t want in the house where I grew up, around my parents, sitting in the same kitchen chair my little sister sat in, permeating the air. I needed to wash myself, get the layer of sick off me, become myself again.
The whole time they yelled, I could also feel that they were concerned, and they hadn’t expected to feel that way. I sat there, my hair a mess, my face smeared, holding my arms tightly around my body, staring at the floor. I could feel their eyes on me and despite the fact that they tried to sound angry, they were horrified at how I looked. I could tell they both wanted to ask me if I was all right, and were torn between that and their desire to punish their rebellious teenage daughter.
I guess it’s hard to be compassionate when you’ve sat up all night planning to be pissed. I can totally get that. I didn’t want to talk to them about it anyway, obviously. I would’ve had to make something up, which I didn’t really have the energy for.
When they had finally stopped talking to me, I went into the bathroom and got out of those clothes. Taking them off felt incredible, as if I was stepping farther away from what had happened. That only lasted a second though. I saw blood. I couldn’t pretend anymore. I couldn’t be strong anymore. I was home, I was alone, and now I was going to have to feel every second of what happened. I was glad I had turned on the shower before I started crying and throwing up, so my parents couldn’t hear.
THIRTY-FOUR
I started walking in the woods out past Clyde Road, which is on the edge of town and pretty remote. It took me about an hour to walk there from my house, but the walk was good. Walking and just being quiet had been very helpful to me in the days since it had happened. The weather was getting a bit colder, and the leaves had started changing. It was my favourite time of year, walking down sidewalks covered with dry leaves, watching blackbirds flocked against the white sky, smelling smoke in the air. It always brought clarity to me, and everything that had happened left me with more of a need for clarity than I’d ever had.
I’d torn down all my DED posters, wadded them up, and shoved them into the same plastic bag with my clothes from that night, which I’d wrapped in another bag and shoved beneath the back porch of our house. I didn’t want the stuff in the house, but for some reason I wanted to save it. I’d been having trouble focusing on anything, which was why I was walking a lot.
I went to school and stayed away from my parents as much as I could. I was quiet in my bedroom, not listening to music, not causing any trouble. I could hear them talking in those concerned, low voices all the time and I knew they were talking about me.
The phone would ring, and it would be Socks or Edgar, wanting to know how the show had gone and if we were going to have a rehearsal or anything, and I basically just told them that I was busy with school, which after a few days didn’t cut it, but they didn’t push me on it. I didn’t hear from Fern at all, but that was okay. I knew what was going on.
Basically all I can really say about what was going on in my mind was that I was working very, very hard to keep any flashes of that night from coming into my head. I was doing everything I could to keep my mind busy and moving, because if I stayed in one place for too long, or got lazy, the images would flood in, and my stomach would knot and my teeth would clench and my eyes would sting with tears. It would make me feel very physically sick and I would try to drive it out of me, to the point of actually pinching myself or knocking my head into the wall. It sounds crazy, I know. But I had to do something.
And so I started walking, mostly at night, and I began to find a certain peace coming over me, even though I refused to allow my mind to go back and settle the score with the memories. I felt peace, and I felt an almost gleeful desire to hit and stomp and kick and destroy that was so strong it would make my palms sweat.