IT'S FINALLY OVER (partly)

From Wednesday (didn't post because I was working on the story), but the excitement still holds.

Insert various punctuation marks, including exclamation marks, question marks, the ever-so-popular SarcMark (can't on Blogger because it's not supported), and the occasional one.

What is this special occasion?

I am celebrating the END of two most awful things that have been bogging me as of late, most notably the research paper and calc finals. I just want to jump up and down and scream for joy! (Well, not really. But you get my enthusiasm.)

Of course, who knows what will happen once I get the grades back for them? Nonetheless, that's eons away, and I'm not troubling myself with these minor details yet. (Also included in these "minor details": I have stat finals tomorrow and Thursday, a physics test on Friday, American Indian paper for US due Friday, three labs despite taking two science classes, and since we did so horribly on the latest Dr. Cans-style electrochem test, we're taking an easier version tomorrow for freebie points.)

Since I am ever so happy and ever so not wanting to study for my stat finals, I will put up a story I had been working on prior with some minor edits.




There's a thousand lies I can make up, but only one truth, and I don't know if I can ever say that out loud.

Based on a true story. But Oprah, there isn't anything that is absolutely so, not even truth, not ever truth.

one.

Friday after school I circled the hallway aimlessly. I had someplace to be, something to do, someone to see—I knew all of that, but my heart was not into it. I listened as the soles of my feet tapped along the cheap, faux-stone tiles, echoing throughout the empty hallway, just as if I had worn wooden clogs and tap danced to a worn-out pattern.

Left, right. Left, right. Left, right. Left, right. I looked up and saw Avery's red backpack ahead. Something in my mind clicked. If Avery was here, then—

I ignored the fading statement and walked faster, hoping that he would not disappear behind a set of doors before I had a chance to talk to him. He saw me, and waved, a half-motion of his arm in slow, uncertain way. I waved back, came up to him, and glanced into the glass door he was standing by.

Left, right.

"Hey," I said, my face kept carefully blank as it always was around him. "Are you waiting for Carter?"

"Yeah, he's getting his forms signed for the scholarship. You have to get forms signed by so many people, and it takes a long time."

"Oh, yeah. I realized that I didn't qualify after the first page, so I just gave up. Do you know what time it is now?"

He squinted at the clock beyond the glass doors, where Carter was pacing back and forth, making faces at us when the teacher he was talking to was not looking.

"It's two-twenty."

"All right, I have five more minutes to waste before I have to meet up with the person I'm supposed to interview."

"Why don't you just go over now?"

"I don't feel like it," I confessed—one of the few truths I had ever told him. "It's like—I don't know. Everything's falling around me."

"Yeah, the math final?"

"It's not even just that. Everything—I don't know. It's these few weeks, and I can't wait for them to be over. Can't wait."

Left out the lies. Right over the truth.

He stared at me. I stared at Carter inside, now talking to another teacher, his manila envelope in hand, then back at him.

"Is there ever going to be another club meeting?" I asked him, changing the subject.

"Well, Carter and I both have tennis in the spring, and last year we didn't have any meetings in the spring either. Fall, maybe."

"Some time in the far, far future."

"Yeah, some time far away."

"I should get going now, I don't want to be late."

"Okay, bye."

"Bye." I turned on my heels, walked away, my back straight, not once looking back. That was where the broken promises resided, and I could not look back.


two.

"—so it was over, it was all over."

I forgot the first time I saw him, but it must have been so long ago if I could not remember. Ever since I first came here, he represented all this place ever was to me. He had the ambition that the ground reeked of. He had the false charisma the building donned. He had a snide side, much like the shadows of the neglected corners.

I listened to him as he laid his story out in a monotone voice. It was a tragic story, made even more tragic in the way he told it. But it was in my best interests to listen, and so he was to be heard, the few comments scattered here and there excepted.

Most of all, he had an eerie perceptiveness, sometimes there and sometimes not, that haunted me every time I stepped foot beyond those glassy doors.

"Why didn't you stop her?" I asked. It was a risky question to put out so early in the game, but I had my confidence.

I had probably not said anything to him, for I did not remember talking to him at all for the longest time. It was always someone around him—someone he knew, or someone who stood within earshot of him—and I brushed off those coincidences as mere coincidences. I wanted to talk to those people, yes, I really did.

"I—what can I do? Tell her not to go? Why would she listen to me? I've never been once nice to her."

Eventually I persuaded myself that I was meant for better, and I took solace in my revelation. I pulled on my brightest smile, and I gave it to everyone else. I was happy, I was loved, and I was not lonely. I was definitely not lonely.

"You had your excuses, but now is not the time." I held out my hand, and he shook it, and we both knew that he would lose, no matter what he chose.


three.

They were gone when I came by again, my feet tapping against the tiles. I stared at the empty space behind the glass doors, but it was just that. Empty. No amount of staring changed it. Walking by the computer labs on my way to the front door, I remembered that computer club usually met every Friday. I peered into the room, trying to see if I could find Sam and ask if I could borrow his phone, since I had forgotten mine.

Sam was not there, but Chris was, so I hurried away. He was another person I would rather not see. I continued on my way, stopping at the main foyer to see Tom, Stephen, and Nina climbing the stairs along the railing.

"Hey," Tom said, waving to me, then, as I came closer, he pulled me into an embrace. "I love your candy bracelet."

"Oh, it's not a candy bracelet."

He took a closer look at my wrist. "Aw. Well, I still love it anyway."

"Are you staying here for long?" I asked, as we pulled away.

"For about ten minutes, until my mom comes."

"Okay."

I left him as he turned his attention to Nina, who had made it to the second floor and was looking down, mocking Stephen's cowardice. I walked outside and stood next to Melissa, who was waiting for her ride.

Left, right.

"Hi," I said. "Do you know if there's tennis practice today?"

"No, I don't think so. Why?"

"Oh, just wondering if I should walk all the way over to the tennis courts."

"Do you have practice or something?"

"No, I just wanted to find something to do."

"Okay, well, I can't see anyone there right now, so there probably isn't practice. I have to go now, I'll talk to you later."

"Thanks, bye."

I watched as Melissa boarded the car and left. Then I tipped my toes and stared at the tennis courts on the hill. They were empty, as Melissa had said. Scott came out, carrying a racket case, just as I was about to go inside again.

Left out the past. Right into the future.

"Hey, Scott, is there tennis practice today?"

"Girls' team?"

"No, the boys."

"Yeah, but we just ran for twenty-five minutes. It's over now."

"Oh, okay. Are you on varsity or JV?"

"Varsity."

"Do you know if the JV team had practice today?"

"I don't know, I'm sorry."

"It's all right. Thanks." I walked inside again, where Tom was still there, now singing with Stephen. I asked to borrow his phone, and called my mom as I watched Callie sit in one of the benches beside the front door. I wondered briefly if her brother was here, but then decided it did not matter.


four.

We walked to the parking lot behind the supermarket and watched as the truck unloaded crate after crate of potatoes. He stared at those crates, then at me, and I could tell he was upset, more so than he had ever been when he had told me his story. I had given him hope, and hope was more frightful than the lack of it.

When he smiled at me I smiled back, seeing no harm in the exchange. He was just another person I would encounter in my life, with no more special preference than anyone else I acknowledged in the halls. He waved, an awkward, hey you're here type of wave, and I said hi, and he did not say anything back, and we left it at that.

"You're sure she's going to be here? How can you know?"

I tried my hardest with my excuses. The clock is right there—that was all I was looking at. Ben and Alex always made some sort of joke, and they were in that corner. I had a question, and no one else could possibly have known the answer. I deluded myself, told myself I did not know, told myself I had no other choice, and in doing so I believed it.

I smiled. "I have my ways, or I would not be in this business. Oh, and, you know what you owe me. Remember that, whatever choice you decide to make in the end."

One day I woke up and I knew—I simply knew. It was in the way the wind blew, or maybe how the clouds had rearranged themselves. It was in the air, and I simply knew. When I went downstairs I had my confirmation in brown, stiff cardboard. I played with the roll of tape on the table for a while, and I was almost relieved.

"Yeah, yeah. This had better be worth it." But he knew already, and I needed no further persuasion. I watched as he left, his back an awkward, retreating shape, as though he were not certain of the path he was taking.

It was over. Finally over. One last time, and everything would be over.

It could not have been so. He knew his choices, and I knew mine. After so many years, I had long ago learned that the secrets to this trade was not business savvy, but a willingness to make sacrifices.


five.

When I got home my mother was on the computer, but I told her I needed to finish writing up my plan for the trip, and she went into her room to watch TV. I opened up a new browser and typed in the address for my email. It took a while to load, and when it finally did, I searched the side panel and saw Ronnie online.

I opened a chat window with her, and debated what to type. There were several things I wanted to ask her about, but I needed to tailor them to fit my persona, and I wondered how far I could go with tampering with the words until they became too obscure to be understood. That was happening a lot lately, if any of Dena's feedback on my short fictions were of any hint.

Left, right.

"Hey," I wrote, making up my mind.

"Hi," Ronnie replied back. "Did you talk with Jennifer yet?"

"No, why?"

"She said she knew something interesting about you and Jack, but she wouldn't say what."

"Oh. I bet it's nothing. There's nothing between Jack and me, but she doesn't believe me."

"Well, you guys sure act that way. People are always going to think things if you keep that up."

"I suppose. Did Jennifer say anything else?"

"I don't think so. Oh, wait, she said that Carter wanted to talk to you about something. Not sure what either. I think he didn't tell her."

"Huh. I wonder why?"

"I don't know. He's a strange boy. Oh, and, have I told you about the new physics teacher?"

"No, you haven't."

"Well, the new physics teacher has a PhD in the study of enthalpy and entropy, and he's a huge fan of alternate dimensions and inter-dimensional travel!"

"Really? Wow, that's so cool!"

"I'm going to ask him some questions about the field later, but I want to do some independent research first to get a general idea."

"That sounds like fun. Tell me what you find out. I have to go now, dinner."

"Okay, I'll talk to you later. Bye."

"Bye."

Left without a mark. Right here in nowhere.

I clicked the chat panel and made myself invisible, then stared at my inbox. It stared back, taunting me with its bold, unread messages. I pressed alt-F4 as fast as I could, then ran into my room and grabbed a coat. "I'll be back soon," I told my mother, and she asked me where I was going.

"Just out for a walk."

"Come back before it's dark," she said. I nodded, but I was already half-way out the door, and she could not have possibly seen me. I had places to be, things to do, people to see—and never enough time.


six.

"You could have told me."

I looked down, my eyes not meeting his. "I meant to, last week, but you were so busy, and I thought maybe, maybe—"

"You had plenty of time, and I wasn't ever that busy."

"I—Okay, I wanted to tell you earlier, but I figured you wouldn't care, so I decided not to instead."

I raised my head, this time staring into his eyes before remembering why I had chosen not to. I stared at the spot on the bridge of his nose, between his eyes, and told myself the intensity of my stare was enough to dispel all suspicions.

"That's not true. I'm here, aren't I?"

I did not respond.

"Why are you doing this?"

"It's not my choice," I said. "I don't have a say in this."

"Yeah right. You could've said no. Could've—how long will you be gone?"

"Long enough."

He looked as though he wanted to say something more, but he merely nodded. I smiled, apologetically and not so at the same time. I supposed I would regret this moment, years later. I would berate myself for letting such an opportunity slip through my fingers. But right now, I needed to escape. I needed to
stop this toxic cycle, and this was the only way I knew how. I was running away, I knew that. I had always known that.

"Just—one thing that's been bothering me."

"What?"

"How did you find out? How did you know I would be here?"

"I just know," he said, his eyes unwaveringly trained on mine. "Just like I know that you will be coming back, and I will wait here until you do."

Left here once upon a time, came back and there was nothing left. Right here where I made my vows, I'm staring at old memories wondering if I was ever right.