Page 4 of The Way I Used to Be
“Forget it,” he snaps, throwing his hands up as he walks away from me. And I can only watch him get smaller, watch him fade from color to black and white, like everything else. I stand there for a while, trying to figure out how to follow, how to move—how to exist in a world where Caelin is no longer on my side.
That night I close my bedroom door gently. I turn the lock ninety degrees to the right and pull on the knob as hard as I can, just to make sure. Then I turn around and look at my bed, the sheets and comforter clean and perfectly made up. I don’t know how I can possibly go even one more minute without telling someone what happened. I take my phone out of my pocket and start to call Mara. But I stop.
I turn on the ceiling light and my desk lamp, and then pull out my sleeping bag from the top shelf of my closet. I roll it out onto the floor, and try to think of anything but the reason why I cannot bring myself to sleep in my bed. I lie down, half falling, half collapsing, onto my bedroom floor. I pull my pillow over my head and I cry so hard I don’t know how I’ll ever stop. I cry for what feels like days. I cry until there are no more tears, like I have used them all up, like maybe I have broken my damn tear ducts. Then I just make the sounds: the gasping and sniffling. I feel like I might just fall asleep and not wake up—in fact, I almost hope I do.
IF THERE’S A HELL, it must look a lot like a high school cafeteria. It’s the first day back from winter break. And I’m trying so hard to just go back to my life. The way it used to be. The way I used to be.
I exit the lunch line and scan the cafeteria for Mara. Finally I spot her, waving her arm over her head from across the crowded, rumbling cafeteria. She was able to secure us a spot in the drafty corner near the windows. Every step I take is intercepted by someone walking in front of me, someone shouting, trying to be heard over the noise but only adding to the disorder of everything.
“Hey!” Mara calls to me as I approach. “Stephen got here early and saved us this table.” She’s smiling hugely, which she’s been doing all day, ever since she got her braces off last week.
“Cool,” I manage. I knew scoring this table was like hitting the jackpot. We would be inconspicuous, not as much of a target as usual. But I can only give Stephen a small smile.
Stephen Reinheiser, aka Fat Kid, is a nice, quiet boy we know from yearbook who occasionally sits with us at lunch. Not really a friend. An acquaintance. He is a different breed of nerd than me and Mara. We are club-joining, band-type nerds. But he just doesn’t fit in, really, anywhere. It doesn’t matter though, because there is a silent understanding among us. We have known him since middle school. We know his mother died when we were in seventh grade. We know his experience has been just as tragic as ours, if not more. So we look out for each other. Meaning, if one of us can snag a decent lunch table, it belongs to us all and we don’t have to talk about why this is important.
“Edy?” Stephen begins in his usual hesitant manner. “Um, I was wondering if you wanted to work together on the history project for Simmons’s class?”
“What project?”
“The one he talked about this morning. You know, he handed out that list of topic ideas,” he reminds me. But I have no recollection of this at all. It must show because Stephen opens his binder, smiling as he pulls out a sheet of paper and slides it across the table. “I was thinking ‘Columbus: Hero or Villain?’?”
I look at the paper for what I’m sure is the first time. “Oh. Okay. Yeah. That sounds good. Columbus.”
Mara takes out her compact mirror and examines her new teeth for the millionth time, obsessively running her tongue over their smooth surfaces. “God, is this what everyone’s teeth feel like?” she asks absently.
But before either of us can answer, a whole fleet of corn kernel pellets shoot down over our table. Mara screams, “Ew, God!” As she shakes her hair the little yellow balls tumble to the floor one by one. I follow the path of the ammo, leading to this table full of sophomore guys, each one in his pathetic JV jacket, keeled over in their chairs laughing hysterically at Mara as she frantically combs her long hair with her fingers. I hear her voice, almost like an echo in my brain, “Did I get it all?” I look at her, but it seems like it’s all happening at a distance, in slow motion. Stephen sets his bologna sandwich down on top of its plastic baggie and clears his throat like he’s about to do something. But then he just looks down instead, like he’s concentrating so hard on the damn sandwich, there’s no room to think about anything else.
“Fire in the hole!” I hear someone shout.
My head snaps up just in time to see one of them—the one with the stupid grin and pimply face—line up his sight, the cheap, malleable metal spoon poised to launch a spoonful of pale green peas right at me. His index finger pulls back on the tip of the spoon slightly.
And some kind of hot, white light flashes in front of my eyes, harnessing itself to my heart, making it beat uncontrollably. I’m up from my seat before I even understand how my body moved so quickly without my brain. Zitface narrows his eyes at me, his smile widening as his tablemates cheer him on. His finger releases like a trigger. The spoonful of peas hit me square in the chest and then drop to the floor with these tiny, dull, flat thuds that I swear I can hear over all the other noise.
Suddenly the planet stops orbiting, pauses, and goes silent for just a moment while all the eyes in the world focus on me standing there with mushy pea splat on the front of my shirt. Then time rushes forward again, the moment over. And cacophony erupts in the cafeteria. The Earth resumes its rotation around the sun. The sounds of the entire cafeteria’s oooohhhhs and shouting and laughter flood my body. My brain overheats. And I run, I just go.
I’m aware of Mara watching me storm out of the cafeteria, her palms facing up toward the mind-numbing fluorescent lights, mouthing,What are you doing?Aware of Stephen looking back and forth between me, Mara, and his bologna sandwich, his mouth hanging open. But I can’t stop. Can’t turn around. Can’t go back there. Ever. Without a hall pass, without permission, without a coherent thought in my head exceptGet the hell out, I get the hell out.
In the hall I walk fast. I can barely breathe, something strangling me from the inside out. On autopilot, my feet race down the hall and up the stairs, looking for a place—any place—to just be. I shove through the double doors of the library and it’s like I’ve just walked outside. Things are somehow lighter here, and everything moves at a more normal pace, slowing my heart down along with them as I stand in the entryway. There are only a few kids scattered throughout the entire library. No one even looks up at me.
The door behind the circulation desk opens and Miss Sullivan walks through cradling a stack of books in her arms. She smiles at me so warmly. “Hello. What can I do for you?” she asks, setting the books down on the counter.
Hide me,I want to tell her. Just hide me from the world. And never make me go back out through those doors again. But I don’t. I don’t say anything. I can’t.
“Come on in,” she gestures me forward. “Here’s the sign-in sheet,” she tells me, centering a clipboard in front of me.
I take the pen tied to a string tied to the top of the clipboard. It feels like a chopstick between my fingers, my hand shaking as I press the pen against the paper. You’re supposed to fill in the date, your name, the time, and where you’re coming from. We have to do this every time we come or go anywhere.
Miss Sullivan looks at the scribble that’s supposed to be my name. “And what’s your name again?” she asks gently.
“Eden,” I answer, my voice low.
“Eden, okay. And where are you coming from?” I’ve left that box blank.
I open my mouth but nothing comes out at first. She looks up at me with another smile.
“Lunch. I don’t have a pass to be here,” I admit, feeling like some kind of fugitive. I can feel my eyes well up with tears as I look across the desk at her.
“That’s okay, Eden,” she says softly.
