Disclaimer: The Chronicles of Narnia, all characters, places, and related terms belong to C. S. Lewis.
Author's Note: For the purpose of this story I have tinkered with the Narnia timeline.
Refinement of a Different Kind
A smile slowly creeps over my face as I glance across the library to where Pole and Scrubb are sitting at a table poring over a huge book. Even from this distance I can tell they are arguing. Pole turns away from him and jots down some notes on a piece of paper. Face flushed, Scrubb looks thoroughly frustrated and he runs a hand through his hair. With a chuckle and shake of my head, I return my attention to my own schoolwork.
Pole and I have been roommates ever since I came to Experiment House when I was eight. I was uncertain how we would get along. I was quiet and shy, obedient, a peacemaker. I was always a good girl, staying out of trouble, though I was picked on a lot my first year. I had a hard time making friends, but proved to be a good one. I studied hard, wanting to please my parents with my grades.
Pole, on the other hand, was a tomboy. She had a hot temper, which sparked easily and often. She was not very friendly, getting into loud, heated arguments with nearly everybody that crossed her path. She disliked all our teachers. She got into trouble for getting into fights – oh, yes, even at such a young age she could fight – and talking back to the teachers. She seemed to enjoy being friendless, disliked by everyone. Yet at times I sensed behind her anger and unfriendliness she was sad and lonely.
To my vast relief Pole was almost civil, in her own way, to me that first year. I did my best not to get on her bad side; I was polite and never talked about her behind her back (unlike the other girls in our dorm), and I think that had an impact on how she viewed me. She spoke in a manner that bridged on being bossy, but that was just her way then. She tried to be patient with me, explaining how things worked, helping me learn how not to be late to class when I had to rush from one side of the school to other. Once in a while she got frustrated and would snap at me. After a few tense, silent moments, she would try to make me understand. She did not play pranks on me or try to intentionally hurt my feelings as she did to a lot of the girls.
Pole not being as mean to me that first year as I'd feared, I think, had not only to do with my attempts to be genuinely nice to her, but also because there were others who got on her nerves a lot, resulting in many arguments and confrontations.
As I've said, Pole got into an argument of some sort with nearly everyone, several times each day. The worse ones were with those who were either very popular – Pole could never measure up to them and hated that – or were bullies ("Them" we simply called them at school) – she was not as big as any of them, and you always lose when you are outnumbered fifteen to one in both strength and insults. But curiously the one person she argued with the most, who could make her turn as red as a tomato with rage and it could take over an hour for her to calm down, belonged to neither of the former groups. Indeed, like Pole, this person was quite disagreeable and had no friends.
I quickly became aware of this my first week at Experiment House. It was during lunch, and I was sitting across the table from Pole. I absently noticed a boy about her age come up to her. I do not recall what the argument was about, but their voices grew in volume, and soon everyone at the table was staring at the two. The climax came when, in response to something Pole shouted, the boy laughed at her, right in her face. His laughter was cut off short when she jumped to her feet and swung her fist, hitting him in the jaw and sending him tumbling to the floor.
Pole had detention for two weeks in the evening as punishment. Each night I waited for Pole outside in the hall to walk with her back to the dorm. Pole would rant about how much the Head and teachers didn't like her by giving her detention for two weeks, while when one of Them did something like that, the Head didn't bat an eye. It was unfair they had made her apologize to the boy – and she wasn't sorry. In this way I learned that the boy's name was Eustace Clarence Scrubb, and that he and Pole had been on uncivil terms since they first met the year before. But it was the first time she had punched him.
The arguments between them became more frequent after that, with each intentionally seeking the other out. Both were the victim of each other's pranks. I could not understand how they seemed so bent on disliking each other.
When the summer holidays arrived and we all were preparing to go home, she said to me once, "You learn to wish the holidays went on forever. Then you would never have to return here and see certain people." She had frowned; yet moisture started to gather in her eyes. With a shake of her head she changed the subject.
The beginning of the new school year was filled with the return of students, both old faces and new faces. Tales of summers in the country and at the beach were shared. Once again roommates with Pole, I shared about how I had visited my grandparents in Scotland and the fun I'd had with them. Pole was strangely quiet, and when I asked her about her summer, she claimed it had been terribly dull, with only her books to read.
"I actually missed not having anyone to talk with, like you, Gibson," she added, "or argue…"
I encountered Scrubb a few days before Pole did. I was hurrying to Maths and, turning a corner, collided with someone, books falling and supplies flying. It was not until we had sorted and gathered up most of our things that I finally looked up to discover it was Scrubb. I was stunned that he had helped me gather my things. He even apologized, saying he hadn't been watching where he was going!
I told Pole about it later. We both had heard rumors that something must have knocked Scrubb in the head during the summer. That he was now acting batty. He wasn't such a bully. There were reports that he tried to be nice, not lose his temper. Like many other students, I had shaken my head, thinking that was impossible. But after my run-in with him, I began to wonder.
And Pole wondered, too. Three days later, she finally caught up with Scrubb. It was like old times, watching the bickering between them. Pole drew the argument to a close with a particularly low-blow insult and walked away with me arm-in-arm. (She seemed secretly relieved their sparring was unchanged, that he was unchanged.) But despite her winning that one, it was not the same. Scrubb had at first refused to rise to her bait, but she knew how to set him off. They had argued, yes, but it had not been as nasty. He had somehow not completely lost his temper. Something was different about him.
He and Pole continued to argue and often; yet he rarely started it. He would try to be nice to her, like he was to me and others. But she only laughed at his attempts of being the gentleman. It seemed she preferred to be at odds with him rather than civil. But he did rub off on her. Gradually, very gradually, their arguments grew less fierce. Pole's insults grew less sharp and hurtful.
December came and with it the Christmas holiday. I was looking forward to being able to see my family again for a short time. One afternoon the dorm was empty except for me and Pole. I was sewing some embroidery on a handkerchief for my mother, and Pole was staring out the window at the snow covering the trees and ground. She broke the long silence with, "I envy you."
Startled, I looked up from my sewing. She continued to stare out the window.
"I envy you that you get to go home, while I'll be stuck in this place, almost all by myself. You'll be with your family, loved and happy," her voice trembled. "If I was home, I'd have just my books. Mother does all kinds of things with Elizabeth and Sarah. And David is fourteen, Father's pride and joy. If I went home…"
Slowly I rose from my bed. I had at times thought…. But she had never shared with me before. My cheerfulness diminished as I moved towards Pole.
"I—"
"Don't you dare!" she said fiercely, rounding on me and putting up a hand. "Don't even say it!" Her eyes blazed with fire and water.
"Pole—"
"I don't want your pity! Laugh if you like. Laugh at Pole, a cry baby. Envying her mousy roommate." She furiously brushed her hand over her eyes.
Her comment did hurt, but only a little. She was trying to drive me away. "I wish you would come home with me. You would be more than welcome," I said.
I caught her by surprise. Then it was she who laughed. It wasn't mean laughter or humorous laughter. "Ho ho ho! Your parents would be less than welcoming to have me as their guest. Do they not know what a bad girl I am, causing everyone not to like me, getting into trouble, being rude? Haven't you told them all about me?"
"I have told them that you have a temper, but you are nice to me for the most part. They know you are one to play pranks on others, but that I am never one of your victims. They know you helped me adjust my first year. I know they would be pleased if you came. Besides, I like you," I ended.
"Oh, you goose, you silly goose," she said with a watery laugh. "You are a strange one, Gibson."
Coming from her, that was a compliment.
I was not able to sway her to come with me, and she insisted she would get in the way. She saw me off when I left the school in the carriage for the train station. When I went to hug her goodbye, she pushed me away and told me to get going in that familiar bossy tone. Yet her little smile took the sting out of her rejection.
When I came back, among my things was a book:Pride and Prejudice. I had enjoyed it immensely and brought it for Pole to read. She accepted the book with great interest.
"The main characters remind me of you and Scrubb, with how you two argue so much," I commented.
She waved her hand. "Really? Then it must be a sad ending. By the way, you won't believe this: he had the nerve to give me a Christmas card!" she revealed with annoyance.
I swallowed the urge to say that the characters in the book ended up together. No sense ruining the ending for her – or her mood.
By the start of my third year, Pole and Scrubb, I suspected, could be friends if they wanted to. They argued constantly still, but by now I believed they would never stop, and it was no longer as bad as in the beginning. Yet if they didn't do it as much, I thought they could get along quite well. At times I saw them secretly do nice, helpful things for the other. Perhaps deep down they were a little fond of each other. They knew what the other liked, disliked, could tell what mood they were in. They knew each other so well it was possible they might become friends. But neither one tried.
Things took a drastic turn when one afternoon the bullies ran all through the school screaming about how the Experiment House wall was knocked down and that they had seen a lion in the wall's gap and three people with weapons; they would have all been killed if they had not fled for their lives. It was incredible watching them all race about. The meanness and spitefulness was gone; they were white as ghosts, scared witless. The Head also saw the wall and lion and people because she called up the police. Some of the brave, stupid boys went to take a look, but I returned to the dorm to wait things out. There was chaos everywhere, and everyone was confused and scared. Most of the girls were already in the dorm, huddled in small groups, uneasy; some were crying. Pole was there and, spotting me, gave me a long tight hug, thanking me for being her friend in my ear. She met my astonished gaze and only smiled.
The police found no lion, no people with weapons, and the wall was completely intact. I heard that the Head was beside herself, acting like a madwomen. So there was an inquiry which brought out all sorts of things about Experiment House. The Head and several others were expelled. And in the end the school was run as a school was supposed to be.
While all that was wonderful, the most shocking thing was what became of Pole and Scrubb. After that strange day something was different between them. I've never been able to put my finger on just what changed. But it was for the better. They were openly nice to each other. They discussed all sorts of things. They called each other by their Christian name. They became friends, with the occasional spat.
Tapping my pencil on the library table, I look once more towards Pole and Scrubb across the room. Their frowns have been replaced with smiles and quiet laughs. Whatever they were disagreeing over is no longer a problem. I tilt my head. Three years after everything changed, I still cannot figure out how they did become friends. Even more puzzling is sometimes how their smiles turn secretive and a strange twinkle lights their eyes. They share a bond I have not noticed in other friendships. Like they have found something of great worth the world cannot find.
Scrubb covers Pole's hand with his as he leans towards her, whispering as she writes something else down. Her lips turn upwards. I sigh. The romantic in me hopes there will be a happy ending just like in Pride and Prejudice.
THE END