"Listening looks easy, but it's not simple. Every head is a world." - Cuban Proverb
I did not sleep last night. Not one wink. I did not toss or turn. I stared straight up at the ceiling with one thought going through my mind.
It has been four years since I last saw my father smile.
From the sound of sobbing coming from down the hall, I figure that my mother also spent the entire night remembering him.
My father was a great man. He held our family together with a smile and a listening ear. He heard everything, even the things that people did not say out loud. He could cure it all. My father could make my mother smile no matter what mood she came home with. I used to think it was just them: my mother and father, how they acted together. Now, I think it was just my father. That was just the sort of person he was.
He would be so disappointed in the sort of family my mother and I have become – at what I have become.
My mother leaves two hours before my alarm goes off. I am not sure what she does for work but it requires early mornings and late nights, for which I am thankful. I know today of all days, I cannot deal with her.
School starts slow. There are no sightings of Tala, Ian, or the other one. After yesterday's lunch, I continued with classes but was side tracked by what the new boy said. I know everyone knows I am scared of something. I do not try to hide it.
But he, unlike the others, mentioned it. He…talked about it, about me, as if he wanted me to respond. I could not figure out what I was supposed to say. Nobody ever wanted me to talk back before he showed up. Sure, advice, but that is not conversation. He sounded like he wanted a conversation of some sort. Two people exchanging interesting information, usually about themselves.
I have not had a conversation since…
Me. The voice answers.
I shut my locker after exchanging books. The halls are unusually crowded due to the extra students and I am being pushed and jabbed left and right. Their closeness and the thought of what the day is, whom it belongs to in my mind, have me almost gasping for breath.
When I arrive in the lunchroom, my table is empty. No one is waiting to have a weight lifted from his or her shoulders and he is not there eating. I am shocked to find that in this situation, I would rather deal with the former rather than the latter. At least I know how to deal with them, even if it is not very well.
I sit down with my tray and slowly pick at the food. I have never really eaten on this day, but every year I toy with the idea that I will.
"Just sad."
The plastic fork in my hand falls to the floor. Looking up I find that he, the boy from yesterday, is taking a seat. He slides in gracefully, almost like liquid. I wonder if that is a talent his school teaches. He looks up and his eyes are brown…sort of. Not quite brown, but not quite not either. It is a nice color.
"I mean how you look," he continues. "I've decided it's not uncomfortable, but sad. You look sad."
"I am," I hear myself say before I understand what I am confirming.
He lifts an eyebrow, as if shocked or amused that I would answer. "Really. About what?"
My father. Me. This school. "I-I…" I do not want to tell him the real answer, but I have never been asked a question like this one before and I want to say something.
But I cannot lie. For some reason, if feels wrong. He is the first person to sound like he is interested in the response. It would be wrong for me to lie.
"About everything, I would think." He says before I can finish my thought.
"Everything?"
He rolls his eyes to the rest of the lunchroom. "This school, how everyone treats you, life in general,"
How does he know?
"Typical teenager experience," he finishes with a shrug.
Oh. So he does not see me, but an everyday average teenager. For some reason I feel let down.
"I think, however," He continues, "that it's more than that. I think you're more than that."
"Why?"
I asked a question and I want to know the answer. I do not think that I have asked a question and expected an answer since…
Me. Again, the voice replies correctly.
He narrows his eyes as if he is contemplating something. "Why are you sad?"
I can feel the words rising in my throat. I cannot tell him everything but I want to thank him for asking. I want to give him an honest response.
But I am interrupted.
On the other side of the large usually loud room, a chair is thrown that silences the entire population.
Tala is standing and he is tense, ready for a fight, glaring down at him.
He is standing nonchalantly, arms carelessly crossed over his chest with a smirk across his face.
"You better watch yourself, Brookie," Tala growls sarcastically, "or you might not be so lucky next time."
He laughs. Chuckles, actually. "Next time? Lucky? You obviously have no idea what you're talking about."
"I know plenty," Tala responds. "I have a pretty good idea of who you are, and you're insane if you think I'm going to let it happen again. I will get you."
By this time teachers rush in to drag Tala away. He is escorted kindly.
Seeing him scares me, but seeing the two of them together sends me reeling. I feel myself lock up, staying that way even after they leave.
The voice in my head starts chocking and whimpering as if it were me he was so calmly talking to. The sounds from from all the nights he has visited me, all the words he has ever said to me, start repeating themselves over and over again. I can feel myself getting dizzy as the outside noise from the other students builds on it.
"That's unusual," His voice cuts clear through the noise and grabs my attention, easily pulling me away from everything. It is a nice voice; deep and soothing, and oh so understanding. It is the kind of voice my father had.
"That was dread," He studies me. "Almost like you were terrified for your life. Do you think that Brooklyn Masefield is going to kill you?"
I think my heart actually stops. How is it that this boy can be in this school for two days and already tell, but people who have known me for years cannot?
"That's stupid," I find myself telling him even though it is the last thing I want to say. "Why would I think that?"
This time he narrows his eyes as if he can tell that I am lying and he is annoyed by it.
"I've got to go," I mumble as I walk away, leaving him behind.
I leave school and head for my car. He is in there with his knowing smile. Tala is in there with his white-hot anger and observant eyes. The other one's in there knowing…everything.
That is possibly the most dangerous place of all.
When I reach my car, I do not take the time buckle my seat belt before driving away. Again, I am assaulted by the silence, and the echos start. Above all, I hear her voice.
You need to say something! Tell anyone!
Anything to strangle the noise, anything. For the first time, I find myself reaching for the radio's dial. It's still on the station that Ian tuned it to and the guitars and screaming drown out everything else.
Finally able to breathe, I look around to see where I am going. I can recognize the buildings on the corners and know that in a few turns I will be at the park. The sweet park, with its breeze and children running around, and leaves falling from the trees; a place where no one wants any thing to do with me.
I can remember the days when my father took me to the park. He would pile my mother and me into the car with a basket of food and we would spend the entire day smiling and laughing. It is hard to imagine now how my mother could ever be that happy.
I look for a place under the shade and sit. I hear the kids laughing and the squeaks from the swings. It is very relaxing and I find myself wanting to slip away from this, if only for a while.
When I open my eyes again it is to the sound of a mother hurrying a kid pass. Storm clouds are rolling in and parents are urgently taking their children away from the danger of rain. Sighing, I pick myself up and head back to my car.
It is still early, but already darker than usual because of the oncoming showers. It seems right, almost poetic in a way and it brings tears to my eyes. Memories play in my head, but not the same ones as before. Four years ago on a rainy day just like this, my father died in this car. I remember the call and my mother crashing to the floor, sobbing. I remember thinking it was a lie; that my father could not be gone. I remember calling Ming-Ming, crying on the phone to her and how she came over later, spending three nights to make sure everything was okay.
Ming-Mind had always been a good friend, I think as guilt washes over me. In return for her kindness, I am doing nothing.
You could fix it.
I know.
…I know.
At a red light, someone taps at my passenger window. I can see Tala leaning down with his wolfish smirk in place. Against my better judgment, I stretch to roll down the window.
"It's going to rain," Tala says when I get it halfway down. "Can I get a lift?"
I want to say 'no' and then drive off, leaving him behind. But I cannot do that, especially not today when I have spent so much time thinking about my father. How would he react to me doing that?
I reluctantly unlock the door. Tala climbs in and turns the radio off. "I hate that noise," he announces, pulling his lip up in disgust, "I don't know how Ian listens to it."
I nod and drive forward when the light turns green. I have no idea where I am going, but I need to do something. I can already feel my heart racing along with my thoughts.
"So that was quite the incident at school today, huh? That's what the principle is calling it-an incident. I've got one more before I'm expelled."
I want to cry or tell him to shut up. He hardly ever does this-talking for no reason, just like everyone else.
"I just can't help it sometimes," he goes on, "because that Brooklyn has everybody fooled. But I can see the real him. He pretends to be all nice and gentle and good humored, but that's not really what he's like, is it Hilary?"
I shrug stiffly. "I have no idea what Brooklyn is like." His name stings my tongue, but I had to say it anyway.
He looks at me, but it is not his usual stare. Somehow, I can feel the pity rolling off him. "That's not right," he says finally. "You should know. You have every right to acknowledge what he's done."
His words shock me. Earlier, Brooklyn said that Tala did not know what he was talking about, however it is becoming very clear to me that he knows more than anyone suspects.
"People cannot take knowledge away from you." I whisper in an attempt to push him off his path. "I would say something if I knew."
Liar.
"Then why haven't you?"
I look at Tala, confusion written on my face. A part of me wants to confess everything right here and now, like always. Her voice is screaming for it, begging with everything, for me to tell him. There is another part that wants to ask him what he thinks he knows; to see how close to the truth he is.
But there is one other part, bigger than those two, which wants to drop this subject and never touch it again.
"Where am I going?" I ask as I turn back to the road.
He looks away, undoubtedly upset at my response. "Right up here, then down a couple of streets."
I take in my surroundings and I am surprised to see the houses have gotten bigger and more extravagant. I always picture Tala and his group in a poor, run down neighborhood.
"I live with my aunt and uncle," he explains, still not looking at me. This is fine with me, as I cannot deal with his eyes now.
We finally reach his driveway and I am shocked to see exactly how big it is.
"You know, Hilary, any pain that you're going through right now, is caused by you." He says before he opens the door. "You can stop it. You're the only one who can. I know you're scared, but I can help you. I will protect you, if you ever decide to tell the truth. I need you to tell the truth."
TELL HIM!
When I say nothing, he gets out and heads to the front door. I speed away as a sob rips from my throat. I cannot understand this. Why now? Why not when it first happened, when I was looking for the right person to tell? Why now, when he has already beaten me into the corner?
My hand unconsciously finds the small, slightly raised scar on my shoulder and rubs it; my only physical scar from that night two years ago.
I manage to calm myself down enough by the time I reach my neighborhood. Today, I am not shocked to see my mother's car in the driveway. I park next to her and slowly drag myself to the door. She's there, sitting at the dinning room table with a plate of food in front of her, untouched. The wine bottle, however, is nearly empty.
When I enter, she looks up and I can see the tear streaks and her smudge make-up.
"I brought home dinner," she offers weakly. I nod, but head for the stairs.
"Hilary," she cries out. I can hear the pleading in her voice. 'Is this it?' I wonder. Is this were she tells me that she is sorry for the way things are? That my father died? That she wishes things could be different? What can she say now that will make up for everything?
"Never mind," falls from her lips, and I feel the disappointment. I could not expect her to say anything of meaning, but to give up…
She picks the plate and glass up before heading off to the kitchen. I can hear the glass shatter in the sink before I reach my room.
I throw myself on my bed and try to forget. I never actually succeed, but I still try every year.
So yeah, that's chapter three. Not very much there, it's mostly just a filler. But there are some clues in there...at least, I think there are. But then again, I know the full story, so I could just be seeing things. Chapter four has some interesting things in it.
Thank you, .zulka for your awesome beta skills! Everyone, if you havn't already, check out her stories NOW!
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