Not, not amazing.
First period was decent, meaning nothing terrible happened. Same for my following classes. All name corrections from Mark to Evan were successful. All responses to Connor were somewhat on time, leave it to him to respond near seconds after my email. I was feeling decent, even positive. Normal is all I can strive for.
But then, lunch.
I've never loved lunch. There's not enough structure. Everyone's free to go where they please, and where they please is nowhere near me. I tend to claim a spot at a forgotten corner table with the other randoms, force-feeding myself the SunButter and jelly sandwich I've packed in my bag every day for a decade. What I eat is the only controllable aspect of lunch.
But sitting in the corner feels like hiding now, and I promise myself I wouldn't hide. Not today. I could try to find Connor, but that would break our world. Aside from Connor, who else could I sit with?
Then I spot him, Jared. Carrying his tray through the food line. He usually sits by himself and codes on his laptop. I wait for him at the cash register. His clearly thrilled to see me.
"You again?" Jared says.
My immediate instinct is to let him walk away, but for once I tell my instincts to fuck off. "I was thinking maybe I could sit with you today?"
Jared looks about ready to vomit. Before he could officially deny me, he disappears behind a shroud of darkness. Passing between us in none other then Connor Murphy. He cuts through us, head low, and seemingly unaware of his surroundings. Jared and I watch him go.
"I love the new hair length." Jared mumbles to me. "Very school-shooter chic."
I cringe. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't bring myself to stand for Connor. From everyone who goes to this school, Connor is the one I'm least worried about.
Connor halts, his heavy boots lading with a thud. His eyes, from what I can see through his overgrown hair, are steely blue death rays. He definitely heard Jared. His was just as aware as I assumed he was when he passed by..
Connor isn't moving, isn't speaking, just staring. His gaze directly stuck on Jared. I want to say something I do, a possible fight between my friend and my somewhat friend could easily breakout. But I don't, I never do. Instead I stand between them, one hand already fidgeting with the edge of my cast.
Jared maybe be brazen, but he's not stupid. "I was kidding," he tells Connor. "It was a joke."
"Yeah, no, it was funny." Connor says. "I'm laughing. Can't you tell?" Jared suddenly doesn't look as cocky.
"Am I not laughing hard enough for you?" Connor says.
Jared starts to laugh nervously, which makes me laugh nervously. I can't help it. I don't what to laugh, Connor is Connor, I don't what him to get the wrong impression, but... I don't know what to do.
"You're such a freak." Jared says to Connor, darting away. I should follow Jared, but I can't move my legs. Part of me wants to explain to Connor why I laughed, part of me just wants to hide away again.
Connor turns to me, eyes now solely focus on me. I never know how to act around him at school. "What the fuck are you laughing at?"
I don't know, I wish I knew, but I don't. I do stupid things when I'm nervous. He knows that, to a degree. I don't know what rattled him, but something did.
"Stop fucking laughing at me." Connors says.
"I'm not." And I'm not, I stopped by the time Jared had ditched me with his aftermath. I'm no longer giving into the awkward laugh urge.
"You think I'm a freak?"
"No, I don't-"
"I'm not the freak."
"I didn't-"
"You're the fucking freak."
A bomb blast.
I'm on the ground. Connor is standing above me.
Not a real bomb. Connor's two arms, weighed down by all his black bracelets, slammed into my chest and knocked me off my feet. From the ground I just stare up at him. I'm not sure what my face is saying, but an uncomfortable weight settles in my chests. Connor and I haven't always agreed, but never once did either of us lay hands on the other person.
Before he storms off, I see that he looks as shaken as I feel. It helps ease the weight a little, knowing Connor didn't completely mean for that too happen. I sit up and lift my hands off the floor. The dust from so many sneakers clinging to my moist hands. Adrenaline pumping through my veins.
People walk by, stepping around me, offering unhelpful commentary, but it doesn't matter. I can't hear them. I can't move, either. I don't want. Why should I? This is just evidence enough why I don't break from routine. This is why I don't seize the day. The one time I try and I end up in a fight with my friend. I should have stayed home today. What's wrong with hiding? At least it's safe. At least I can hide away in my safe bubble with my friend, rather then here. In the world of drama and pain.
"Are you alright?"
I look up, shocked. It's the second girl to speak to me today. Okay double shocked once I see who the voice belonged to. Zoe Murphy. Connor's sister. The girl I used to have a crush on.
"I'm fine." I finally speak.
"I'm sorry about my brother." She says. "He's a psychopath." No he isn't.
"Yea. No. We're just messing around." For once the words leave me before I can think about it.
She nods the way my mother might when she's dealing with a delusional patient. "So," Zoe says, "is it comfortable down there on the floor or...?"
Oh yeah, I'm on the floor. Why am I still on the floor? Oh yeah... I finally stand up and wipe my hands on my pants.
"Evan, right?" Zoe asks.
"Evan?"
"That's your name?"
"Oh. Yeah. Evan. It's Evan. Sorry."
"Why are you sorry?" Zoey asks, mimicking a little too close to the first time I unnecessarily apologized to Connor.
"Well, just because you said Evan, and then I repeated it. Which can be so annoying when people do that."
"Oh." She puts out her hand. "Well, I'm Zoe."
I wave my hand, instead of shaking hers. I'm not much for physical contact, especially when my hand still feel coated with floor dust. I can just feel I've my interaction even more awkward then it needed to be. "No, I know."
"You know?" Zoe says.
Backtrack, that's creepy to say.
"No, I mean, I know you. I've seen you play guitar in jazz band. I love jazz, well not all jazz. But definitely jazz band jazz. That's so weird, I'm sorry." I cut myself off before I hit another ramble.
"You apologize a lot."
"I'm sorry."
She laughs out loud.
I'm nervous, I'm always nervous, but I'm just more nervous right now. Aside from just getting pushed to the ground by my best friend, and the interaction apparently being caught by his sister. His sister who now wants to talk to me, me as if I've ever been a blip on her radar. As if I wanted to talk to her. Sure before Connor Evan would be swooning for a moment like this. A moment to get to know Zoe Murphy, the girl he was crushing on for a while in his own complete isolation.
But not me, not now. Now I wanted away from her, I wanted her not to know that I was friends with her brother. I wanted to make sure I don't mange to fuck up and word gets back to Connor. Connor who already seemed like he was having a bad day, something he didn't mention in his emails. Connor who might not be nice if he finds out I hurt his little sisters feelings after allegedly laughing at him. Which I kind of did, but not really.
Connor whose my only friend who I absolutely do not want to lose over something stupid that I do. Just because I get too nervous, I worry too much, I care too much about what people think. I could use an Ativan right about now. A slight buzz in my pocket pulls my from my brain, along with a timed voice.
"Do I have something on my nose?" She asks.
"No. Why?"
"You're staring at me."
"Oh, I'm sorry."
There's another sorry.
Zoe nods, as if she expected it. "My lunch is getting cold."
Something tells me she's done this a million times before, arriving to clean up one of Connor's outbursts. It's not like I didn't know he had them, I just hoped I would never be on this end of one. Now that she's confirmed that I'm okay she can go on with her day. Even if I wanted someone to have lunch with, I don't particular want it to be her. Not now. So, I stay silent. Eyes trains on the floor.
She lingers a moment, and then her worn-in converses shift slightly in my field of vision, and then she turns. Walking away I feel a bit of the pressure leave me. I finally settle in a seat away from the groups.
Before digging into my fall-flatten SunButter and jelly sandwich, I remember the buzz.
Dear Evan Hansen,
Today's going to be a great day and here's why...
I'm sorry.
Sincerely, me.
My mom texts me when I'm in the computer lab, asking me to call her. I'm thankful for the interruption, I've been staring at a blank screen for twenty minutes now.
I'm trying to finish my letter for Dr. Sherman. When I started seeing him back in April, I'd write a letter every morning before school. It became part of my daily routine. Every week I would show him my letters, and although I didn't always believe in what I'd written. I felt a sense of accomplishment watching him hold the stack of letters in his hand. But after a while he stopped asking for them, and Connor joined the picture, and I found no need to write them.
When summer came around with a new routine, I stopped writing them all together. It seemed like Dr. Sherman sensed I was skipping out on my assignments. Now he's asking to see them again, and I would never give him the ones I send to Connor. If I don't finish this one, I'll have nothing to show him later today, and I've been through that before. One time I arrived at a session empty-handed, having completely to write and print a version for him, and I'll never forget the look he gave me.
After all these years, I'm a wizard at detecting even the slightest hint of disappointment in others, and any amount at all is unbearable.
So, I had to show him something. I've deleted all that crap of this morning. I wrote it because I thought it would sound nice, and it does. It sounds good. Fantasies always sound good, but their no help when reality comes and shoves you to the ground. When it trips up your tongue and traps your words in your head. When it leaves you to eat lunch by yourself.
The only silver lining I could think was having Connor there. Even after the incident at the lunch room, when I needed him, he was there. When he needed me, I was there, or at least I hope so. It was the one thing keeping me from thinking this whole day was ruined. I managed to get through most of it without ruining the one friendship I have.
I finally called my mom. After a few rings, I'm ready to hang up, but then she answers.
"Honey, hi." She says. "Listen, I know I was supposed to pick you up for your appointment, but I'm stuck at the hospital. Erica called in with the flu, and I'm the only other nurse's aide on today, so I volunteered to pick up her shift. It's just , they announced more budget cuts this morning, so anything I can do to show that I'm part of the team, you know?"
Sure, I know. She's always part of the team. The thing is she's supposed to be part of my team. My mom is more like a coach who gives impressive pregame speeches, and then when the whistle blows and it's for me to step onto the field she's nowhere to be found.
"It's fine." I say. "I'll take the bus."
"Perfect. That's perfect."
Maybe I'll skip the session with Dr. Sherman. I never asked for it in the first place. I'd rather unwind from the day with Connor. Connor who took the first step to ease tense around lunch time. Connor who knows when to quit and when to push. I'm finished seizing the day.
"I'm going straight from here to class, so I won't be home until late, so please eat something. We've got those Trader Joe's dumplings in the freezer."
"Maybe."
"Did you finish writing that letter yet? Dr. Sherman's expecting you to have one."
It's official. The two of them definitely talked. "Yeah, no, I already finished it. I'm in the computer lab right now, printing it out."
"I hope it was a good day, sweetheart."
"Yea, it was. Really great." Just two periods left, and the world hasn't exploded just yet.
"Great. That's great. I hope it's the beginning of a great year. I think we both could use one of those, huh?"
Yes is the answer, but I barely have time to think it, let alone say it.
"Shit honey. I have to run. Bye. I love you."
Her voice disappears.
The sense of loneliness that fills me is quickly pushed down at the reminder of my one friend. Connor. Maybe my mom isn't there, my father left, and Dr. Sherman only cares because he's paid to. No one just cares for me because they want to.
But then there was Connor, the outlier. The one person that didn't need to care, but did. Saw me at a low point and decided to step in rather than ignore me. Like everyone else. Maybe this isn't the friendship I expected or wanted from my first genuine friend, but this is something that helps. It's nice to finally have someone in my corner, someone that will pay attention, even if I sometimes don't want them to.
My eyes land on the computer screen, placing my fingers on the keyboard. No more lies.
Dear Evan Hansen,
It turns out, this wasn't an amazing day after all. This week might be, but record says otherwise. The year, doubtful. Because why would it be?
Oh, I know, because there's him. And he's the only hope I have. Him, who I know more about than anyone else in his life. He knows more about me than anyone else in my life. It's new, and it's terrifying. I always worry I'd always fuck it up somehow. But every time, every moment I panic, he's always there with reassurance. But in the end, maybe nothing would be different at all.
I don't know how to react, I don't know how to be an open book, but somehow. Somehow he pulls it out of me, helps me feel safe enough to not second guess everything I say or do.
But maybe I'm fixating on something that isn't there. Maybe he doesn't care as much as I feel like he does. Would there really be someone out there that would notice if I disappeared tomorrow?
Sincerely, Me.
I don't even bother reading it back, knowing it's not worth trying to analyze everything I said. Honesty is key. I hit print and pop up from my chair, feeling energized. Something happened just now when I was writing. What a concept, saying exactly what you feel without stopping to second-guess. I mean, now I'm second-guessing, but as I was writing it and as I was sending it to the printer, no hesitation, just one fluid motion.
Except, it's pretty clear that the letter should be torn up immediately and thrown in the garbage. I can't show it to Dr. Sherman. He keeps asking me to seek optimism over nothing, and I'm not sure if this letter will give him exactly what he wants. I know I'm supposed to share my feelings with Dr. Sherman, and make my mom happy. but they don't want my actual feelings. They just want me to be okay, or at least say that I am.
I turn around, eager to reach the printer, but instead I almost run into Connor Murphy. I flinch, not expecting to suddenly be that close to another person.
"How's it feel?" Connor asked.
"Uh?"
"Your arm." He glances down, reminding me the cast was there.
"Oh, alright, mostly itchy."
"What have you been telling people happened?" Connor asked, blue eyes staring into mine.
"Mostly the truth, except I was alone."
"That's the saddest fucking thing I heard." Connor says with a chuckle. "Take my advice, you should make a better story."
"Yea, probably."
"Just say you were battling a racist dude." A small smile slip onto my face.
"Just like To kill a mockingbird."
"Yea, when Jem and Scout are running away the redneck, he breaks Jem's arm. It's a battle wound." I nod, remembering plenty of our late night talks. Connor was a massive book nerd, made sense when we met at the book store.
I don't know too many books, but spending time with Connor helped spread my knowledge. The ones that the school assigned I always read, I was always to worried about getting a question wrong about the book.
"No one signed your cast." Connor spoke, pushing his hair behind his ear.
I take a look at my cast, still blank. Still pathetic. Connor shrugs. "I'll sign it." I pause, not expecting him to be so... public.
"Oh, you don't have to." I remind, I don't want him to think it's pathetic, that he's obligate just because of our history.
"Do you have sharpie?"
I kind of want to say no, I don't want to make him feel like he has to sign. But I find myself reaching for the sharpie in my bag. Presenting the sharpie to him.
Connor bites off the cap and lifts my arm. I watch and hear the squeak of the pen against my cast, individual sounds stretching out longer than you'd expect. Connor seems to be treating each letter like its own mini Picasso.
"Voila." Connor says. evidently completing his masterpiece. I look down. There, on the side of my case that faces the world, stretching the entire length and reaching up to ridiculous heights are six of the biggest capital letters I've ever seen.
Connor
Connor nods, admiring his creation. I feel a slight ping in my chest, It seemed like Connor wanted to world to know about our friendship. Does he really though? Regardless, I don't want him to feel the weight I feel. "Thank you, so much."
"He spits the cap into his hand, slide it back up onto the tip and hands over the marker. "Now we can both pretend we have friends." His tone, combined with the smile he gives me, makes me feel like he's making an inside joke that no one else would understand.
"Good point." I smile back.
"By the way, is this yours? I found it on the printer." Connor asks, reaching for a piece of paper tucked under his arm. We both know that it is.
"Oh, it's nothing. Just a letter to Dr. Sherman." He nods, eyes glancing over the paper. I pause, heart hammering at the idea he's going to read it. I wouldn't be as worried if it was about someone else. But it's about him. A very personal look on something that's about him. I don't feel the relief I should when all he does is look at me and smile.
"I would." Is all he says, passing the letter back to me before taking his strides out the door. Boots making a thud with every step. I want to call out to him, have him elaborate on what exactly he means. I don't. Or I can't tell. It's hard to figure out for sure what I want to say versus what I feel like I can't. I watch him go, disappearing around the corner.
I can't help the soft smile I give to empty air, the way his statement lightens something in me. Sometimes I reel over the fact that I have a friend. A real, genuine friend. A friend that doesn't get mad, or disappointed about my worries and anxieties. Connor, someone that is actually there because he cares.
Maybe today isn't as bad as it seemed.
AN: Ahhhhhh an update finally. I managed to buy a cheap copy of the Dear Evan Hansen book. I couldn't get it from my local public library at the time because mine only had one copy and it was constantly checked out. I also could only check it out for at most two weeks which isn't the best time length to write as much as I can with daily life but
I managed to snag a copy from Thriftbooks which means update more often! At least I hope so lol.
Anyways I hope I enjoyed the update!