Hi, all, I'm back with another chapter for you.
This is another long one, so why not make yourself a cuppa, and put your feet up?
A Cry in the Park
Chapter 13
After what turned out to be a pretty uneventful summer, the Belcher kids were back at school. Louise was now no longer on crutches, and was walking-boot free, but she still had a rather noticeable limp. She'd gotten into the habit of putting all of her weight on her heels when she walked, which they were trying to break her of, as it caused her pain.
They'd found her a therapist, but Louise didn't breathe a word about her ordeal. Linda and Bob persevered, hoping that therapy, and her anxiety medication (which they hid in her food) would help her.
Louise was quite proud that, over the summer, she'd gotten quite good at lip-reading; her father was a bit difficult, because of his moustache, but the rest of her family were easy. It really was quite a useful skill, and she couldn't believe she'd never learned it earlier. Now, she could listen in on conversations she wasn't supposed to hear; she was much better at it than Tina.
"Hey, guys, how was your summer?" asked Regular sized Rudy as they arrived outside of school.
"Same old, same old," said Louise, not looking the least bit happy to be back.
"It was good," said Tina. "On our days off, we went down to the beach, and looked for sand dollars. It was fun watching the new Junior Life Guards working out."
"Cool. Oh, Louise, you don't have crutches any more," Rudy tactfully ignored the dark circles under her eyes.
"Took you that long to notice?"
"No, I just think it's great. But..." he hesitated, and Louise looked pointedly at him. "I just – are you allowed to not wear the crutches?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"Your limp," said Rudy before he could stop himself.
"Well, I'm sorry, next time I get pushed into a well, I'll be careful to land in a way that doesn't break my ankle awkwardly!" she spat, her eyes blazing. "I'll have this limp for the rest of my life. And are we really just insulting each others' appearance now, because.." she deliberately looked him up and down, "you really don't wanna go there."
"Whoa," Rudy muttered, as Louise stormed into school.
"She doesn't mean it," Gene told him. "She's just a bit..." he trailed off, and waved his arms, and Rudy nodded.
That evening after school found Louise and Bob at the Wharf Arts Centre, in second row aisle seats for Cake 3: The Winner Cakes it All. She honestly couldn't believe she'd ended up here; that weird, infected part of her that made her feel bad for other people (bleh) had kicked in.
She crossed her arms and scowled as Bob waited impatiently for the curtain to rise. The only reason she had agreed to go to this stupid show was because there was literally nothing else on that she wanted to see. Amateur production of a play from the 1800's? No, thank you. Ballet? Not even if you paid her. Shakespeare? She would rather gouge her own eyes out.
But there was a time limit on the tickets she had been sent, and she was determined to put them to use.
They arrived home after the show, Bob excitedly clapping his hands together, and Louise with the same thunderous expression on her face.
"How was it, my baby?" asked Linda, darting away from Bob's "caking".
"That was the most boring thing I've ever seen in my life."
"How could you not love it, Louise?" Bob was now caking with Tina, who was groaning.
"It's a bunch of grown men playing a baby's game."
"Well, maybe there'll be something else there you'll like," Linda opened the laptop, and began to look at listings for the Centre. "Ooh, Agatha Christie!"
"No."
"Okay. How about 'Annie'?"
"No way." Louise looked up as Linda gasped, and her face lit up.
"Oh, my God! They're showing "Phantom of the Opera"!" she cried, and Gene clutched his face.
"Oh, my God, oh, my God!" he screamed, running around in circles.
"That sounds like something I'll never wanna see," Louise sat down at the table.
"Louise, I have a feeling you'll like this," said Linda enthusiastically. "It's -"
"I don't wanna hear it; it's opera; that's one of the most boring things in the world!"
"It's not an actual opera. It's set in an opera house; and there's an opera singer, but she's not a main character. It's a musical -"
"Done," Louise made to get up, but Linda gently grabbed her arm.
"It's about a disfigured man that haunts the opera house." Louise paused; that sounded kind of interesting. "A few people die," Linda said in a sing-song voice.
"Fine, I'll go," said Louise. "It's either sit through that or Annie."
"Can I go with you?" Gene asked.
"I'm sorry, sweetie, but there's only two tickets," Linda told him, and Gene growled frustratedly.
"Not fair, I wanna see it; I was born to play Christine!"
"Perhaps if it comes back, we can go another time."
"Yeah!"
"Ooh, Louise," Linda was looking at the laptop again. "You've got a message from the Wonder Wharf Wonderdogs; they want you to throw out the first pitch in the first game of the season."
"What?" Bob quit caking, and moved forward. "That's so cool!"
"I'm not doing that," said Louise.
"No? Why not?" asked Bob.
"Because that's for boring people who like baseball. And I don't want to. I wish these people would get it through their heads; I don't wanna be in the magazine, I don't wanna be on TV, and I don't wanna throw out the first pitch!"
The following day, Louise was in her P.E. lesson at school; her first one since her rescue. Luckily for her, she didn't have to do much, as she still needed to take it easy. She had begrudgingly participated in the stretching warm up, and in the passing and dribbling of basketballs, and she had felt okay. Miss Schroeder knew that she was allowed to sit out if she felt tired or in pain, but Louise was not going to let that happen. Sure, she hated P.E., but being the only one who couldn't handle it would be so embarrassing.
Miss Schroeder had ordered them to run a couple of laps, and Louise began to jog; she was getting used to the shoe fillers now. She only did two laps, jogging one, and speed-walking the second, before she began to feel pain, and so she slowed to a walk.
When the lesson had finished, her feet were still hurting, so Louise went into the changing room with the rest and went into one of the bathroom stalls. She gently eased off her trainers, gasping internally at the pain. The ends of her feet were red, swollen and throbbing. She sat there for a while, waiting for the swelling to go down, and hoping that no one would notice where she was. She pulled her dress back on, and stuffed her P.E. kit into her backpack, waiting for the other kids to leave. She didn't want to attempt to put her shoes back on; they didn't look as if they would fit.
Louise heard Miss Schroeder come into the changing room, barking at them to hurry up, before leaving.
When the room was silent and empty, Louise opened the stall door, but remained where she was, hearing Miss Schroeder re-enter the room, and then the bathroom, looking for stragglers. Schroeder looked surprised to see her there, but then she saw Louise's feet.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
"I can't put my shoes back on," Louise admitted, flushing with embarrassment.
"Okay, just wait here a moment," said the teacher, observing the swollen, red limbs, and quickly walking out of the room, heading to her office. Picking up the phone, she dialled the school nurse. "Liz, can you come to the gym as quick as you can, please?" he asked when she had picked up. "It's Louise Belcher; her feet are hurting. Could you bring some ice packs? Thanks." She then returned to the bathroom. "I called the nurse," she said. Louise didn't look at her. "How did it happen?"
"I don't know," Louise admitted. "They just started hurting."
"Why didn't you ask to sit out?"
"I don't know," Louise repeated.
Liz arrived soon after, examined Louise's stumps, and began to ice them.
"Are you able to get your shoes back on?" she asked, and Louise picked up her shoe, and gently attempted to place it over her stump, but she was unsuccessful; it was too swollen. "Okay, let us take you down to reception, and then I'll call your parents to come and get you."
"'Kay," there was nothing else for it. Of course, there was the little problem of actually getting down to reception; Louise could not walk, nor could they carry her. Eventually, they had to bring in an office chair with wheels.
Louise felt so embarrassed, being wheeled along by the nurse and teacher. They were both talking to her, but she didn't answer, instead she just looked ahead at where they were going. She hoped more than anything that nobody would see her; she wanted cover her face as it was.
Fortunately, the reception was on the ground floor, so they didn't have the added difficulty of climbing any stairs, and it wasn't long before they were in the main reception office, and they placed the chair next to the sofa. The receptionist looked up as they entered, but remained silent.
Miss Schroeder sat down next to Louise, while Liz headed up to the front desk and picked up the phone, dialling the Belcher home. Louise lifted her legs, trying to elevate them. There was a small table she could have rested her feet on, but she didn't want to risk placing her tender stumps on a hard surface with no cushioning available.
"Hello, Mrs. Belcher? This is the school nurse. Your daughter, Louise, is having trouble with her.. feet, and we'd like you come and collect her."
"Is she okay?!"
"Yes, her feet have just swollen up. Okay. Yes, she's all ready to go. Okay, thanks," Liz hung up the phone and approached Louise. "Your mother's on her way," she told her. "She said she'll be about twenty minutes." Louise only nodded in acknowledgement, and she left the room.
Louise sat in silence until Linda arrived. She could see the receptionist glancing over at her every so often, and she refused to meet her gaze.
"Well, at least you get to spend the day at home," said Miss Schroeder brightly, trying to cheer her up.
"Yeah," muttered Louise, not looking at the teacher. Miss Schroeder didn't know what else to say, and so she just sat there with Louise, occasionally asking her whether her feet was still hurting.
Linda then arrived in a flurry of noise; she marched through the double doors, the empty wheelchair in front of her. Her bag was dangling off her shoulder, her jacket hanging over her arm and she was filling the room with her voice.
"Louise? Louise, baby! I hope you've got your stuff ready!" she then spotted her and hurried over to where she was. "Are you okay?! Sweetie, what happened?" she asked, taking in the sight of her feet. The receptionist was eyeing her discreetly.
"They started hurting in gym," Louise explained. "And I took my shoes off, and now I can't get them back on."
"Well, we'd better get you home so I can look at it properly." In one quick movement, Linda lifted Louise from her seat into the wheelchair. Miss Schroeder couldn't help but be impressed as he watched Linda roll up her jacket and place it on the footrest, before guiding Louise's feet onto the jacket. It was obvious that she had had a lot of practise.
Louise just had time to grab her backpack as Linda began to wheel her towards the doors, when a call from the receptionist stopped her.
"Mrs. Belcher?" Linda swung around to face the young woman, not caring for anything except getting her baby home.
"Yes, can I help you?"
"Well, it's just.. you need to -" she faltered under Linda's strong gaze.
"What? I need to take my daughter home; she's in pain!"
"You need to sign her out, otherwise it'll be classed as a unofficial absence," she pushed the school book towards Linda, who stared at her.
"'Unofficial absence'?" she repeated incredulously. "Seriously? Look at her!" she gestured to Louise, who looked away in embarrassment. "Can't you see her feet, the fact that she can't walk, and you're asking me to sign her out?"
"Y-yes, ma'am." Again, Linda just stared at her, before snatching the book out of her hands and scribbling her name inside. Flinging the book back, she marched back over to Louise and wheeled her outside. Neither of them spoke until they reached the car, which was parked at the end of the path right outside the front of the school.
Again, Linda swiftly placed Louise inside the car, being careful not to knock her feet, and climbed behind the wheel.
"You okay, sweetie?" she asked as she started the car, looking in the rear view mirror.
"Yeah," said Louise, not looking at her.
"You sure?"
"It's fine."
"Well, I'm still going to ice them when we get home. Did the nurse ice them? Did you have to ask her? You shouldn't have had to, if you did; she should know what to do."
"She did, Mom."
"Okay." Linda was silent for all of five seconds. "So, it started hurting in gym? Did you sit out of the lesson?"
"... No," Louise admitted and Linda cast her a disapproving look in the mirror.
"Why not? You know what the doctor said; you have to take it easy. You can't do too much, too soon."
"I did!" Louise snapped. "I hardly did anything; I just walked around, but it still started to hurt after a while."
"So, why didn't you ask to sit out?"
"I don't know."
"You need to start taking this seriously, Louise. The next time your feet hurt, or anything else, you tell me, or your father, or the nearest adult. Or even your brother and sister." She eyed her through the mirror again, as they turned onto their street.
When they had pulled up outside their house, Bob was waiting anxiously, the same as Linda had done previously. Linda took Louise inside and got her settled on the sofa while she went to fetch some ice packs. Upon returning, she placed a cushion on her lap, gently grabbed Louise's legs and turned them towards her. Resting the stumps on the pillow, she applied the ice packs.
The television was on, and Louise was watching cartoons. "Are they still hurting?" she asked after a while.
"A little bit," said Louise. Linda removed the packs and examined the limbs properly for the first time. The feet were still swollen and red and now several angry blisters had formed around the edges of the stumps.
"You've got blisters," she informed her. Louise didn't look away from the TV. "I don't want you walking for the rest of the day; even if it's from here to the kitchen, you use your wheelchair, alright?" Louise only nodded, and Linda continued, "and don't put your shoes or anything back on, your feet need to breathe. If it's still hurting by tomorrow, I'll take you to the hospital." Louise nodded again, and they sat in silence, watching the television, Linda adjusting the ice packs every so often.
Louise muttered something that Linda couldn't hear and she looked up at her. "What did you say?"
"I said I don't want to go back to school tomorrow," said Louise, resolutely keeping her eyes on the screen.
"You have to," Linda told her.
"No. I don't want to." Louise actually pouted.
"Why?" she asked, but Louise didn't answer. "Come on, tell me why."
"Don't wanna go back in a wheelchair," she mumbled, and Linda understood.
"Look," she said, leaning towards her, her tone gentle. "You can't let a little thing like this set you back. I know you; you're strong. You won't let this defeat you. This is a symbol for all you've overcome, and you should be proud of it. And if anyone gives you any trouble, you tell me and I'll give them trouble." Louise had no doubt that she would. Linda was the very definition of a mama bear. She didn't really know what else to say.
"I still don't wanna go," she said after a few minutes, and quickly cut Linda off when she was about to speak. "I get what you're saying, about how I should be proud, but it's... it's embarrassing. I'm the only kid in school who has to use crutches or a wheelchair, and the only one who has amputations. Everyone keeps staring at me, and I hate it," she had not meant to say all of that, and she frowned to herself. Linda was staring at her.
"I know it must be difficult for you, but if anyone ever makes you feel bad about yourself, you just remember that you're here. Yes, you had amputations, but the most important thing is you are still alive, and that's all that matters." Again, Louise didn't know what to say. She stared at her stumps. She didn't think she could ever be proud of them. She knew, no matter what, that she would hate them for the rest of her life. She knew that she would spend the rest of her life regretting the decision to back away from Logan; she would always wish for her toes to somehow miraculously grow back, but she was now realising just how glad she was to be out of the well, alive. She was remembering what it was like being trapped in the well, her knees stuck against her chest, her arms forced down by her sides, being unable to move, and crying because she was so afraid she was going to die.
"... Can we talk about something else now?" she muttered, turning her attention back to the television, and to her surprise, Linda complied.
Louise was still watching cartoons when Gene and Tina came home, and they went upstairs to see Louise. They knew that she had gone home, due to her feet hurting, but that was it.
As they entered the living room, they caught sight of her swollen feet, now covered with the new Kuchi Kopi fleece blanket she had gotten from About a Toy, but they kept quiet; they had quickly learned to not say anything about it to Louise; the best thing to do was to act like they didn't notice the stumps.
So, both Tina and Gene sat down on either side of Louise, and stared at the TV, Tina trying not to look at the elevated stumps in front of her.
"Anything good on?" she asked as casually as she could.
"Not really,'' replied Louise, picking up the remote and flicking through the channels.
"Louise, I got something for you," Louise looked up just in time to see Linda plonk the laptop, a notepad and pen onto her lap. "You can plan the Japan trip. You can find us a hotel, where we're gonna eat, transportation; everything."
"Okay," Louise visibly brightened, and she opened the laptop.
"Louise, sweetie!" Linda called again the next morning. "Time to get up!" She'd already gone into the bedroom, but Louise had said she was just getting up. That was five minutes ago. Bob, Gene and Tina were already at the table. "Louise!"
"Alright, alright!" came her irritated voice from the bedroom. Linda nodded, reminding herself not get angry, and resumed fixing breakfast, discreetly crushing up Louise's pills, and mixing them in with her milk. A pained cry caused her and Bob to rush into the room. They found Louise sitting up in bed, the covers thrown back, looking down at her stumps. Several of the blisters had popped and now the sheets were stained with yellow pus. "I just sat up and it happened!" said Louise.
"Bobby, start the car!" Linda ordered, leaning closer to Louise, but Bob leant forward and picked his daughter up. Bob was about as strong as an average man, but Louise didn't weigh a thing. Anyway, it would be quicker to just place Louise in the car, rather than lifting her into the wheelchair for thirty seconds, before carrying her downstairs, and then lifting her into the car. He tenderly carried his child through the house to the front door, while Linda followed, clutching Louise's compression socks, her shoe fillers, a damp cloth, a pair of slippers, and an ice pack. She threw all of these things into her bag, and followed Bob to the car, calling at Gene and Tina to follow them.
Whilst on the way to the hospital, Bob drove, and Linda tended to Louise in the back seat, gently dabbing at the stumps with the cloth.
Gene and Tina were sat silently in the front. It didn't look like they were going to school, which was nothing to complain about.
Louise spent the rest of the week at home, until her mild infection cleared up. She spent that week in bed with the laptop, planning for Japan. It did a great job of keeping her distracted. She had already picked out their hotel, and what they were going to visit and see. They were only spending four days there, and she intended to make the most of them.
The evening before she was due to return to school, and she was on the sofa in the living room, typing away, when Bob handed her a calculator.
"I go back to school tomorrow, not today," she told him.
"This is to make sure we don't go over budget for Japan."
"I have $10,000!" she exclaimed.
"Well, we don't wanna spend everything on the trip." She stared at him. "I mean, you could use that money for college." He didn't really like the idea of Louise having so so much more money for her college education than his other two kids, but there wasn't really very much he could do about it.
"College? Really?"
"Well, yeah; don't you wanna go?"
"I dunno; I'm nine. I don't think about that stuff," she ducked her head, and resumed writing in the notebook.
"It might be good for you to learn to budget, then," she caught the meaning in his voice.
"Fine, I'll stick to your stupid little budget."
"Okay, $3,000."
"So, Louise, what are we gonna do when we're over there?" asked Linda, bringing in hot chocolate for everyone.
"Stuff."
"What kinda stuff?"
"I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."
"Okay..." said Linda slowly.
Barely a week later, Bob came into his bedroom to see Linda filling a form out.
"What's that?" He looked over her shoulder. "'Little Miss Bog Harbour beauty pageant'? Lin, don't get me wrong; you look good for your age, but I don't think you can pull that off."
"It's not for me; it's for Louise." Upon hearing that, Bob blinked.
"Louise wants to enter a pageant?"
"Not exactly," she hedged. "It's gonna be a surprise."
"Oh, my God," Bob pinched the bridge of his nose. "Lin, are you sure this is a good idea?" He noticed there were tears in her eyes. "Lin?"
"Bobby, do you remember that my concealers went missing?"
"Uh, yes, I.. absolutely do remember that."
"Louise has been taking them!" Linda sniffled, before continuing. "She's been taking my makeup to cover her scars."
"What?" Bob sat down on the bed next to her. "How do you know?"
"I've been finding strange marks on the booths and benches; yesterday I was wiping down a stool, and I saw it; it was the same stool that Louise leaned on."
"Are you sure it's her?"
"Yes, Bobby; my makeup's been going missing, and have you noticed that we can't see her scars? Also, there's the same marks on her sheets."
"Oh, God," Bob covered his mouth, feeling awful. How could they have not known?
"And what with her being diagnosed with depression.. she must be feeling terrible, Bobby. I feel like I've failed her," Linda sniffled again, wiping away a tear.
"You didn't fail her," Bob put an arm around her. "We're doing everything we can to help her; she has medication, she's going to therapy, and she has us."
"I just want her to be happy, and know that she's beautiful. She doesn't need to hide her scars."
"I get it, completely, I'm just not sure this is the right way to go," he gestured to the pageant entry form.
"It's not? But if she wins, then she might feel pretty."
"Well, Louise isn't a girly girl; I don't think she'd enjoy it. Plus, I don't think she'd be allowed to wear her ears."
"Oh, yeah," Linda hadn't thought about that. "I just can't stand to see her like this," she confessed.
"Me, either. But, in time, she'll get better."
"I hope she will."
"I think this evening will cheer her up," said Bob, and Linda brightened a tiny bit.
"I think you're right."
A few hours later, they were all piled in the car.
"Mom, where are we going?" asked Tina, noticing the woman was dressed up.
"It's a surprise," was all Linda said.
"I swear, if it's that stupid wine train, dinner theatre, or any kind of theatre, I'm going to rip my arm off, and beat you to death with it," said Louise, her stony gaze fixed straight ahead.
"Louise," Bob caught her eye in the rear view mirror, and he gave her a significant look. "Be nice." She only huffed, and folded her arms.
"Wait, why are we here?" asked Gene, as they pulled up outside the fire station. "Are they having another open day?"
"Oh, my God!" Louise groaned and threw her head back. "Don't make me do this again! I would actually rather die!"
"It's not an open day," Linda said as they all climbed out of the car, "but I think you'll enjoy it."
"Oh, really, Mom? You think so?" her youngest asked sarcastically.
"I do." Louise reluctantly removed herself from the car, and followed her family inside, past the offices and storage rooms, until they had reached the lobby/conference room.
When they entered, they were greeted by an explosion of cheering and applause, and Louise was surrounded.
Slightly confused, she looked around at all the happy, grinning strangers around her, and got a feeling of deja vu. She looked over at the rest of her family, who were all beaming widely, slightly bemused.
"Louise, these are all the people who helped get you out of the well," said Bob, squeezing his way through the crowd.
"Really?" There were so many of them.
"Ooh, look it's the mayor! Hi, mayor!" Linda waved wildly as Louise was lifted onto somebody's shoulders. Louise craned her neck, but could not see the mayor, as she was paraded around the room. It felt good, she had to admit; seeing everyone, again, cheering for her. She had to smile; her first real smile in ages.
The room was packed; almost every police- and firemen, digger, and volunteer had shown up, a few of them had dressed up a little bit. From her vantage point, Louise could see a small stage with a little table on it, with a backdrop of black curtains, and there were rows and rows of chairs facing the stage. The room was decorated with balloons and streamers, and a long buffet table full of food and drink, where Gene had already made himself quite comfortable.
"What's going on?" she asked, when she had been placed back on the floor.
"We decided that we wanted to thank everyone who saved you," said Linda, her eyes shining.
"What?"
"Well, we're so grateful to them," Bob told her, "we wanna show them how much."
"But why all this?"
"Oh, this wasn't our idea," said Bob, "we just told the firemen that we wanted to thank them, and they organised this – because they wanna celebrate you."
"Me?" Louise felt shocked, although she shouldn't have; she was Louise Belcher, of course people should want to celebrate her, but she hadn't been expecting this.
"Well, yeah; everyone worked night and day, and not a lot of them got to see you, so this is their chance."
Louise had a surprisingly good time, though she did have to force herself to socialise. Patrick and Simon were there, as were Tim and Charlie, which was her second time seeing them. She met dozens of the volunteers who dug relentlessly, and the policemen who supervised the crowds, and the firemen who worked to keep the well warm and oxygenated, and she met the men who operated the drilling rig. She met Richards and Davis for the first time, and she met a lady called Carol who helped her family during the process.
Later in the evening, the chattering and happy mingling came to a halt when Mayor Thomas Sanders stepped up onto the stage, and raised his hand for quiet. Slowly but respectfully, everyone sank into chairs.
"Hi, mayor!" Linda, a glass of wine in each hand, lifted her arms, sending little red droplets in all directions.
"We're gathered here today to mark a great moment in our town's history," he began. "The hard work, determination, and perseverance that you showed over those five days showed America the meaning of small town community, and hard work. You men went above and beyond your duties; you worked non stop, dropping down almost 100 feet underground, day and night, hour after hour. You did not do this for fame or glory. You did it for one reason and one reason only; a life needed to be saved. Even when hope began to fade, you did not stop; you were not going to let this child die. The resilience and success of this mammoth effort shows the inherent value of a human life. You did not give up; even when things looked their bleakest, you carried on. You have shown America the meaning of volunteerism. Now, when America thinks of our little town, they will think of the selfless hard work, and character you have shown. In our eyes, you are heroes," he began to applaud, with the other occupants following suite. "I would like," the mayor continued when the applause had died down (Bob was crying), "I would like to bestow upon you, the Community Spirit Award, in honour of your services." He held up a large certificate. "Come on up," he cried, and the men arose, and made their way up on to the stage.
"Thank you," said Patrick, as he, Simon, Tim, Charlie held the large, embossed certificate, and paused while the others gathered around them as their photo was taken by Officer George. "This is overwhelming; thank you for the kind words, mayor. We really don't feel like we deserve to be called 'heroes'; we were just doing our jobs. There is someone here that we'd like to honour; the real hero – Louise Belcher!"
Louise froze as everyone turned to stare at her, beaming and clapping. Both Bob and Linda were openly sobbing now, and she rose and walked up onto the stage.
"Louise," began Chief Richards, "you've shown courage, strength, and bravery beyond your years. If anyone deserves these awards and praise, it's you. Your determination, not only through the ordeal, but your recovery, was nothing short of amazing. We're so proud of all you've overcome, and you should be, too. You truly are the hero in all this, and we'd like to present you with.." he paused while grabbing a plaque from the nearby table, "this award for Courage and Bravery, from the Fire Department."
Louise took the plaque, needing both hands as it was heavy, as more applause rang out.
"That's my baby! That's my little baby girl!" yelled Linda, standing up and whooping. Louise studied the plaque; it was mounted on polished rosewood, and engraved in black on the shiny, gold surface, were the words,
"Seymour's Bay Fire Department
Courage and Bravery Award
Presented to Louise Belcher
In recognition of strength, determination and resilience.
Congratulations!
September 17th, 2019 Awarded by
James Richards
Above the writing, was the official fire department emblem.
She finished reading it, and looked up to find everyone staring at her.
"Thank you, everyone," she said, the words feeling slightly foreign on her tongue. "I really like this plaque," and she really did; she just wished she had gotten it for any other reason. There wasn't anything else for her to say, and so she allowed the adults to gather around her, and dutifully posed for a photo. Bob managed to take one, wiping his streaming eyes vigorously.
When they arrived home later, Louise left the plaque in the living room when she went to bed.
"Louise?" Bob entered her room holding the plaque, "do you want me to leave this in here?"
"Leave it in the living room," she said, pulling the blankets tight around her.
"Don't you wanna display it?"
"I don't need it."
"You don't want it?"
"It's not like I need another reminder of this whole thing."
"Okay, well, then, we'll keep it in our room for now."
"Whatever." He made to leave the room, when he turned back around.
"Do you wanna open up the Burn Unit for a while?" he hoped that this time she'd say yes.
"I'm good."
"Okay, then," he tried to hide his disappointment. "Night, then."
"Night."
Louise sat at the table in her therapist's office, colouring. The room looked like a large, typical playroom rather than an office, filled with toys and games.
Louise went there once a week after school, whether she liked it or not. It wasn't too bad; it got her out of work, and she wasn't forced to talk. It was basically an hour in which she was free to colour, draw, or play. She much preferred to colour, as she got to switch her mind off, and it prevented her from drawing anything too revealing, especially if her session was held after a bad night.
At that moment, she was concentrating on colouring in a Dizzy Dog picture, while the therapist, a middle aged woman by name of Hannah, sat nearby.
"Why do we dream?" Louise asked suddenly, not looking up from her paper.
"Well, some people believe that it's a way of processing memories; others believe it's how the mind deals with things. There's many different reasons.
"But why?" Louise repeated. "What's the point? We don't need them. What happens when you dream the same thing over and over?"
"That's a recurring dream. They can mean different things, too. Like, I don't know, trying to prepare for something you think is going to happen, or something your mind is trying to tell you."
"... How do I make them stop?" she asked quietly, focusing on her drawing.
"Well, what's your dream about?" Hannah asked gently, and Louise hesitated.
"It's about that day," she said, "and everything's so real; it doesn't feel like a dream. I'm out walking into the park, and Logan pushes me into the well." She paused.
"Perhaps this is your mind coming to terms with what happened," Hannah suggested.
"Well, after he leaves, I start calling for help," said Louise, her pencil slowing down as she remembered her dream.
She was back, stuck in the cold, dark well, with bricks piled on top of her.
"Help! Somebody! Help me! I'm stuck!" she yelled. After a while, she heard her family calling her name. They were looking for her. "Down here! I'm down here! I'm stuck in the well!" She screamed as loud as she could, but they couldn't hear her, and she continued to yell until her lungs were burning.
"Louise?" came her father's echoey voice, and she sighed in relief.
"Yeah! I'm stuck; I can't get out! You need to get help!" Bob didn't appear to be listening; instead, it looked like he was looking around. "Dad? Dad, I need to get out!"
"Yeah, you do," he sounded distracted.
"Well, come on! What are you waiting for?" Bob looked away as Linda shouted over to him.
"No, I can't find her, Lin!" he yelled, leaving Louise confused.
"Dad, I'm right here, help me!" she screamed, but Bob began to move away. "DAD!"
"Keep quiet!" he snapped.
"Dad, what are you doing? You can't just leave me down here!"
"Why do you think I sent you out in the first place?" Louise's blood ran cold as her father left her.
"Dad! Come back! Come back! Oh, thank God!" she cried as he reappeared. She then heard a loud, scraping sound. Bob was covering the well with a large stone. "No, no! No!" she cried, as the stone was adjusted, and she was left in the pitch black. She began to scream. "And that's when I wake up," she finished. "It's the exact same, every time." She paused again, focusing hard on her paper. "How do I get it to stop? It happens almost every night."
"One way to make them stop is to talk about it."
"I told you. What does it mean?"
"I'm not an expert on dreams, but it does sound like your subconscious is mad at your father. Do you blame him for what happened?"
"Sometimes," she admitted. "It's Logan's fault, I know; but if he hadn't told me to go out, it wouldn't have happened."
"Does your dad know about the dreams?"
"He knows I have nightmares, but that's it."
"If you don't want to tell him, then perhaps writing down your dreams when you wake up might help."
"What?" Louise looked up at her.
"Sometimes, writing can be therapeutic; it helps you get out what you can't say." Louise tilted her head, intrigued. "If you decide to do it, you could get a book or an app about dream interpreting, and it helps you understand the deeper meaning. Sometimes, just knowing can help the nightmares."
"Huh." It actually sounded kind of interesting.
"Of course, if you ever do need to talk about it, you can tell me, and it'll remain confidential. Unless, of course, you want me to tell your parents." Louise thought it over.
"Will it make the nightmares stop?"
"I can't say for sure, but it might." The little girl paused again, pursing her lips.
"Well..." she began to hesitantly talk.
A few days later, Louise and Bob were at the farmer's market, shopping for ingredients for the Burger of the Day. Her mind was occupied; she'd been trying the whole writing her dreams down, but it didn't seem to be working, as she still had nightmares.
It did appear to make her fears seem less real when she read them over; Louise didn't understand why, but she wasn't about to question it.
Bob could tell that she was preoccupied; she remained silent even when he started talking to the food. No sarcastic comments this time, and he supposed that she had probably had another nightmare. He and Linda had both been trying to help her, but Louise didn't talk about her dreams, and there wasn't anything they could do or give her to make them go away. The only thing that would help was time.
He was a little surprised that she'd agreed to come with him; ever since she'd come home from the hospital, they weren't as close as they used to be, and it broke his heart. He'd spent the previous evening in flood of tears, when Hannah had told him about Louise's dream.
"I can't believe she blames me!" He'd cried on Linda's shoulder.
"She doesn't really," his wife assured him, "she's just trying to deal with everything."
"But it is my fault! If didn't tell her to go out, it wouldn't have happened! It's my fault."
"Bobby, look at me," Linda took his face in her hands. "This isn't your fault, okay? Remember what you said to me, the first night she was in the well? Logan's the one to blame; if he hadn't have pushed her, then it wouldn't have happened. He's the one who did this, not you."
"But the only reason I sent her out was because she was.. causing chaos. I should have just let her play."
"This isn't your fault," Linda repeated firmly. "If Logan hadn't been such a little.. jerk, she would have gotten what had to get, and then came home. He's the one that did this, not you."
"I would give anything to turn back the clock, Lin." They both missed the old, crazy Louise terribly. What Bob wouldn't give to have her running through the restaurant, screaming at the top of her lungs, tackling people again.
That was why he asked her to come with him that day; hopefully, in time, she would see that he loved her, and he would never do anything to hurt her.
As they walked through the market, they were silent, both of them thinking. Bob was just thinking that he would maybe take her to a movie one night, when Louise let out a shriek and grabbed his arm tightly.
"Louise, are you okay?" His heart racing, Bob bent down next to her, not even noticing the fact that she'd dug her nails so far into his arm that she'd drawn blood. "What happened?" She was still gripping him, not making eye contact. He looked down and realised she was standing in a little pothole, and the penny dropped. "Are you okay?" he asked quietly, and she nodded without looking at him, detaching her hand.
"Fine," she muttered, willing her racing heart to slow down. He could see how embarrassed she was.
"Hey, listen, do you wanna quickly get something to eat before we head back?"
"Sure."
"Alright, where do you wanna go?"
"Chicken on a Stick," she said, and he blinked. Ordinarily, she would ask to go to Jimmy Pesto's, just to annoy him; she really must not be feeling herself. Then again, he wasn't really surprised at her choice; Louise loved fried chicken.
"Alright then.. Sweet Pea," he added awkwardly.
"Don't call me that," she insisted, as they made their way back to the car.
"Sorry. Is there any name you want me to call you?"
"Louise Belcher, Unquestioned Master of the Universe," she said, and Bob chuckled.
"I'll just call you 'Louise' for short, how's that?"
"Fine; as long as you don't forget."
"I won't."
Bob liked to think that his children had slightly more refined palates than other kids their ages; they ate mostly homemade food, and a wide variety of dishes and ingredients. They weren't the least bit fussy.
But now, as he watched Louise smother her chicken in ketchup, he realised that a child would always choose convenient fast food over quality, homemade stuff.
Later that evening, after closing, the Belchers were sat together for their fortnightly group therapy session. They weren't really getting anywhere, as Louise still refused to talk, but they persevered.
At that moment, Louise was sitting, arms folded, looking extremely bored, while Bob and Linda spoke to the therapist.
"Louise?" the therapist's voice caught her attention. "Is there anything you'd like to say to that?" asked Vicky.
"I wasn't listening."
"Your parents were just saying how you've been seeming a little on edge lately, and they're worried about you."
"Oh, really?" Louise raised an eyebrow.
"Yes, that's why they're here; to help, and to be helped."
"Why do they need to be helped?"
"Well, because, this has affected them, too." That was what Louise couldn't wrap her head around. Why should the ordeal have affected them? They weren't the ones who spent five days trapped in a well; they weren't the ones who almost died. They had been free to come and go as they pleased during those long hours, while all she could do was sit there, in pain.
Bob and Linda sometimes wondered whether it was worth Louise continuing with the therapy, as she still never spoke about what she went through, or how she was feeling. She'd been going to her sessions for two months, and the only thing she had told Hannah was her recurring nightmare.
But, they told themselves that she had the opportunity to speak; perhaps with time, she would open up more, and they wanted her to have that support for when she was ready.
"It can't be good for you to keep everything bottled up inside, sweetie," said Linda, but Louise didn't answer.
"What does it matter to you?"
"You're our daughter, and we want you to be okay."
"I don't get why you're even here, any of you. Why do you need therapy?"
"It's affected us, too," Bob told her.
"Oh, yeah, it must have been so hard, sitting around outside for five days(!) Being able to walk, and eat and drink sounds terrible(!)"
"It's not about that," said Bob. "We were worried about you."
"It was hard to deal with," Linda said. "We all need to come to terms with it."
"Well, it's not like it happened to you!"
"No, but it happened to you! You're my daughter! You were trapped in there, and we couldn't help you, we couldn't see you. We had no way of knowing whether you were okay. At times, we didn't even know if you were alive!" Louise didn't have an answer for that.
"You see, Louise," Vicky continued gently, "you family loves you, and it was very upsetting to see you in that situation. They wanted to help you, and they couldn't. The only thing they could do was wait; they didn't know if you were injured, and they were frightened."
"We're not saying it wasn't hard for you," said Bob, "but it was hard for us, too."
"Mom and Dad thought you were gonna die," said Gene quietly, and Louise looked over at him.
"We did, too," Tina's voice was barely above a whisper.
"We felt so helpless," Linda dabbed at her eyes, "honestly, it felt like we were trapped too, because that's how useless we felt."
Louise was still silent. She still couldn't understand why they said it affected them so much.
"I'm the one who suffered, though," she said, "I had broken bones, and blood poisoning, and all that other stuff, and you didn't, so why does it bother you?"
"Because you're our child, and it was awful to see you like that; it was horrible seeing you trapped, and we just wanted to get you out. I wish I have taken all your injuries and give them to myself," said Bob sincerely. "Even though it didn't happen to us, we felt like it did, because we love you. Can you imagine Tina or Gene being in the well? You'd be worried about them, right?" Louise had to nod. "That's why we were worried, because we care about you so much, and we wanted you to be safe."
Louise was still unsure about the whole "we suffered, too," thing, but she had to admit, her parents made a point. She didn't think she would have been able to relax knowing her sibling was trapped 80 feet below ground, knowing that they could die at any moment. She supposed that perhaps, they were speaking a little bit of sense.
"Come on, we've got to find something in here!" Louise searched the bedside drawer in her parent's room, along with Gene and Tina. They were looking for stuff for the blanket fort they were making. They needed things to make it look like a real house, like lamps, and snacks, and piles of dirty laundry. There was no point in having a fort if it didn't look like their very own house. Tina and Gene had suggested the fort as a way of trying to cheer Louise up.
At that moment, Louise was under the bed, searching through one of the many boxes that her parents kept under there. Pulling the lid off one of them, she rifled through some boring old scrapbooks, before shoving it aside, and a folded piece of paper caught her eye.
Temporarily abandoning her search, Louise grabbed the paper, and opened it.
"Louise? You okay under there?" said Gene, taking note of her motionless feet sticking out from under the bed. A few moments passed, before Louise wriggled out and stood up, looking like she could kill someone.
"What is this?" she asked, her voice dangerously low, holding up the paper. Looking closely, the eldest Belchers' could see a filled-out form with the words "Little Miss Bog Harbour Pageant" at the top.
"Oh, you found that," said Tina. Linda, of course, had been so sure that Louise would have enjoyed it, that she let her other two children in on the idea.
"You knew about this?! What the hell is this?!" Louise brandished the form in her sister's face, and Tina could only groan.
"It was Mom's idea," Gene told her.
"Of course it was!" Louise fumed. "Of course she would do something like this! What, was she just gonna spring it on me outta nowhere?! Just expect me to go along with it like it was no big deal?" Louise crumpled up the form, threw it at Gene's face, and stormed out of the room.
With a quick glance at one another, Gene and Tina followed her. They caught Louise coming out of the kitchen with a large pair of scissors, and heading into her bedroom.
When they got there, they found Louise pulling a dress Linda had made for her out of her chest of drawers. It was a pretty little dress; white, with short, puffed sleeves, with a lace overlay, and a pink sash around the waist. Louise held the dress up, looking disgusted. "I bet that's why she made this; going to try and force me into this thing! What in the hell made her think this was a good idea?!" she raged. Her face set, she raised the scissors, ready to cut.
"Louise, Mom just wants you to be happy again," said Tina quickly, and Louise stopped.
"What?" Tina sighed. She wasn't sure how to say it.
"Look," she began, "you haven't been.. yourself since that whole thing, and that's okay; we understand. But it makes Mom sad to see you sad, and she thought this would cheer you up."
"Doesn't she know me at all? Did she honestly think this would cheer me up? And I don't need cheering up!" she added hotly. Gene sighed, before realising what he had to do. Placing his finger under his nose, he shifted into Dad-mode.
"Look," he said in his best Bob imitation, "we don't pretend to understand what you're going through, because we can't. But you're our daughter and we love you, and we want to do anything we can to put a smile back on your face." He removed his 'moustache' and looked at his little sister. "Mom and Dad just want to see you smile again. We all do," he added, as Louise stared.
"Well, why should I pretend to be happy when I'm not?" she asked.
"We don't want you to pretend," said Tina. "We want you to actually be happy." Louise paused; for the past several months, she had felt nothing but rage, anger, and numbness. She didn't feel like there was anything that could make her happy. Sometimes, not even the upcoming trip to Japan could lift her mood. "Will you try?" asked Tina. The truth was, Louise didn't have the energy to try; she'd heard of 'fake it 'til you make it,' but that seemed like way too much effort. She was tired enough as it was without having to be Shirley Temple 24/7. "You don't have to be, like, a Disney Princess or anything," Tina added, "but Mom and Dad said that you won't get better if you don't try."
Louise stared at the ground for the longest time, mulling it over. After what seemed an eternity, she lowered the scissors.
"Alright, I'll try," she relented. "But only because I want you all to get off my back!" That was enough for Gene and Tina, and they engulfed her in a hug. "Alright, get off, get off."
"I am so much better at being Dad than Dad is!" cried Gene.
The sound of constant drilling pounded in Louise's head, and she clenched her fists, wanting it to stop. Her ears were ringing, and she could hear nothing else except for the sound of a 45-pound jackammer digging straight into solid basalt.
"Louise! Louise!" Miss LaBonz's gravelly tones jolted through the drilling, and she jumped slightly. Right, she was at school, not trapped in the well.
"What?"
"Were you listening to what I've been saying?"
"No, you're boring me to death," Louise rested her head on her chin, as a few of the students in her English class tittered. LaBonz sighed heavily.
"I said," and Louise focused on the teacher's mouth, almost squinting. "... Madame Ruth," she finished, and Louise blinked. That didn't make sense at all. LaBonz said something about a tree in Madame Ruth; how on Earth did that work out?
She tried to decipher what that meant before she realised that LaBonz was waiting for an answer.
"Who's Madame Ruth?"
"I didn't say Madame Ruth, I said Malibu; the "Lemon Orchard" takes place in Malibu."
"Well, maybe if you didn't smoke 50 a day, you wouldn't be so hard to understand!" Louise snapped.
"Enough!" growled LaBonz, for laughter had begun to arise. She pointed at Louise, "you can go and see Mr. Frond after class. Now, we'll continue with what we were supposed to be doing. Poems. Go ahead and write your poems. It can be about anything!" she added, after a few kids raised their hands.
Poems; Louise pulled a face. Poetry was the worst; she'd rather spend the afternoon with Frond. Why did poetry even exist, it was so dumb. There weren't enough rhyming words.
Sighing, Louise began to write, not thinking or planning, just zoning out, and letting her pen do the work for her.
When she'd finished, she laid her pen down, and quickly read it through. She blinked.
'I lie alone in the darkness
Awaiting to learn my fate
My life is in the hands of others
And all I can do is wait
There's a strange noise above me
Who is that calling down to me?
The ground starts to shake and I scream again
I can hear voices of reassurance and the shaking stops
But I am helpless, so helpless, there is nothing I can do
Nothing I can do to end this torment
When will it stop? When will I see the light?'
Holy crap, where had that come from? She tore out the page, and crumpled it up, and quickly wrote the most generic poem she could think. 'The fat cat sat on the mat, wearing a hat, holding a bat. Its name was Matt, and it saw a rat, which then went splat.' Hey, at least it rhymed.
It was raining, and so they were confined to the classroom at break time. LaBonz, not in the mood to deal with bored, energetic kids who just wanted to go outside, had plugged herself into her phone, and left them to their devices. She'd made no comment to Louise about seeing Frond, and so the girl remained where she was, brooding over what she had written.
"Hey, Louise," Rudy dragged his chair over to her desk, and sat down. He saw her fist clench, though she continued to stare at her open work book, and he got ready to get up. After a moment, her hand unclenched.
"Hey, Rude."
"What are you doing?"
"Nothing; just doodling," she began drawing in her book.
"Oh okay." They sat there in silence for a few minutes. "Did you hear that Ms. Jacobson might be pregnant?" She closed her eyes and exhaled sharply through her nose.
"No, I didn't," she said shortly, still not looking at him.
"Okay," he repeated. "If you want me to go, I'll go. I won't be upset," he told her, and she finally looked up at him.
"What makes you think that?"
"You don't seem to want company right now."
"Look, Rudy," Louise sighed and put down her pen, "you're right; I don't want company, but you can stay."
"How come?"
"I don't know," and she didn't. "I guess because... Look, I'm sorry I insulted you the first day back at school. I was just in a bad mood."
"That's okay; I forgive you." He hesitated. "I was just.. concerned."
"Why?"
"Because you didn't have crutches."
"Well, I told you why -"
"I know you did," Rudy cut her off. "I was just a little bit shocked, that you were off them so quickly; I thought it was great."
"... Really?"
"Yeah. I mean, part of me was thinking that you went against the doctor's advice; I don't know why," he grinned at her, and she gave a small smile in return. "And, like I said, I couldn't believe that you managed to get rid of them so quickly."
"Okay, thanks, I guess. It's just..." she lowered her voice. "I don't like people bringing attention to it. I know I walk weird now; you don't have to point it out, because I know."
"You don't walk weird," Rudy assured her.
"Whatever," though a part of her was secretly glad to hear that. "Just – I don't need to hear things like that."
"Alright, I understand. Hey, did you hear they're bringing out a Burobu comic book?" Louise straightened up.
"Now, this is the kind of thing you should be talking to me about. Tell me everything."
The end of the week found Louise in the car with Linda, driving away from the restaurant.
"I'm so excited!" Linda sang, bopping to an invisible beat. "Oh, yeah, I'm so excited!"
Louise was most definitely not excited. She knew Linda was taking her to that awful pageant, and she was resigned to her fate. That weird feeling inside her, that made her feel for other people, had been bubbling up again. She really, really didn't want to do this, but she really felt that she had no choice in the matter; they wanted her to be happy, and they really thought that this would make her happy.
She was feeling apprehensive; the place was going to be filled with dozens of loud, excitable, shrieking girls, her worst nightmare. Well, actually, her worst nightmare was not having any money, but still, this was a close second.
She couldn't help but pull a face; she was going to be forced into that ugly lace dress, have makeup put on, have her hair done, because of course she was; her mother was Linda Belcher. Louise subconsciously tugged at the tassels of her hat; if she was going to have to go through with this, then she was wearing her ears. She drew the line at taking her ears off.
The thought of parading around in front of people, having to pose and preen made her want to grab the steering wheel and crash the car. But they wanted her to be happy. She clenched her fists and took a deep breath.
She was surprised when they pulled up outside the Wharf Arts Centre, but it was probably where this stupid pageant was being held. She resolutely stared ahead as she followed Linda through the crowds. She was so lost in her own thoughts, that she barely registered Linda taking her seat in the audience. They were in the third row, and Louise could see a big stage, with something big in the centre covered with a large cloth, and she could hear orchestral music playing.
"Ooh, I'm so excited, I can't wait!" Linda's face was flushed with excitement, and Louise sat there, waiting for it all to be over with.
This wasn't what she was expecting. A man in a tuxedo came out onstage to applause, and banged a gavel on the table. She blinked; that was weird.
"Sold! Your number, sir." The penny dropped; they were there to see "Phantom of the Opera," and she relaxed slightly. This was only slightly above a pageant.
As the on-stage auction went on, she grew bored; she didn't see any masked, disfigured man killing people, and she wondered if Linda had lied to her. The words "famous disaster" perked her up, and she straightened up, beginning to pay attention. "Perhaps we may even frighten away the ghost of so many years ago with a little illumination, gentlemen!"
She jumped a little as the cover was whipped off the chandelier; at the same time, the lights went out, sparks emitted from the light, and the music suddenly became very loud. Okay, she had to admit, it was pretty cool seeing this huge chandelier rise up, right above their heads. She twisted around in her chair as the chandelier continued to rise, and nestled itself in the ceiling of the theatre. Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad, after all.
On the drive home, Louise was slightly shocked at how much she enjoyed the show. Okay, the high pitched singing kind of hurt her ears, and she wanted to throat punch Carlotta, but the Phantom was cool. Very cool. He threw fireballs. She was probably going to be him for Halloween this year.
Oddly, she liked the music; not all of it, but some of the songs were very catchy, and were going to stick in her head. Although, she did wish that it ended with the Phantom going on a killing spree and slaughtering everyone; that would have made it so much better.
She hoped with all her might that Linda would never tell anyone that she had let out a little scream when the chandelier had dropped. But, come on, this huge chandelier had dropped from the ceiling, sparks flying, and had stopped a few inches above her head! Shards of glass had landed on her hat. Once she had gotten over the initial shock, she was grinning widely.
"So, did you like it?" asked Linda, eyes focused on the road.
"It was okay," she said, which really meant 'it was good.'
"Oh, yay! I knew you would. Ooh, now we can watch the movie together!"
"I've seen the show; what could the movie have to surprise me?"
"Okay. Well, the movie can't really compare to the show. Anyway, I'm glad you enjoyed it, baby."
"Yeah, whatever."
It was now near the end of September, and Bob and Linda were in the kitchen preparing dinner, while the kids' watched TV.
"So, we'll do it after dinner?" Bob asked quietly, and Linda nodded.
"I mean, all we can do is ask; she'll either say yes or no."
"Yeah, and we still have that $5,000 from her fund left; that'll cover some of it."
"I hope it will; I haven't done any research, not until she says anything."
"Well, if she says yes, then our insurance will cover the rest."
After dinner, Louise retreated to her room, as was now customary for her. Bob and Linda waited for a few moments before going in, and Linda took up a carrier bag. "What's that?" asked Bob, and Linda showed him, and he nodded understandingly.
They knocked on Louise's door, and waited until she gave them permission to enter. She was sitting on her bed, an empty notepad on her lap, with Kuchi Kopi by her side.
"Hey, sweetie, what you doing?" Linda sat on the edge of the bed.
"Homework," Louise closed the pad, and laid her pen down.
"Uh, do you need a hand with it?" Bob asked awkwardly.
"I'm good. What do you want?"
"We wanted to ask you a question," Linda began. She didn't really know how to word it. "It's completely up to you, but... do you want to have.. prosthetics?"
"Prosthetics?" Yes, of course she did, but Louise had to stop and think. "Well, what would they look like?" If they looked even worse than her fillers, then probably not.
"Well, the doctor called us a couple of days ago, asking us to ask you. He said, that if you wanted them, they would be able to make some that looked real."
"How? How would they stay on?"
"They make the foot out of silicone, and it goes up just past your ankle, just like a sock. And the toes would be a little bit heavy, so it would feel like your fillers."
"Huh," Louise thought it over.
"And it would be the same colour as your skin, so it would look and feel real."
"Okay, then," said Louise.
"Are you sure; it's completely up to you," said Linda, not wanting to pressure her.
"I said yes, didn't I? How long will it take?"
"Um, about a couple of months," guessed Bob.
"Why that long?"
"They've got to make the foot, make sure it matches you; stuff like that. So, it'll take a while to make it look real."
"How will they know to make it look like me?" Louise began to have second thoughts; what if the prosthetics ended up looking like clown feet, with foot-long toes? If that were the case, she would rather stick with the fillers.
"They'll have some pictures, so they can make it match," Linda told her, relieving Louise.
"Okay, then, I'll do it." It would be such a relief to not have to wear socks all the time, and her feet would finally look normal.
Bob nodded and left the room; Linda made to leave, as well, but she hesitated, before sitting back down on the bed.
"I have something for you," and she handed Louise the carrier bag. Louise looked inside, and she didn't know what to say. Reaching in, she pulled out a stick of concealer – just one of many. "Those are all for you."
"Why?" she asked casually.
"I know you've been taking mine," said Linda gently.
"No, I haven't."
"It's okay," Linda assured her. "I'm not mad. This is for you." Louise remained silent. "Look," her mother continued, "I don't think you need this, but if this is what you need to help you get through the day, then that's okay. I think you're beautiful; you're beautiful just as you are. It wouldn't matter to anyone if you were covered from head to foot in scars."
"I am covered head to foot in scars," said Louise bitterly.
"I know, baby, but again, I really don't think you need to cover them. But, I'm not you, so if you want to cover them, you can. I won't force you to show them, not when you're not ready."
"Okay," said Louise.
"Now you have your own, you can stop taking mine," Linda joked, trying to lighten the mood. "If you want, I'll show you how to apply it, so that you don't use it all in one go."
"Yeah, maybe," said Louise in an off-hand voice.
"Alright, love you, baby," Linda rose again, then paused. "Oh, if you use them, be sure to wash it off before you go to bed; otherwise, it stains the sheets." Louise only nodded, and Linda left the room.
"Mom?" she turned around. "... Thanks."
The following week found Louise back at school, finding it very difficult to concentrate. A big part of it was due to lack of sleep; writing down her dreams still didn't appear to be helping, and she'd made up her mind to get a book on dream interpreting. Maybe if she could learn a bit more about dreaming, the nightmares would stop. The only thing that it did was make them seem less real after she'd woken up, which was of no use to her.
At least, for the time being, she'd had less and less nightmares about her dad leaving her in the well, but now they had been replaced with bad dreams about being in the emergency room. She'd dream about dozens of hands, poking and prodding her, sticking needles into her, gloved hands opening her mouth, her eyes; tubes, blood, loud beeping. She was particularly glad to wake up from those.
More than anything, she wanted the sound of drills to stop randomly filling her head. Sometimes, she swore she could feel the bricks piled onto her body. Sometimes, it felt like she couldn't even move.
Of course, anyone with half a brain cell could see that she was struggling. It was hard to miss the perpetual dark circles underneath her eyes, and her exuberance and craziness had been replaced with aggression, snappiness, and harsh insults.
The teachers knew she was in therapy, so there wasn't very much they could do; Louise would get physical as a last resort, and most people were not stupid enough to push her to that that point.
One afternoon, she was displeased to find herself back in Mr. Frond's office.
"How are you doing?" he asked.
"Fine, until I had to come here and see you."
"You're coping okay?"
"Coping with what?" she snarled. "With sitting here, talking to you? 'Cause I'm struggling with that!"
"Well, you seem to be doing fine," he observed. "Miss LaBonz tells me you've found a way to express yourself." When she stared at him, he produced a crumpled piece of paper. "She found your poem."
"What?!" She snatched it back. "You read this?!"
"It's very good," he said, and she glared at him. "It's great that you've found a therapeutic outlet. You know, if you ever wanted to join the creative writing club, there'd be a place for you."
"I'd rather take a cross-country trip across Canada. Creative writing's for weirdos, like my sister. Can I go now? I'd like to get as far away from here as possible." Without waiting for an answer, she stood, and left the room.
As she walked down the hallway, limping slightly, she realised that Frond had unintentionally given her something to think about. Perhaps writing would be good for her? Writing down her dreams made them seem less scary, maybe this would be the same?
After school, she sat on her bed, staring down at her notepad. She tapped her pen against it, wondering what to write. How was she supposed to start?
Remembering back to her English class, Louise let her mind go blank and wrote.
She let her hand take charge, and just sat back, allowing the pen to glide across the paper.
When her hand stopped moving, she put the pen down, and apprehensively looked at the page.
"I'm not ready to deal with this" was all it said.
Louise tried to write a little bit every day. Usually, it was just before she went to bed, notebook propped up against her pillows. It did make her feel a little better every time she wrote; like little weights lifting off her chest.
She thought that there was no real cohesiveness to her writing; it just came out.
There was stuff that looked like it could pass for song lyrics; paragraphs about her ordeal, with the names changed, like she was writing a story. Past and present tense, 1st, 2nd, and 3rd person; she wrote however it came into her head.
She kind of enjoyed reading everything back; it somehow made dealing with everything a little bit easier. If her thoughts were on paper, then they weren't in her head, which was the goal.
Louise had begun to find comfort in writing, but as long as it was just for her; she didn't want to share it. She'd already been offered to tell her story in book form, and well as magazine articles, which really riled her, and she'd turned them all down.
It was pointless, she thought; people knew what had happened to her, why would they need to keep reading about it?
Luckily for her, her parents maintained that if she didn't want to sell her story, then she didn't have to. And she really didn't want to; she just wanted to forget it ever happened.
Louise did not realise that she had continued writing. Closing the notebook, she hid it under her pillow, where her dream interpretation book was kept, and went to sleep.
A few weeks later, however, Louise was beaming.
"Please buckle your seat belts," came the voice, and she did so, grinning widely. She looked up at her father, who looked just as excited as she. She'd been waiting for this practically all year. Finally, she was going to the place where she should have been born.
"I can't believe we're finally going!" she tapped her hands against the armrests impatiently. "How long will it take to get there?"
"Fourteen hours," Linda called from the other end of the aisle.
"Worth it," said Louise, making herself comfortable.
Bob and Linda were not looking forward to the flight. It was the first time any of them had ever flown, barring Linda, and while the kids' were excited, Bob was not looking forward to being stuck in a metal tube for that amount of time.
It was worth it, though, to see the look on Louise's face. Not to mention, they were going to see Koji and Yuki again, and have the opportunity to explore Tokyo.
"Preparing for takeoff," came the flight attendant's voice, and Louise's grin grew wider.
"We're going to Japan!" she cheered.
~ X ~
They're finally going to Japan!
In regards to Louise enjoying writing, I wanted to give her something that was a little bit different. I think it will be good for her.
What did you think? I'd love to know you're thoughts