(Hawkins, IN, November 1983)
"Ms. Healy? Are you still with me?"
Jerking back to the present with a full-body flinch, I am hardly stupid enough to hope that the older woman seated across from me did not notice; a flush beginning to burn against my skin as I swallow thickly, and try to figure out how to respond. I cannot help but pick up on the fact that any attempt at a lie will be rooted out pretty quickly. After all, this is a trained professional.
A frown pulls at my lips as the thought jolts me back to exactly where I am. Sitting in a remarkably uncomfortable chair inside the guidance counselor's office. Reality drifts in swiftly, and I am unable to entirely hide the resigned sigh that escapes as a result.
Risking a glance at Ms. Kelly from beneath my eyelashes, I cannot help but notice her head tilting to the side as she regards me with a curious glance. As she waits for me to make any attempt at a reply. And even if I hardly want to, I do my best to give in, at least this once, my voice low—almost at a whisper—whether I want it to be, or not.
"Yeah. Yeah, sorry. What—what were you saying?"
"That you seem to be holding up remarkably well, considering the significance of today."
Unsure if she actually wants me to comment on the statement, I opt for saying nothing at all, instead choosing to keep my gaze fixed on her so that she cannot make any more assumptions regarding why I continue looking away. Why I cannot seem to stay still for any longer than five seconds at a time.
Ms. Kelly is straying perilously close to something I truly do not want to discuss, and she knows it. The look of something not all that far from pity on her face is proof enough of that.
In the wake of my continued silence, though, she clearly seems to realize that if the conversation is to move forward at all, it will need to come about because of her, her lips thinning for only a moment before she speaks.
"I'm wondering if some of that might be an act, but I'm curious to see what you think about it as well."
"I'm fine."
"You certainly don't have to be—"
"I am," I insist, my stomach twisting into a knot so quickly that I am forced to pay special attention to my expression, so that it does not crumple into a wince before I can stop it, "I guess being—being really busy with school is helping with that."
"Having a distraction is good," Ms. Kelly acknowledges, nodding along as though she is trying to achieve some sort of camaraderie simply by agreeing with something I've said, "But sometimes it helps us when we actually sit with our feelings—when we admit to them, as well."
Again, I choose to say nothing, my fingers knitting together in my lap to give myself something else to look at, aside from the counselor's face. Aside from the concern that is so apparent in her expression that it is nearly stifling. In truth, I am reasonably sure that I can already predict what she is preparing to say next.
It is nothing I haven't heard before. The idea of someone insisting that just because a year has passed since the death of someone I loved does not mean everyone expects the grieving process to complete is so routine it is practically laughable.
What no one seems to consider, though, is the idea that I truly wish that it was complete. That I could just wake up one day without feeling as though a hole has been punched straight through my chest. It isn't as though I don't already have enough on my plate, with school, and a job, and things at home being tenuous, at best…
Thinking of home provokes yet another frown before I can stop it, though, and that is something Ms. Kelly chooses to capitalize on in little to no time at all.
"She was your mother, Charlotte. That type of pain doesn't just go away overnight."
"Charlie."
"Charlie," repeats, the faintest hint of amusement behind her tone even in spite of the clear admonition in her gaze, given how obvious my attempt to derail her by correcting my name must seem, "I know you may not be ready to share your thoughts just yet—"
"It's not about whether or not I'm ready, Ms. Kelly. There's just—nothing to share."
"But I hope once you are, you share them with someone. Even if that someone isn't me."
Though I have absolutely zero intention of doing what she says, I force myself to nod, knowing that I may stand a chance of getting out of here sooner when I do. At this point, that is truly all that matters. Not that I particularly want to endure another day full of class, but it has to be better than—this.
I can tell that Ms. Kelly is picking up on my deception. That she can discern the false nature of my nod from a mile away, but I hold myself motionless nonetheless, waiting for her to give the order for me to either stay or go. I force myself to continue looking her in the eye.
For a moment, it almost seems as though she is going to hold me back, her brows drawing together while her lips tug downward in a frown. But as soon as I am preparing to open my mouth to plead with her on the subject, she is breaking the silence herself, her tone neutral despite the resignation I can clearly see in her eyes.
"Give what I've told you some thought, Ms. Healy. We can discuss in our session next week."
"Great. Wouldn't miss it."
I am out of my seat and heading for the door before Ms. Kelly has time to react, opening the door leading to the hallway with a faintly trembling hand. Students are just beginning to file in for the first class of the day, and I am more than ready to use that to my advantage in order to disappear.
My fingers tighten around the strap of my messenger bag as I move to weave in between a group of said students, but before I can, someone reaches out and latches onto my elbow, the sensation provoking a yelp as I am pulled back in the direction from which I came.
"Jesus, Healy, my ears are bleeding."
"Well maybe that'll teach you to think twice before attacking people in hallways," I retort, my hand taking aim at my would-be assailant's shoulder while I simultaneously attempt to fight off a grin. Whatever my previous mood may have been upon leaving the guidance counselor's office, it seems to have dissolved into simple amusement, at least for the time-being.
I'm not exactly sure I want to admit it, knowing that such a thing will likely only cause the mischievous glint in my newfound companion's eyes to become more apparent. But then again, if anyone can sense such a thing without my ever having to say a word, it would be Eddie Munson.
"Maybe I'm just trying to keep you on your toes."
"You're certainly succeeding—"
"And you love me for it?" Eddie hedges, the almost cherubic grin he wears clearly intended to win me over, though clearly he seems already aware of the fact that he hardly has to try. From the first moment we'd met, not long after I moved to Hawkins, that one truth had been apparent. Inexplicably, he'd managed to become the one person capable of getting under my skin with relative ease.
Eddie may be one of my only friends to speak of, but he's a hell of a good one. And that is why I am confident my ensuing reply will not faze him in the slightest, no matter how it may sound on the surface.
"Guess again."
"Seriously?"
Offering Eddie my own innocent smile in return, I move past him in an effort to make it to class, biting down on my lower lip as I go in order to stifle a laugh. Already, I can hear him stumbling after me to catch up, his shoes squeaking a bit against the tiling on the floor. I have already managed to round the corner at the end of the hall by the time Eddie bumps against me, the effort causing me to shift to the side just a bit as a result.
A glance at him shows me that he clearly intends to play up the feigned hurt over my most recent remark, brown eyes almost comically wide as he sends me what is clearly meant to be an attempt at a pout. And even though a part of me wants to carry on for just a bit longer, if for no other reason than to delay the inevitable questions he will have over my time in the guidance counselor's office, I opt for giving in to the desire to make amends for my teasing instead.
"I shouldn't have to tell you the real answer to that question, Eds."
"Sometimes a guy likes to hear the words, sweetheart."
"And sometimes that guy just fishes for compliments."
"Me?" Eddie protests, one hand pressed against his chest in a gesture of mock indignation, "The lady is cruel and unfair. Cruelly unfair."
"Yet you're still sticking around—"
"Guess I'm just a glutton for punishment."
"That seems fair," I concede, this time not bothering to hide my amusement as a laugh escapes with little to no trouble at all. For his part, Eddie makes a show of rolling his eyes, but I can see the twitch at one corner of his mouth as he tries and fails to fully fight off a smile. As always, I catch myself feeling stunned at how easy this is. At how the banter we always seem to fall back on is as familiar as though we'd known one another for years rather than a few short months.
Whenever I spend too much time considering such things, though, the thought of how quickly it may come crashing down around me is never far behind. But before I can fully succumb to that particular line of thought, I become aware of Eddie's arm winding around my shoulders to pull me against his side, his head leaning over to brush lightly against my own before he replies.
"So—how was your time with the shrink?"
"She's not a shrink, Eds."
"Close enough," He shrugs, his eyebrows disappearing beneath his bangs as soon as he takes note of my answering roll of the eyes, "And don't avoid the question."
"Maybe you shouldn't have asked it in the first place."
"Nope. Try again."
"I hate you," I groan, the words lacking any sincerity at all despite the very real fact that I would rather be swallowed whole by the tile floor beneath my feet than even consider following the new conversational path he is laying out before us. In spite of my previous reluctance to postpone or avoid such a thing altogether, now I find that I would give anything to come up with some means of escape.
Eddie isn't about to allow me to do that, though. Not in a million years. And even if every instinct I possess is ready and willing to pull away from his grasp as he begins to guide me toward the side of the hall beside my first class of the day, I resist.
Oblivious to the curious stares of other students as they pass us in the hall, I force myself to meet Eddie's gaze head-on. I steel my nerves for an attempt at a reply.
And I pretend the almost pitying look Eddie is giving me does not feel like a serrated knife driving its way into my chest.
"It was fine."
"Charlie—"
"It was," I persist, sighing in resignation as soon as I recognize the doubtful look that Eddie is sending my way, "Just—just more of the same. She insists I come clean about my feelings, I try to convince her I'm done with those sorts of feelings—"
"So, in other words, you were living in the land of denial, and she called you on your shit."
Blinking in shock at the rather succinct appraisal of the situation, I spend a moment trying and failing to compose my thoughts, already knowing that every moment I delay only serves as confirmation of Eddie's words.
I do not want to give him that. In truth, this would all be so much easier if he would simply believe that I am okay. Or at least, that I will be. Some time. In theory. Maybe.
But he doesn't believe that. I would be blind to pretend otherwise. And as much as I can feel my reluctance in every fiber of my being, I am also powerless to deny my friend what he wants when he has already given me far more than I deserve.
The constant, and unwavering support of a true friend.
"Yeah. Yeah, I guess you could say she called me on my shit."
"Funny how that seems to happen to you a lot."
"I think you're the only one who's laughing, Eds."
The surprisingly honest words escape before I can stop them, and I can feel my cheeks warming just a bit in response, my gaze dropping to somewhere just shy of Eddie's chin, rather than continuing to remain fixed upon his eyes. I can practically feel his concern coming off of him in waves, but before I can say or do anything that might relieve it, the bell signifying the beginning of classes for the day rings out overhead.
Seizing on that singular fact, I duck into the classroom nearby with an almost absurd level of eagerness, leaving a likely stunned Eddie in the hallway in my wake. And even if I am immediately aware of the surge of guilt that follows, I cannot bring myself to fully regret my decision…
Particularly when I know that his determined round of questioning is not likely to end any time soon.
…
