"I'm sorry," Edmund murmured to the mirror. But his face made him pause; the tone had been fine, he'd been working on it (this wasn't going to be as easy as apologising to his siblings), though low, because he didn't want his siblings walking in on him, but his face…
Could also use some work. He looked a bit like he'd had a bad breakfast a few hours ago and needed the gents' room.
So he tried again. Narnia had taught him that persistence often accomplished what talent and strength could not.
Edmund apologised to the teachers first. Not many of them taught his classes now, but he went to all the teachers he'd had last year, and gave them a formal apology, admitting his behaviour had been "bad" (he left it at that), and asking their pardon.
He did them first because grownups will often give their pardon, at least verbally, if asked. It got the momentum going.
Asking his friends—former friends, all two of them—was harder, so he did that second. It took a bit of time, but he found Will and Keith looming over a kid half their size, Will already reaching out a hand to grab the boy's collar.
"Will! Keith!" Edmund called, hoping that would be enough to turn their interest away. But Will only smiled, holding the collar to keep the boy in place as he turned.
"So you're back?"
"Good, three of us is better. Come look at the sport we found, he cries like a girl." Keith smiled, a nasty smile Edmund would have once returned.
"Could you let him go? I've got something to say."
Will half-shrugged, letting go of the collar. The little boy ran off like a shot, short little legs pumping up and down. Edmund bent to pick up the book he'd dropped, opening it to check for a name. Trent Wilson.
He'd return it later, and, if Trent would listen, give some tips about how not to get caught. Though Trent probably already labelled Edmund a bully, from the company he kept.
He'd once kept. He doubted he'd be welcome back after this conversation.
"I'm sorry," he started.
"For what?" Keith asked, tossing his blond hair out of his eyes and slinging an arm over Edmund's shoulder. "For being late? You older brother keep you back to warn you again? I've got some plans—"
"And they're good," Will interrupted, beginning to walk towards the dorms. "When you hear them—"
"I'm sorry for my behaviour. For encouraging you and doing things with you that are wrong. Like picking on Trent."
Keith paused; Will turned around and stared. For a short moment, neither of them said anything.
"Okay, Peter," Will answered, tone mocking.
Edmund suppressed a smile; it wouldn't help the situation. But that comparison—well, it had never really been an insult. They'd only meant it as one when they said it.
"Well, maybe Peter aged up ten years, with that vocabulary."
"I won't be doing those things anymore," Edmund put in quietly, and he felt Keith's arm fall off his shoulders. "I'm sorry I ever did."
"Get out," Will snarled. "If you're not going to join in our fun—"
"Ed, why? Why are you suddenly so self-righteous? Did you get religion or something?"
"Go away!" Will almost screamed, and Edmund stepped close to Keith to whisper I'll tell you about it this evening before walking away. As he did, something struck his back—a stone, one Will had thrown. Edmund just kept walking.
He knew they hadn't forgiven him—not for the things they didn't think were wrong, but also not for turning away from them.
Will had probably found a new target.
Maybe it might make Trent's life a little better, that he had.
Next—next would be even harder. There were people he'd bullied with Keith and Will, and some of them believed him when he said he wouldn't do that again—they'd seen the distance between him and the other two, Will made it very clear—but they didn't really forgive him.
He'd done all he could, though. He'd said he was sorry, and he'd meant it.
Forgiveness could only be demanded from followers of Aslan, because Aslan commanded forgiveness. For everyone else, forgiveness was a gift, not a right. It couldn't be demanded.
So Edmund didn't demand it. He asked for it, and if they said no, he understood. It meant he bore the hurt, and they didn't—but it also meant they would be a longer time healing from it. Forgiveness, given away, gave something to the giver as well. And the higher the cost to give it, the greater the gift given.
Edmund knew he had to ask forgiveness from people who would pay an even higher cost. As he prepared to ask them, he paused to thank Aslan for making forgiveness mandatory; for commanding, as Christ had, to forgive because they'd been forgiven.
It made it easier for Edmund to forgive the ones who wouldn't forgive him. And to forgive Will and Keith. It was good practice for when he went to ask the kids he'd bullied all by himself.
"I'm sorry," he said to Trent. He hadn't meant to go to Trent first, but he'd been looking for Phil, and apparently the two shared a room. Edmund held out the book. "You've probably heard of my rep, and the way we met yesterday didn't help. I'm sorry I scared you. I'll try not to do it again."
Trent, sitting on his bed by the window, looked from Edmund's face to the book in Edmund's outstretched hand, and back again. He didn't get up to take it.
The door behind Edmund burst open, and Edmund turned to see Phil come in at a pace to make a sprinter proud, and then dart to the side the instant he saw Edmund. Chest heaving up and down, Phil's eyes stayed on Edmund like a bird's on a snake.
Well. Edmund had known this wouldn't be easy. "I'm sorry," he said simply. "I'm sorry I ruined your book last term. I'm sorry I mocked the letter your mum sent. I'm sorry I shoved you into a puddle and made you late, and made you go without supper as a punishment." Those were the only ones he could remember, though he knew Phil would remember a lot more.
The axe forgets. The tree remembers. He'd read that in a book of proverbs.
"Like I'd take your apology," Phil squeaked. His eyes darted from Edmund to the door, to Trent on the bed, and then back to Edmund. "Get out!"
Edmund, trying not to let the despair welling up in him take hold—he knew this would take time to prove, he'd gone in knowing that—was turning towards the door when he felt the book taken out of his hand.
Tent stood right beside him, head back back to look up at Edmund's face. "Thanks," he said, tone quiet. "I needed this for tomorrow. I didn't know how I'd get it back."
"Trent?"
"Will and Keith," Trent answered simply, looking over at Phil. "I dropped it when they were picking on me. This boy asked them to let go."
"You did?" Phil asked Edmund, incredulous. Edmund nodded.
"Keep out of the alley between the library and classrooms, it's their favourite haunt. And the boys bathroom on the third floor," he told Trent. He hesitated. "And if they have you and you see me, call out. If you see me or my big brother, Peter," he added, and Trent nodded solemnly.
Phil didn't say anything more, so after a moment Edmund walked towards the door. There were others he'd hurt. But as he was about to pull the door shut, Phil said, "I guess Peter might have rubbed off on you during the hols. I'm keeping an eye out!" he added, in a tone that was probably meant to sound fierce, but had all the courage of a regular rabbit.
"Good," Edmund answered. "It'll help keep me…acting like Peter." And he pulled the door shut.
But the smile that spread over his face was a relief; he'd forgotten how genuine change made forgiveness easier for others. Maybe, after he'd proved himself, he'd ask for forgiveness again.
Maybe it wouldn't cost them so much to give it.
He'd left the hardest apology for last. He couldn't give it during school days, but a four-day break had Peter and him anxious to be home.
And it wasn't that he thought he wouldn't be forgiven; he knew he would. It was like asking Aslan, or Susan. But he also knew it would cost her. It had cost her. Because she'd forgiven him before he'd even asked, and he knew it, but—it was important to ask. To let her know that he saw the cost.
Peter could tell something was off on the train ride home, and had, by his silence, offered to listen. But Peter would just tell Edmund things he already knew. That Edmund was forgiven, and that they didn't mind forgiving, they loved him…
And that it might cost, but all of them had needed forgiveness too.
Trying to keep all that in mind, Edmund smiled when they first got home, swinging his bag up the three steps and into the house, greeting his dad and mum and calling out about his classes over his shoulder. Peter, bless his soul, took over the conversation, giving Edmund space to put his bags in their room.
And to breathe.
He went down, and saw Peter and their father sitting at the desk in the sitting room, going through some papers. Good. Taking another breath, Edmund went into the kitchen.
His mother stood in front of the sink, the sunlight shining on her golden hair—Susan got her hair from their mother—washing the plain teacups. Without a word, Edmund went over and started to dry.
"Why, thank you, Edmund!" Her tone held genuine thanks—and surprise. "You've still kept your country manners," she added, sounding pleased. "I wasn't sure—" she broke off.
"That they'd last, once I got back to school and my friends?"
"Forgive me for saying so, but they weren't the best influences." Handing him another saucer, his mother reached for the teapot, a single pink rose blazed onto the white china. "But perhaps the war changed them for the better."
"No. I mean, no, they weren't good influences. And I wasn't one on them." Edmund set the saucer down carefully. His hands—he couldn't stop them from trembling. Forgiveness just seemed so much to ask, when he knew he'd made his mother feel like crying, night after night; when he'd added to the loneliness of her husband gone by making her feel like a failure as a mother. "I—wanted to say I'm sorry. Truly. For—a lot things I did. Before the country. I learned some good lessons there, though, and one of them, one of them is how important it is to say one is sorry. I am. I am sorry," he added, helplessly wishing some of the skill he learned in Narnia was still there. But one didn't feel one had to be skilled before one's mother, and it all just came blurting out.
His mother turned off the water, looking at him seriously. Edmund forced himself to raise his eyes from her hands, where water slowly collected and dripped, one drop at a time, onto the floor. He raised his eyes to her face.
"You've thought a lot on this," she said quietly.
"Yes." Again, Edmund struggled for words. "I know I was a beast. Especially to those smaller than me. But that's particularly hard on one's mum, when she's the only parent home."
A smile lit her face, the corners of her eyes crinkling, mouth wide beneath her nose. "You came back a lot wiser. I'll always be grateful to those folks in the country." She turned back to the sink, turning the water on again. "You're forgiven," she said over her shoulder. "Pax, I think is what you schoolboys say," she added in a teasing tone, and Edmund let out the breath he was holding.
"Thank you," he answered simply. "It's a glorious feeling, being forgiven."
His mother looked over at him, pausing once more. "Yes. And it's also a glorious thing to see forgiveness changing someone. To see it actually has power, power to change things, when a heart isn't hard. To be a part of that is a glorious thing too." She handed him the teapot lid. "There! Shall we join your father and brother?"
Prompt 23: "Forgiveness is a form of voluntary suffering. In forgiving, rather than retaliating, you make a choice to bear the cost." ~ Tim Keller
