Guilt (4 page)

She wasn't really into poetry. In fact, she felt a bit guilty at never having been able to understand the beauty of intelligent verse. But this particular poem had touched her. She happened to find it on the side of a box of tea bags about two years before, cut it out and kept it taped to her notebook ever since.

Having found it later in a book of poems at the library, she discovered that the tea box copy was only an abbreviation of the full psalm. Still, she'd found it easier to just memorize the shorter version, and she had repeated it to herself often until it became her mantra of freedom. The words came directly to her mind now without the need for recollection, and she chanted them to herself over and over again, as though they were a catchy tune that stuck in her head.

Though she had the poem with her, Claire didn't offer it up until the next day. Not willing to give up her own worn copy, she wrote down the lyrics on two sheets of paper before class. At the start of the session she handed them to Corry and the Freak. They perused the words:

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,

Life is but an empty dream!

For the soul is dead that slumbers,

And things are not what they seem.

-

Life is real! Life is earnest!

And the grave is not its goal;

Dust thou art, to dust returnest,

Was not spoken of the soul.

-

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,

Is our destined end or way;

But to act, that each to-morrow

Find us farther than to-day.

-

Lives of great men all remind us

We can make our lives sublime,

And, departing, leave behind us

Footprints on the sands of time;

-

Let us, then, be up and doing,

With a heart for any fate;

Still achieving, still pursuing,

Learn to labor and to wait.

She observed them as they read the verses. The Freak betrayed a moment of approval as he scanned the page. Claire felt sure that he would assume a dreary interpretation on the theme, since all of his art had taken on the subject of gloom and gruesomeness so far. She already convinced herself that she wouldn't let his resulting artwork offend her.

Corry held a deeper and indecipherable emotion in his eyes. He stared at the page for so long that Claire began to feel unsure about the piece of herself that she exposed in sharing her beloved psalm. She became self-conscious, fearing the scorn in the rebuff of her choice of excerpt.

At last, Corry looked up at her and said, "That's fantastic." The seriousness of his statement displayed itself on his face. Claire couldn't help but smile. She rebuked herself for having feared the rejection of her poem.

With that, they began their work, using pastels as the medium for which they described on paper the feelings evoked by the poem. Claire depicted herself asleep upon a small boat as it sailed down a river towards an unseeable horizon. She wanted to make it appear as though she was awakening from a dream and realizing her life's desires, but couldn't fathom the skill that was neccessary to capture such insight.

Half way through the session, she was startled from her concentration, not by the Freak as she might expect, but by Corry. He spoke, and it wasn't loud, but the suddenness of it, being generally so quiet, made Claire jump.

"You're Lil's sister, right?" he asked.

When Claire recovered her composure, she replied, "Unfortunately."

He smiled. Did he do that because he understood, she wondered, or because he thought her negativity towards her sister was silly?

"She's in my Social Studies class," he said.

Claire wasn't sure where this conversation stemmed from or which way it was going, but she supposed that the guy must have a crush on her sister. Lil was popular, afterall. It wasn't because she was the lead cheerleader or a shoo-in for prom queen, or because she was the sweetest nicest girl in school. She wasn't any of those things. Lil's popularity transpired because she was easy. A slut. She'd probably been with half the guys in the student body.

Too bad. Claire had begun to respect Corry for his art and his reserve. Now, it seemed, he was just driven by the same hormones that surged in all the other males that were his age.

"Let me guess," she said, "You want me to put in a good word for you?" It wouldn't be the first time a guy tried that tactic. Not that Lil would listen if she attempted such a move on any guy's behalf. She had absolutely no footing with her older sister. If she had, Lil would have reigned in her sex drive last year when Claire had asked her if she was aware that she was the school whore. Instead, her older sister had squirted ketchup all over Claire's favorite t-shirt (and claimed to their mother that it was an accident).

"Actually," Corry replied, "I was hoping that you could get her to leave me alone."

That threw her for a loop. Could it be that Lil found a challenge? Someone who was immune to her enticements? Somebody whose pants she couldn't get into?

"So, you're saying that she's bothering you?" It couldn't hurt to clarify - and maybe get a little more feel-good gossip about her despicable sibling.

"She seems to have a thing for my brother. He's popular with all the girls. Senior on the track team, Mr. Baseball Star, not to mention a smooth talker. Most of the other girls take the straight-on approach, falling all over him like a bull on mating day, but your sister is apparently taking a less direct approach. I think she's trying to get to him through me."

"Ah, Gotcha." Claire knew she should feel guilty about the satisfied smile that crossed her face. Nodding her head, she said, "I wish I could help, but Lil is a relentless immoral bitch. If I tell her to leave you alone, she'll just try even harder."

"How do I get her off my case then? Short of setting her up with my brother." he asked.

"Well, to be honest – not that I want to take her side – I think the best way to get rid of her would be to actually set her up with your brother. Then you can let
him
get rid of her." Claire hated having to say it, but it was the truth. Lil was as stubborn as she was slutty.

"I really don't think she's his type. No offense," he replied.

Believe me, Claire thought to herself, none taken.

"Well, then. You'll have to make her want to back down. You'll have to lie to her. Tell her something made-up about your brother that will make her not want him anymore. That's the only way to shake her."

"Like what?" Corry appeared intrigued at the idea, but seemed to need a little direction.

Claire thought about what would work. "Tell her – I don't know – tell her something like your brother dances around in women's underwear in his bedroom. Or that he's saving up his money for a 'gender reassignment' surgery. That'll make her go away."

The suggestions may have been far fetched, but Corry laughed at the notions anyway. Claire was surprised at herself. This had to be the longest conversation she held with anyone since the school year started. This Corry-guy really wasn't so difficult to talk to.

When her eyes involuntarily made contact with the Freak, she found him staring at them from across the table. He had a bemused look on his face that bordered on disgust and curiosity.

Too bad for him, Claire decided. She felt certain that he saw the exchange between his tablemates as a threat to his powers of discomfort. The idea of the Freak's declining influence over the atmospheric unease made her want to converse with Corry all the more. It'd be worth it to see the Freak suffer the loss of his position as the class downer.

Chapter Five

Kain demonstrated his courteous rural upbringing once more by showing me back to my car after coffee. I continued my self-berated revulsion for not having enough courage to talk about my guilt over Corry's death.

This whole afternoon would be a waste of time if I didn't get any closure out of it, but lack of nerve had always been a failing of mine. I generally hesitate in decisive situations, and then miss the moment to do or say something that would be smart, or useful or right. Here was another opportunity going down the drain. Why did I always do this to myself?

"Well, it was really great talking to you." Kain smiled. "I'm glad you finally decided to return to Brickerton for a visit."

I smiled back. He was so polite and genuine that I couldn't help but warm up to him over the course of our conversation. Again, a small pebble of guilt rolled around in the pit of my stomach. He was sincere and I was – well . . . self-serving, conniving, reprehensible in my intent. I should have just left it alone and not attempted closure through this man.

Unlocking my door again, I fumbled for the right words to thank him for his time. He saved me from the trouble, however, when he asked, "So, you only in town for tomorrow, or are you staying on for the whole weekend?"

I had an inkling about the motive of his question, and panicked in my reply. Was he probing for another opportunity to get together? Should I lay that opportunity open to him? Or lie and avoid running into him for the next few days? It was a small town, and I couldn't stay cooped up in my parents' home all weekend. I'd go crazy.

"Ah, I'll be around." I admitted.

"Oh, that's great." He looked pleased. "If you don't mind – if your not too busy – maybe we could meet up again before you head back to the West Coast?"

Was I right, or was I right? The coveted chance for closure still loomed over my head. But should I take it? Would it be appropriate? Or had I caused enough emotional turmoil?

"Sure. Maybe. We'll see." Might as well open myself up for once and leave it to fate, I thought.

"Great. Here's my number." He pulled a napkin out of his pocket with his cell phone number already on it. Apparently, he had premeditated this. I took it and stuffed it in my purse.

"Thanks." I turned to open my car door.

"Can I get yours, too?" He asked as he took over opening the door for me. "In case you lose mine?"

"Sure." I fished for a pen in my purse, and wrote my number on the back of an old gas station receipt. He stuffed the receipt in his jeans pocket and patted it for good measure.

"Okay, well," my awkwardness was increasing, "I had a great time. Thank you. I'll talk to you later."

I intended to dunk into my car, but, at the same time, he bent towards me. The action startled me, and I almost reacted violently, but in the next instant he kissed my cheek. The alarm of the moment left me a little dazed. I smiled because I didn't know what else to do, and got into my car.

Once again, I had hesitated at a pivotal moment, but this time it was a good thing I did. If I had acted on my instincts, he'd be curled up on the ground the second after he invaded my space, and may have been sporting a broken nose for the next few weeks.

I drove off, still agitated by the near incident. All those self defense classes should have prepared me for a rapid attack when I inferred an assault was coming. I wasn't sure if I should be more disappointed in myself for wavering, or if I should be relieved that I didn't act on my initial impulse.