In Memory (7 page)

That was horrifying. I remember this exact scene in my old school, before those guys came to beat me up. They start suspecting me, then the insults start, then they follow me home and beat me up.

T
hought it might be different in a bigger school. Stupid of me I guess.

The worst part of this whole thing is that I’m sti
ll confused about it myself. D
on’t know if I’m gay. I’ve never had a girlfriend, or a boyfriend, because I’ve never been attracted to anyone.

Sure, I can appreciate if someone is handsome or beautiful, but I’ve never been interested
that
way.

But, I thi
nk I’m interested in Noah. S
o confused. Do I just want to be his friend, or something else? If I want something more than friendship with him, that makes me gay, right? I think so.

Which is what t
hey will try to kill me for. C
an’t be anything more than his friend.
At least at school.
That’s all we can ever be.

Just friends.

It’s not fair. All of the guys with girlfriends can talk about it freely. They can shout it out in the hallways and embarrass everyone with their public displays of affection.

If I
was
to do that with a guy, it would be tantamount to a death sentence.

It’s not fair.

Noah was gone when I went to find him after school. I wonder where he goes…

157 Days, 23 September, Tuesday

Now it has just occurred to me that I sound kind of desperate to be friends with Noah. I am very much alone here at this school.

That’s not to say that I hate the school. I really like it, the teachers are kind (except for Math) and for the most part, the other students are generally courteous.

But there’s always that sort of bizarre alienation that comes with being the new student, which I believe is sort of amplified in higher grades. Mostly because everyone else has established circles of friends and rules within these cliques that must be obeyed.
Like an academic status quo.

And since I am a new element in this weird miasma of unspoken teenage legislation, I am friendless. I suppose if I was involved in sports or other clubs, maybe I could get some friends.

As it is, I work
after school every day, so
extracurriculars
are out
, and
I
don’t have an immediate social group to become a part of.

Also, eating grape flavoured candy with chocolate is a horrible mixture. Gah, that’s dreadful.

S
at with Noah during lunch today, and I noticed he d
idn’t actually have a lunch. O
ffered to share some of my sandwich with him. (Irrelevant detail: It was turkey, cheddar, and lettuce on a bun)
.

G
ave me this weird look, like it was a totally inconceivable concept to share food with other people. I hadn’t bitten off of it yet, so I cut it in half and gave him the bigger half, as apparently I
was
lacking equal cutting skills
at that moment
.

He took it hesitantly, and took a kind of obligatory reluctant bite, looking at me for approval to see if he did it right.

S
miled encouragingly, not really sure what to make of that.

“This is…” he began, before pausing, “…friendship, isn’t it?”

“Um…” I nodded, “Yeah, I would say so.” I smiled widely, “So since we’re friends, we can share lunch.”

“That’s all there is to it?”

“Umm, we can share stories, and listen when the other talks…” What else do friends
do…?
“Let’s see, f
riends act as support, and…” C
ouldn’t think of what else friendship meant, so I reached for my dictionary. This is what it said:

friend
|
frend
|

noun

a
person whom one knows and with whom one has a bond of mutual affection, typically exclusive of family relations.

ORIGIN
Old English
fr
ē
ond
, of Germanic origin; related to Dutch
vriend
and German
Freund
, from an Indo-European root meaning
‘to love,’
shared by
free
.

He nodded. “I am familiar with the term. I thought there was more to it than the definition.” He took another bite of the sandwich, and smiled.

“Is it good?” I asked.

“It’s really good. Thank you.”

He smiled!

Progress! Even more!

156 Days, 24 September, Wednesday

In English today, I think I figured out who hurts him. I really hope I’m wrong, but…

K
now it was his father. He hasn’t told me, or placed any blame on his father to confirm my suspicions, but I just know.

From the way his eyes burned and a blush rose in his face as we read a short story in class praising fathers, which brought on a discussion about ‘your favourite memory of your dad’.

For me, it was a long time ago, before I moved here, I just remember walking, holding his hand and marvelling at how thick and strong it was in comparison to my own. And the way he would smile and lift me into his arms, and hug me tightly but gently. It’s simple, but it’s one of the only memories of him I have.

Noah didn’t contribute to the discussion, even after mild wheedling from the teacher. On the other side of the room, girls rolled their eyes and the boys would mutter amongst themselves and then laugh.

The blush on Noah’s thin face rose at this, and the teacher moved on.

When my turn rolled around, I gave my short, simplistic
memory,
somehow wishing I had declined as well, to act as support for him.

As the recollections of all the students went on, he slowly put his head on his desk and hid his face in his arms.

D
on’t think anyone but me noticed the way his shoulders shook as everyone recounted their happy memories.

It seems strange, but I wish I didn’t have the same happy memories as everyone, so I could relate to him.

W
anted to stand up and yell ‘Shut up! Don’t you see you’re hurting him! Keep your happiness to yourself!’ Of course, I’d be yelling at myself too.

They wouldn’t care if they hurt him though.

He’s the bad luck boy.

After that class, he left the room first, and I couldn’t find him for the rest of the day.

W
ent to work, and carried out my tasks sort of numbly.
Bee, my boss,
kept asking me if I was okay.
Argh
. I’m just generally confused now.

155 Days, 25 September, Thursday

Noah did come to school today, I found him during our second block spare.

A
pproached him in the second library/study room, he was sitting at a table in the corner, with his head down in his arms.

He di
dn’t react when I said hello,
think he might be sleeping or something. Maybe I should ju
st leave him be for a while.
S
hrugged and opened my Physics textbook, beginning the chapter on Harmonic Motion systems.

After a few minutes of not understanding anything in the chapter, I sighed deeply, hoping the noise would be enough to make him look up.

He didn’t move, so I tried a more direct approach,
poking him gently
. Again, no reaction, he must really be sleeping deeply. I sat back, diving back into the complicated text. As I read I became aware of a sort of pit-pat noi
se, like water was dripping. L
ooked around for the source of the noise, looking up and down.

S
aw what it was, leaking off the table,
a
stream of crimson from where he was sleeping.

T
hrew my book on the table and grabbed his shoulders, pushing him up from his slouched position.
His head lolled back, blood streamed from the longer cut on his neck
,
his stitches were split
. Crimson stained the front of his perfect white shirt, vivid red on the crisp fabric.

I held his head up, keeping it from falling back, praying that his stitches wouldn’t split any more. There were only two other students in the room; they weren’t even paying attention. You’d think they would, but no.

He didn’t respond when I called his name in a panic, save for moving his head a little.

“Noah!” I said again, clamping my hand over the wound on his neck. “C’mon, get up!”

Eventually, he came around enough to speak. “What- Aerie,
wh
-”

“Tell me what happened, hey, stay alert.”

“Went home early… it’s
noth
-“

“It’s never nothing!” I raised my voice, more angry that he was too afraid to tell me what happened. I think I was angry
with
myself too. “Tell me what happened!”

“I don’t know…” he said quietly, “…I’m sorry. Please… don’t… yell at me…”

I bit my lip, feeling like he scolded me, even though he did nothing of the sort.

“I’m sorry, Noah. I’m just worried for you.” My words felt scripted, mechanical. I couldn’t say what I was really
feeling;
it wouldn’t put itself into words. “I’m worried when you’re hurt. Tell me who did this.”

“I can’t.” He put his hand over his face, suppressing his emotions, “I can’t. No one believed me, it’ll never change.”

“Noah…” I grabbed his hand, pulling it away to look him in the eye. “I will believe you. Just tell me.”

I already suspected, I just needed the confirmation…

“My… father. He’s the one who…” He shook his head and bit his lip, a shamed blush
coloring
his cheeks.

“You need to tell the police. They could-“

“They don’t listen, they believe him. No one believes me. It’s unreasonable to think they should.” He closed his eyes; he’s fading in and out, “Sorry… I’ve been awake most of the night.” Rubbing his eyes, he sat up, steadying himself by holding the sides of the table. “But… you believe me?”

“I believe you.” I kept my hand on his split stitches, “Why would you lie about something like this?”

“I never lie. That’s the only thing I stopped telling the truth about.”

To me, that was a profound statement.

He took a deep breath, seeming to recover. We went to the hospital. I didn’t really care about my afternoon classes today anyway. Terra’s friend Mary removed and replaced his stitches, and
tutted
and
tsked
about us being out of school. At least she didn’t ask loads of questions.

F
igured getting him to eat and rehydrate was important. After his stitches were redone and bandaged, we went to the hospital cafeteria. I had made two sandwiches identical to the one I made yesterday. I also had cake, and two apple
juiceboxes
.

“Why do you care about me?” he asked. He has an odd way of asking questions, like they are all simply for an intellectual understanding of the subject matter or something.

“Uh, I just think friends are important, and… I don’t have any, and you don’t, so I thought we should be friends.”

“That seems like insubstantial reasoning for your actions.”

“Well, that’s all I got.” I smiled, running my hand through my hair nervously.

“Maybe there are other factors you haven’t considered, but are there nevertheless.”

“Like what?”

“Maybe there is something about me that you find sympathetic, and it’s your own nature to protect a person that isn’t able to protect themselves. A sort of way to establish yourself as an able-bodied male.”

B
linked,
then
took a bite of my sandwich to cover for my lack of response.

“It’s perfectly natural. In your usual dynamic, you must be the dominant male figure, and therefore, in the school atmosphere, you have sought someone who would be unable to challenge your already established male supremacy. That is, someone who is of a different temperament who won’t be able to threaten you.”

Hmm, he’s not just smart. He’s
scary
smart. He’s psychoanalysing me!

He stopped abruptly, looking down. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be so forward with my observations. Are you angry?”

I laughed, “Ah, no! It’s just interesting. I never thought that much into it. You just looked
kinda
lonely, so I thought we should be friends!”

“Your thought process is oddly simplistic.” He looked at my bemused expression with worry. “I’m sorry. I don’t think that was polite.”

All I could do was laugh. I don’t know why I found him so funny.

“Did I do something funny?” he asked, looking oddly serious. “Tell me what it was. I’ll make sure to do it again, if you thought it was amusing.”

This only made me laugh more. He’s just so… formal! “You speak like a scientist, it’s impressive, but it makes me laugh. Loosen up a little.”

“Loosen up?”

“Yeah, just talk like you would with anyone.”

“I don’t really talk to anyone. What sort of tone should I adopt?”

“Ahh, well. Maybe a more casual tone, you don’t need to impress me.”

“So I should just say what instantly comes to mind?”

“That’s how my conversations go!”

“That seems remarkably short-sighted. Suppose you were to say something you didn’t mean, and offended your conversation partner?”

“Well then, they’d forgive you, I expect. Unless
they
’re
a total prat
.”

“I see. So to converse casually, you don’t have to use elevated speech, and can respond without giving your response a great deal of thought. I understand.”

I smiled, again not sure what to say to that, and finished off my sandwich with a huge bite.

“Can I ask you a question?” he asked.

“
Goferit
.” I said through my mouthful.

“That night I visited your house… did it actually happen?”

I swallowed tremendously, “You don’t remember?”

“I recall that it happened, I just didn’t know if I was dreaming or not. It seemed like a bizarre way to initiate a friendship, and so I thought it might have been an elaborate dream.”

“Ahem, we began our friendship on the first day of school. When I patched you up.”

“Ah, that’s true. And that in itself was an odd way to become friends.”

“I
dunno
, it seemed nice.
Like as soon as I met you, I knew I should take care of you!” At that, I stopped, realising instantly how that must have sounded. Like I was coming on to him.

He nodded,
then
looked me directly in the eyes, “You have to promise me something then.”

“Sure, what?”

“Promise me you won’t go accusing my father of hurting me.”

“Why not?” I asked, “Don’t you want him to pay for what he’s done?”

“Nobody will believe you, I don’t want you to get trouble for it. Promise me, you won’t go to anyone else about this.”

He touched my hand, looking intently at me.

“Y-yeah, okay.”

“You’ve earned my trust.” He sat
back,
drinking from his
juicebox
, “Please don’t lose it.”

After lunch, he went home, wherever that was, 2514
Oakshield
Street, right.

W
ent back to the school, and attended my English class, making sure to pick up two copies of our study questions.

When I went home, Terra was
already asleep on the couch. W
oke her up and helped her to her room, and spent the remainder of the evening in my own room, reading and writing this down.

H
ad instant ramen for supper.

154 Days, 26 September, Friday

Something I have observed.

Noah always wears white. Which is, I suppose, the loosely enforced dress code. I always wear my uniform (white shirt, black tie, silver pin) but I am one of the few who actually does.

Noah is one who does on days he has less bruises.
Which
I find kind of interesting.
S
uppose when he has less bruises, his father must be absent, so he has safe time to get his laundry done?

H
ave no idea.

But I do wonder why he always wears white.
Never
seen him wearing anything else. (Except for my blue t-shirt, and it was mine, so it doesn’t count)

I’m trying to picture his closet, all white, hung up neatly. Then of course, I picture him standing in front of it, (without a shirt) humming and ha-
ing
(?) on what to wear.

And two weeks ago, he chose the white turtleneck.

The one he showed up at my house in; all covered in blood and dirt.

His father is always ruining his perfect white clothes.

G
uess I have bleach at home, maybe I could wash them. Hmm.

A
lso wonder where he goes every day.
Or on weekends for that matter.
Maybe he sleeps outside. But when summer’s over, he’ll freeze. That’s assuming he won’t have anywhere to go then.

It is my full intention to be a great friend to him. He needs one.

T
hink it’ll be a difficult task. He’s too used to people hating him.

L
ooked over to his desk, three seats
behind me and one row over
. The girl sitting in front of him had scooted unnecessarily close to the boy in front of her, who looked sort of annoyed by it.

S
tood up decisively, grabbing my books and walking to her desk, and sm
iled at her gently. “Excuse me.

She looked up at me, startled, “What?”

“If it’s not too much trouble, may I have your seat?”

“You want to sit here? Permanently?” She looked hopeful, glancing back at Noah, who was looking out the window with disinterest.

I nodded, keeping my smile firmly in place.

She stood up immediately, grabbing her bag and books and hurrying to my seat, looking back at
me and Noah
nervously, as if I would change my mind.

I did not, obviously, and placed my books on the desk, sliding the desk back to its original position and sitting down. There were three desks in front of me now, instead of none, so it was harder to see the board, but…

I would say the pros outweigh the cons here.

T
urned around, staring at him through his thick curtains of black hair until he noticed and looked at me.

Why is it that every time I look at him I want to smile and cry at the exact same time?

Today, he has a bandage over his left eye, taped into place and pulling weirdly at his skin. He’s also wearing a bright white dress shirt, with one button undone.

Personally, I think it would look much better with two undone, but oh well. He looked me directly in the
eyes;
I could tell his mind was searching for something to say.

L
eaned in closer,
but not so close as to look awkward or suggestive
, and said, “You’re welcome.”

He looked shocked for a second,
then
recovered, his mouth twitching into an awkward closed-mouth smile.

It seemed smiling was something he was wholly unused to too.

“So what happened to your eye? You didn’t have that bandage yesterday.”

“I get infections in this eye easily. It hurts to get light in it.”

“Ah, I gotcha. Do you have any antibiotics?”

“No, it usually goes away within a few days.”

C
ould tell he was lying, there were bruises on his forehead and cheek, peeking out from underneath the bandages.

“You’re lying to me.” I said plainly.

“I am not. My eye is infected. How it came to be that way was not of consequence in this conversation.”

“Lies of omission are lies nevertheless.”

He stared at me evenly, “I have made a note of that and will be sure to not neglect full truths in the future.”

“So what happened?”

“I went home early. And he was there. On most days, he doesn’t return home until much later.”

“
So…?”

“I was punished for not attending school for the entirety of the day. It was to be expected. I did wrong.”

“You didn’t do wrong, you weren’t feeling well! That’s ridiculous!”

“Ridiculous or not, that is what happened. Fortunately, he only hit me twice.”

“Twice is two times too many! You can’t allow this to happen!”

“This is better than the alternative.” He said quietly. I’m not even sure if that’s what he actually said.

“
What…?”

The bell rang, and he jumped, and glanced to the side. I looked too, as the tall muscular figures of the football team boys filed out of the room. One of them glowered darkly at him before being shunted along by his friend.

W
aited until all the students left before placing my books in my bag, and swivelled in my seat to look at him, feeling a strong surge of excitement rush up in my chest.

“Do you want to come to my house for dinner?”

Yes! I said it! Go me! Way to be brave!

He blinked, his skin twitching underneath the bandages.

After a few seconds, he replied, in a question. “Why?”

That caught me off guard. I stammered a response, “Well, you… I mean, we’re friends. It would make me happy to cook for you!”

He looked thoroughly confused at that, slowly gathering his books.

“I mean… that is…” my face flushed red, this was going so wrong…

“Friends… they invite one another
places
?”

“Yeah!” My enthusiasm has been restored!

He nodded, a tiny blush falling across his cheeks.

“Great! It’s only a short walk,” I smiled, “Shall we?”

He gathered his books in his arms, biting his lip and placing his chin on the top of them. I wondered if he could get a paper cut from that.

I doubt he would feel it; he looks like he must be on some sort of pain medication.

From what I can tell by just looking at him, his father had struck him with full force in the left eye. I suspect a fracture to his cheekbone, just from the general look of the surrounding area and the dull glaze of pain medication awash over his
visible
eye.