Rewired (The Progress Series) (9 page)

In a hurried panic, he retrieved his easel and pencils and started a pile in the entryway. He ran to the closet, where Charlie kept all her old journals, and grabbed a box filled with folders and an assortment of brightly colored spiral binders. Taking a trip out to his car, he filled the trunk with the first load and went back for some clothes. Leaving the apartment door ajar, he ran back to the closet.

Just as he was setting down a handful of dress shirts and relief was setting in that he had avoided a confrontation, he heard her voice.

“Hello?” she called out, remaining in the hallway.

He snapped up, hitting his head on the shelf above the kitchen table. “Ouch.”

Charlie slapped open the door and her face flushed. “Sam?”

Rubbing his head, he looked up with bloodshot eyes. “Hey, I…er…I’m just picking up a few things.”

She ducked her head and began fumbling with her keys. “I—”

“Where were you just now? It’s Tuesday, I thought you’d be h—” He shook his head. “Sorry, that’s none of my business.” He sighed. “I’m going to go. Sorry I didn’t call first,” he clipped, keeping his eyes down.
Oh, a real warrior, Sam. I had a million things I wanted to say to her and all I come up with is… ‘Um, sorry I didn’t call first?’

I just didn’t realize how hard it would be to look at her.

“No, that’s fine,” she whispered. “Can I… I mean, how have you been?”

He gave Charlie a long hard look as his stomach fell. Shaking his head, he softened. “I’m leaving now. I’ll be back in a few days to get the rest of my things.”

“Wait, Sam. Can we talk?” she pleaded as he walked into the hallway with a bundle of clothes, hanging off their hangers, wedged into the corner of his arm.

Turning back, he tenderly lifted his hand to cradle her cheek, but never finished the gesture. With her eyes still closed and waiting for his touch, he whispered, “Not now, but when I’m ready, you’ll know.”

Sam couldn’t get back to Gabe’s fast enough. Having blown through three red lights, completely ignoring courtesy for other cars on the road, he screeched into the driveway. He dug out the box of journals from his trunk and carried it up to his room.

He was more than disappointed to find that the journals were dated from high school. Pulling out each one, he thumbed through their contents. He had hoped to get some insight to her actions over the past few weeks, but these journals weren’t going to tell him anything.

Taking trips back and forth, Sam gathered the rest of his belongings from his car, passing Gabe, who was making out with an unknown brunette on the couch. He ignored the couple and got to work setting up his easel in his room.

He carefully taped the edges of a new piece of canvas paper. His homemade charcoal was reserved for certain projects—for the drawings he knew would always be special and portray the heaviest of emotion. He would add watercolor later, but for now he’d work on Charlie’s face.

With each soft stroke, he focused on harnessing the beauty of her profile. Remembering to include the tiny beauty mark under her lip and the perfect downward swoop at the tip of her nose, her hair dark, shaded and soft, Sam made sure he used the smearing pencils and worked the highlights perfectly. He took his time, precious time he knew he shouldn’t be spending. But his forever had changed, leaving him to constantly question things to which he didn’t have the answers. Drawing Charlie was the perfect distraction, yet the perfect way to excuse away his thoughts of her.

After spraying a fixative on the charcoal, he dipped the paintbrush into the blob of red paint on his palette, mixing it with the perfect amount of water. Testing the hue on a separate piece of canvas paper, he swiped the brush twice and removed the excess red. He wanted to make the coloring as soft as possible, truly executing her glow and velvety skin.

The entire piece would end up in tones of scarlet, rose, peach, and gold. It somehow represented all the things about her: her naivety, her patience, her selflessness, her timidity, her strength, her goddess, her mind, and her soul. Her posture was slightly slouched, the way she always sat on their bed on lazy Sunday afternoons—trying to act as though it didn’t bother her that parts of her body were exposed, fighting with the thought of grabbing the sheet to cover herself. Her arms were strategically placed to cover one of her breasts, with her fingers wrapped around her ankle. Legs in front of her and knees bent, she tried disguising her torso. And with her head down, a shy smile covered her blushing face.

It was perfect.

And it was everything Sam missed about her.

Nine hours after he began, he stripped off the masking tape and set the canvas flat to dry. Leaning over the bed, Sam stared at his painting from above, able to watch her again when she was unaware. Allowing himself to stare through her—at all the precious things about her—without caring who would judge him for admitting he was still wildly in love with this woman.

He dropped to his knees and buried his head in his hands, trying to keep his desperate sobs silent so Gabe wouldn’t hear.

*

Sitting propped against his headboard the next morning with his energy depleted, Sam’s fear and anger festered.

Fuck this. She might think I’m an asshole; she might think he’s better for her; she might think our story is over, but it’s not. I’m not going down without a fight. Or at least, not going down without an explanation.

Sam reached for the box filled with Charlie’s old journals and random memorabilia. He chose a red notebook and flipped it open.

Dear Journal,

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry or both.

It’s my thirteenth birthday today, and you know what I got? Mom and I got into a fight this morning. I failed my English test. Aaron Paulson pushed me down the last two steps in the stairwell, and to top it all off, I got my period and forgot to bring my fucking Tampax. Which wouldn’t have been that bad if I knew I was going to get it, I could’ve just used toilet paper until school ended. But no! That of course would be too much to ask for! Instead, after sixth period ended, I was walking to my locker with a stain the size of China on my butt and Debbie Johansen, yep, Aaron’s girlfriend, decides to yell across the locker bay…

He pulled his eyes from the page. “Aaron Paulson. Paulson? How do I know that name?” Sam said aloud to himself. Making a note of the name, he turned to a few pages later.

Dear Journal,

My therapist is the one that suggested these journals. I don’t know what good they’re going to do, it’s not like they’ll stop a suicide attempt. But, I’m doing as I’m told because it’s important to Mom and Dad.

Uncle Ron said he’d pay me a dollar for every pound I lose. So I’ve been counting calories. Today I’ve only consumed 13,245. Isn’t that great? Don’t answer that, I know it’s horrible. I don’t really want to think about it, so I’ll probably stop dieting. Because really, there’s nothing about me that wants to be attractive. I will never be pretty, and that’s just reality…

Sam closed the notebook and grabbed a green one from the box. He took a deep breath before opening it.
Jesus. I didn’t realize things were so bad for her then.

Dear Journal,

I’m in the hospital today. When I couldn’t press the razor blade down, I got into the medicine cabinet instead.

My therapist has been here twice already and she suggested I make a list. She wants me to write twenty things I like about myself.

And I hate this assignment.

1.
            
My hair

2.
            
My handwriting

3.
            
I’m good at softball

4.
            
I’m good at art

5.
            
I’m a good listener

6.
            
I help people who need me

7.
            
I try to stay hopeful, apart from my current situation…

Sam closed his eyes briefly to try and ease them from the terrified stare at Charlie’s written words.
In these pages, there’s an entire life I knew nothing about.
He plucked another notebook from the box and noticed Charlie’s mature handwriting.

Dear Journal,

I started tenth grade last month, and would you like to know what’s happened in the past seven days? Aaron Paulson dared a guy to ask me to Homecoming. And last weekend he came to my house and he threw toilet paper in all the trees (thank God my folks thought it was one of Sabrina’s friends). Then the guidance counselor at school advised me to take a paced science course. So now, I’m feeling really great about myself. Dumb and ugly. Fuck! Does this shit ever end? High school can suck my dick.

On top of that, I get to see Joe next weekend. FUCKING JOE!! Mom invited that motherfucker over for dinner. I haven’t had to see him since I was ten years old, since that day. Maybe I’ll just run away for the night. Maybe I’ll stab him as soon as he walks in the door. No, no. I know myself too well. I’ll sit at the dining room table, hope he doesn’t look at me, keep my head down, and never go anywhere alone that night. I think I’m going to puke.

I’m running out of people to talk to about all this stuff. I used to have Paulina, but she’s off trying to get a chance at winning valedictorian. And Angie isn’t even in high school yet, she wouldn’t really understand this kind of shit even if I tried to explain it. I’m not going to tell Mom and Dad about this stuff, it’s way too embarrassing. Just another failure.

I’m feeling pretty alone right now. My therapist says that this is likely going to have a lasting effect on my adulthood if I don’t start facing some of this stuff. And to that I say, ‘I don’t give a shit.’ Why? Because I’m just trying to survive today so that I have a chance for a tomorrow. I’d be a goddamned mess if I tried to deal with all this shit every day.

Two weeks ago, Aaron Paulson stood up on top of the row of short lockers and got everyone’s attention. I kept my head down, hoping he hadn’t seen me. Boy, was I wrong.

He said, “Attention everyone! Charlie Johnson wanted to tell everyone here today how much she weighs. You see, she’s been dieting, and we can all see how well she’s doing! So let’s give her a round of applause for the complete fat fucking failure that she is, shall we? Bravo, Charlie. Bravo.”

There had to be over two hundred students there at that moment. And one hundred ninety-nine of them clapped for me. And I have a story like that for every single day of the past six years. That’s not even to mention the other kids at school, the people at the mall, work, the sidewalks, the city…

There’s really only one place I don’t hear it, and that’s at home. Mom, Dad and Sabrina give me hope that not everyone hates me. Maybe my family does hate me, but feel obligated to love me because I’m blood. But I’m grateful for a reprieve from the torture everywhere else.

I’m still hopeful, though. Maybe there’s a guy out in the world, right now, living through the same shit that I am. And maybe I’ll meet him someday and he’ll just know. Together we can figure out why this had to happen to us, and even better, help each other heal. And maybe, just maybe, he’ll fall in love with who I am and not for what I look like. I’m asking too much, aren’t I? Well, a girl can dream.

But Aaron’s right, isn’t he? I’m almost six feet tall and I weigh over three hundred pounds. It doesn’t get much more disgusting than me.

Sam rubbed his thumb over the surface of the paper where the writing had been smeared. He could only assume they were Charlie’s tears that had muddled the blue ink. He shook his head and pulled out the last journal in the box, seriously entertaining murderous thoughts of Aaron Paulson. Not only because Paulson had done that to Charlie, but because he had done that to anyone.

Dear Journal,

At the ripe old age of seventeen, I’ve finally figured it out. I still get teased every day, and I still think about all of my embarrassing moments, the jokes, the rape, my failures… but as soon as the thoughts come, I flush them away. I can’t really explain how I do it, I almost feel like it’s out of my control. But my mind refuses to see it and they’re getting buried deep inside of me. I don’t know where they’re going, but everything has stopped surfacing. Maybe I’ll luck out and I’ll forget about all of it forever…

It’s made reflection easier for me though. I can stand back from it, remove myself, and look at it critically. I thought about this the other day. For me, when Joe raped me it stripped a part of my dignity; it was embarrassing, filthy and cruel. It’s also something that happened a very long time ago for all of about five minutes. But the bullying? That has taken a part of my soul that I’ll never be able to get back. It’s been constant. It’s been torture. And it’s something that I just don’t think my mind was able to cope with anymore.

I don’t think I’ll ever truly forget all of it. I’m sure it’s going to change who I am forever. But I’m graduating next week, and I’ll never have to see any of these people again. Then it’s off to college I go. I just hope that place isn’t more of the same.