In Loving Memory
I found Charlie waiting for me outside the principal’s office, nervously picking at his fingernails. As I drew level with him I gave a cough and he jumped, looking up at me. I could see relief flood his face as he stood up to give me a hug. “Are you okay?” he asked, holding my shoulders and assessing my face, though with an infinitely kinder gaze than the counselor had. I looked at him and smiled slightly, nodding. I could explain more once I was out of this place. “Okay, well, you’re not supposed to drive yourself home, so…” he started.
“What?!? They won’t even let me drive myself home? Are you kidding me? It’s not like I had a seizure! I fell asleep! Did everyone suddenly become able to cope without it? Am I behind the times?” I was resenting the school more and more, even more than I had anyway.
“I know, I know, it’s stupid, but that’s how it is. We’ll come get your car in an hour or so, so they’ll think I picked someone else to drive it. Just make sure they don’t see you,” he winked at me, and I laughed.
“They would. Did they tell you that they were trying to force me into some sort of crazy therapy sessions with this creepy and uncaring psychiatrist?”
“Well, they didn’t quite put it that way, but yes, they mentioned something about having you analyzed or some such nonsense. I told them you didn’t need it, and after quite a tug of war they fell. You don’t have to worry about that anymore.”
“Good. I don’t think Mrs. Counselor would have believed me anyway.” We had finally reached his car and climbed in. As soon as both doors were closed I told him about my dream, and how it had been the worst one of al the ones I could remember over all the years. I was much more frightened than I let on before, and as I told Charlie about it I could feel my hands shake with nervousness. A million ridiculous thoughts crossed my mind. What if I was going crazy? Just what I needed to happen, because people at school didn’t think I was enough of a freak already. I was dreading the return to school tomorrow, knowing that everyone, whether they had seen me or not, would be gossiping about what had happened, embellishing the story until it was largely fiction. They were going to twist it and make me seem like I was going insane. But who’s to say I wasn’t? I shook myself slightly, trying to convince myself that I was not going crazy. They were just nightmares; everyone has them. But somehow when my mind was not focused on other things, I felt as though something was wrong with me.
When I was done telling him what had happened, Charlie was quiet for a long time. I listened patiently to the wind whipping by the window, knowing he was trying to find the right words. He did this a lot, even if it wasn’t something that didn’t need much deliberating. Finally he said, “I know what you’re thinking. Especially now that they wanted you to see a shrink. You’re not crazy. You’re not going crazy, either. There are plenty of people who have nightmares, and I don’t know why they were stopping the presses about it. It’s not that uncommon. I’m sure they’re worried about you because you’re young, but sometimes I don’t think they realize that the eighteen-year-olds they’re in charge of are adults and can make their own decisions. Within reason, of course. But trust me when I say you’re fine. I think they’re more inclined to worry about you because of what you’ve been through. But they should have realized at this point that you’re strong enough to deal with it yourself, since you have through your entire school career. I wish you didn’t have to deal with all that you do, that you have, but there’s no way to change it, and it’s like they’re trying to,” he finished. I was honestly a little surprised by what he said. In all the years we had lived together, I couldn’t remember him ever being that mean to anyone, if you could even classify what he had said as ‘mean’. He was perpetually optimistic and nice to everyone, and because of that I could tell that he had been really offended.
“Yeah…I know…thanks, Charlie. I appreciate it. You know…I think we can wait to go pick up my car until tomorrow. Unless you can’t drive me to school.”
“You’d actually have me drop you off?” he teased.
“If you can. I don’t really feel like going back there and being gawked at until absolutely necessary.”
“Sure, I can do that. There’s no rush tomorrow. Now how about we listen to some music?” he said as he turned on the radio, blasting it as loud as it would go. We sang along with any songs we knew until at long last we pulled into the driveway.
As soon as I got in the door, I proceeded up the stairs to drop my stuff off on my bed and then came back down to sit on the couch and read, something I missed immensely because I didn’t seem to have the time for it anymore. My homework took longer than ever, and by the time I was done with it my eyes did not want to focus on any more printed material. I read almost anything except romance novels, but my favorite genre was, of course, crime novels. I always tried to figure out who the murderer was early on (unless it was one of the ones that told you at the beginning, which I didn’t like; took away the suspense) and loved it when I got to the end and the bad guy was found. I always imagined myself in the part of the detective or police officer who found the person, hoping that my story would end so nicely. When I was tired of those, I switched to non-fiction crime books, reading about solved and unsolved murders and the most famous serial killers of all time. It may sound like reading these would get depressing and repetitive after a while, but I loved them. It was a chance to escape and be someone else, someone whose story had a happy ending where justice had been served.
I curled up on the couch with a stack of my favorite books, the ones whose covers were so worn out that I could hardly see what they were anymore. Today would be a day for refreshing familiarity and relaxation, because I was sure the next day at school would be nothing like it.
“What?!? They won’t even let me drive myself home? Are you kidding me? It’s not like I had a seizure! I fell asleep! Did everyone suddenly become able to cope without it? Am I behind the times?” I was resenting the school more and more, even more than I had anyway.
“I know, I know, it’s stupid, but that’s how it is. We’ll come get your car in an hour or so, so they’ll think I picked someone else to drive it. Just make sure they don’t see you,” he winked at me, and I laughed.
“They would. Did they tell you that they were trying to force me into some sort of crazy therapy sessions with this creepy and uncaring psychiatrist?”
“Well, they didn’t quite put it that way, but yes, they mentioned something about having you analyzed or some such nonsense. I told them you didn’t need it, and after quite a tug of war they fell. You don’t have to worry about that anymore.”
“Good. I don’t think Mrs. Counselor would have believed me anyway.” We had finally reached his car and climbed in. As soon as both doors were closed I told him about my dream, and how it had been the worst one of al the ones I could remember over all the years. I was much more frightened than I let on before, and as I told Charlie about it I could feel my hands shake with nervousness. A million ridiculous thoughts crossed my mind. What if I was going crazy? Just what I needed to happen, because people at school didn’t think I was enough of a freak already. I was dreading the return to school tomorrow, knowing that everyone, whether they had seen me or not, would be gossiping about what had happened, embellishing the story until it was largely fiction. They were going to twist it and make me seem like I was going insane. But who’s to say I wasn’t? I shook myself slightly, trying to convince myself that I was not going crazy. They were just nightmares; everyone has them. But somehow when my mind was not focused on other things, I felt as though something was wrong with me.
When I was done telling him what had happened, Charlie was quiet for a long time. I listened patiently to the wind whipping by the window, knowing he was trying to find the right words. He did this a lot, even if it wasn’t something that didn’t need much deliberating. Finally he said, “I know what you’re thinking. Especially now that they wanted you to see a shrink. You’re not crazy. You’re not going crazy, either. There are plenty of people who have nightmares, and I don’t know why they were stopping the presses about it. It’s not that uncommon. I’m sure they’re worried about you because you’re young, but sometimes I don’t think they realize that the eighteen-year-olds they’re in charge of are adults and can make their own decisions. Within reason, of course. But trust me when I say you’re fine. I think they’re more inclined to worry about you because of what you’ve been through. But they should have realized at this point that you’re strong enough to deal with it yourself, since you have through your entire school career. I wish you didn’t have to deal with all that you do, that you have, but there’s no way to change it, and it’s like they’re trying to,” he finished. I was honestly a little surprised by what he said. In all the years we had lived together, I couldn’t remember him ever being that mean to anyone, if you could even classify what he had said as ‘mean’. He was perpetually optimistic and nice to everyone, and because of that I could tell that he had been really offended.
“Yeah…I know…thanks, Charlie. I appreciate it. You know…I think we can wait to go pick up my car until tomorrow. Unless you can’t drive me to school.”
“You’d actually have me drop you off?” he teased.
“If you can. I don’t really feel like going back there and being gawked at until absolutely necessary.”
“Sure, I can do that. There’s no rush tomorrow. Now how about we listen to some music?” he said as he turned on the radio, blasting it as loud as it would go. We sang along with any songs we knew until at long last we pulled into the driveway.
As soon as I got in the door, I proceeded up the stairs to drop my stuff off on my bed and then came back down to sit on the couch and read, something I missed immensely because I didn’t seem to have the time for it anymore. My homework took longer than ever, and by the time I was done with it my eyes did not want to focus on any more printed material. I read almost anything except romance novels, but my favorite genre was, of course, crime novels. I always tried to figure out who the murderer was early on (unless it was one of the ones that told you at the beginning, which I didn’t like; took away the suspense) and loved it when I got to the end and the bad guy was found. I always imagined myself in the part of the detective or police officer who found the person, hoping that my story would end so nicely. When I was tired of those, I switched to non-fiction crime books, reading about solved and unsolved murders and the most famous serial killers of all time. It may sound like reading these would get depressing and repetitive after a while, but I loved them. It was a chance to escape and be someone else, someone whose story had a happy ending where justice had been served.
I curled up on the couch with a stack of my favorite books, the ones whose covers were so worn out that I could hardly see what they were anymore. Today would be a day for refreshing familiarity and relaxation, because I was sure the next day at school would be nothing like it.