You Found Me Read online

  “Hey, Rob. How're you?”

  “Same old, same old,” I said with a shrug.

  “Well that doesn't sound all that bad, does it?” I gave a half smile. “Would you mind coming to my office?”

  “No. Not at all,” as if I had a choice and was very happy to pick the worst of the two evils (sitting there alone with my thoughts or go to her office and have those thoughts thrown at me with answers being demanded of me, with every word being sent to Dr. O'Nassis. Tough decision, I know).

  I walked in and sat down, with her behind me and closing the door. I was expecting some sort of lecture, which is almost what I got.

  We went over the progress with Dr. O'Nassis. The guy was an idiot, which is almost what I said to her, but I quickly changed to “The guy was an impossible man to deal with.”

  “Well, he's not there to be your best friend. He's there to help you. And I understand that things are going a lot slower than he would like. Everything okay?”

  “Yes, ma'am.”

  “I'm glad to hear it. Maybe you should think of being more direct with him like you are with me. He can only help you if you are honest with him.” I almost laughed considering what I wanted to say versus what I actually said.

  “If you think it'll help...”

  “Also,” she said quickly, the tone of her voice changing sharply into a dagger. “I am rather concerned with how you treated Dr. Matthews this morning. What happened?”

  “She was rude and I returned the favor.”

  “Rob, you know you can't be doing that. These professors and your teachers. Think of them as...your 'bosses,' if you will. You need to show them the same respect they show you.”

  “Which is exactly what I did,” I said in my defense. “She belittled the death of my mother and I belittled the existence in life.”

  “That's not what she told me. She said you were rude and sarcastic to her in class in front of the other students, which does mean we can question the others students who were there. Rob, I know your mother just passed away but that's no excuse...” I tuned her out. Why was I stuck in this room and why was she doing this to me? I had another class in less than twenty minutes at this point, which I'm sure she was aware of but refused to recognize it. I was thinking in a jumble. I sighed and waited for her to finish.

  Why was everyone against me? It's like, “Oh, your mother died? So sorry. Suck it up!” and left it at that. I felt like I was facing this world of immense pain and had no idea how to confront it. Pain was my life and I was doing what I could to end that. Sometimes I felt so outnumbered. The cutting helped. So did the burning. The burns were starting to heal, though, which made things different. The cutting was more satisfactory, but had to be carefully watched. It helped with the pain, though. Much more than I ever expected it to.

  “...okay, Rob?”

  “Yes, ma'am.”

  “Alright then. You need to get to class.” I smiled and thanked her for the talk and left. I was exhausted, but still had another two classes to go. Philosophy and Political Science. I left the UC and headed towards Morton Hall. I still had a few hours left in my birthday, all of which needed to be ignored.

  ------

  I was in my bed. I knew I'd missed the party. I knew Dad and all my friends would either be hurt, upset, or just mad. I also knew that I didn't care. I just wanted to be alone right now. I was in my boxers, just lying there.

  Night time is always the hardest for me. I feel more alone. No one is around, whether I know them or not. I can't sleep with a lot of noise, so all there is left is the ringing in my ears. This is where my emotions often grab me the most.

  I've always told myself crying is unnecessary when it comes to life. No one ever got anywhere shedding tears. Life was too fast paced to soak it with tears. There are some things you just don't do...

  There I was, though. No matter what I say or how I say it, I was alone. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream, throw my lamp across the room and cry out to God, “why?”

  “What have you done to me?! I don't wanna be this person, this...thing! I want my mother back. I wanna be back where I used to be! How could you let all of this happen?!”

  You needed it to happen.

  “I 'needed it’?” I yell at the top of my lungs. “What do you mean I 'needed it’?”

  You don't know why because you can't know why. I can't tell you until you're ready.

  “When am I gonna be ready? What makes You think this is the right path for me?” I was angry. I was angry at everything He was saying to me. I punched the wall as hard as I could, watching cracks forming in the walls as my knuckles bled. “You don't know what I need! You can't know why I need! Why can't you just let me be?!” I was screaming into the void. He didn't answer me, only let me get my anger out.

  “Answer me!” I yelled. “Why can't you let me be?!”

  You are important. You need this to help you get where I need you to be. You can't possibly understand why, even if I told you. There is no way for you to see what plans I have in store for you, just know there is nothing I give you that you can't get through.

  I was crying, tears streaming down my face. I looked around my room. The lamp was still on my night stand. The walls had no cracks in them. My knuckles weren't bleeding. Everything had been in my head. Had I really heard the voice of God? Was that Him?

  Telling me everything was going to be okay, I just needed to work through it. I just needed to put my faith in Him. I was dying on the inside. I could feel it. It was like a slow poison eating away at my soul.

  I rubbed my eyes. I wanted the tears to go away. I hated tears. The feeling of being vulnerable to the world and its scornful remarks. I was so tired and wide awake at the same time. The party had either been declared a dud or they were still waiting my arrival. I had my phone on silent with no intentions of checking it. The alarm was set for the next morning. I rolled over and faced the wall.

  Tomorrow would be another day to face and another chance to pull it all together and another to fail...

  Chapter Eighteen

  Rob saw the car and knew there was nothing he could do. She'd pulled out at the last possible second and he knew what was about to happen. He told himself not to worry, but it was too late for that. He hit the brakes and swerved to the right. BOOM! and it was over. It happened in less than a second, but felt like a lifetime. The truck tipped over and started to roll into a ditch. His music was gone, whatever it had been, and all that could be heard was the sound of screams, horns, and passing cars. He could vaguely make out the sounds of someone talking, but he wasn't sure what it was. He reached for his seat belt and unbuckled it. The truck was upside down and he felt as if he was falling. Everything went black.

  ------

  The sounds were loud and annoying. Rob could hear them but had no idea what was going on. He remembered something, or was that a dream? He opened his eyes and quickly closed them again. There was a nasty burning sensation as his eyes slowly adjusted.

  It had not been a dream. He could smell a kind of odor and saw all the tears. He wasn't crying and wasn't hurt. A medic helped him lean up and he looked around. It was as if the world had stopped at this one spot. Cars were barely creeping along as they came to and passed the wreck. Five people were either on cellphones, looking around, rubbing some body part they claimed hurt.

  Rob was disoriented. It was taking a moment for his thoughts to collect and realize what was going on. His truck had been turned upright and was now leaning towards the right. All the tires were popped, the front left side all but crushed. The car he'd hit was in the same pickle. The back right could barely be seen, with the tire so flat it just hung on the rim like a sheet carelessly thrown on a clothes line.

  “Wha-”

  “It's okay, son,” the medic said, the Alabamian accent dripping from every letter. “Be careful. It looks like a slight concussion, nothing to get too upset over.” Rob rubbed his head. He could feel a small bump forming.

  “What happene
d?” he managed to get out. His voice was broken and shaky, sounding like a small child more than a seventeen year old.

  “Best we can tell,” which was not what Rob wanted to hear, “You didn't see that car in front of you and hit 'em. They said you were driving really fast and weren't paying attention to what you were doing.”

  “No,” Rob said. “No, they whipped out at the last second and there was nothing I could do to avoid them.”

  “Kid, you're in a lot of pain. Everything happened really quickly and you couldn't possibly remember.”

  “It wasn't my fault.”

  “Was this your first accident?” Rob gave him a quizzical look.

  “Yes...why?” The medic just nodded to himself. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Listen, kid, that's what everyone says when they have their first accident. It's nothing personal, that's just the way it is.”

  “No. This really wasn't my fault,” but by then the medic was checking on everyone else. Rob rubbed his head and tried to piece everything together. He definitely remembered the car pulling out before he did, but everyone was disagreeing with him and telling him he was wrong.

  His mother pulled up and was running towards him. He was trying to get up and greet her, but it wasn't as easy as he was expecting. He lowered himself back down and carefully eased up. She grabbed him, which gave him a severe headache.

  “Oh, Rob. Are you okay?!” “Yeah. Yeah, just let me go.” “I can't. I was so worried.”

  “Mom, you're hurting my head. Please let me go.” She released him, leaving her hand on his. “I'm so sorry,” she said. “Wasn't your fault.”

  “I'm still sorry. Are you sure you're okay?”

  “Yes, Mom.”

  “Excuse me.” Rob saw it was a police officer standing behind his mother. He had the stereotypical donut-belly and nasty accident. “Are you this young man's mother?”

  “Yes sir. What happened?”

  “That's what we're tryin' to fig're out. We know a law must've been broken, no matter who's at fault. If you'll come with me, we can explain it to you and sort all this out.”

  ------

  They talked for what felt like forever. Rob was up and able to move around. His head still hurt, but not nearly as bad as it had before. Now it was more of a soreness than anything else. He left tired as well, as if he'd just pulled an all-nighter at work and couldn't go on. They offered him some aspirin, but he told them he was allergic. His Dad had arrived during the commotion, but Rob wasn't sure when he'd gotten there. Some things were still a little hectic.

  His parents walked towards him. His mother was dabbing her eyes and his Dad's mouth was twitching (it always did that before he started crying). Rob was worried about what was about to be said to him.

  “Rob,” Dad said, “it looks like you're the one at fault. We don't know if it’s true or not, but there's nothing we can do. All the signs point towards you going too fast and not paying attention.”

  “And by signs you mean the fact I'm a teenager and they are adults and it's the easiest thing to do for everyone.”

  “No,” Mom said, “it means they really don't know what happened.”

  “It wasn't my fault!” he yelled.

  “That may be the case, honey, but that's not what they said,” Mom said, trying to comfort him. “Don't worry about it, we'll think of something. You need to relax and not get so worked up.”

  “Kinda hard to do when you're being blamed for something you didn't do.”

  “I know,” she said, “I know.” Rob bit his lip and swallowed his pride. This was unfair and he knew it. He didn't understand why they were all against him. The tow truck showed up and began lifting his truck up. He just shook his head and headed towards the van, upset and refusing to show it. He didn't want to cry.

  But still the tears came.

  Chapter Nineteen

  My birthday had come and gone. My Dad and I fought over why I wasn't there and such, which I lied about with my readily created stories, one of which he finally believed. School ended as I expected, with passing grades. I'd gone through another semester and lived to tell about it. I really didn't wanna go through another, but what's done is done.

  It had been four weeks since my birthday. Most of my friends were off doing their summer things. They were upset with me avoiding the party and everything, but I didn't care. I didn't need or want a party.

  My job position was changing. I was moved out of the coffee shop and was working more with the books. I enjoyed this much more than the café. While I did love the customer relations that came with the café, working with books brought better pay and slightly better benefits. The chances of full-time employment was much higher than in the café, which was impossible unless you were the café manager, and there already was one. Often times I ran the show, trying my hardest to impress my boss and earn his respect and trust. Sometimes it felt like it wasn't working, but I was going to make it work.

  I'd joined the choir at church. Originally, Mom and I sat and listened in the congregation while Dad sang in the choir. Sometimes he had solos, which we got a recording of at the end of the service. But since her death, it became harder and harder to sit there and be alone.

  The choir was helpful and annoying at the same time. They were concerned with my well-being, asking me at each rehearsal how everything was. But even with that in mind I loved the music we did. For a little over three hours a week, I could drift away from what was ailing me and making me feel so terrible.

  Time passed faster. I listened to music more than I usually did, which was good, I suppose. The pain was more than I could handle at times, but the music helped enough that it got me through a lot of days. Instead of lying in bed at night, my thoughts wandering in directions they shouldn't, I would listen to different songs. There are things you just can't control, this much I know is true, but music is rhythmic, and is constrained to a beat. It felt good to have some kind of consistence in my life, though it came from an iPod, something to take away the pain.

  I was cutting less and less. My back healed, though it has a permanent dark coloring from all the hot showers. My wrists had healed slightly. When I did cut, I cut in other places. My stomach, chest, inside of my legs, anywhere that couldn't be easily noticed. My worry about Dad finding out had increased so it was needed.

  I was sitting in the doctor's office awaiting my appointment. Dr. O'Nassis had increased our appointments to four times a week instead of the usual three. Monday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. That was annoying but there was nothing I could do about it. The best thing to do was suck it up and endure whatever it was he planned to put me through.

  Our meetings were getting more intense. I was actually opening up despite how much I wanted the man to magically disappear. Somehow, though I could never truly understand, he was able to endure my constant rude and hurtful remarks and keep working with me. He often purposely made me mad. “Why?” I didn't really know.

  I'd stopped writing. I'd done it for maybe a week, but that's a big maybe. I hadn't written anything major since Mom's accident. I just couldn't find anything to write. I would have a great story idea and find myself just sitting at the computer waiting for it to hit me, never finding whatever it was that helped me write. Stories remained unfinished in my little writing folder that may never be finished.

  Dr. O'Nassis walked out with a rather obese woman. He gave her some words of comfort that I was unable to hear, then said goodbye. He smiled at me and motioned me into the room.

  “Hello, Rob. How're you?”

  “I'm fine. You?”

  “Same old, same old. Anything interesting going on?”

  “Not really.”

  “How's the writing going?” I told him about my indefinite writer's block and how I desperately wanted to write, but couldn't find the ability I'd once had. I asked for advice. “Why don't you try something else instead of writing? Maybe something will come to you that you weren't expecting.” I shrugged at the idea.


  “Such as?”

  “I don't know. You're you.”

  “That's good to know.”

  “I agree. It's always comforting to know someone else isn't walking around posing as you. What is that, identity theft?” His poor excuse of a joke didn't faze me.

  “Something like that.”

  “Let's come up with some ideas. What else do you like?”

  “Different things.”

  “Such as?”

  “I like movies, I guess.”

  “What kinda movies do you guess you like?” I gave him a sarcastic look. “You said it, not me.”

  “I like the classics. Very little of that new crap coming out. There's two, maybe two, good movies that come out each year. Before studios were all consumed with greed instead of class, they made some decent films. Look at the 90s, they aren't that far behind us but they're way ahead of us when it comes to movies.”

  “That's interesting. What's your favorite classic?”

  “It's A Wonderful Life...” He made a funny face. “It's very well written. I don't really view it as a Christmas movie though. Only one part takes place on Christmas Eve.”

  “I have to agree. Maybe you should get into collecting the classics. You do work a lot of hours, which I'm sure leaves you with a penny or two in your wallet. I'm sure that would help you get your mind of things.” Again, I shrugged. Maybe it would, maybe it wouldn't.

  “I'll think about it.”

  “While you're at it, how about thinking of visiting your mother's grave?”

  “What makes you think I haven't?” He raised his right eyebrow.

  “You really want me to answer that?” There was a moment of silence.

  “Okay, so I haven't. Why is that such a big deal?”

  “Why isn't it?”

  “Because it's not. She was there for a large portion of my life, why do I need to be there after she's left mine?” He just looked at me, waiting for me to answer. I didn't have one.