You Found Me Page 7

  With everything he had ever done for his friends and everyone he'd been there for, Rob wondered, perhaps for the first time, what he would do if something bad ever happened to him; something worse that what had happened to his friends. Something that would leave him at the mercy of the world and how it treats those who suffer. Something that would cause him to suffer.

  Chapter Eleven

  Everything is so blurry. I hate waking up sometimes. I just wish I could stay asleep forever. I didn't dream. Sometimes dreams don't make sense because they're not supposed to, which is the story of my life. Lately, nothing in my life was making sense, reality being worse than dreams. Was it because it wasn't supposed to make sense?

  Dad was home. I could hear him typing away in his room. This time of year was terrible for him, with teachers scrambling to get ready for the end of the year and, at the same time, cramming for their own training they do every year. Dad's job was to make sure they knew everything they were supposed to know for the upcoming year. It was a year round job, despite what you may think. He had to make sure that the information was updated and made its way into the training packets to get ready for the next year's group of teachers.

  I stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, wondering what was going on. My body ached and ached. The pain was much worse than I'd expected it to be, but that was fine. I couldn't stop. The pain inside was much worse than the pain on the outside. The pain from everything I hated so much. School, teachers, Mom, customers, idiots, Dad, life. All the idiots pretending they cared about me, yet have no idea who I am or what I'm going through. I'm not gonna pretend and act like everything is okay and yet, here I am, doing exactly that. Faking all that I shouldn't be faking. Becoming everything I despised. Why? I wish I knew.

  I rolled over carefully, trying my best not to do anything that would worsen the pain beyond what I needed. I wanted, no, needed pain, but a certain pain. I wanted the kind I inflicted that helped, not the kind that comes from elsewhere that simply batters my insides. Just mine. It was hard to explain and even harder to understand, even when rationalizing it to myself, but for some reason that's the way it was...

  Life is like that. You just have these things you have to live with and suffer through day in and day out. Sometimes you have to do things to make it to the next day. Suffer.

  I got up and put on some sweats. Dad would know something was up if he saw me in my boxers (especially with my body looking as it did) and since I always wore sweats when stuck in the house, it made me look inconspicuous. I wasn't going to start any fights or anything like that. I was going through enough with my current situation and troublesome obstacles. Dr. O'Nassis and his whole dating thing. Friends and my birthday. Mom. The last thing I needed or wanted was Dad becoming a part of all the confusion.

  My birthday was less than a week away now. I knew something was up, I always did. I'm not being snobbish or anything, I just always know. I remember knowing I was getting the truck for my birthday, knowing my first girlfriend was breaking up with me, knowing what I was getting for Christmas almost every year. It annoyed my mother to no end, but it never bothered me. I took pride in know these things. But something was definitely going down. They were planning some kind of party for me, probably a surprise party. I hate surprises. Always have, always will.

  It was close to supper time now, though I had no idea what we were having. Dad really wanted to bring us closer since Mom's death, which wasn't working. We hadn't really done anything together other than eat. I know he wants us to do more together, but between school and work and everything else in our lives, we just don't have time.

  “Good evening,” he greeted. It sounded like it was more out of necessity than anything else.

  “Evening.” I tried to smile, but it wouldn't come easily for me. I wasn't happy. My life was falling apart so why should I be happy?

  “How was your nap?”

  “Okay, I guess. Got some rest and that's always good.” I wasn't purposely being mysterious, it was just happening that way. I didn't really wanna talk about anything, but I was stuck doing it anyway.

  “I figured we'd eat pizza tonight. That alright with you?” I shrugged and nodded. My usual answer to questions I didn't deem worthy of anything more. He knew this, of course, and just nodded as well. “Glad there are no complaints.”

  “Of course not,” I answered and went about my business. I went back to my room and pulled out my little netbook. I hadn't written anything since Mom died and I figured it was a good idea to try and write something, anything, whether it made sense or not. I still wanted to be a writer, but life had been in my way over the last few weeks.

  I turned it on and watched the screen load. I didn't know what I was gonna write. I had no story ideas, no interest in completing anything I'd started before. I had several stories in motion and was well into two of them. It just took too much effort and too much was going on right now.

  I opened a blank document and stared at it for a moment. I figured it would be best to just get something on the page rather than stare at it waiting for something to appear. I started writing anything that came to mind.

  My mind is filled with many a memory.

  Each hurting, begging for forgiveness.

  What is it inside of me that aches for another sunrise?

  What is it inside of me that makes me want

  to scream and scream,

  Asking you to set me free.

  Am I lost? Am I really alone

  and needing you to come and comfort me?

  I'm in pain. Is this something I did to

  myself, or am I a victim of so many others? So many others

  And with that, I stopped. It was the poem I'd given at the funeral. For some reason my mind had been called back to it. It was barely eighty words, but I couldn't bring myself to write anything else. I wanted to write more, but my creativity had disappeared. I didn't find the happiness in writing I once did. Right now I was just looking at the words I'd typed and wishing I could add to them or have them make sense. I really wanted to write, and I could feel deep inside of me that it would be helpful to do so. Yet, there I was, sitting in front of a computer wishing words would appear and show how I feel. Communicate to the world everything that was torn inside of me, but nothing was coming. Nothing.

  I closed the laptop and leaned back in my chair. My sweats felt good against my tortured skin. I didn't expect the pain to be this great, both in the large sense and the wonderful sense. I was breathing in and out slowly, taking in all the wonder that was the pain. It wasn't as great as it normally was, but it certainly felt good.

  Dad yelled he was going to get the pizza and asked if I wanted to come. I said “sure” and changed into something decent enough to be seen in public. I wore a light jacket to cover up the redness. I felt like I was hiding drugs or something, which was stupid. I was more worried about getting in trouble than anything else. That seems crazy, but it was true. I didn't wanna stop. It was the only thing that made me feel good. It was like smoking. You can't describe how it feels to anyone who's never tried it before. It's something you have to experience to come close to understanding, and even then nothing is guaranteed. There was no point in me even trying, so I won't.

  I walked to the door and gave him a fake half smile. Again, something I was getting really good at. When you have to deal with all those “I'm so sorry” comments, you get really good at doing things like that. He checked the door to make sure it was locked and we walked to the car. I'd forgotten my iPod, but had no interest in fighting to go back in and get it. The store was barely two minutes away assuming you drove five below the 50 mph speed limit. Too far to walk, but not far enough to listen to a full song.

  The air outside thickened. My birthday is at the end of April, close to summer and even closer to the last day of school. You can feel summer when it starts coming. In Alabama, the humidity gets really strong really fast. It's something you get used to growing up in the South, no matter which part of it
.

  “You ready for finals?” Dad asked, trying so hard to communicate with me. We'd always been close, don't get me wrong. This was just a little weird for me because he was trying way too hard to be there for me. We'd been through the same stuff so I couldn't really figure out where this had come from.

  “They're gonna be hard this year.”

  “Think so?”

  “Yeah,” I said, trying to end the conversation.

  “Why's that?”

  “The teachers are being nice about Momma and...everything. But I know it won't be easy. One's letting me just write an essay instead of taking the final.” That took a lot for me to say. I hadn't casually mentioned her name in a long time and I had a feeling Dr. O'Nassis would want to talk about this next week.

  “That's good, especially since you love writing.” Yeah, whatever. That's almost what I said, but I knew things would get worse if I provoked anything. Thus, I made a grunt of agreement and left it at that.

  We pulled into the smallish gas station and parked. It was one of those tributes to the small town life that every movie tried to capture but failed miserably no matter who they knew or where they got their information. I've seen dozens of movies that try to capture this essence of life, but it's a hard thing to grab if you haven't lived there all your life. Driving Miss Daisy came the closest, but even that had some major flaws. This is the 21st century instead of the 20th, when times were “rough” and people were selfish and stupid. My dream came back to me. Racism had been a defining thing of the 20th century. So many things changed for the better and worse as they always do. I walked inside with Dad, trying to get those thoughts out of my head.

  We smiled at the owner as we walked in. He'd been there for millions of years with little intention of leaving. People came to him for quick little fixes: cigarettes, gas, and pizza. His pizza was the best in West Lewis County, without dispute. The people of this area had been coming here since long before I was born. Charlie was ageless, though smoking had greased his skin until his hair fell out. He was balding slightly from the front. What was left of his hair was slicked back and fading fast. I wasn't sure if he'd go bald or white first, though my money was on bald.

  “How you holdin' up?” was the question that greeted us.

  “Doing what we can,” said Dad. I walked to the back and looked for a Dr. Pepper. There were a few people in the front debating about the latest decisions “down in T-Town” (a.k.a. University of Alabama). I'm an Auburn fan, the only one in my whole family, but I still loved football no matter who's playing. I'd become an Auburn family to spite my family, which didn't work like I thought it would.

  “Things is tough,” I heard from the front. Charlie was a nice guy, but as Southern as Southern could be. His belly, which he sat on the counter when talking, was large and you could just feel his arteries clogging as he talked to you.

  “I know, but thank you for the prayers.”

  “How's Rob?”

  Dad leaned in a little closer and whispered something that sounded like “I think...though...Doctor...you know...” I wasn't sure what he said and frankly didn't care.

  I walked up and placed my drink on the counter. I sort of smiled again and avoided eye contact. Since I started my little ritual, I had trouble looking at people. It was like they could see right through me and feel what I felt, yet unable to feel what I felt or what I needed them to feel. Of course, I didn't want them to feel anything. Anything at all. I wanted to be alone and away from them. So far away they couldn't get to me, especially now. But here I was, stuck listening to whatever it was I had to listen to, though not really listening at all. I tried to think of ways to feel better. I wanted something that would have a larger impact on the pain I was feeling. Something inside was hurting, far worse than I was hurting. I wasn't afraid of life. That I could handle. I was afraid of suffering for the rest of my life and not being able to move on from this...this place I'd lost myself. Lost who I was. It sounds crazy, but it's not supposed to make sense. At least, not to anyone else. Just me. Just me.

  “How you doin'?”

  “I'm good,” I lied. “How about you?”

  “Oh things is good. Business is slow but that's cause it's only April. Things don't start picking up 'til later, maybe end of May.” I nodded as I always did and looked around. He was struggling to talk. “How's school?” he asked, making conversation just to make conversation.

  “It’s going well,” again, trying to end the conversation.

  “You passin’ like you ‘sposed to be?”

  “Of course.” Dad paid for my drink, which I grabbed and made my way to the car. “Have a good one” I said over my shoulder. I could hear them talking about me as I walked out. No worries, let 'em talk. They aren't the first people and they wouldn't be the last.

  Dad had the pizza and headed my way. I opened the door for him. The pizza smelled amazing. Half sausage and half mushroom; the pizza of champions. Momma never cared for it, but that had all changed now. I shuttered at the thoughts of her being grossed out by the pizza and making sarcastic comments about us eating it and the things it would do to us. (“It'll make you go bald.” “It'll make your teeth go green.”)

  She had never liked a lot of the thing we ate. Buttermilk and cornbread made a much better meal than she would ever admit. You'd be amazed how far you could go on something as simple as buttermilk. We were only allowed to bring buttermilk home when we were making cornbread, which is usually when we bought more than was needed. It drove Mom nuts, but we did it anyway. I remember the first time I'd had it. It had a tangy taste and I couldn't drink it straight, but I realized it went well with other foods, such as cornbread, and was really great to bake with.

  We pulled in the driveway to see a large, black 4x4 truck waiting for us. They had their lights on, which told me they were either just arriving or just leaving. Either way, we had them pinned in now.

  This is gonna be wonderful, I thought, globs of sarcasm dripping over each word. I knew who it was before they even got out.

  Our family was closer than most, even though we suffered a lot of shortcoming. We had two big families, both Mom's and Dad's. It's still shocking that I somehow became an only child. It had nothing to do with a “lack of trying”, as Momma had always put it. There had just never been another. This sounds like a personal issue or something that would come between our families, but it hadn't. My dozens of aunts, uncles, and cousins more than made up for it, averaging two or three kids a piece.

  Anyway, it was my cousins sitting in the truck. Well, cousin and “cousin-in-law.” I wasn't really sure what to call her, I just knew she was related to us through the marriage of my cousin, the poor girl. She knew who she was marrying the moment she said “I do” so I had little sympathy for her. They had come to visit us for some reason. My guess, though, was that it involved us, Mom, and a large amount of my time.

  Things had yet to settle down since she died. We were still getting cards and flowers from people we knew and those we didn't. Customers at work had stopped saying anything about it and let it become old news. There was the occasional “how are you doing?”, but those were few and far between, mostly done out of common courtesy rather than genuine concern.

  I knew if I ran and hid in my room, Dad would chase after me and force me down there, so I chose the lesser of two evils and decided to pretend to be human again. It was harder than ever, especially with them there. They were gonna ask questions I didn't want to answer and talk about things I'd prefer to ignore and just let be. I knew that wouldn't happen. Sooner or later life or my doctor would force me to confront them. Until then, I was gonna ignore them and go about my business.

  We parked beside them and got out. I opened the back door and got the pizza out of the car. It smelled wonderful, much better than it did when we bought it. Now we're face to face with relatives, so the smell and taste were slowly dissipating into nothingness. I wasn't looking forward to what was coming.

  “Howdy,” Carl s
aid. Like I said, she knew what she was marrying into. He'd married Berta. Carl was the cousin closest to me in age on either side of the family. Most of the others were either way younger or way older. We were only a year apart, which was both good and bad. Good, because I had someone to play with at family reunions; bad, because we didn't have anything in common, thus we didn't get along.

  “Hey, guys,” Dad said.

  “Hey.” Carl looked at me. “Hey, Rob.” I smiled and returned the phony pleasantry. You could tell that I was faking it by the sound of my voice, which is exactly what I wanted. I saw them get uncomfortable and shift from foot to foot. I wanted them to leave now. “Hi” and “Bye.” Things never happen the way you want them to.

  “Pizza?”

  “Yeah, just went to Charlie's.”

  “Mm-hmm,” Carl said. “Gotta love Charlie's. They've been in business for a while, haven't they?”

  “Since I was little so I'd say so.”

  “We love ordering from them,” Berta said. My arms were starting to hurt from the heat of the pizza box. I didn't say anything and tried not to grimace. I wanted the pain; I needed the pain, more so now. It felt good, especially with what I was going through at the moment. Family was a touchy subject for me. I loved them just like I should, but I couldn't stand to be around them for a long time. I suppose that's normal because Mom and Dad couldn't stand to be around them for a long time either. We'd avoided several reunions and spent the time together.

  “Well, it's hot out here,” Carl said.

  “I know, let's go inside,” Dad replied and with that, the next four hours seemed to disappear before me. I put the pizza box in our over-sized microwave and closed the door. I knew it wouldn't leave until they did.