After Anderson

Section 7-2

Vera looked like she hadn’t slept in a century as she brushed her hair out of her face with her hand. As she lifted up her arm I noticed that she had many tattoos under her baggy sleeves but I couldn’t make out what they were. The sister returned to speaking amongst themselves with defiant edges in her voice just as the last students walked in and finished filling up the seats. Mr. Pasquale then began to speak in his usual overly diplomatic tone of voice with a hint of arrogance.

“Good morning students,” he announced proudly in an overly loud microphone, “welcome back to Belden High! I especially want to welcome the students who are coming back for the first time since the incident two years ago.”

“ Incident? ” Someone behind me spoke in a hoarse, voice. “What happened was a lot more than just an incident .”

“There will be counselling available to any student who may need it beginning after this presentation,” Mr. Pasquale went on, “we are Belden!”

“Belden,” Svetlana grumbled to herself, “what kind of name is that? It sounds like Bergen-Belsen!”

“Bergen-Belden sounds more like it,” I grumbled under my breath.

“Mr. Belden was an Austrian philanthropist that came to America centuries ago and people loved him so much that they named a school after him.” Jennifer whispered back.

I did my best to zone out of Mr. Pasquale’s speech because his high-pitched self-righteous voice reminded me too much of my last up and close encounter with him. I desperately tried to shake the image out of my mind but I couldn’t. My breathing dramatically accelerated and my hands began to shake as the memories came rushing in and eventually my whole body shook uncontrollably. I got up as quickly as I could on my weak legs and bolted out the door that was just to my right to catch a breath in the hallway but I came face to face with the memorial plaque set up on the wall.

I hadn’t previously known that it was there and I hadn’t noticed it upon walking to the auditorium either but it was right there in front of my face with nineteen names engraved on it. Twenty minus one. My stomach tightened and I suddenly felt nauseous upon seeing the plaque so I went down the nearest flight of stairs as fast as I could and flew out the side entrance into the parking lot where I collapsed and vomited. Only bile came out, but it was still vomit.

The cool morning air helped soothe my rising body temperature as well as calm me down. I hadn’t expected to react that way. After almost two years I thought I would’ve been ready to return to Belden but coming back had only made me sick. I sat on the damp concrete sidewalk on the almost deserted street for what seemed like forever before an unknown female teacher came to join me and asked me if I was alright like I was a small child.

I looked up at her in a daze but I couldn’t see her face because everything was blurry and all I remembered was that she said she would call my parents to come and pick me up and about fifteen minutes later my mom showed up. My mother took me into her arms and then commented on how pale I looked as we rode back home. I felt lightheaded but the cold of the window pressed up against my forehead helped me come back to my senses.

“I guess that maybe it was too soon to send you back to that school,” her gentle voice whispered to me as she squeezed my cold hand into hers.

“Mom,” I muttered, “I’m an adult now.”

“I know you are sweetheart, but adults also need to be taken care of sometimes.”

“I chose out of my own free will to go to school, you don’t need to pity me or worry about me.”

“I’m your mom, I can’t help it.”

I knew better than to argue with her because I was well aware of the fact that I couldn’t win. Once we arrived home I immediately walked up to my room on the second floor and flopped onto my bed. Lying on my stomach, I looked aimlessly around my room to distract myself but nothing was ever able to stop my mind from wandering into places that it shouldn’t.

I looked over at my pictures of Anderson, Elaine and Amanda. I missed the three of them so much, and somehow I wasn’t allowed to grieve. I knew that things would never be the same again, but inside I silently begged for some sort of sense of normalcy again. Where I had I been for two years? I wasn’t sure. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer to that question either. My inner dwellings and contemplations were interrupted by my mother barging in through the door and sitting on my bed next to me.

“Maybe it’s better that you don’t look at these right now.” She spoke softly as she took all three of my pictures and put them facedown on my table so I couldn’t see them.

I rolled over onto my back and looked blankly at the ceiling tiles. They were blank and white, probably just as blank as I was. I didn’t know what to feel, or even how to feel anymore. I was still in denial and I was painfully aware of that but I didn’t know what to do about it, as ironic and backwards as that was. Or maybe I didn’t want to do anything about it. I wanted my friends back, I wanted my life back, I wanted myself back. I was only a shell of my former self.

My mother looked at me with worry filling her hazel eyes but I wasn’t worried. I was too numb inside to be worried about anything. I asked her to give me a few more moments alone in order to collect my thoughts, or try to anyway. She nodded her head and grabbed my picture frames on her way out. I sighed in exasperation. They were the only things I had left other than bittersweet memories.

My eyes darted back and forth from wall to wall, trying to find a distraction. The lilac walls of my room were adorned with picture frames, award certificates and ribbons as well as letters and artwork that my friends had sent to me. I surrounded myself with things and people I loved and while most people thought it was childish to do so, it was really the only way I could cope.

I pulled up my plain white bedsheets over my head and wrapped myself up with my purple and black plaid blanket. I couldn’t hide from myself, and especially not from reality. A few seconds later, I got back out from under the covers and sat on the edge of my bed, unsure what to do with myself. I examined the rest of my room to distract myself for a few seconds. The fake parquet wood flooring was scratched but it was still my favourite floor in the house.

My bedroom window was large on the north side and although the sun didn’t directly come in through it, the neighbour’s window made the sunlight reflect directly into my room. To some people my beige curtains looked like could have previously been a bathroom carpet and my closet doors were the same colour as the floor, a beautiful natural pale wood colour, even though it was fake. Most of my furniture was black which created a contrast with the pale walls and other decor.

My room was large and had enough space to comfortably fit two large dressers, a computer desk, a large bookshelf, a small cabinet, my queen size bed and two night tables without making it look like a game of Tetris gone bad. I could easily rearrange all the furniture and my room was still just as cozy and spacious. It was my own personal sanctuary away from the world.

Dear Anderson,

I just can’t cope. Why? WHY? I don’t know. I just don’t. I don’t understand a damn thing anymore! I was convinced that I would be able to walk into that building again today and face whatever demons were left in there but I failed miserably. I even PUKED just to add insult to injury. I think it was really Mr. Pasquale that trigged me. That jerk! I’ll never forgive him for what he did, well, what he didn’t do at least. I never thought I hated him this much until I saw his ugly face again today.

On the good side I saw Jennifer and that was really nice. She introduced me to the Petrov sisters or whatever their names are. They appear to be Russian or Ukrainian and they seem nice. One of them kind reminded me of you somehow. I still don’t know how to really feel about that but my gosh I miss you! My feelings are so messed up and I just don’t know what to make of them. I don’t know anything anymore! I never thought that things would end up this way.

Are you happy where you are? Because I sure as hell am not happy here! Your presence still lingers around here and sometimes I just wish you’d go away once and for all. I don’t know Anderson, I just don’t know.

Aly

I eventually went downstairs when I couldn’t find any distractions in my room and found my mother still at home, sitting all by herself in the kitchen. She worked part-time with the disabled from eleven to two on weekdays and did freelance photography on her own time and although she should’ve been at work she didn’t look like she was going anywhere. My father worked twelve-hour shifts at a coal mine just on the outskirts of town.

I didn’t get to spend too much time with my dad during the day but on the weekends we always got together to spend some quality time. He was my best friend, and had always been, but despite our closeness I also felt a disconnect between the two of us. Nothing had actually changed between the two of us, but I had changed inside.

Last but not least, I also had a ten-year-old little brother, ironically named Anderson. I missed him so much even though he hadn’t gone anywhere. I was the one who couldn’t be around him. There was actually nothing wrong with him, it was me, there was something wrong with me . I knew that it deeply saddened him to no longer have his big sister like he used to, but I no longer had the life I used to either.

I sat at the kitchen table across from my mother but neither one of us spoke a word. Basically all of the furniture in the house was made of wood, including the kitchen table and the matching chairs. The kitchen had royal blue floor tiles and plain white walls. All of the cabinets were also made of woods with the countertops made of granite. The appliances were all matching stainless steel, creating a contrast similar to the one in my bedroom.

The kitchen and dining room were merged together, creating one big open space near the staircase to go upstairs. The impressive kitchen was the first things people saw when they walked in through the door. My parents had worked hard for what we had, and I knew that they had financially suffered after putting me in intensive therapy. Once I turned eighteen I’d put a stop to that, in part because I felt guilty that it was so expensive and in part because I felt as though it didn’t help anything.

“Aren’t you going to work mom?” I asked just to break the silence.