After Anderson

Section 7-3

“No,” she replied in her usual gentle voice, “I’ll be staying with you today.”

“I’m eighteen years old mom, you don’t need to babysit me anymore. Plus you can just send me back to school for my next class.”

“Honey, after your reaction this morning I don’t think it’s such a good idea. You know, if you’re incapable of returning to school we can try homeschooling you Aly.”

Homeschool. That was really the only thing I hadn’t yet tried. I’d tried virtual school but hadn’t been able to last more than two weeks. The general concept of school had sickened me to the core and being away from it entirely was the only way I’d been able to take a few baby steps towards my recovery, a recovery that I wasn’t sure was ever possible.

“No mom, I want to go to school. I can’t stay in here and dwell over my former life for eternities at a time!”

“Why don’t you want to go to another school?”

“And travel one hour to get there and one more to come back? I don’t think so. Twenty minutes to go and another twenty to come back is enough.”

Her and I both knew that it was just a pitiful excuse and a vain attempt at deflecting from the real problem but my mother also knew better than to push the issue on me. My mother nodded in agreement and left to sit in the living room to let me cool off, seemingly holding back tears. I knew that deep down inside she had loved Anderson too even though she had never been willing to admit it.

From the corner of my eye I saw my three picture frames lying facedown on the massive granite counter. I went over to pick them up and brought them back up to my room on the second floor. They were intact, just like they had always been for the past year and a half. I placed them back on my night table in the same position they’d always been so I could look at them while I was laying in bed.

The black frames contrasted perfectly with the lilac backdrop of my wall. In my blank state of mind I didn’t feel any sadness because they were dead or any anger towards Anderson because he was beyond dead. Death was something weird. I figured I never really understood the full scope of it because I was alive and I’d only seen others die and I had never really come close to death myself. At least not close to me actually dying as in dying as a verb, not me being dead as in a state. I’d been around the dying, but that was different.

Dying somewhat weirded me out. I could not comprehend it in my state of mental and emotional blankness. My mentality since the whole ordeal had been one of willful ignorance if one could call it that. That state in which a person convinces themselves they if they just ignore the problem long enough it will go away on its own or someone else will take care of it.

But let me tell you, it doesn’t work that way. Any rational person would know that in order to get rid of a problem you have to eliminate it, resolve it somehow and a problem couldn’t be resolved the same way it had been created. I knew about the problem but not much else. It had come to a point where I’d given up with problems and death and dying and let life take its course.

My daydreaming was interrupted again when I heard the phone ring. I picked up the little purple cordless phone from my desk under the window and slouched in the big leather computer chair that accompanied it. It was time for business, time for the real world.

“Hey Jen.”

“Hey Alyson! Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine, don’t worry about me, I promise.”

“Okay Aly, I’m just worried about you. I know it’s hard, I feel for you girl! And I’m sorry that I didn’t call earlier, I didn’t get the chance until now.”

“Don’t worry about that Jenny, I’ll see you again tomorrow.”

We said goodbye and I let the phone flop onto my desk. I hadn’t spoken to anyone over the phone in months, possibly even years! I didn’t want to talk to anyone, and for that reason my parents had come to the conclusion that I was severely depressed, was in shock, and had to deal with grief in the middle of that so they’d sent me to therapy. The day I turned eighteen I’d terminated the sessions and I didn’t regret my decision.

I knew that my choice worried my parents because the therapist was the only person I actually talked to, but I enjoyed writing letters on good old pen and paper and sending them out to my two penfriends in Malta and Australia. Writing letters was the only way I felt comfortable expressing myself, and that was also the reason why I still wrote letters to Anderson even though he was dead.

My snail mail to both the living and the dead still hadn’t solved the problem though. I still felt as empty inside as I always had and I still hated talking on the phone even if it was Jennifer calling out of genuine concern for my wellbeing. It all just reminded me too much of the last words Anderson and I had exchanged over the phone.

“Hello?”

“Don’t come to school tomorrow.”

Click.

There had been an unusual sharp edge in his voice. That was unlike him. His voice was usually calm, soft and gentle. He had the deep voice of a seventeen-year-old young man but there had always been an element of gentleness to him. What was even worst than his hoarse voice that night what that I’d actually gone to school the following morning and it was the worst decision I’d ever made.

It still made me feel so stupid. Time hadn’t erased, or even eased, that lingering feeling of failure and stupidity for doing what I’d done. Anderson had given me a clear warning and I had been too stupid to listen. I showed my face at school the next morning. I’d always made myself believe that I’d gone just because I wanted to see him. Well, that I most certainly had.

“Alyson!” My mother’s voice interrupted my dark train of thought.

I was startled by her barging into my room like that again but at the same time I was so grateful for the interruption. I really didn’t want my thoughts to wander into that rabbit hole but in moments of isolation, and maybe even madness, the insanity always seemed to find that open door in my mind.

I looked over at my mother in both annoyance and gratitude and waited for her to tell me what was wrong this time again as she would say. I just wanted to be left alone but nobody ever seemed to understand that. Apparently it was a symptom of depression, or even worst, insanity. Nobody ever seemed to realize that maybe I wanted to be insane just to not have to deal with reality either.

“It’s your dad on the phone.” My mom whispered in a soft voice and quickly bolted back out the door.

“Hi dad,” I answered the phone in a somewhat embarrassed tone of voice because I had been so deep in thought that I hadn’t heard it ringing.

“Are you okay sweetie?” His voice was deep and concerned.

“Yes dad, I just barfed in the parking lot, that’s all.”

“Okay sweetheart, I’m just worried about you. I can’t even begin to imagine what it must’ve been like for you to go back to that place.”

“I barfed dad, people barf when they’re feeling sick.”

“Okay, well I just wanted to make sure. You can call me anytime you need something, even if I’m at work. I’ll drop whatever I’m doing and come to your rescue if it comes to that. I love you.”

“I love you too dad.”

And with that I hung up the phone. I didn’t walk to talk on the phone with anyone . As much as I loved my dad and I loved speaking to him, not over the phone please! Phones just left a bitter taste in my mouth. I turned around in my chair to peek at the digital clock on my night table next to my pictures and was shocked to see that it was already the afternoon! I hadn’t noticed all that time go by! Where had it gone? Had I really wasted away all of those hours by dwelling over the past again?

I went back downstairs to the kitchen to grab a flew slices of bread and sat by myself at the island counter that also matched the rest of the room. I wasted away the rest of the day by myself until Anderson arrived from from school on his bus. I dismissed him and my father eventually arrived in his white company truck just over four hours later.

At the dinner table I sat in my usual spot without speaking a word. I stared at my pale spaghetti in my blue plate in awkward silence as the others seemed to be waiting for me to say something. I finally decided to grab my fork and shove the cold pasta down my throat as an excuse for not saying anything. It wasn’t good but I ate it anyway. After the dinner the rest of the day was just as bland and so was the night but thankfully, I’d had a peaceful night and a dreamless sleep.