P.S. Don't Save Me MAG

February 24, 2009
By Anna Leavenworth BRONZE, W. Des Moines, Iowa
Anna Leavenworth BRONZE, W. Des Moines, Iowa
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

A kid.

That’s all I am to him: Trapped in my ­under-developed body. I want to scream, but my mouth is dry.

***

His words drown together, lost somewhere between his mouth and my ear, until she nudges me.

“… However, Ms. Lock, we are concerned about her low attendance, failing grades, and frankly, her overall well-being.” He pauses to glance at the montage of papers spewed across his desk and scribble, presumably, nonsense. “Many of Rachel’s teachers and superiors have expressed great concern and brought it to my attention numerous times. Now I understand the circumstances, but Ms. Lock–”

“Don’t be silly; call me Kari,” she interrupts as she lends him a closed smile. She tucks her chemical blond hair behind her ear, which is visibly weighed down by her faux diamond earring. She scoots closer to him.

Words no longer retain form, accompanying the hum of the heater. My eyes are engrossed in the carpet’s pattern, following each zig and zag, until finally I end where I began.

He hands her an official Harper High pen and points to the line on which she is to provide a signature, as he summarizes five pages of legal information. He claims he’s found the perfect program for me. He says lots of other youth who have faced similar obstacles as me have been very responsive. He says he thinks that I will be too.

I silently wish him luck with that.

No, I am not going.

I’m a lot of things but not a charity project. Nope. Never. No, thank you. She can’t make me go. Can she? She makes me go, despite my pleas.

***

I step outside into the unwelcomingly brisk morning and begin to unwrap a granola bar. Kicking a small pebble, hands safely tucked in pockets, I watch my breath, like smoke, exiting my body, vaporizing into air. Maybe this is as close as I’ll ever get to proof of my existence.

I enter the building which he claims will save me. Taking my time to roam this unfamiliar territory in search of room 201, I find the hallway to be unusually narrow, almost as if its walls are closing in on me.

I take two deep breaths before entering the room. The door creaks open, and I get the uneasy sensation that I’m not only late but intruding on an exclusive moment. I am greeted by blank stares and a middle-aged woman sporting blond pigtails and a feigned smile, complete with a coral pink lipstick smudge across one tooth.

She leaps from a plastic chair and shrieks a welcoming serenade, assuring me that my tardiness is excusable because it is my first day, but to never let it happen again. She looks me straight in the eye and gives me the firmest handshake I’ve ever received.

I enter the circle of chairs. However, it seems to have taken the shape of a blob. I find myself in the middle of a mousy freshman dressed in head-to-toe purple and a boy who reeks of Indian food.

I look around from chair to chair, searching for a familiar face. Some look like they’ve been messed up. Most look completely normal, but they don’t fool me. No, I see past the pink eye shadow, the beat-up jeans paired with punk-band T-shirts, and the brand new team jerseys. If I were religious, I’d find myself right here, in this very room, praying to God that I’m not that easily read.

Pigtails hands each of us a journal. She tells us that anything is fair game, just as long as we write each day. She says it’s important to get our thoughts onto paper, even when they seem miniscule. Miniscule – I know what that feels like.

I am scared to open the journal. Words are dangerous, especially when we write them down. If I’m not careful, they might betray me.

The next morning, Pigtails asks if I will read my first journal entry aloud. I shake my head no. She doesn’t push me and quickly moves on, telling us that the visitors in the room are our new counselors, here to meet with us individually. I feel terrible for mine.

I am paired with a Mr. E. Tear, as he formally introduces himself, but says that I should call him Emmitt. In return, I tell him my name is Rachel, and that that was probably as much as he’d ever get to know about me. I make sure he knows it’s nothing personal.

“I agree, I’m not much for talking,” Emmitt replies with a wink. “If you keep it between you and me, I want to be here just about as much as you do. This counseling gig is only temporary.”

I nod in acknowledgment.

Once I arrive home, I smell the foreign scents of a home-cooked dinner. I make my way into the kitchen to find my mother in his lap.

“Rachel, honey, you remember Daniel, your principal, right?” she asks, almost as if she’s mocking me.

He shifts her from his knee onto a separate seat, standing as he brushes the wrinkles out of his suit. “Rachel, it’s wonderful to see you,” he states.

I laugh out of despair, pivoting in the direction of my room, leaving her to apologize for me.

***

Sometimes I play a game. I let my alarm clock sound, without shutting it off, as I lie in bed, counting the hours until someone, anyone, notices.

Emmitt looks surprised to see me, but he never asks me why I haven’t been showing up. I sit down and he hands me a photograph of a woman. She isn’t beautiful by society’s standards. However, the more I contemplate her crooked nose and the way her freckles mask her face, the more she begins to grow on me.

Emmitt tells me how sorry he is he never took his own passion for photography more seriously. He says it’s the only thing that makes him feel worthy of occupying a life, that in his mind, capturing beauty and humor on a five-by-seven sheet of paper, is the biggest miracle he’ll ever perform. That maybe his art could change anothers’. He says that for the most part he hates people. All they do is care about themselves.

“We’re just too single-minded!” he keeps exclaiming, as he grabs what little hair he has in frustration. At the end, I’ll ask that he bring another picture next time.

I fumble through my journal until I find a fresh sheet of paper. Sometime after learning of Emmitt’s fire for photography, I lost my fear of words. And suddenly, I’ve become addicted to them, to thinking that my words are important enough for paper. In some ways, I blame Emmitt.

Pigtails asks me to read a journal entry aloud again. I lower my head until my eyes reach the piercing white of the paper.



The Daisy

Has Faith departed
Love departed
Both stand in Blank’s shadow
She stands the same as yesterday
Peeling the Daisy’s petals
Each descends slowly
Kissing the grass beneath
Aging into ivy
“Blank made me do it!” she exclaims to
Boy
Boy stands the same as her
Only three states away
Daisy in hand
Feet covered in petals




I raise my head to the class.
“Roses are red,
Violets are blue.”

***

Emmitt says he has what no one else has: A third eye. He believes the lens of his camera allows him to see things his own two eyes can’t. I map my finger around the fiery red curls of the girl in his photograph as I just listen, soaking in his truth.

***

I enter my house. The lights are dim and the atmosphere cold. The sound of rain pattering against the rooftop is accompanied by sniffles from the kitchen where she sits, cupping a cold coffee mug.

The telephone base flashes, indicating missed calls. Once she sees me, she lifts her hand to her mouth as tears stream down her face, hitting the blanket that lies upon her lap.

Once I sit down across from her, she slides what seems to be my journal across the table. I open it, scanning my words and my thoughts, confirming my assumption. I stand up, heartbeat increasing. My mind goes blank as I grab my journal, holding it as close to my chest as possible, as if somehow this can flood the words back into my heart and off these public pages.

“What are you doing with this?” I ask, and my words wobble and hands shake.

“Rachel, I just want you to let me in again. I want to know you like you used to let me.”

I am no longer in control. I cry. I cry so hard I start to heave. I cry about her and about me, but mostly out of humiliation.

“You know, sooner or later you’re going to have to say something to me,” she sighs, defeated, like a balloon whose air is slowly let out. “I liked your poems,” she tries again.

“You had no right to read them. These,” I point to my notebook, “these were private.”

“Oh, Rachel, don’t be a drama queen,” she chuckles.

“I hate you,” I spit.

“Damn it, you will not speak to your mother that way. I raised you better than that.”

“My mother? You haven’t been my mother in four years. Four years. You let man after man into your life, and put me second behind loser after loser.”

She rolls her eyes. “Rachel, don’t make it about that. This has nothing to do with that.”

“THAT? For that, I’ll always hate you – for ­bringing him into my life, for letting him touch me the way you let him. That has everything to do with this.”

I go to bed with complete intentions never to wake up, but when I do, I grab my journal and begin to write. I write about love, deception, hope, and mostly about myself.



Mirror

I reflect the woman
Who sighs as I let her down
The uncertain, the reserved woman
She is calm, a hesitance inside her
Squinting to see her soul

The more I stare
The more I see

I reflect the child
Who laughs and dances
The innocent, the carefree child
She is bright, a sparkle in her eye
Her soul clear as crystal

Intertwined these two beings
Like deep black coal that woman
Aged into a diamond this child


***

Once I enter room 201, I search for Emmitt. I think today I might show him what I’ve written.

“Rachel?” Pigtails gets my attention. “I’d like you to meet Mrs. Price, your new counselor.” She places her hand upon the small of my back in an effort to guide me toward her, but I don’t move.

“New counselor? What?” I ask in confusion.

“Mrs. Price will be replacing Mr. Tear. I really think you’ll enjoy her,” she tries to convince me by wrinkling her nose and flashing a blindingly white smile.

Pigtails grabs the arm of a woman dressed in a men’s forest green pantsuit and points in my direction. The woman furrows her eyebrows before her hand reaches for mine. I shake it as she introduces herself. I am not impressed. She isn’t Emmitt.

I don’t last long under the instruction of Mrs. Price. I turn to walk away from room 201, most likely for the last time. My pace increases as I enter the hallway. I push the door open, and as the blistering breeze hits my face, I begin to run. I am running because I don’t know what else to do. I run for freedom, for security, but more for answers.

My eyes scout out a payphone along the sidewalk. I thumb through the battered, hanging telephone book. My eyes reach Tear and my finger finds Emmitt. I dial his number, and am greeted by a chorus of rings.

“You’ve reached Emmitt …” I smile. “And Lindsey!” a woman’s voice interrupts.

I hang up because I feel like I’ve just spied on him, like I’ve just imposed. Of course he has a life of his own. I knew I wasn’t the only part of him. In fact, who am I to say I was a part of him at all? Not once had I talked. He knew hardly anything about me. Frankly, he knew nothing about me. So why had I expected him to stay? I wasted his time. He lasted longer than he should have.

“Emmitt stopped by,” my mom calls from the living room. “He dropped off a letter. It’s on the kitchen table.”

I take it to my bedroom, where I stare at it for a long time. Placing it inside my weathered journal, I decide not to open it. I like to imagine what the letter says sometimes. Maybe he tells me he’ll be coming back, that Mrs. Price was only a substitute, and that it was just a big misunderstanding. Or possibly, he writes of how he wants to take a photograph of me, and the letter describes a time I was to meet him. Maybe, it wasn’t a letter at all, but a newspaper clipping he thought might make me smile.

***

Tonight I can’t sleep. The noise beyond my window­sill awakens me. I switch on my bedside lamp, and open the drawer where my journal lies. I click the pen and begin to write a note I know I will never send.



Emmitt,

I don’t think you know this about me, but I have learned to love writing. In a way, it has become my third eye, letting me see the world beyond the capacity of my own. I think you gave that to me. Thanks for letting me listen.

Rachel



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This article has 618 comments.


on Jun. 24 2013 at 2:46 pm
Sketched97 PLATINUM, Silver Spring, Maryland
31 articles 4 photos 168 comments
You are a talented writer. Good job and don't stop.

on Jun. 17 2013 at 10:00 am
CallMeAria PLATINUM, Vancouver, Other
30 articles 27 photos 73 comments

Favorite Quote:
EVERYTHING HAPPENS FOR A REASON :)

I like this story ... I thought I wouldn't, but, I do, because it all flows very easily and the ending is great, because it just works, and it doesn't feel forced or dramatic, like some stories. I actually read the entire thing, which is rare because normally I stop halfway through if a story doesn't catch my interest my by then :) beautiful story <3

on May. 28 2013 at 7:13 am
MaggieLager_ BRONZE, Kalamazoo, Michigan
2 articles 0 photos 4 comments

Favorite Quote:
“Love is like a big juicy steak. You bite into it, enjoy it, then regret the calories you gained, when you're standin on your scale the next morning.

See,I don't eat steak. I'm a vegetarian.”
― Euphoria Godsent

This was amazing! When I started reading, I thought it was going to be a basic story. But it was an amaing story, by and amazing author! Great job. This was beautiful.

on May. 15 2013 at 5:03 pm
imalwayswrite53 GOLD, Saltlake City, Utah
13 articles 1 photo 23 comments

Favorite Quote:
I know you believe you understand what you think I said, but what you don't realize is that what I said is not what I meant......

That was so much awesome character devolpement in so few words. I loved the character, for about 15 minutes, I was the character. The world you created seemed so real I was almost shocked when I reached the bottom of the page. That was amazing!

on May. 9 2013 at 5:43 pm
sunsetsandskies BRONZE, Cape Cod, Massachusetts
2 articles 0 photos 3 comments

Favorite Quote:
People who are crazy enough to believe they can change the worlds are usually the ones that do!

That was amazing! Honestly, I could not tear my eyes away from the page!

on Apr. 29 2013 at 8:29 pm
Arlee-Rayner GOLD, Cerritos, California
12 articles 0 photos 3 comments

Favorite Quote:
“Flatter me, and I may not believe you. Criticize me, and I may not like you. Ignore me, and I may not forgive you. Encourage me, and I will not forget you. Love me and I may be forced to love you.” -William Arthur Ward

This was really amazing. Your story went in a lot of directions that I didn't expect, and every word had me hooked. :)

on Apr. 26 2013 at 1:13 pm
loveisntreal GOLD, Arcata, California
19 articles 0 photos 51 comments

Favorite Quote:
"you live what you've learned." -linkin park

i loved this. you did a wonderful job. :))

Setizia GOLD said...
on Apr. 13 2013 at 6:15 pm
Setizia GOLD, Darnestown, Maryland
13 articles 5 photos 44 comments

Favorite Quote:
The purpose of life is to search eternally for the purpose of life

Amazing. I am speechless.

on Mar. 2 2013 at 3:59 pm
JNajeraO1205 SILVER, Reno, Nevada
7 articles 0 photos 10 comments

Favorite Quote:
"Without writing, the world would be rewritten to a place with nothingness." - Jerry Najera

This is a beautiful piece of writing. I began reading it, thinking I wouldn't like it, but holy cow do I regret that. I don't even know what to say.. It was amazing. You have inspired me to write better. lol. Amazing!!! It ended so tempting though, as if I wanted to read more and more. Nice Job! Favoriting this as soon as I post this comment. great job!

on Feb. 26 2013 at 11:14 pm
A_Jean PLATINUM, Citrus Heights, California
40 articles 0 photos 19 comments

Favorite Quote:
"we all carry these things inside that no one else can see. they hold us down like anchors and they drown us out at sea."
"i'm trying to figure out which parts of my personality are mine and which ones I created to please you"

Legitimately one of the best stories I've ever read on here.  It's absolutely perfect. You're so talented. 

on Feb. 14 2013 at 2:32 pm
J-punzle27 PLATINUM, Scottsburg, Indiana
38 articles 1 photo 21 comments

Favorite Quote:
"Love a girl who writes,
and live her many lives;
you have yet to find her,
beneath her words of guise."

A flawless story, I think you should get it published as a book,like one written in poems, I would totally spend money on this :D

on Feb. 9 2013 at 6:38 pm
GreekGoddess BRONZE, Andover, Connecticut
3 articles 0 photos 182 comments

Favorite Quote:
I'm not superstitious, I believe in irony.
~Me

By the gods, I feel for that character. I loved it.

on Jan. 31 2013 at 6:15 pm
TaylorWintry DIAMOND, Carrollton, Texas
72 articles 0 photos 860 comments

Favorite Quote:
"Never fear shadows. They simply mean there's a light shining somewhere nearby." - Unknown

Fantastic. I love this.

on Jan. 7 2013 at 12:55 pm
In_Love_with_Writing GOLD, Easton, Pennsylvania
12 articles 0 photos 389 comments

Favorite Quote:
"I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." Phillipians 4:13

Nice story! Can you comment and rate some of my stories?

kmcn33 BRONZE said...
on Dec. 22 2012 at 10:08 am
kmcn33 BRONZE, Needham, Massachusetts
4 articles 3 photos 34 comments

Favorite Quote:
I was much too far out all my life / And not waving but drowning

amazing, beautiful...im in love with this story. so amazing

on Dec. 4 2012 at 5:13 pm
carilloony GOLD, Sterling, Virginia
12 articles 2 photos 94 comments

Favorite Quote:
"To love another person is to see the face of God."

beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. 

on Dec. 2 2012 at 6:25 pm
ravenmysterious BRONZE, Athens, Alabama
3 articles 6 photos 4 comments
That was wonderful :) i love the details.

on Nov. 27 2012 at 1:33 pm
Killjoy_Parade GOLD, Scottsburg, Indiana
17 articles 4 photos 90 comments

Favorite Quote:
"You got killed. *explody sounds* Chuncks of s*** flying outta you." - Gerard

Beautifully written! Great job =)

Alimax GOLD said...
on Oct. 12 2012 at 1:53 pm
Alimax GOLD, Arlington, Tennessee
15 articles 0 photos 8 comments

Favorite Quote:
“I'd like to see mankind live together: that's all”
-Bob Marley

I enjoyed how personal, yet how elusive the character was portrayed. It makes me want to pry open the thoughts that inspired this piece. Eloquently written. Amazing job.

on Sep. 28 2012 at 7:56 pm
Cars and houses are not very cheap and not everyone can buy it. Nevertheless, loan was invented to support people in such cases.


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