Counting Back
from
Nine
Valerie Sherrard
Acknowledgements
My editor, Christie Harkin, signed this story as prose, which is how it was first written. When I sent her a note proposing a complete re-write in free verse, I expected, at the very least, some hesitation. Instead, the suggestion was met with enthusiasm and support. I don’t know how often an author is given that sort of go-ahead on a contracted story, but I suspect it’s relatively rare. For that, and for the fine editorial guidance she provided, I am most appreciative. Thank you, Christie!
My friend Marina Cohen read the earliest version of this story, gave me terrific feedback and often kept me going with her enthusiasm. Thank you, Marina!
My friend Marsha Skrypuch read a free verse draft and offered invaluable suggestions, which solved several problems, and may have prevented a breakdown. Thank you, Marsha!
My husband, Brent, listened ever-so-patiently to a lot of whining during my struggles with both versions of this story. He’s kind of a saint. I kind of love him. Thank you, honey.
Secrets
When IT began I thought I would
crumble, fall apart, blurt it out. Confess
everything. Or get [caught]. That was the
worst thought of all.
Guilt and fear whispered in me until they
had me convinced I was sending out signals
((((((((i))))))))
But no one noticed a thing.
My friends trust me.
We’re at Angie’s place at the moment.
The four of us. Me—Laren (rhymes with Karen)
Morgan, Angie and Nina.
It’s pouring rain outside, but we don’t care.
We’ve got movies and snacks.
We’ve got the house to ourselves.
I’m about as relaxed as I’ve been since IT began
until Morgan says, oh-so-casually,
“I don’t know who you think you’re fooling about Scott.
Everybody knows what’s going on.”
My insides turn to jelly,
heat shoots up my neck and spreads over my face
while I search frantically for something anything
to say
some way to explain.
The room has gone as silent as death.
I lift my chin, forcing myself to face Morgan,
only to find her
stone-faced and staring at
Nina.
“Seriously, Nina. We don’t want to be mean,
but it’s been nearly two months
Two months, Nina!
since you and Scott broke up. You have to let go.
You haven’t even changed your Facebook status.
There’s nothing “complicated” about
being single.
Nina fights back through her tears.
“It’s not that easy. I love him.
I have to see this through to the end.”
“The end already happened,” Morgan says.
She’s right.
And no one in the room
knows it better than
I do.
So here I am,
watching
silently hoping they win this war
and my betrayal reaches full circle.
I need to get out of there.
I mumble an excuse.
Another lie on the heap.
Reflections on Cause and Cure
I'm not quite sure how this works but
Scott
seems to be the remedy, the thing that
chases off my guilt about
Scott.
My status tells anyone who cares
that I'm single.
The truth is: in my case, it really is
oh so complicated.
The worse I feel about all the lies,
the more I want to see and touch
Scott,
to press my face against his chest
and breathe. Just breathe.
His voice on the phone sends a thrill
skittering through me.
"I want to come over. Okay?" One thing about
Scott:
he never wastes time getting to the point.
No discussion, no middle ground. It's yes or no.
I hesitate, calculating the risk of discovery,
until his voice shifts into low gear.
"I'm on my way, Laren. I have to see you."
And my heart smiles.
Well, if you have to
Scott.
Introductions
to look Mom in the eye when he meets her.
Her Mother Brain positively rattles with crazy truisms.
This is one of them.
“You cannot trust a person
who won’t look you in the eye,” she says.
Because there couldn’t possibly be any other reason
for a person not eyeballing you.
Like shyness or nervousness.
I see her making a mental note to discuss it with me later.
She’ll say:
“I’m not judging.” And I’ll know right away that she means
Scott.
“I want to give him the benefit of the doubt.
I just can’t get past the feeling that
this boy isn’t quite
trustworthy.”
At some point, she’ll drag out the word
‘shifty’
but at least that will be later.
I tell her that we’re going to listen to music in my room.
So, naturally, her Mother Brain
makes her yell down the hall after us:
“Just make sure you keep the door open!”
I’m mortified, but he laughs it off,
pulling me tight against him,
smiling into my eyes,
kissing me until my head swims
and all that exists is
Scott.
Discovery
How could I have fallen asleep?
There we were, lying side by side ... talking
while strains of Coldplay cushioned the empty spaces.
At first I think he’s gone but when I turn, he’s sitting
on the side of the bed, looking bored.
He feels me stir. He tells me he’s got to go.
All the tenderness has drained out of him.
I say I’m sorry—I don’t know what
happened—I’m so sorry.
“It’s not that, Laren. It’s this.
We can’t go anywhere or do anything.”
Tongue-tied, I follow him to the front door
And then Fate smirks and steps in,
planting Angie at the end of my driveway.
I don’t see her until I’ve kissed him goodbye.
I don’t see her until my eyes follow Scott leaving
and find her standing there.
Still as a stone.
Unanswered Angie
Shame silences me and so
I do not say
anything.
But she is right.
I cannot expect her to
keep this quiet
and
I should have the
decency
to tell Nina myself.
Mostly True Confession
There’s no right way to tell
this kind of thing to a friend. So,
I get it over with quick and
move on to dressing the wound.
I’m so sorry. Really. Truly.
I never meant for this to happen.
I hope you can for
give me.
Please, forgive me.
Her answer is back in a flash. The speed of light.
The speed of anger.
I’m ready for a huge blast but it’s short and to the point.
I hate you.
Sinking In
She can’t really hate me.
Not after all the years we’ve been friends.
Not over one thing. One guy.
This is turnabout. Fair play.
A stab in my heart
to repay
the knife in her back.
I know what’s next and I don’t have long to wait for
Morgan’s monologue.
I can’t believe you kept this from me!
How do you think I felt hearing it from Nina?
Sometimes it’s like I don’t even know you.
And what about the group?
Did you even think about the group?
I hope you know you’ve put me
Your mess, Laren.
Do you think I can take your side? Because I cannot.
At some point during her tirade
the twisting and churning inside me stops.
I see the hopelessness of it and I
let go.
This is not going to blow over.
Morgan is still yelling
when I power off my phone.
9
It isn’t until mealtime that I fall a p a r t
Surrounded by mashed potatoes and peas,
baked fish and family
Mom, Dad, and Jackson.
That’s when my throat tightens and tears fall.
Mom coaxes out some-not-all of the story as I circle
the facts and focus on the ‘now-they-hate-me’
ending. Meanwhile Jackson feeds his fish to the dog.
But Dad
slides his chair around
and tugs me close
to his left side.
The countdown has begun.
I just don’t know it yet.
The Shunning: Part One
There are rules
for what I’ve done. Specific punishments for
crimes against friendship.
I expect no leniency.
The first day will be the worst.
I’ve had time to prepare,
to imagine what’s coming.
I’m ready.
Hard-as-stone ready.
They can bring it all—
the cold granite stares, disdain, disappointment.
I know what messages their faces will offer.
I know too
when they’re certain I’ve taken in their silent fury,
they will turn away
ever so deliberately.
I’ve imagined it all and I’ve made up my mind.
There is no point in caring.
But my stomach is not ready.
It lurches when Nina storms by,
a little hallway tempest.
She spits out a single word as she passes.
And I remind myself that I will not care. I will not react.
I am halfway to class when I see Morgan.
I steel myself for more hostility, but it doesn’t come.
Her eyes turn soft and sad. She looks miserable
as she lowers her gaze and moves past.
Her sorrow slams into me.
It was the one thing I wasn’t prepared for.
It takes ten minutes in the toilet stall
to pull myself together,
five more at the sink to get the red out of my eyes.
Now I need a hall pass
and some new friends.
Lunch
My eyes are trying to drift toward the table where my
friends, excuse me, ex-friends, are sitting.
I keep my head high, my gaze focused on the
elsewhere straight ahead,
which is how I manage to trip over a book-bag.
I don’t fall
because it would have been a mercy
to have hit my head and knocked myself out,
instead of lurching wildly and crashing
into a couple of girls holding trays.
Let me just say that
it is not easy to look composed
under these circumstances.
Scott is with friends at their usual table.
I will him to look over and miraculously
his head lifts and he see me there,
standing alone with my lunch tray
like the poster girl for friendlessness.
His hand comes up and I hurry toward him
even though I am almost certain he was
waving, not beckoning.
So here I sit, pathetically soaking up the bits of attention that
dribble
down
during
breaks in the jock talk.
Every now and then
I see him remembering
Oh, yeah, Laren is here.
He smiles and makes an effort before
turning back to talk of games long over.
When he asks how my lunch is
for the second time
I am quite sure that
solitude would have been better.
But after school, he catches up, walks with me and
his attention is all mine.
As my hand rests warm and safe in his,
I have the oddest thought
that I am collecting moments.
Jackson
You are supposed to love your brother
because he is your brother,
but now and then he gives me other reasons,
like today, when I get home
and the little turniphead asks me if any of my friends
have smartened up yet.
Week Two
I’m making my dismal way toward Scott’s table
where I’ve forced myself to eat lunch for the past week
because I’ve rid myself of options.
But then, I hear my name and I turn to see
Christine Oakey, who’s in two of my classes.
She’s sitting with a girl I don’t know and
I’m not quite sure if she meant to invite me but I
barely hesitate before sliding into an empty seat.
Christine does a back and forth gesture between me
and the other girl. “Laren? Dee? You guys know each other?”
I’m about to say, “No,” when Dee blurts,
“I’m not sure if we ever actually met,
if you know what I mean, but
I’ve seen you around lots of times and
I think we were both at a party at
Paula-May Peterson’s place one time, but
in case you don’t remember me, I’m Dee.
It’s short for Denise, but no one calls me that.”
Dee prattles on and on. She hardly stops talking
long enough to catch
her breath, much less eat.
Maybe that’s why she’s so thin.
Christine and I finish our lunches while
Dee’s chatter only allows her time for
three tiny bites
of her wrap. I’m wondering if she’s got an
eating disorder, when she
stops for breath,
glances down like she just noticed
she has food, and starts stuffing it in like a maniac.
Christine brings up the weekend in a vague
“you guys have any plans?” kind of way.
When I say that I’m not sure what
my boyfriend and I are doing
there’s an awkward flicker of silence,
which makes me wonder
what stories Nina is spreading.
I want to say something,
give myself a kind of
casual absolution
but Dee has gulped down h
er lunch
and is jabbering again.
I half expect to see a wrap-sized lump
moving down her throat,
like a mouse that’s been swallowed by a mamba.
Family (Anything But) Fun
My folks have planned a family bowling outing
this Saturday afternoon, which I think is a
misguided cheer-up-our-friendless-daughter thing,
like going bowling with my parents and kid brother
could ever be anything but depressing.
Except, that’s apparently not the plan, since
Mom says I should invite
my young man.
(Yes, my mother is in a time warp. Thanks for asking.)
So they can get to know him.
As if I would ever ask Scott to do
anything that lame.
Answering the Call
It is NOT acceptable for ANYONE who is NOT ME
to answer MY phone
when I am in the shower.
And no, I am not overreacting or
making a big deal of nothing.
But it is hard to make a Mother Brain understand
just how serious I am about this
when a smile keeps sneaking onto my face.
Not a smile about what she did, obviously.