No Rivers in Riverton - Chapter Six: The Split

The Split1

62


Hollow air. Classrooms are filled with hollow air. At least that's what I thought as I towered over my English assignment. I was getting noxious with the thought that the air I had been breathing in, at that very moment, had been exhaled by my classmates. I wanted fresh air. I wanted air that had settled in the atmosphere long enough to be cleansed by the vastness of the open sky. I needed newly manufactured air from the source; I needed to sniff a tree.3

The closest thing I had to a tree at the moment was the wooden desk that I sat in; I wasn’t going to sniff the desk. As long as I was stuck in this classroom with these other people in this confined space, I would breathe only second-hand oxygen. It was just then that I realized that the only thing worse than the stale air was the fact that I was confined. 4

All this angst took the form of a sigh. It felt good as I let these putrid thoughts slip away. Such a small action, a sigh, but nothing else has such an immediate mitigating effect. I then turned to the window. I had a wonderful view of the park across the street. How unfair, or rather, sadistic, it is to allow such a view to be seen from a classroom window. It is like waving a newly baked chocolate cake in front of a diabetic or dancing in front a man with no legs. Truly sadistic.5

With yet another sigh I glanced down at the college-ruled paper before me. The title of my essay read “My Fondest Memory.” I had written about halfway down the page and left off mid-sentence. 6

“I began to cry but no one”7

That was it; that was my last sentence. I struggled to remember what my train of thought had been. I began backtracking a few sentences.8

“…in the forest…hike…big rock…saw a butterfly…” I mumbled to myself as I read what I had written.9

I still couldn’t piece it together… this was my fondest memory and I couldn’t even remember it. I couldn’t remember a lot of things lately. It’s been like this since…. it happened. That was three months ago and still I am continually affected. At first it was small things like my locker combination or my telephone number. Soon I had trouble recalling my street address. Then someone would pass me in the hall and ask how my summer had been, avoiding the incident of course, and I’d say it had been alright. Then they would suggest that we hang out and I would agree and ask where he or she lived. They would laugh and look at me saying, “Good one.” After a few seconds of awkward silence and perhaps a perplexed look or two the person would realize I was serious.10

“You’re serious.”11

“Yeah, I’m sorry.”12

“We used to hang out like everyday.”13

“I don’t remember.”14

“That’s hard to believe. Next you’ll say you don’t remember me at all, right?”15

“I’m sorry.”16

“Is it something I did? Are you mad at me?”17

“No.”18

“Look, I was going to call you over the summer but I just got so--”19

“I’m not mad at you.”20

“Then what?”21

They would never get that I just couldn’t remember them. I wanted to--I wanted to so badly. But somehow it was like that information had been overwritten or lost. They usually wouldn’t talk to me after that.22

And here again my memory was failing me. How could I have forgotten something that was so clearly formed in my mind not five minutes ago?23

Again I looked down at the incomplete sentence.24

“..but no one….” I lingered on the thought. I kept pulling at a string in my mind. At the end of this string would be the sentence‘s conclusion. I kept pulling and pulling until I had this big mess of string around me that became a tangled knot. At that point I was thoroughly frustrated. I began taking guesses.25

“..no one came… no one cared… no one saw… no one… no one…,” I felt my blood running hot, “no one WHAT!?” 26

I ruffled my hands through my hair and leaned on both elbows against my desk. I let out an all too familiar sigh but it wasn’t enough to contain my frustration. I closed my eyes and just let my mind shut down. That’s what I did when things got too hard. If I were an ostrich my head would be in the sand. I was calling a truce with my mind. No, it was more like I was giving up on the war. It was easier to give up than to fight a never-ending battle. My mind was always the victor as it hid more memories away from me.27

As a sunk into depression I felt a presence hovering over me. I didn’t have to open my eyes to know that Mrs. Tibbs’ shadow hung over me in scrutinization. I just kept my eyes closed and my mind silent. I felt my essay slip from under the weight of my right elbow into the grasp of the presence above me.28

There was silence as I knew the shadow was devouring my every verb, noun, and adjective while keeping careful detail toward grammar and punctuation. As I awaited judgment I could feel the sweat upon my pencil; my fingers clutched it in a wet grasp. I began to rub the lead of the pencil back and forth against my desk leaving a squiggled path of graphite so concentrated that if you were to press a finger tip up against it you‘d be left with a blackened fingerprint.29

Then she said it. She said the words so plainly-- formed the question so matter-of-factly that it was a slap in the face.30

“...no one… what?”31

My grasp on the pencil became a hard-locked fist. I could feel my fingernails digging into the palm of my hand. I pressed the tip of the pencil down onto the desk with such pressure that under the right conditions an igneous rock would have been formed. The fibers of wood struggled to hold together and I heard them buckle and crack free. It was so satisfying. I felt the shadow above me flinch and the eyes of every student in the room burn a hole into my body. An overwhelming feeling of hysteria took over.32

Eyes closed, and still leaning on my desk, I began to chuckle. Uncontrollably, my mind gave way to laughter and the unfathomable pleasure contained in such uncivilized mannerisms.33

Defensively, Mrs. Tibbs’ shadow asked, “And what do you find so funny Mr. Swells?”34

My laughter began to run thin. Much like how popcorn pops with erratic fervency at first and then slows toward a few sporadic pops so was my laughter coming to its end. I started to choke between each stammer. I could taste blood from within my throat. I had to open my eyes due to the hot saturation which began building and then dripping down my cheek.35

“Mr. Swells you are overreacting. Just calm--”36

“I don’t know…”37

“You don’t know? What don‘t you know?”38

“I… don’t know why…”39

“Everyone get back to work!” Mrs. Tibbs pulled in closer to me. “You don’t know why what, honey?” 40

She placed her hand on my shoulder. I could here the whispers travel through the room. “He’s crazy.” Mrs. Tibbs kept a steady eye on my face and I glanced away toward the floor.41

“I can’t remember.”42

“Well, listen honey, we’re just writing our rough drafts today. You have plenty of time to remember.”43

A tear landed upon the desk below. “No… I can’t remember…”44

“Surely, given some time it will come back to--”45

This time a tear made its way between my lips and I could taste my salty despair. “It’s gone forever. You don’t understand. Once I forget, its gone. I will never get it back.”46

“If you try hard enough, you can get anything back.”47

Again, the pencil broke. Except this time the pencil was in my mind; the pencil was my mind.48

Everything I had repressed deep inside me. Everything I had denied and denied myself of. Everything that was too dark to be seen. Everything that was too jagged to be touched. It all welled up inside me. It boiled and mixed until my sanity evaporated from the mixture and all that was left was concentrated anger and angst and disgust and a powerful disregard toward everything. It boiled over through my pores and my eyes and my mouth.49

“THEN MAKE HER COME BACK DAMNIT! HAVEN”T I TRIED HARD ENOUGH?! HAVEN’T I PRAYED TO GOD EACH WAKING HOUR--EACH PASSING MOMENT TO TAKE ME BACK TO GARRIN STREET?! IT WILL NEVER BE ENOUGH! TAKE ME BACK TO WHERE WE SPLIT WAYS! I WANT TO GO BACK TO THE SPLIT! LET ME TRY AGAIN! IT WILL NEVER BE ENOUGH!”50

I slammed my fist against the desk. Over and over my fist met with the hard wood, then retracted again, and then back down again. My knuckles cracked open and spilled forth a mixture of blood and platelets. The pain was welcome and drowned out what I felt inside. I began to feel faint. My face slammed onto the desk. My cheek laid in the bloody product of my rage. As the world began to dim I smelled something metallic like copper and I heard in the distance a voice repeating. It retreated farther and farther away.51

“…it will never be enough…”52

* * *53

It was cold. I curled up into a ball but felt myself constrained. My warmth escaped me and I awoke with a gasp of air. A windshield came into view. I was in my mom’s Lexus. Without saying a word I reached for the A/C knob and turned the air off.54

“Are you cold? I’m sorry honey, you know me, I could live in Antarctica and it still wouldn’t be cold enough.” My mom smiled.55

I just sunk back into the passenger’s seat wrapping my arms around my chest. I was trying to gather heat--my sweatshirt was doing a poor job. I looked out the window. It was still daylight; if I had to take a guess I’d say it was every bit of 1 o’clock. I could have glanced at the time on the console but I felt no desire to break my stare with the window.56

“You gave the teacher a real scare. She was hysterical. And then the nurse acted like she had never seen blood before.”57

I stared out the window.58

“She was ready to just call an ambulance, the nurse I mean. What if it had been a real emergency?”59

She glanced at me and was intuitive enough to know she should change the subject.60

“Anyway, after I told them I was a doctor they let me take you. We’ll be home soon.”61

My mom took Byrd Way instead of Garrin street. Garrin street was quicker but my parents were afraid I wasn’t ready for it yet so they’ve become accustomed to taking detours. Still we had to pass the split. As we neared the corner I felt a single tear drop flow down my cheek and rest upon my chin. 62

With a single bump we pulled into the driveway and into the garage. The garage door closed behind us. My mom left me in the car. I had no intention of moving from my current position. For some reason I think that even if I had tried I couldn’t have moved. I felt unresponsive--despondent. No, I felt gutted. I felt as if there was nothing left inside me. Everything had spilled forth when I blacked out. All my anger and despair escaped in that moment of desperation. But after all my sadness had departed from my gaping wound I found that I could not sew myself back together. The cavity laid uncovered. I could not stop my being from also escaping. My very will had left me in that moment. My dreams--my aspirations--my love. There was no discretion during the flood. It was all carried away. 63

Lethargy spread its numbing fingers upon my soul as I was swallowed by my thoughts and fell into an immutable slumber.64

When I had regained consciousness I realized that, again, I had been moved. Under the sheets and covers of my bed I was left to ponder the meaning of life--to reflect upon the mirror of truths. I knew what had happened. I had suffered a mental breakdown. My mom thought it would happen a lot sooner. But everyone reacts differently I guess.65

PTSD is funny that way.