I don’t have any friends in this school.
T
old her I was
busy
a lot over the weekend, and hadn’t rested up properly. To which she replied, “You have to put your school before work, dear, it’s more important.”
Well I guess it might be more important if I was even going to graduate. 27
th
February, and it’s over.
So I find work to be a little more important right now. Hmm, I’m w
riting in a snarky tone today… S
hould just go back to bed.
…Noah wasn’t at school today. This makes two whole weeks.
164 Days, 16 September, Tuesday
Well I am definitely more awake today. Yesterday was a disaster.
Today was
freakin
phenomenal! I’m feeling great, if not a little embarrassed!
Since I didn’t have work today, and was pretty much caught up on sleep, I decided to bake. Baking is my
favourite
type of cooking, mostly because I have a bit of a sweet tooth.
So I decided to make some chocolate cake, and these really good oatmeal cookies. They’re my own
recipe
, so I’m pretty proud of them.
Simultaneous to my baking endeavours, I was doing laundry. All of my jeans were dirty, so I opted to just go
pantsless
.
I shall describe what I was wearing. A tight white muscle shirt, purple flowered boxers, thick wool socks with a red stripe, and oven mitts.
While I was baking, I decided to unpack some of the boxes from the move. I found some of my CDs, which I had misplaced during the move here. Included in this find was one of my
techno
CDs, the one
from Germany
. So I put it in Terra’s s
tereo and jacked the volume. F
orgot how awesome this CD was.
So I was dancing around the kitchen and singing at the top of my lungs to the CD, stirring a bowl of cake batter. It was a lot of fun. As soon as the cake was in the oven, I moved to the living room to dance around, lest my stomping make the cake fall.
G
rabbed a hairbrush from the coffee table, and proceeded to
use it as a mock microphone. T
hen proceeded to jump on to the couch, and dance around, singing into the hairbrush.
This also was the sort-of cliché moment that Terra came home, and she stood in the hallway watching me make an epic fool of myself. And of course, the music was loud enough that I didn’t even hear her. Not to mention, I didn’t see her, because I have a tendency to close my eyes all radically when I jam out.
When the song changed, I noticed her, and promptly fell off the couch. She burst out laughing, and, shaking her head, walked into the kitchen.
She had thought the whole display was quite amusing, and was apparently in need of a pick-me-up after her day.
I can imagine
,
the beginning of September is always a busy time.
More car accidents around this time of year than any other.
Anyway, goodnight reader, I am off to bed.
163 Days, 17 September, Wednesday
Sitting idly in class is something I usually appropriate to the students who don’t do their work, but now, I am sitting idly in class. And I understand that dreamy ignorance.
It’s reserved for thoughts of others.
C
ould always daydream about mundane things like what I would cook for supper or whether or not I would do laundry, in a simultaneous effort to finish my class work.
But it seems if I try to do my work and ponder Noah’s situation, I either end up projecting him into whatever I’m studying (like making him the main character of Shakespearean tragedies) or I end up writing his name over and over in my notebook. Neither of which I find particularly constructive.
So I will sit here and neglect my work, thinking solely of him and his predicament, feeling that if I can’t be with him right now, I could least focus my energies on thoughts of how I can help him.
We’re in all of the same classes too, but he hasn’t been
here since the first day. B
een collecting his work after class as a sort of insurance that I’ll have a reason to talk to him. The teacher looked stunned when I asked to collect his work.
I’m assuming he’s never had anyone request his work on his behalf before.
Seem
to have gained a reputation as the only person who wants anything to do with him; I heard the teachers talking about it in the hallways.
“There goes Guildenstern.” I’m pretty sure they just like to say my name cause it’s weird.
“He’s new here. He’s trying to befriend Talon. I kind of feel bad for him.”
“For who?”
“Guildenstern. Talon’s full of bad luck. He’s like the town’s curse.”
“Well, Guildenstern doesn’t seem deterred. Maybe Talon will be like his Rosencrantz?” English teachers, go figure.
They chuckled to themselves and walked off, not knowing I was listening.
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern huh?
That’s a new one.
The inseparable pair, together until
death…?
Wait, until death?
Who’s to say we can’t be together after death?
162 Days, 18 September, Thursday
He was finally at school! And really worked hard to dodge my advances to talk to him!
But I would not be deterred so easily. You see
,
I had been collecting his homework for a while, so all of our teachers directed him to me.
He approached me at my locker after most of the students had left, keeping his right arm tucked close to himself.
“Hi there!” I grinned at
him,
pulling the envelope I’d been storing his work in from the top shelf. “Here’s your work!”
He accepted it, murmuring
a thanks
, and stowed it in his bag, taking care not to move his right arm.
“Hey, your arm is hurt.” I pointed out. I’m getting good at this whole ‘don’t ask questions’ thing. “I could look at it for you.”
“No…” he said slowly, “I’m okay. It’s nothing. I-” He looked down, like he was going to say something else, “Uh, never mind. Thank you for collecting my work. I’ll uh… see you around…”
And he walked away.
A
breakthrough!!!
He said he’d see me
again!!!
I feel like I’ve really made progress!
This is a monumental day for me!
-
cue
trumpets and parade with confetti and cheering fans. I’ll sit on a slow moving car and wave while wearing a sash-
Anyway! Work time now! Hi ho hi ho!
161 Days, 19 September, Friday
Usually, it takes very little to inspire me to write about something. Everything I experience nowadays I can relate back to
him
.
So much so that mundane, ordinary tasks become more noteworthy for me because of the simple reason that he is on my mind.
W
as washing dishes, for instance.
As I was finishing up, I grazed my hand along the bottom of the sink, looking for stray silverware, when the edge of a knife seared through three of my fingers.
I hissed, whipping my hand out of the sink quickly, flecking the soapy water with crimson pearls. As I wrapped a tea towel around my fingers to stem the flow of blood, my thoughts followed a direct route to Noah.
Those horrible deep cuts, carved deep into his skin. I saw them, cleaned them, all that blood.
Floating on top of bubbles in an iridescent film.
Then I was doing the laundry, sheets and pillowcases,
pyjamas
.
P
icked
up
one of my oversized pajama shirts, looking at it thoughtfully.
This was the shirt that Noah was wearing when he got out of the shower. I brought it to my face, smelling it.
Which seems odd in retrospect, but perfectly reasonable at the time.
It smelled mostly of soap, my laundry soap and shampoo, but there was something else mingling with it, a sharp scent.
As I pulled the shirt away from my face, I understood what the scent was.
Noah’s blood.
It circled the collar of my shirt, and spread in bizarre patterns down the front, where the cuts seeped tiny amounts of blood. There was also a large stain on the whole right side, from where the largest of his wounds bled out.
I’m still cursing myself for not paying attention and allowing that to happen, but I have to say I’m happy the events played out as they did.
This way, the hospital has a record of what happened, so if it ever happens again, we’ll have evidence of previous assault.
Just from the way he hides and avoids questions, I’m positive someone he knows is the one who is hurting him. Terra told me that patients who are beaten by people they know act just like he did.
‘They avoid questions, they try to escape quickly, and they always make up excuses, or say it’s nothing.’
She shuddered a little bit when she said ‘nothing’, and glanced at the scar on my neck.
I’m going to make a more conscientious effort to cover that up
when she’s around, I think. D
on’t want to make her think of that incident every time she sees that scar.
After I talked to her about that, I went immediately to the kitchen and began preparing a lasagne. It’s her absolute favourite, and I owe her. She came into the kitchen when I started the layering part, smiling like crazy.
“You’re making me a lasagne? What’s the occasion?”
“Just that I love you and I owe you.” I replied, sprinkling a layer of cheese on top.
“Owe me for what?” she asked, genuinely confused.
“You let me tell you something was nothing when I needed to. Thank you.” I turned my back, and put the lasagne in the oven.
C
ould feel her gaze on me, and busied myself with checking the temperature, unsure if I should turn around.
She walked up behind me, and turned me around herself, looking at me intently. “That was a year ago… You still think about that?”
I looked down, which she took as a yes.
“Are you going to tell me what it was?”
T
ook a deep breath, and looked her in the eyes. “It’s still… nothing.”
Her expression changed to one of compassion, “You will tell me one day, right?”
I nodded, “I promise.”
She gave me a hug, and the rest of the night was pretty normal.
Except for the fact that we had lasagne for dinner. Mmm.
160 Days, 20 September, Saturday
I worked
from noon until six today, of my own volition
.
And then I went to chill with the senior residents in the long-term care ward. They’re usually happy to see me there
. Sleep now. But before that, I have to read this story…
This guy is crazy. Burying other people in wine cellars. Ok, now it’s time to sleep.
159 Days, 21 September, Sunday
Ok, so I re-read that story, and it does make more sense now. Hmm, I still don’t quite understand why he buried the other guy in the cellar.
Maybe this will make more sense tomorrow. Eh, whatever.
I slept in today
,
it was nice
.
158 Days, 22 September, Monday
Eeheehee
! Noah was at school today! –
dances
-
A
ctually held a conversation with him. We talked about the Shakespearean play we’re doing in English.
And he knows the whole thing already. He’s insanely smart. He just sat down and started to read the playbook without once looking at the help notes on the left page. And he didn’t once get a quizzical expression or a glazed look that suggested he wasn’t actually reading it.
A
m highly impressed.
The only thing that sucks is that he sits in the back row, and I’m in the front, so I can’t surreptitio
usly talk to him during class. M
aybe tomorrow I’ll move.
I sit directly in front of him in Math, so when the work period began, I promptly turned around and smiled at him.
As a
side note
, I’m dreadful at Math.
He was busily scribbling away at the assigned questions. He was al
most finished. He’s amazing. S
at there silently, watching his slender fingers skip over the buttons on the calculator.
Then the Math teacher ordered I get to work and stop ogling my classmates. All of the other students snickered at this.