“Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around.” ~Leo F. Buscaglia
I've got a few things to write about today. The first of them, because I'd like to make amends for an earlier post, is "Director"--a.k.a., as I'm rapidly realizing nobody reads this (who cares about a whiny teenager from an area without conflict, really?), Ms. Schultz.
This story starts simply enough. Finley and Shawna educate in the writing lab Tuesdays and Thursdays. Sometimes, I visit them, making sure not to overly distract Finley or come when either of them are with students. Rarely more than a few moments; Shawna covers during late lunch so Finley can eat with me. That's all I see him for, and I feel like I need to say that, just so anyone who reads this and knows me--knows about Payton--that that's the truth, the honest truth; that I don't hang on his every gesture every moment of every day. That sort of behavior doesn't make for a future.
After finishing a design for a GSA t-shirt (pirate and ninja next to each other, t-shirt reads: 'Friendship. 'Tis good. Fort Atkinson Highschool GSA 2010-2011), I decided to hand it over to Ms. Hall almost immediately. I walked from the art room towards the English pod--and Ms. Hall had a class. The writing lab was totally empty of students, so I walked in, held out the piece of paper to Shawna (I really feel approval-starved sometimes, this is an example) and asked what she thought. She told me the ninja looked like a mummy.
And then, Ms. Schultz. She was quiet that day. I could tell from the way she moved that she was--well, seemed at the time--a little upset, and probably tired from all the play work. Shawna (failing to notice this, surprising from someone who ''knows her so well'') tries to address her, the topic moves--slowly, vaguely--to Shakespeare for a moment. Finley offers to help with the play (also failing to notice it, poor Ms. Schultz!), and is rebuffed by Schultz, explaining (tersely but with perfect politeness, as one may expect from a genius in a quiet mood, rather expertly handling the annoying younger children) that what he offered to do ["Fold programs or whatever"] cannot yet be done.
Silence. Shawna's eyebrow furrows. Finley exchanges a glance with her. I smile, cough away their stupidity, and excuse myself. Afterword, (Ms. Schultz left shortly after I did) Finley and Shawna talk about how ''tense'' it was. I noticed what they felt--that tightening of the stomach, the short, quick glances--but did not automatically label it as ''tension'', which, apparently, they both did. Finley laughs about it--''What a weird moment!'' type stuff, but Shawna, finally bringing to bar the internal frustration at being unable to be close and a ''savior'' to Schultz, decides to rant about how ''unprofessional'' she was towards Finley and I. Other similar remarks. Chatter-chatter. Blah-blah.
In the end, Shawna--and this decision makes me angry even now, though I can repress it for happy thought of the after-time--decides to address Schultz regarding this. Going to battle with a tigress is not a good idea when one is a tiny chicken, and the result is predictable: Chicken is clobbered by tigress, who allows chicken to live, chicken cries about how unfair life is, etc. What upsets me is that Shawna (see above: chicken) told Ms. Schultz (also above: tigress) that Finley and I bank on her approval to continue both our relationships and our lives. Things of that nature. Shawna told Ms. Schultz that she treats the pair of us terribly, always has, always will. Terrible things like that. She then enlists the help of Steiner (not my first choice for a firing squad partner) to battle against said tigress, wounding minorly. Schultz sends home the Chicken...
And goes to Finley. Finley tells her (after she asks, mind) that he and I have no problem with her (true) and would tell her if we did (true). Finley sends me a text that Schultz ''is on the warpath''. I sneak out of Diversity to text him back. We exchange the above story. After school, I find Finley. Finley expands on story. I go and talk to Ms. Schultz after expressing my frustration of the situation to Finley ("How dare she! We have nothing but respect for our *director*!").
Ms. Schultz and I exchange a few unimportant social nothings, and then--cautiously--I interpose, "I heard about some writing lab drama today that involved you, me, Finley and Shawna. Is everything okay?" Ms. Schultz--so torn by this, one of her former friends or at least minor friends doing this shit to her AGAIN after Atticus and God knows what else--snaps at me. I pick up a few snippets of her life from said snap, and realize I was right: she is lonely.
I'm angry at everyone for that. She's a good person. Still cautiously, I manage to choke out that "anger makes us angry at ourselves, and she's too angry at herself." (It comes out more like "You are too angry at yourself to be yourself.") She doesn't really get it, and I don't want to expound. It's not my place, is it? She'll get it if she thinks about it. After she refuses my hug (my heart breaks over that), I leave her. Alone as she was when I walked in, I stop a moment to admire her bravery and general valiance at mere life.
I go to Finley. He asks me what happened, and I tell him my heart hurts. Basically what that means is that there's someone I want to help, but can't, and when I can't help someone, it literally consumes me. Like I feel sad and confused and angry as though it were my fault somehow, or what-have-you. It's awful. It's probably one of my biggest ''weaknesses''. I ask if he'd break up with me for Ms. Schultz, because they're wonderful and might even do okay as a couple. He flat-out refuses, reminding me we're engaged and other such things while still agreeing Ms. Schultz is very pretty and deserves a good man in his way. We discuss dating--I'm all for a dating site or whatever I can do so she isn't alone, but Finley reminds me that he and I aren't her peers, we're her students, and that any attempts to end that loneliness would probably be taken insultingly by her.
He's right and I know it--I was just gushing to say something other than, she hurts, she hurts, help her, help her!--so, excusing myself from the volunteer hours I was going to spend on the set (why would Director want more time with the living Drama Finley and had temporarily become?), I went home with Finley. My night isn't very happy. Finley has to leave to get Riley right after rehearsal, I have math homework, my heart hurts, and mom... mom isn't very.... We'll get to that later. Nevermind. Doctor Quinn, Medicine woman has just come on with an episode about a library when the phone rings. I assume it's Mr. Monahan (who my phone died on mid-sentence and I felt truly, awfully terrible about it), but it isn't.
It's Ms. Schultz.
The miracle of this is stunning. I race up the stairs full speed, panting out things like, "Gosh, oh, wow, what can I do for you?" I stride quickly to the kid's bathroom. For one of the first times in my life, I'm not tongue-tied. Like an Adult Payton, one that's frighteningly superior to me in every way, I let that out for a few minutes--just this one conversation. Wish I knew how I did it. Anyway, she [Schultz] has an issue I can help with, which is all I've really wanted since I've first met her. She calls to make sure I'm okay with her, that Finley's okay with her. What she's really calling about, though, I think, is to make sure I don't agree with Shawna.
She informs me (honestly) that Shawna's said and done some awful things about and to her on the Facebook, and she just wants to make sure I'm okay with her. I can almost hear the under-whisper of, "what if she's right?" It sounds so much like something I would do that my heart rips. So I tell her. I talk a straight line, I talk a blue streak, I talk like talking wouldn't ever run out, like I was full to the brim with words about Shawna and Atticus and Ms. Schultz and Finley and myself. I tell her that Shawna and Atticus carry drama gardens in their back pockets, and she shouldn't grow seeds there (I slur that sentence and have to repeat it. I do). I tell her that Finley and I respect and admire her, which means we do want her approval (especially on our relationship, I felt I pointed out), but we realize and respect she doesn't have to give it. She said a very similar thing on one of the times she spoke, almost verbatim from our first conversation earlier that day, which made me very proud, even if it wasn't me that put that thought there, even if she already had it... proud she was fighting for herself, I guess.
I tell her that when I ask for advice or respect, I don't ask it to complain about it. I ask it because I want to be influenced by that person's experience and want to learn from it. Asking it just to discard it (like Shawna seriously had done THAT DAY), is not legit (or cool or whatever vernacular term she'd prefer I use, to which she laughs, which makes me smile and makes me a little braver about this word-vomit). She replies that she didn't give me enough credit. Then, I told her that Shawna, who probably knew she was under a lot of stress, shouldn't have kicked her when Shawna knew Ms. Schultz had stress, stress which strains our opinions of ourselves, and that kicking her [Schultz] when she was wounded and angry at ourselves was such a low thing to do, was awful. I told her that I knew that wasn't maybe what she wanted to hear or even why she called or what she wanted at all, but I wanted her to know that, that that was awful and terrible and made me very, very angry.
Tearfully, it sounded like, she told me I had a beautiful heart. Maybe she was just choked up, but she sounded happy which made my hurting heart feel better, like poison was being sucked out one word at a time. I can't remember what I replied to that. I'm pretty sure I started shooting off my mouth about how wonderful and awesome she is and how much I respect her (which is what I've always wanted her to know I mean).
Silence a moment. I wait, because it isn't done and I know it isn't, this conversation. She told me she'd talked to the Fox about Creative Writing, and how I wanted to learn some things, and we chattered about it, worked out the details... she's going to teach me, blog. Really, really teach me. She has lunch when I have study hall. I get time with her before I have to go and re-build my world. She wants to hear more, and maybe, just maybe, I can teach her some stuff while she teaches me some stuff, can make her a little happier or a little less stressed about things. Maybe while I'm around, she'll fall in love and I'll watch her blossom and open like the angel I know she is.
The talk turns to turkey. I.E.: the play. I tell her it would be my delight to help, ending with a few joking remarks (from both of us) about how Schultz is good at yelling at her play kids, how she was a little late but what the hell, she's a director, she can pretend she was being reflective, etc. Katie and I exchange words on the subject the next day, Katie explaining how terrible things had also been said about HER, which makes me more angry. Shawna's envy that Katie is close to Ms. Schultz is idle and vain and makes me furious. Of course a director looks through that! What kind of idiot are you to hurt her like this?!
For now, whenever I'm around Schultz, I feel like I'm not around a goddess of the stage anymore. I feel like I'm around a person whose pain I can really relate to and understand and that maybe, someday, I'll be lucky enough to help her through if she wants me to. Because I really want her to be okay. I think I get so angry at her sometimes because I love her, because she gave me a place to be myself in like a seed is given land to grow on. I think that's my fault. I think, in that way, we're all as bad as Shawna. I can help her with the little things for now, and that would make her day better, and who knows where that would lead? It'll all be okay. I want her to be okay, God. Please?
In other news, my mother. She expects a lot of me, but it really just isn't her. It's everyone. I feel suspended. When I'm about to go on stage, I feel like the whole world is about to explode, like everything's on me. For this part of my life, this window between today and yesterday and graduation, I feel like that all the time. Only this isn't a play. If I say the wrong line in a play, people will forget. Life will go on. In the end, I can run it again tomorrow, and tomorrow, it'll be perfect. But real life isn't like that, is it? If I charge medical supplies to the wrong credit card, I can't do it again. That's money that someone has to put up, or I die. If I apply too late to a college or say the wrong thing in the application, they refuse me. That's it, I'm refused. Different college away from Finley, my best friend. If I don't make a doctor's appointment, I don't have one while I can have mom's insurance, but what if I say the wrong thing? What if I get a really bitchy secretary like the last one was? My tongue freezes. It's like I can't do it.
I feel like my whole world is frozen in one moment, and if I do the wrong thing, my whole life will be awful and terrible and I won't realize any of my dreams. Does mom know that? Does she even care? Sometimes I wonder if she cares and just wants me to tough it out. Like, I'm a lame kid with brains but no moxy. I'm not brave enough. But aren't I brave every day? Don't I stick needles into my skin? Don't I leave the house to enter a building full of people who don't even bother to see me every day? Don't I keep going to math knowing I likely won't do well?
But I can't make a phone call. When it comes to the big moments, I'm too afraid of the repercussions. I'm too afraid everything will go wrong if I make a mistake, and everyone--down to my counselors at school--encourages that line of thinking. How can I promote myself for scholarships when I feel like the whole world is staring and their stares are branded into my skin for life? I don't know and I'm terrified to find out. The problem is, by fearing, I'm stopping myself from being brave. Does bravery mean ignorance? Brom said to Eragon, "One part brave three parts fool" like it were a compliment. What would he have said if Eragon were a genius? Would he have done anything? "One part coward three part intelligence" on his deathbed? I don't know. I think my mom thinks I don't take my future seriously. What I don't think she understands is that I understand exactly how much gravity is has riding on it, which is why I'm entirely terrified to move.
And I'm really scared to find out. When the main character in ''The things we carried'' was drafted, he had time to think about it and consider it. He had to fight for that time, but he had it. I feel like I'm fighting with much less success. This is the first time in my life I'm begging someone to take my hand, and for the first time, the world is saying, "You're too old for it; your hand is too big for mine."
Today, I wish that when I finally scream, someone will listen.
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