Mr. Noll put a ban on rhetorical question openers for our essays, so I will use one here.
Have you ever been simultaneously run over by a bear claw, showered with poisoned needles, drowned in a pool, and had everyone laugh at you while it happened?
I haven't either, but I sure feel like it on the inside. Earlier this year, before play rehearsals started, I felt.. confident. I had a friend like Katie, I had a love to devour me like Finley's. They warmed my heart, made me happy.. and the world was different. Lately, though, it hasn't felt like the world was different. It's like the world has been trying to stop itself from smoking.... it starts, it stops, it starts again with nary a thought as to why they stopped in the first place. It grumbles at the foolishness of that silly thing called Will power.
The thing is, when I went into play rehearsal.. well, I thought it would be just like Sophomore year, when people smiled, talked to me. But they didn't. They tolerated me, but as soon as I spoke...
I felt heavy, inwardly. Like their tolerance was burning a hole in my skin. If you have a problem with me, please, just tell me. Just... just say it. I'll tell you. I'll give you my soul in a red-painted box, sing you a ballad, dance to show myself truly, without a thought. I am honest, occasionally valiant, good.
So why does this hurt?
Ms. Schultz gave me a dress-over shirt combination to try on today that looked rather like it had been Ms. Steiner's prom dress. I remember how many times she has promised that Allegra will be beautiful, that Debra would be beautiful, that Justine would be proud of herself.... not me. For someone who wanted to give me self-confidence so much last year, she sure has a funny way of showing it. I waited a long time before I tried on that dress, just staring. I pictured Kate at Winter Ball, then glanced at the mirror... wiped away a tear... threw on the dress.
The fit wasn't terrible, it was just... I looked... felt... pudgy. Old. Ugly.
That fits, I remind myself. That's what we want, for my character. The old woman that nobody likes, who doesn't understand what real life is like, who confuses guests with the Avon lady, who doesn't get out much... who the adults politely tolerate.
I do understand, and I shouldn't have to. Kate gets to bare her entire soul on stage. I could even have managed it a little with Mrs. Vickers, if Kelli weren't a spot-on match for the character. Dominic is even managing to portray himself through Edward, Walter, Lt. McMillian. But I know Beatrice not enough in some parts and too much in others. I'm not sixty. All I think about is what it would be like to be free, some days... at least, a lot more than I think about why I'm confused.
During today's show, I went up to Kate. She hadn't even looked at me once, and she looked slightly annoyed I was there, like I were an olive slice she could stomp on. I felt like nothing, and my heart ached for it.
There were bruises on her arms.
"Kate?"
"Yes." I don't write a question mark, because there wasn't one. It was a statement. The underlying tone was, 'Go away, Payton. Gaaaawd!'
"Would you do me a favor?" The fear creeps into my voice, I can't help it. Roy and Connie are causing a show-down. Then:
"Sure, Payton," she says politely, as though I'd asked the weather; but her eyes--beautiful eyes--are wary, "What?"
"Forget about that letter, okay?"
She glances at me suspiciously. Her eyebrows seem to be shouting, 'Drama!' "Maybe."
"No. No Maybe. Forget it."
"Why should I?" Oh, of course. This is America, the land of instant gratification. Why shouldn't you get something for helping a human being? She seems relieved. Her whole face just lit up, and she delivers her lines better afterward.
"No. None of that. Just... forget it. Okay?"
"If you want me to forget it, why did you write it?" I've written and thought out so many answers to that question, Kate. If only you knew.
"I just wanted you to know that you could count on me, and I tried to explain a few things," I hedged. "I didn't mean... I just wanted you to know I was there. By the way, you looked really great in Pink yesterday." But if it means your disapproval, I don't want it, I think, sullenness creeping into the edges of my vision. Go back to ignoring me; at least I'm only invisible, then.
At least you don't hate me.
"Bruises?" I ask, gesturing. "From what?"
"Daniel," she says. Then, seeing my expression, "--he didn't do it on purpose..."
As she explains some bull about wrestling, I see her face. I see her eyes. A chill passes over me; I think of Finley after the first time he accidentally hurt me as the Wolf... how he cried...
She's lying.
"You know, Payton, you're really intense."
Kelli comes over, they talk. Stupidly, I keep trying to get a word in edge-wise, like I had this silly delusion this would matter to her, my friend. Why would it?
"I'm not intense normally," I said. "I actually laugh more often than not." But why would I take off my mask around you?, I think. Why, when you don't even trust anyone, yourself?
Kelli and Kate laugh about something that would have earned me emptiness in the heart and jokes made at my expense, if I'd said it. If I'd tried to be human, at all.
"That's... all I wanted to say," I tell her, heartbroken. With a small bow--my mask, you know--I walk towards the kitchen, wait for my entrance.
I'll say the lines.
There are a lot of alumni today. It makes me happy. Katie even came. I ask Kate for a ride home, because I know Katie's probably busy. She tells me to go ask Katie.
Of course. Why accept it from me? I might try and talk to her again; God save her. I just feel like such a terrible monster, such an ugly problem...
I do ask Katie. Katie agrees. I stand patiently, wait for conversations to end--I don't take part in them at Play, not anymore, not after that night at the mall, where I learned I was still a freak, after all--and leave with her. Nick and Brad and Katie talk. I listen.
Katie tells them over and over she's just taking me home, and then, when we head for her car, she says, "I won't drink with you, Payton." But Katie, you're my best friend. There's nothing I wouldn't do if you asked me. If we're best friends, shouldn't I see the dark parts of your soul, too? And don't drink. Don't tear yourself down like that.
I don't say that. I tighten my grip on the folder, my book.
"What's wrong, sweetie?"
"Nothing." I fasten my seatbelt.
"Payton..." she warns. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing... interesting," I amend.
"Your definition of interesting and mine are very different, dear."
"You're busy," I remind.
"Payton, just tell me what's wrong? You're not bubbly or happy or... you. Instead, you're... like... emo and quiet." I don't have people remain focus on me... but this is Katie, I remind myself, and the tears come as we reach the bridge edge; this is my friend.
"I'm not emo." I almost snap it at her, but don't. "I'm reserved."
"Reserved?" Katie purses her lips in amusement. "Just tell me what it is, Payton."
I hesitate.
"My heart hurts," I settle on, the hole in my heart getting bigger for saying it.
"For you, or someone else?"
"Both," I decide.
I tell her what's really been going on at play rehearsal. I literally sob. I tell her how relieved Kate was to be rid of me. I tell her how wrong I feel at play rehearsal, that they don't hate me; they just don't like me. I don't think Katie knows what to do with a sobbing teenager with her passenger seat, but she tries. She listens. She tells me I have to fight for that, that I shouldn't care about what Kate thinks and shouldn't base my happiness on that.
She congratulates me on finally talking to Kate.
I don't think I can explain why having someone throw my heart back at me, and done it happily, hurts. You've either experienced it, or you haven't.
I experience it a lot.
She tells me I should talk to Schultz about it. I tell her no, and she rephrases and re-words over and over again, but I won't accept. Whenever she tries, a new image of Schultz's disapproval or personal heart-sores pops into my head. I won't be another Allen. I'm just... I'm just over sensitive. After all, no one's been outright cruel to me. I'm sure... I'm sure it's nothing. They don't mean to...
Well. What each of them do is different, but you get the idea. They'd never hurt me on purpose... it just hurts. I'm going to focus really hard on this play.
Katie asks me to write a letter, telling her only about how I feel at rehearsal, and I slip my mask back on, go back to the figurative language, but Katie tears it off again.... Katie hugs me. It's pretty hard to feel bad about yourself, to feel like a monster, when someone willingly hugs you. Music gently floats on the air with a song by Franchesca. I snuggle a moment, and I'm a little more myself... a little Payton again. Just a little. She tells me how awesome I am, and she seems to be saying other things without saying them, too. Things my heart feels.
She's busy this week, though, so I won't see her.
That makes me sad after tonight. I could use... someone like Katie. I could really be happy with her, like I have before. We talk awhile more about this conversation, and then I turn to her and say, "Don't drink tonight, Katie."
"I won't."
I look at her gently, because I can't be anything else right then. "Promise."
"Promise," she says firmly. I believe her.
So I write for her. I tell her truths I'd rather not when she seemed so happy before my selfish tears... but I won't talk to Schultz. I won't. I won't cause her more pain, more drama, more reason to complain about me when I'm not around... like a lot of other people do. I don't want my Katie to be hurt, either, and in Schultz's eyes--she is, after all, surrounded by teenagers throughout the work week, is she not?--asscioation with me is bad.
So I write. While I pour it out, word on word to form a blog city, I'm listening to 'Learning to be Silent', from the Footloose musical. It fits well. If you wanted them, here are the lyrics.
"Vi
Swallowing my words
Staring at the floor
Counting little cracks in the tile
Struggling to smile without choking
Learning to be silent
Ethel
Watching how the dust
Dances out the door
Noticing my hands start to shake
Contemplating taking up smoking
Learning to be silent
Vi & Ethel
Always hearing
Ethel
"Hush, Ethel!"
Vi
"Please, Vi!"
Vi & Ethel
"Let's not have this conversation"
Ethel
And so I stand by
While my mind takes a small vacation
Vi & Ethel
La la la la la la la la
Vi
Making little sounds
Other folks ignore
Ethel
Quieting the beat of my heart
Never being part of the moment
Vi & Ethel
Learning to be silent
Vi
Learning there are some topics that we don't even mention
Ethel
And if they come up, then we try to be vague
Vi
There are subjects from which we divert all attention
Ethel
And some we avoid like the plague
Vi & Ethel
I'm
Becoming a mime
Vi
Biting my tongue
Ethel
Biding my time
Vi
Trying not to scream
Ethel
Managed it before
Vi & Ethel
Knowing if I'm going to survive
Then, dammit
Ethel
I've got to practice
Vi
Practice
Vi & Ethel
Learning hmm hmm hmm..."
I understand those two really well, after being in a Play. It's really been a long time since I've felt like that... felt repressed... and alone. At least Katie's having fun, I think, glancing around my empty basement.
I can always read my book.
"Swallowing my words... staring at the floor. Counting little cracks in the tile..."
I'm learning to be silent.
...Happy Saint Patrick's day.
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