After work, Katie came to pick me up at home.
On the way there, we talk about things--to pretend one is flying while sitting in a car, one needs only to close their eyes and imagine their arms flung out and running, then open your eyes and look straight out the window. It's the best way to feel free in the world. She tells me about how she remembers when she were funny easily and could make people laugh. If she made people laugh, she said, people would come back to her... and I think she wanted them to come back. Like most of us, she's changed a lot in the past year. Not all of it's for the better, but I love her for it, regardless. With people, she says, that's what she is; either emo and self-centered, or funny and happy. She says I get a mix of both, which makes me happy.
Katie bought me eggs last night at the Cone. I'm happy about that; I hadn't eaten all day. After seeing Taylor's newest battle scar, even listening to 'My Life would suck without you' didn't cheer me up. Finley couldn't come; but Katie could--and she did. Even though she's leaving for Georgia today and still had to pack... she gave up that peaceful time to drive me around and sing together and generally be a pair of friends. My heart hurts for her; she lost someone she loved a lot--a Lady Elaine--and, while I know that she's gone to Heaven and is with God, it doesn't make it any less painful for her.
I've got to learn to be more politically correct; that's the message of the night. I can't be called trustworthy if I open my mouth to everybody--not that I ever had or would, but she, for whatever reason, had to say that, and I listened. I assured her that apart from this blog, I don't scream to the world anything. If it was bad enough for her to mention it, that probably didn't help, but...
Anyway.
While I was just starting to do Katie's dishes, we talked about a beautiful thing she'd written, and then Katie (who was going to run to her house) stopped me from pouring more scalding water into the sink and looked at me and said, "Payton..." slowly, hesitantly.
Whenever somebody mentions my name, in that particular voice, and we've been close, my gut reaction is that I've done something wrong, or that they've only been talking to me because they feel sorry for me.
"You make me feel okay to be weak," she says, while not saying (but I realize she's trying to say), you help me a lot Payton; you've given me a lot, "and... well.... I want to help you, too."
Katie told me that we could make me really beautiful if I tried to be, a little more. She said maybe part of the reason people don't like me is because I wear clothes that don't fit me well, things like that. It might be a way to present myself confidently, so maybe people will stop and listen to me.
Ouch. I had felt particularly pretty on that day; I wore a colored shirt which matched my eyes and a pair of jeans that weren't... well, flattering, but... I felt decently pretty.
Katie amends, maybe from the look on my face. "Not that you aren't already..."
I haven't said a word in response yet. It's fear, that thing that closes even the loosest of lips, that takes me now. My hands shake as I begin on the silverware. Finley texts me to sing him a lullaby, even if he won't hear it, he'll know it's there... and I hum one for him. Katie says, "Opinions, woman! Say something?" Fear on her face, too. "Oh, c'mon, Payton. Say something."
"Something," I say obediently, turning back to the dishes. I throw my hands in the water, which isn't hot enough anymore. I scowl, annoyed, turn on the hot water, and mentally warn it it'd better stay hot or I'd go for its babies.
"That's not what I meant and you know it, Payton. Come on... what are you thinking? Are you angry?" I shake my head. "Annoyed? Frustrated?" Two more head shakes. I want to say,
Are you sure you could make me pretty? A lot of people have tried, but I feel more ugly by the day. Especially next to people as beautiful as Kate, and Ms. Schultz, and confident as Hannah Nathan, and well-practiced as Brodi, and people like Morgan and April, who are beautiful with little to no effort. My heart feels ugly; why shouldn't I be? I am anyway. When your heart is refused for trying to make friendship, what else can you be?
And,
I don't think it'd make a difference. People hurt me without even realizing it. The world isn't you, Katie, no matter how much I wish that were the difference.
Instead, I say, "I don't feel like I'm worth being beautiful, Katie."
"You could try it," she suggested. "I mean, you have Finley, so you're not going for any special person's attention, but..."
She looks at me.
"Still thinking about that letter?"
I nod.
"Payton.... it's not.... it's not you, you know that, right? She's just..." Katie's made a very valiant effort not to talk about Kate tonight. "...she's not ready for people like you, Payton." I wish Katie would leave. I kinda want to cry after the combination of hope-which-stung thing. Make me beautiful? Are you kidding? I love you, honey, and I appreciate the intention, but... Katie, even the people I beg to see my heart won't look at me. They pass me in the hallways without so much as a smile. They don't see me, and they don't want to. Especially the ones who I wish would give me a chance. Did you know that Kate's been avoiding me? I'm almost tempted to ask if I'm right on that, but I don't. I won't have Katie betray her friend's confidence.
Now, of all times; after I tried to tell someone else the truth about me and they threw it back in my face with a relieved expression, someone I love and my heart hurts for doesn't care--NOW is the time to suggest this?
Oh, Katie. Thank you.
I realize there's been a lapse in the conversation as I collapse toward tears. "Katie, you've seen my prom pictures, right?" I ask, and she nods.
"You know what my mother told me while we were taking those pictures?" Head shake. I turn back to her sink, focusing on a stubborn, pizza-stained spoon. The water is scalding. Perfect. "She told me that if I hadn't been so clumsy, maybe I wouldn't have that band-aid, and they'd be better. I'd be a decent match for Finley." I set the spoon aside, pick up a fork (I always start with the silverware).
Katie stares at me a minute; I can feel her gaze on my neck the way lovers feel a caress.
I continue, "It is my mother's way to find the one flaw, the one issue, and point it to me. No matter how hard I try, I'm not good enough. I feel insufficient, all the time." I set down the fork, reach for another spoon.
Brad comes home just as I open my mouth to go, again.
Katie's off-put by his arrival (so am I, if truth is to be told). She talks to him about Hannah, and he's confused. Katie? Ask about Hannah? He gives a glance at the hot water and the spoon with gratitude. He's very cute, sometimes. I love him.
I start singing 'Sing, sweet nightingale' as I clean, and then, Katie turns to me and goes, "I still have to go to the house. Wanna come with me?" The underlying message being, 'dangnabit, you never gave me an answer, younger me!'
"No," I say, sadly, because I really just want to clean up her kitchen. She raises an eyebrow; I realize I'm being unintentionally rude.
"B-but... your dishes..." Brad glances at us.
"They'll be here when you get back," he smile-speaks. Aww, Brad!
"Then yes," I say, "I will go." I put on my shoes, and walk towards Katie... we get in her car.
I start singing again. "A dream... is a wish your heart makes.... when you're fast asleep; in dreams, we can lose our heartaches--whatever we wish for, we keep..."
Katie frowns. "What is that from?" I smile at her, my best, fullest Payton smile. When I'm around Katie, I don't have to try for that smile. It just... comes out.
"Cinderella," I reply.
"Rags-to-riches? That's Cinderella, right?" I nod.
"Oh my God, I should be your freakin' Fairy Godmother!" I giggle.
"Works for me." She asks me who my favorite broadway artist is, and I first reply Victoria clark (Light in the Piazza, Clara's mother), and then switch to Sierra Boggess (Ariel, Christine). She tells me her favorite is from Spam-a-lot, she sang the song of the Ladies of the Lake. Funny song, and pretty voice. I can't remember her name... Sara Rameriez, I think.
When we quietly walk inside (it's after midnight, now), my phone rings. It's mom. She's in Madison and will be until the wee hours of the morning, so I need to get home, Taylor's in trouble. Time to diffuse a situation, play mom. ...I do that more often than I should.
Katie takes me home, and we talk in her car.
"You really think you could make me beautiful?" I ask, and she replies,
"Payton, you already are."
When we get home, I don't get out. We talk in her car about life, each other, ourselves. She's got a big life, and when she really wants to, she can reach into her pocket and throw them into the air like stars. And suddenly, you're surrounded by those stars. You can look into those Heavens and the world... is wonderful. To touch one is to be reminded of the Hope we get--not only from God, but from living.
We talk a long time, and then I fix my home again. Stop mom and pops from fighting, distract Taylor... wake up to screaming the next morning. Peacekeeper; always peacekeeper.
World, I want you to love me... and I deserve to be loved. Please.
Just give me a chance, okay? I give you chances. All of you. Each and every day, when you walk away from me, my heart gives you a piece of it to treasure. That is my weakness. That is my flaw. You have a piece of my heart, right now, whether you want it or not. I'm here for you, no matter who you are or how you've hurt me... I will always love you. I will listen without words or give you words for listening.
I want you to be happy.
I know you don't read this, but right now, that includes you, Kate. I wrote that letter because I wanted you to be happy. I see that you need help, and I knew... I knew it wouldn't be from me. I know you don't like me... but I wanted you to. I wanted you to so badly, because you talked to me when I was nothing. Even though I feel like nothing around you now... I still want to help you. Even if that just means... listening.
I live in silence; after all, how can one be a better listener than that?
No comments:
Post a Comment