Counting Back from Nine Read online

  Counting Back

  from

  Nine

  Valerie Sherrard

  Acknowledgements

  My editor, Christie Harkin, signed this story as prose, which is how it was first written. When I sent her a note proposing a complete re-write in free verse, I expected, at the very least, some hesitation. Instead, the suggestion was met with enthusiasm and support. I don’t know how often an author is given that sort of go-ahead on a contracted story, but I suspect it’s relatively rare. For that, and for the fine editorial guidance she provided, I am most appreciative. Thank you, Christie!

  My friend Marina Cohen read the earliest version of this story, gave me terrific feedback and often kept me going with her enthusiasm. Thank you, Marina!

  My friend Marsha Skrypuch read a free verse draft and offered invaluable suggestions, which solved several problems, and may have prevented a breakdown. Thank you, Marsha!

  My husband, Brent, listened ever-so-patiently to a lot of whining during my struggles with both versions of this story. He’s kind of a saint. I kind of love him. Thank you, honey.

  Secrets

  When IT began I thought I would

  crumble, fall apart, blurt it out. Confess

  everything. Or get [caught]. That was the

  worst thought of all.

  Guilt and fear whispered in me until they

  had me convinced I was sending out signals

  ((((((((i))))))))

  But no one noticed a thing.

  My friends trust me.

  We’re at Angie’s place at the moment.

  The four of us. Me—Laren (rhymes with Karen)

  Morgan, Angie and Nina.

  It’s pouring rain outside, but we don’t care.

  We’ve got movies and snacks.

  We’ve got the house to ourselves.

  I’m about as relaxed as I’ve been since IT began

  until Morgan says, oh-so-casually,

  “I don’t know who you think you’re fooling about Scott.

  Everybody knows what’s going on.”

  My insides turn to jelly,

  heat shoots up my neck and spreads over my face

  while I search frantically for something anything

  to say

  some way to explain.

  The room has gone as silent as death.

  I lift my chin, forcing myself to face Morgan,

  only to find her

  stone-faced and staring at

  Nina.

  “Seriously, Nina. We don’t want to be mean,

  but it’s been nearly two months

  Two months, Nina!

  since you and Scott broke up. You have to let go.

  You haven’t even changed your Facebook status.

  There’s nothing “complicated” about

  being single.

  Nina fights back through her tears.

  “It’s not that easy. I love him.

  I have to see this through to the end.”

  “The end already happened,” Morgan says.

  She’s right.

  And no one in the room

  knows it better than

  I do.

  So here I am,

  watching

  silently hoping they win this war

  and my betrayal reaches full circle.

  I need to get out of there.

  I mumble an excuse.

  Another lie on the heap.

  Reflections on Cause and Cure

  I'm not quite sure how this works but

  Scott

  seems to be the remedy, the thing that

  chases off my guilt about

  Scott.

  My status tells anyone who cares

  that I'm single.

  The truth is: in my case, it really is

  oh so complicated.

  The worse I feel about all the lies,

  the more I want to see and touch

  Scott,

  to press my face against his chest

  and breathe. Just breathe.

  His voice on the phone sends a thrill

  skittering through me.

  "I want to come over. Okay?" One thing about

  Scott:

  he never wastes time getting to the point.

  No discussion, no middle ground. It's yes or no.

  I hesitate, calculating the risk of discovery,

  until his voice shifts into low gear.

  "I'm on my way, Laren. I have to see you."

  And my heart smiles.

  Well, if you have to

  Scott.

  Introductions

  Too late, I realize I haven’t warned Scott

  to look Mom in the eye when he meets her.

  Her Mother Brain positively rattles with crazy truisms.

  This is one of them.

  “You cannot trust a person

  who won’t look you in the eye,” she says.

  Because there couldn’t possibly be any other reason

  for a person not eyeballing you.

  Like shyness or nervousness.

  I see her making a mental note to discuss it with me later.

  She’ll say:

  “I’m not judging.” And I’ll know right away that she means

  Scott.

  “I want to give him the benefit of the doubt.

  I just can’t get past the feeling that

  this boy isn’t quite

  trustworthy.”

  At some point, she’ll drag out the word

  ‘shifty’

  but at least that will be later.

  I tell her that we’re going to listen to music in my room.

  So, naturally, her Mother Brain

  makes her yell down the hall after us:

  “Just make sure you keep the door open!”

  I’m mortified, but he laughs it off,

  pulling me tight against him,

  smiling into my eyes,

  kissing me until my head swims

  and all that exists is

  Scott.

  Discovery

  How could I have fallen asleep?

  There we were, lying side by side ... talking

  while strains of Coldplay cushioned the empty spaces.

  At first I think he’s gone but when I turn, he’s sitting

  on the side of the bed, looking bored.

  He feels me stir. He tells me he’s got to go.

  All the tenderness has drained out of him.

  I say I’m sorry—I don’t know what

  happened—I’m so sorry.

  “It’s not that, Laren. It’s this.

  We can’t go anywhere or do anything.”

  Tongue-tied, I follow him to the front door

  And then Fate smirks and steps in,

  planting Angie at the end of my driveway.

  I don’t see her until I’ve kissed him goodbye.

  I don’t see her until my eyes follow Scott leaving

  and find her standing there.

  Still as a stone.

  Unanswered Angie

  Shame silences me and so

  I do not say

  anything.

  But she is right.

  I cannot expect her to

  keep this quiet

  and

  I should have the

  decency

  to tell Nina myself.

  Mostly True Confession

  There’s no right way to tell

  this kind of thing to a friend. So,

  I get it over with quick and

  move on to dressing the wound.

  I’m so sorry. Really. Truly.

  I never meant for this to happen.

  I hope you can for
give me.

  Please, forgive me.

  Her answer is back in a flash. The speed of light.

  The speed of anger.

  I’m ready for a huge blast but it’s short and to the point.

  I hate you.

  Sinking In

  She can’t really hate me.

  Not after all the years we’ve been friends.

  Not over one thing. One guy.

  This is turnabout. Fair play.

  A stab in my heart

  to repay

  the knife in her back.

  I know what’s next and I don’t have long to wait for

  Morgan’s monologue.

  I can’t believe you kept this from me!

  How do you think I felt hearing it from Nina?

  Sometimes it’s like I don’t even know you.

  And what about the group?

  Did you even think about the group?

  I hope you know you’ve put me

  right in the middle of this mess.

  Your mess, Laren.

  Do you think I can take your side? Because I cannot.

  At some point during her tirade

  the twisting and churning inside me stops.

  I see the hopelessness of it and I

  let go.

  This is not going to blow over.

  Morgan is still yelling

  when I power off my phone.

  9

  It isn’t until mealtime that I fall a p a r t

  Surrounded by mashed potatoes and peas,

  baked fish and family

  Mom, Dad, and Jackson.

  That’s when my throat tightens and tears fall.

  Mom coaxes out some-not-all of the story as I circle

  the facts and focus on the ‘now-they-hate-me’

  ending. Meanwhile Jackson feeds his fish to the dog.

  But Dad

  slides his chair around

  and tugs me close

  to his left side.

  The countdown has begun.

  I just don’t know it yet.

  The Shunning: Part One

  There are rules

  for what I’ve done. Specific punishments for

  crimes against friendship.

  I expect no leniency.

  The first day will be the worst.

  I’ve had time to prepare,

  to imagine what’s coming.

  I’m ready.

  Hard-as-stone ready.

  They can bring it all—

  the cold granite stares, disdain, disappointment.

  I know what messages their faces will offer.

  I know too

  when they’re certain I’ve taken in their silent fury,

  they will turn away

  ever so deliberately.

  I’ve imagined it all and I’ve made up my mind.

  There is no point in caring.

  But my stomach is not ready.

  It lurches when Nina storms by,

  a little hallway tempest.

  She spits out a single word as she passes.

  And I remind myself that I will not care. I will not react.

  I am halfway to class when I see Morgan.

  I steel myself for more hostility, but it doesn’t come.

  Her eyes turn soft and sad. She looks miserable

  as she lowers her gaze and moves past.

  Her sorrow slams into me.

  It was the one thing I wasn’t prepared for.

  It takes ten minutes in the toilet stall

  to pull myself together,

  five more at the sink to get the red out of my eyes.

  Now I need a hall pass

  and some new friends.

  Lunch

  My eyes are trying to drift toward the table where my

  friends, excuse me, ex-friends, are sitting.

  I keep my head high, my gaze focused on the

  elsewhere straight ahead,

  which is how I manage to trip over a book-bag.

  I don’t fall

  because it would have been a mercy

  to have hit my head and knocked myself out,

  instead of lurching wildly and crashing

  into a couple of girls holding trays.

  Let me just say that

  it is not easy to look composed

  under these circumstances.

  Scott is with friends at their usual table.

  I will him to look over and miraculously

  his head lifts and he see me there,

  standing alone with my lunch tray

  like the poster girl for friendlessness.

  His hand comes up and I hurry toward him

  even though I am almost certain he was

  waving, not beckoning.

  So here I sit, pathetically soaking up the bits of attention that

  dribble

  down

  during

  breaks in the jock talk.

  Every now and then

  I see him remembering

  Oh, yeah, Laren is here.

  He smiles and makes an effort before

  turning back to talk of games long over.

  When he asks how my lunch is

  for the second time

  I am quite sure that

  solitude would have been better.

  But after school, he catches up, walks with me and

  his attention is all mine.

  As my hand rests warm and safe in his,

  I have the oddest thought

  that I am collecting moments.

  Jackson

  You are supposed to love your brother

  because he is your brother,

  but now and then he gives me other reasons,

  like today, when I get home

  and the little turniphead asks me if any of my friends

  have smartened up yet.

  Week Two

  I’m making my dismal way toward Scott’s table

  where I’ve forced myself to eat lunch for the past week

  because I’ve rid myself of options.

  But then, I hear my name and I turn to see

  Christine Oakey, who’s in two of my classes.

  She’s sitting with a girl I don’t know and

  I’m not quite sure if she meant to invite me but I

  barely hesitate before sliding into an empty seat.

  Christine does a back and forth gesture between me

  and the other girl. “Laren? Dee? You guys know each other?”

  I’m about to say, “No,” when Dee blurts,

  “I’m not sure if we ever actually met,

  if you know what I mean, but

  I’ve seen you around lots of times and

  I think we were both at a party at

  Paula-May Peterson’s place one time, but

  in case you don’t remember me, I’m Dee.

  It’s short for Denise, but no one calls me that.”

  Dee prattles on and on. She hardly stops talking

  long enough to catch

  her breath, much less eat.

  Maybe that’s why she’s so thin.

  Christine and I finish our lunches while

  Dee’s chatter only allows her time for

  three tiny bites

  of her wrap. I’m wondering if she’s got an

  eating disorder, when she

  stops for breath,

  glances down like she just noticed

  she has food, and starts stuffing it in like a maniac.

  Christine brings up the weekend in a vague

  “you guys have any plans?” kind of way.

  When I say that I’m not sure what

  my boyfriend and I are doing

  there’s an awkward flicker of silence,

  which makes me wonder

  what stories Nina is spreading.

  I want to say something,

  give myself a kind of

  casual absolution

  but Dee has gulped down h
er lunch

  and is jabbering again.

  I half expect to see a wrap-sized lump

  moving down her throat,

  like a mouse that’s been swallowed by a mamba.

  Family (Anything But) Fun

  My folks have planned a family bowling outing

  this Saturday afternoon, which I think is a

  misguided cheer-up-our-friendless-daughter thing,

  like going bowling with my parents and kid brother

  could ever be anything but depressing.

  Except, that’s apparently not the plan, since

  Mom says I should invite

  my young man.

  (Yes, my mother is in a time warp. Thanks for asking.)

  So they can get to know him.

  As if I would ever ask Scott to do

  anything that lame.

  Answering the Call

  It is NOT acceptable for ANYONE who is NOT ME

  to answer MY phone

  when I am in the shower.

  And no, I am not overreacting or

  making a big deal of nothing.

  But it is hard to make a Mother Brain understand

  just how serious I am about this

  when a smile keeps sneaking onto my face.

  Not a smile about what she did, obviously.