Guilt (2 page)

"So, you and Corry were friends?" More questions. Was this the Spanish Inquisition?

"Yeah, you could say that." I replied. "We had art class together."

The man looked interested. "Oh, yeah? He was quite the artist, wasn't he? Showed some real talent - and promise. Mom always declared he'd be an artist, although my dad was bound and determined that he would get a degree in agricultural studies."

Good grief. If he was trying to wield my guilt like a knife and use it to cut at my heart, it was working – even if he did do it unknowingly. I wanted to get away, to crawl back to my car, drive to my parent's and get this stupid holiday over with. I hadn't even made it to my family's home yet. The cemetery was my first stop. I thought I'd get it out of the way, and then maybe I could enjoy my holiday. Nope.

Time to get out of the situation, "Well, it's really getting nippy out here." To emphasize my chill, I induced some warming friction by rubbing my icy hands up and down my arms. "I live on the west coast, so I'm not used to the cold any more. Better get going."

"Oh, yeah? West coast." he persisted. "So, you are one of the lucky ones that got away. I moved south a little bit myself, but not far enough to get out of the cold."

"I couldn't get far enough away from this place, myself." I think I blushed. "Well, it was nice meeting you, Kain. I hope you and your family have a very Happy Thanksgiving." Did I just say that? His brother lay dead in his grave, because of me, and I wished him and his family happy? What a sardonic ass I was.

I turned to leave, my face red from more than just the cold, and Kain took up right beside me. Did he not understand the meaning of '
it was nice meeting you'
? I didn't ask him to walk me out of the cemetery. I didn't invite him to continue getting acquainted. What I said was meant to be a signal that the conversation was over.

Three minutes would get me back to my car at the edge of the cemetery. Then he'd find out the meaning of the words '
gotta go', 'sayonara', 'see you later' –
no, not see you later.

"So, you're in town for the holiday, as well?" He continued the conversation. "And you thought to stop by Corry's grave? That was nice of you."

Jeez, how did I find myself in this completely uncomfortable situation? It had taken me twelve years to visit Corry's grave, and the moment I had finally made it here, his brother showed up? Was this some kind of twisted karma? Maybe it was my turn to suffer for my offence.

Then, I realized: I was being insolent and self-pitying, again. Here I was wallowing in my dramatic '
why me
', poor little victim, spoilt brat of a temper, and not even thinking about this man's feelings. He seemed happy, almost excited, that someone remembered his long dead brother, and I was being rude in response.

The least I could do for this guy would be to show some respect, some sympathy. And maybe – though this was me thinking about myself again – it could actually help me find the closure that I was searching for.

So, we filled the walk to the car by talking about Corry. I acknowledged that we had been friends, that he really had shown a special talent for art, and that I had really missed him when he was gone. Kain in turn admitted that his little brother had been his best friend and that not a day went by in which he didn't think about him. He even started a charity in Corry's name, which provided art supplies to underprivileged schools.

We stood at my car for several minutes discussing innocent little things about Corry, neither of us acknowledging the proverbial 'elephant' in the graveyard. The cold, at last, did start to bite at my thin skin, and my teeth started to chatter.

"Oh, God," Kain exclaimed, "I'm so sorry. Here you are trying to get out of the cold, and I'm keeping you standing right in the wind."

"Yeah, well, like I said, I'm a little sensitive of the cold." I fumbled my car key into the door lock with frozen fingers, and Kain took the liberty of opening the door to allow me inside.

I smiled my gratitude, and sat down on the driver's seat; but, before I could swing my legs into the car and reach for the ignition, Kain asked, "You want to go get a cup of coffee? The little diner on Main Street is still there. We could talk about Corry a little more."

Damn. Just when the situation looked as though it was coming to an end, he had to go and ruin my get-a-way. How could I say no at this point. This was Corry's brother. It would be rude to shrug off his offer of friendship. And there was that big important thing that I still needed and that he may be able to provide: closure.

"Okay. Sure." I smiled, but was sure that the expression didn't reach my eyes.

"Great." He smiled back. "I'll go get my car and meet you there in a few minutes."

I shut the car door and turned on the engine, blasting the heat to stop my shivers. How on Earth did this happen? This was so
not
what I had intended.

Chapter Two

Another summer ended. Bittersweet. No, not sweet, just bitter. To a teenager, the excitement in returning to school wasn't in the projected learning, it was all about the social aspect: seeing your friends after a long absence, showing off your new hairdo or flexing your improved muscles, pursuing old infatuations, or overcoming embarrassing moments from last year.

Claire's first day of school should have been this way, too. Sophomore year, and now she was no longer an insignificant freshman, or more aptly: 'fresh fish'. The problem was she had no one to share this supposed anticipation with. Her best friend's father had taken a new job over the summer, and the family had to pack up and move two states away.

Claire met Laura the first minute of the first day of Kindergarten. By the end of that day, they were closer than sisters – or at least closer than Claire had ever been to her sister, Lil. They got on so well over the years, that Claire really didn't need any other friends beyond Laura's close company. Associating with peers was one thing, but they were nothing more than acquaintances. No one else ever actually attained the position of friend with Claire.

That's just how she was. She couldn't multitask her friendships, or any relationships, really. While she was Daddy's little girl, she didn't exactly get along with her mother and she battled with her sister quite regularly. So, not having any other friends but Laura, didn't feel unnatural to her at all.

Going to school without Laura, now, that did feel unnatural. Without her dearest confidant she had to interact with other people, or wander the halls alone. Socializing was a daunting task in any situation. Socializing with other teenagers – that felt almost impossible.

She realized, though, how inconsiderate it was to pity herself over her loneliness when Laura had it far worse. They may each be starting their sophomore year without their best friend, but, at least, Claire knew her surroundings, knew her classmates. Laura had to endure an unfamiliar place with nothing but strangers.

Claire felt guilty for her own selfish wallowing, and tried to make the best of her miserable situation. All alone, she ghosted the hallways and sat in the back of the classrooms. At lunch, she scouted the tables from a corner, waiting to find an unoccupied area where she could sit and bother no one. Occasionally, a classmate would show her pity by attempting small talk, knowing that she must have felt dejected with her pal gone, but Claire felt the patronizing insult of such sympathy and didn't converse willingly.

The class that was scheduled before her final session of the day was the only consolation she had. She looked forward to it. Art class. Freedom of expression – well, relatively – and no homework or major exams to cram for. This was her breeze class, and she needed it. Especially since the very last class of the day would be Algebra. Torture.

The art classroom was located in the vocational and technology section of the sprawling, one story, tri-winged school building. No other classes brought her here, so it was a hike from fourth session literature class at the other end of the general studies wing, and it would be another hike back for Algebra. She slipped in the door of this remote classroom and found that, instead of the single student desks that were a staple in the rest of the school, here were several large round tables that lent an 'Avalonian' feel to the social interaction that was art.

Since the class was an elective credit, it consisted of students from multiple grades. Sophomores, juniors and seniors mingled, while the few freshmen in the class huddled at their own table in the back of the room, afraid to make eye contact with the older students. Claire empathized with their discomfort, but took her own seat at a table that was still vacant.

The session bell rang, and the last of the students were still straggling in. With only a small number of seats left, her table was destined to fill with a few more classmates. A junior boy looked as though he was about to pull out the chair that sat beside hers when the school outcast walked through the open door. Without hesitation, the strange looking sophomore took the seat to her left. The junior changed his mind upon seeing him and managed to find a chair elsewhere in the room.

Claire slowly turned her head in dismay to look on the face of this outcast. Everyone in the student body called him The Freak. She didn't even know his real name, just that he was demented and that everybody steered clear of him. The fact that he always wore black clothing; spiked his greasy hair out so that he'd look as though he'd just been electrocuted; and drew skulls, zombies and what-not all over his hands and arms with an ink pen, kind of turned people off to him.

But, then, his personality didn't exactly help him to win friends, either. He invaded Claire's space and gave her a mocking smirk when he saw the look on her face. He fed off of such reactions. She seriously considered getting up and finding another chair, but the room had filled and only her table had availability at this point.

"So, how do you feel about ritual sacrifice?" He leaned in and whispered in her ear. "You know, the Mayans used to cut out people's hearts and sacrifice them, dripping with blood, to the gods."

He was only saying this to scare her and make her upset. Claire wasn't fragile and flighty like the other girls, though; and so, rather than the anxious fidgeting he had anticipated, she supplied him with a scathing glower and replied, "Actually, it was more common amongst the Aztecs. And they also cut their own
appendages
for blood sacrifices and practiced cannibalism. No wonder their civilization declined. After awhile, there was no one left."

She had just given him more attention than she should have; and so pulled her chair to the other side of the table, where she turned her interest towards the teacher, who had just stood up before the class.

This arrangement really disturbed her, and she worried that she'd have to spend art class this way for the whole year. It would ruin her favorite time of the day, the one thing she really looked forward to. She'd have to make sure she sat at a different table from the next day on. Even being at the freshmen table had to be better than this.

The art teacher, a man with a silvery beard and hazy eyes began to address the class. "I'm Mr. Dart and this is Art one-o-one."

At that moment, another student entered the room. He was late. With his head down, he made for the empty chair at Claire's table to get rid of the unwanted attention that he'd drawn. The Freak changed his wilting stare from Claire and began to throw imaginary daggers with his eyes in the newcomer's direction, trying to gage the poor guy's reception to mind torture, no doubt. The newcomer stared back, un-phased and un-amused.

The teacher continued. "Take a good look around your table, get to know the people next to you. I'm not very good with names so it's better if you stay in the same seat all year. That way I can become familiar with who you are . . ."

The Freak snickered and leaned over the table, "Hey, rejects. Looks like your stuck in hell with me."

Claire and the newcomer made eye contact, and saw the same unasked question in each others expressions: 'why me?'