How I Got Here (7 page)

‘Stay back, don’t touch me!’ River keeps on repeating the same thing over and over, saying it loudly to herself and those around her, trying to get them to understand, even though they all just look at her like she’s crazy. Oliver pushes through the baffled crowds, all of whom are staring at the young girl, who is hugging herself and screaming hysterically. There are whispered words around the crowd, people trying to work out what happened, asking if someone had hurt her, if she’d been mugged, and the man with the bracelets loudly defending his actions, to whoever would listen to his words of protest against River’s reaction.

‘I did nothing to her! I asked her to buy a bracelet, that’s it!’ He says to a small group who are listening to him, rather than staring at River.

Oliver reaches her, holding his hands up in front of him, reassuring her that he’s not going to touch her.

‘River
its ok, nobody’s going to hurt you, that man didn’t mean any harm.’ He edges closer, she raises her eyes and stops screaming, focusing on him and trying to block everyone else out.

‘I’m sorry, Oliver I’m so sorry.’ She pulls her arms away from herself, but still doesn’t move towards him, she’s still anxious about the crowds of people, watching her with curiosity, passing on their version of the story to newly arriving people.

‘Hey don’t worry about it ok,’ He takes a half step towards her, ‘Do you want to go back?’

‘No!’ She shakes her head violently, her breath coming out in ragged gasps; he nods to show his understanding.

‘Ok we’ll keep going then, you’re ok.’ He closes the gap between them, and she wraps her arms around him, allowing him to make her feel safe again. Gently he leads her through the crowd.

‘Your girlfriend is mental.’ Someone from the crowd shouts, River tenses up in his arms.

‘Back off.’ Oliver glares at him, pulling River through the crowd a little quicker; he lets her silently guide him again, until they finally reach the secluded pond. She was right; the place is so quiet that he can hardly believe he’s still in New York. She relaxed instantly and untangles herself from his protective embrace.

‘This place,’ she looks around, stepping through the long grass, scattered with various flowers, and tilts her head up to look at the white clouds passing over her head, ‘it’s one of those places that just feel
s so calming,’ she turns to look at him, ‘I’m sorry – about what happened just now, sometimes I just can’t seem to control it, I get really panicked and then it’s like I can’t see straight, I can’t calm myself down.’

‘That’s ok, there’s no need to explain.’ He shrugs it off, walking down the small slope. They both sit alongside the pond, stretching their legs out in front of them, until their now bare feet touch the water.

‘I will be though – explaining I mean – because it’s all connected in some way, I didn’t even realize it at first but then you got me writing and suddenly, all the things I thought were unconnected, they seem to easily click together, so you will find out what happened. You’ll find out why I don’t like people coming near me, it just might take some time to get there.’

‘Take as long as you need
, you never need to feel pressured around me, if you ever want to stop, take a break from writing for a while, then tell me and I won’t push it.’

‘I know you won’t.’ She lays her head back on the grass, closing her eyes against the glare of the sun
and steadies her breathing, and then tilts her head to look at him. Oliver is leaning back on his elbows, keeping the top of his body off the ground, but his head is turned to her, so he sees the tears in her eyes.

‘I almost drowned last winter, not long before I came into the hospital. I’v
e never told anyone that before, I’ve never spoken to any of the psychiatrists about it.’ She lays her head back down, ‘I feel safe telling you.’

Chapter Seven

Letter 4

I don’t really know what it was that made me do it, but a week after I visited my brother’s house, I found myself walking into a local gym. It was a large modern building, all white and shiny on the outside, with chrome fixtures and huge windows. The inside was light and airy, decorated with bright stripes of color along the white walls. There were fake plants in the lobby, and a huge chrome reception desk. The reception area was set on a balcony, which also held a café and a spa which gave beauty treatments, behind the desk there was a railing which ran round the entire balcony, looking down into the large fully equipped gym.

They offered a yearly membership package, and for some reason which I still don’t understand, I decided to break into my savings and buy it. I had been saving up for a while for a trip I’d wanted to take to Europe, I was going to go the summer between graduation and college, and where am I instead? Sitting in a hospital bed every day with doctors and nurses shaking their heads, all giving up on untangling the mess that I’ve become, at least everyone apart from you has given up.

This however is beside the point, the point is that I spent a bunch of my savings on the membership, and I joined some classes. Because as well as offering access to their gym equipment twenty four hours a day seven days a week, something they were very proud about and announced a lot – apparently they don’t realize that this is the city that never sleeps, and they aren’t the only gym to open all night – they also offered a wide range of trainer led sessions. A seemingly endless list of classes that you could pick from, when you sign up they give you the full list, and I spent ages sitting in their café – a vegan café! Which only sold vegan food, and water with various things added to it, lime water, lemon water, cucumber water, I once saw someone with mint water, but I never tried that one, lemon was my favorite, which is beside the point, again – anyway I was just sitting there and pouring over the list, tucked away in the corner, at a table that had two chairs, one for me and one for my bag, and I went through the list from top to bottom, circling anything that looked good and I wanted to try.

Maybe I was trying to find a place for myself, school wasn’t a good place for me anymore, I think we can all agree on that, home wasn’t a good place for me to be either, and so I needed a space that I could be comfortable in.

I had enjoyed running on a team at school, until everyone turned against me, and now I found myself missing being part of a team or a group. I missed the buzz of working out. Sure I was still running every day, even though it was freezing cold outside, I would still go running. Yet I had started to realize that when you run in the streets of New York, people just think that you’re either running away from something, or late for something. Maybe I was running away from something, my life perhaps. I sometimes went running in the park, a much more acceptable place for running, but it still didn’t feel the same as participating in something; I wanted to go to a group where everyone was doing the same thing, where I could talk to people, and forget for a little while how miserable I was.

I put together a plan for myself, and so this is how my week now looked; Monday I would go to school in the mornings, I would leave by lunchtime and head to the gym for a workout. Tuesday I would go to school all day, head to the gym afterwards for a dance class, and then run home. Wednesday I would skip school entirely, go swimming in the morning and then into the gym for a workout, I’d then go into an aerobics class. Thursday it was back to school all day, after which I would go for a run in the park. Friday I would go to school in the morning, then I had another dance class in the afternoon, after that would be a spin class, then I’d work out in the gym for an hour or so. Saturday I’d spend my morning riding the subway, then in the afternoon I would take a Pilates class and then go swimming. Sunday I let myself sleep in late; it was the only day that I didn’t go to the gym , instead once I was up I would head out and wander the city, just taking photos and trying to convince myself I was ok.

I have this huge collection of photos from that time. I became fascinated with old buildings, streets in different lighting, people rushing around in their busy lives. It became my favorite distraction, losing myself in finding a perfect image. I would travel around the whole city, snapping shots of busy designer shops on the Upper East Side, and then fire hydrants in Harlem, or kids sledging on the snowy roads in The Bronx. Anything could become a beautiful image in my mind, the sleek clean buildings, to the poverty worn streets. I set out to see everything there was to see in New York. I’d go round all the tourist spots for a few weeks. Then I’d switch and start taking random turns, getting off at random stops, or hopping on a passing bus, just to see where I’d end up.

Whenever I wasn’t at school or the gym, I would be out exploring the city. I didn’t like to be still for any amount of time, because it was too easy to think about everything if I stopped.

I guess I should have seen it, I should have realized that I was doing too much; I should have seen it as a warning sign. At the time though it was just that I wanted to keep busy, I didn’t like to think about all the people who hated me, I didn’t like think about the people who took the time to write those emails, because surely they must hate me if they did that, or took time to write the notes that they shoved into my locker, or push me around at school, and most recently playing stupid little tricks on me.

The Thursday after my first dance class, I was sat in my Chemistry class, and we were using flames to heat things up, I couldn’t tell you know what we were doing, because I really didn’t pay that much attention to anything in school anymore. One of the girls behind me decided to use the flame, not on her experimen
t, but on my hair, she had moved across her desk and held it to the ends of my hair. Nobody noticed the flames, or if they did they didn’t say anything, and I didn’t notice anything until I felt the burn on my neck. I started panicking and so did our teacher, who pulled me out of my chair, and threw her glass of water at me, managing in her panic to miss the flames, which were growing larger, and drench the dark green top I was wearing, this of course only managed to heighten the amusement of the students, they all started howling with laughter, pulling out their phones and taking pictures, I even think some of them captured the moment on video.

The teacher, who had now recovered a little from the initial shock, pulled me out of the classroom, barreling me into the bathrooms, and she began to soak my hair in water, leaving it scorched and dripping wet and I had a few burns on my neck. She left me in
the bathroom to try and dry off my hair, while she went to fetch the school nurse. I couldn’t move. I just stared at my reflection in the large mirrors over the sinks. I looked awful, my drenched hair was dropping down limply to my waist, and the ends of it were badly burnt. My top was soaked, and the make-up on my face had run, due to my teacher dropping water over my head, so I had mascara and eyeliner running down my face.

Silently I walked back into the classroom, picked up my bag without a glance at anyone, and went back to the bathrooms. Inside my bag I had a case of art supplies, which I had used in my art class that morning, and had conveniently for
gotten to leave in the art room, like I was supposed to do, because I was meant to be going back after school to work on my project, because I was so far behind everyone else. Inside the shiny plastic case there was a pair of scissors. I felt completely numb as I looked at myself in the mirror. There were tears spilling down my face but I didn’t pay any attention, I hardly noticed them at all. I took the scissors to my hair, and without hesitation I cut. Slicing off chunk after chunk until it was a badly cut mess, cut right to the top of my neck so the burns were visible. The floor was covered in water and my dark hair. My hair was sticking out at weird angles, looking wet and strange, but I couldn’t bring myself to care, not even a little bit.

That is how the school nurse and my Chemistry teacher found me, with my hair scattered on the floor, scissors in my hands and tears staining my face. I was just staring blankly at my reflection, out of the corner of my eye I remember seeing them staring, open mouthed.

Eventually the nurse snapped out of it, returning to her professional manner, and she checked the burn on my neck, applied some cream that made it sting, and then covered it with a large white bandage, which she used my scissors to cut to size, and then stuck it on with some medical tape.

‘Can I go now?’ Those were the first words I had spoken since it happened, they tasted strange in my mouth, like it wasn’t me speaking, my voice sounded strained and too high to be my own, and I just thought to myself, who is this girl? Who is the girl with the crazy hair, the one who is so unhappy, so miserable that she got to this point, standing in a bathroom after having her hair set alight? I didn’t recognize myself, and I think that scared me more than anything else.

‘I think it would be best if you spoke to someone.’ The nurse shoots a worried glance at the teacher. I think they mean I’ll have to give a statement to the police, or talk to the principal and put in a formal complaint. Both of them march me out of the bathroom, into the busy halls of kids, who are both shocked and excited to see how I looked at that moment. Maybe that’s what they wanted, to push me to the point where I broke, everything they had done so far was invisible to them, they didn’t see me exercising as much as I was, they didn’t really pay any attention to my obsessive organizing of things, to them it was just part of my weirdness, and they didn’t know that I cried myself to sleep every single night, after spending hours reading their hateful words. This though, this was a drastically physical sign of how far they’d pushed me, and they seemed to love it. Just like in the classroom, they were snapping photos, filming me. In fact if you go online you can probably find the videos, they’re probably still around. The girls, the ones who weren’t photographing or filming me, were texting or calling people like their lives depended on it. Telling people what had happened.