In Memory (2 page)

“I need… help.” He echoed, his voice trembling. This statement seemed to be a new realisation for him.

I swallowed, unsure of how to respond to that. “Umm, okay… can you stand? Come with me,
yeah
?”

He complied weakly, trembling as he placed his hand in mine. Something sharp pricked my palm as he touched me. I turned his hand over and discovered thick shards of glass buried amidst the raw bloodied flesh of his palm.

Something fluttered in my chest as I touched his hand, a strange mixture of emotions.
Felt sad, maybe hopeful.

Figuring questions would only delay the help he needed; I wrapped my arm around his waist and hoisted him beside me as best I could.

In spite of my concern for him, and the disturbing sight of his injuries, I felt almost happy. The feeling twirled around in my chest at his proximity, accelerating as he leaned into my support. This contact was exciting, even amidst the circumstances. I shook my head, making my
hair brush
against…

What’s his name? I know I’ve heard it before. I think it starts with a ‘T’.

“Hey,” we walked through the library door- the librarian was absent, “What’s your name?”

“
What…?
Noah.” He replied in a shaky voice.

Okay, so I was way off on my thoughts of ‘T’.

The health station is a tiny room behind the office, with one single bed, a cabinet, a chair, and a table with a lamp. There’s also a huge stack of paper in there.

Because of
a
previously announced staff meeting, Noah and I made it there without any interference.

As I was debating on whether or not to take him to the hospital, Noah dropped heavily onto the bed, wincing slightly. He was lying on his side, facing me, with his legs draped halfway over the edge of the bed.

“Um…” I began talking before I realised I had nothing to say, “Um… can I help
you…?”

Noah’s
eyes met mine
for a moment, before casting their icy gaze to the crisp white sheet he lay on.

“Please…” he whispered, lifting his arm, displaying the wounds on his palm, shamefacedly staring at the sheet, “Can you help me with this?”

I braced his injured hand within my own, sinking into the chair and inspecting it. “I think it’s infected… it’s going to need cleaning out.”

He moved his head a
bit, a movement
I
deemed to be a nod, but it was difficult to translate due to his position on the mattress. I pivoted in the chair, pulling the drawer of the plastic cabinet open with my left hand while maintaining my hold on his with my right hand.

C
ould feel his gaze on me as I rummaged through the medical supplies, smiling despite the situation. At last, I found a pair of tweezers, some antiseptic, some gauze pads and bandages.

With a reassuring smile, I commenced the removal of the glass from Noah’s hand. I could still feel his eyes on me, which was a little unnerving. As I picked out a particularly large piece of glass I could see a flinch spasm up his arm, breaking his ice blue stare for the first time. I squeezed his hand gently, a silent reassurance, which seemed to calm him.

The next few minutes passed in silence, save for the click-click of the tweezers and the clacking of the glass as I placed it on the
night-table
.

“Now, what’s your favourite colour?” I asked, calmly picking out a few pieces of glass that weren’t buried very deep.

“What?”

“What’s your favourite colour?” I repeated, looking over the raw wounds for any more cuts.

His eyes met mine for a second and then he looked down. “I don’t know.
”
he mumbled eventually.

“I like lig
ht blue, and I also like red.”
the soft smile never
left
my face.

“I guess I like those.”

“You don’t have any other favourites?” I tweezed out what looked to be the last of the glass.

“…Green.”

“Hm, green is nice.
Trees and grass and stuff.
You must like summer too, then.”

“Yeah, autumn too.”

“Yeah, autumn is nice. What’s your favourite dessert?”

“Why are you asking me all these questions?”

“How else do you get to know someone, hm?”

He frowned and looked away, “I’m not the sort of person you would want to know.”

“Well I never know until I try, right?” I countered, unable to stifle my perpetual optimism.

He looked at me incredulously.

W
asn’t entirely sure what to do, so I grabbed the disinfectant. As I cleaned his wounds, I watched his expression discreetly, noticing how he bit his lip and looked down.

I thought of another question, spreading out the disinfectant. “Where do you live?”

“2514
Oakshield
Street. Where… do you live?” His reply was
awkward;
I don’t think he’s ever had a conversation like this.

“I live in the house with the red door on Kite Street. 103-12 or something.”

“Oh… I know that place.”

I put the gauze pad over the mess of wounds, pressing it in place
and
wrapped it in with the other bandages.

“There, all fixed.”

“How did you know how to do this so well?” he examined the bandages, moving his hand experimentally.

“I work part-time at the Central Hospital.
As a kitchen slave for now, but
I’m
gonna
be
a nursing aid when I get older
, so I’m getting training from a real nurse
!
”

It was at this point that I realised I was going to be late for said part-time work.

“
Wah
! I’m
gonna
be late for work!” I clapped my hand to my head, standing up in a rush. “I’m sorry! I
gotta
go!” I grabbed my bag, “Are you
gonna
be okay here? I could give you my cell number!”

He looked confused, “I don’t even know your name yet.”

Oh my god, duh! “My name is Aerian Guildenstern! Which usually prompts a great deal of laughter, so feel free to!” I walked backwards to the door as I spoke, “You’re Noah. I’ll remember, we’re friends! I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? I
gotta
go!” I smiled winningly, “See
ya
!”

Then I booked it, leaving him
there
looking incredibly confused.

That was my day
today;
I think it’s way better in first person narrative as the events happening. When I read it over, it’s like I’m experiencing it all again.
I
t’s
prolly
more interesting for the reader to read it that way too.

Anyway,
think
it’s about time I went to bed. W
ork tomorrow too, right after school.

Oh, right. Tonight for supper I made a really good chicken and pineapple dish. Thank goodness I’m better at cooking than Terra.

Goodnight all.

178 Days, 2 September, Tuesday

Noah wasn’t at school today. Was crushed. W
as going to talk to him more, and actually find out what his favourite dessert is, since I neglected to press the question yesterday. But he wasn’t there today…Oh well.

F
inished reading a book today. For me, reading a book becomes my own personal death. Every time I finish the last page, linger on the last piece of
punctuation,
I feel I have taken the next step to the end of my story. With each book finished, so ends one chapter of my own. My life is compounded of all these other lives, written and edited in a fashion that mocks the rough copy that is real life.

And still, I find myself inexorably drawn toward another book, seeking to finalise a chapter in my own, encouraged to continue writing with the words in my mind and music in my ears.

Aggh
, that was so poetic.

Goodnight then.

176 Days, 4 September, Thursday

T
hought about making funeral arrangements today and was trying my damnedest to make it cheap.

175 Days, 5 September, Friday

And
Noah
wasn’t at school today
eitherrrrrr
….

U
sed that many ‘
r’s
to show my dismay. You know, when you’re trying to indicate that you’re kind of annoyed you make the last word in your sentence a lot longer, in a sort of whining fade out. It’s hard to convey that sort of sound in writing, but I’m sure you know what I mean.

174 Days, 6 September, Saturday

It rained a little today
,
weather here is crazy
.

Really want to go swimming… T
hink the public pool is open still… But I doubt that I could have gone today.

Maybe I’ll wait a while and go when the indoor pool opens. The only thing I hate about swimming is people seem to think I’m a girl a lot of the time. I guess it’s easy to make that assumption, cause underwater, it’s hard to tell. Mostly cause of my hair I think.

Terra has been a little crazy about my hair since I was young. She insisted I grow it out and keep it tha
t way. So now my hair goes down to my waist
, and I have to wear it up in a high ponytail to keep it from being totally cumbersome.

T
hought about cutting it off last year, after getting sick of the jeers and jokes of the people at my old school.
Fairy, queer, fag
… Ah, the names go on and on.
And all for something as trivial as the length of my hair.
Ridiculous.

Remembering now
how that went. I was
seventeen,
it was las
t year before we moved here. M
ight switch tenses now. Yeah, it’ll be better. Eventually, I think I’ll just start doing that without a warning. You’ll get used to it, and then I won’t have to waste paper by forming some kind of poorly written segue.

Which reminds me, I have to practice the piano more than I have been.

So much for the clean segue.

Whatever.

I was walking home, it was a Thursday, I think. Since school had just let out, there were a bunch of other students around too, bundled up in their winter gear.

Usually I was left alone
,
people just let me be
.

Except for this one group of boys. My very existence seemed to them to be a great personal wrong, and so they took great pains to antagonise me as much as possible.

This included following me home that day, spitting insults about me the whole way. I could ignore them; I was so good at ignoring all of them by now.

Then their voices got louder, yelling obscenities. I quickened my pace when something slammed into the back of my head. I fell to my knees, instantly putting my hand to the place where whatever it was made contact. I pulled my fingers away with streaks of blood across them, gasping at the pain searing through my head.

More curses and yells followed this
,
they were getting closer
…

I got to my feet sh
akily, stumbling into a run. W
as close, close to the clinic where Terra worked,
I just had to make
it.

Someone’s hand grabbed my arm, yanking me back. I looked
back,
there were three of them, the one on my arm grinning maliciously.

I still remember exactly what he said… “You’re
gonna
die, you sick freak.”

Those words still rin
g through my mind, even now. W
asn’t scared of death so much as I was scared of how they were going to hurt me beforehand.

D
idn’t want to die there, cold and alone in the snow…

K
ept thinking that as they punched and kicked me, burying my face in the snow and telling me I deserved it.
That’s the punishment I get for being a queer.

At that point, I wasn’t even sure about it. I didn’t know if I liked guys or what, but they seemed pretty sure for me.

They hated me so much
,
it was terrifying
. I didn’t think anyone could hate so passionately, with such violent fervour.

They laughed as they drove my head into the
snowbank
. Something stabbed into my neck as they did so, splitting the skin and freeing a hot
burst
of crimson into the snow.