Socks and Twinkies

         My socks don't match. They're both white, but they don't match. One has a blue stitched line above the toes, like perhaps a person wouldn't know that their toes are supposed to end up in the pointed section at the end. I couldn't imagine being that stupid. Though, I suppose there are a handful of people--some individuals I might even have once considered my friends--who might think I'm stupid. But they don't know the whole story. They don't know the half of it.

         There are a grand total of four people in my school that I do not, by default, hate. I know it's wrong to generalize the mass population just because I don't actually know them, but it's become habit at this point, and I think it's hardly fair of me to change that opinion now, after four years spent doing the same thing--it's what I'm known for--and people aren't ready for that type of change.
         Sarah and Jodie are the closest things I have to friends. I've known Sarah since we were five; we were at recess and I knocked over my bottle of bubble juice. I began to cry as the soapy water pooled up on the blacktop surface, and she held out her bottle and said, "Wanna use mine?" We've stayed friends since, purely out of habit, I think. I mean, she's nice enough, but if it weren't for the bubble juice incident, I don't think I would have bothered to reach out to her. I guess that's the difference between Sarah and I--she is a people-person, and I'm more of a person-person.
         Jodie made her way into our friendship four years ago, during freshman year health class. We were required to get into groups of three and make a short film about the consequences of drug addiction. Sarah and I shared the knowing grin that we would obviously work together and waited until there was only one person left without a group: Jodie. The funny part is she became the reason we got an A on the project. Jodie's dad was a movie producer, so he may or may not have assisted us with the whole concept. Though, if our teacher had asked, we all agreed to deny everything.
         I don't usually make an effort to hang out with Sarah and Jodie, but they seek me out in the hallways at school, so I guess that's what best qualifies as a friendship. My guidance counselor, Ms. Pierce thinks I need to make more of an effort to spend time with them; she tells me this during our weekly sessions. Every Wednesday during sixth period--a period I have free for work study--I sit in her office for an hour and talk about my life. She thinks that I spend too much time inwardly, which is why we need to continue our sessions, so that I may externalize my emotions. I think she gets most of her sayings from greeting cards, and if she wasn't so sincere in everything she says, I'd probably hate her too.
         What Ms. Pierce doesn't understand is that I do seek out people--well, a person at any rate. Of course she wouldn't know that though, because I don't tell anyone, not even Sarah and Jodie, about Jared.
         Jared and I began dating freshman year. We had known each other in middle school, but never really spoke to one another. During the homecoming dance, he walked right up to me and asked me to dance during the first slow song of the night. I feel like a giddy little girl just thinking about it. We've been inseparable ever since. Well, almost.
         We went through a short rough patch this past summer. We spent most evenings driving around backroads, finding a spot to park and stare at the stars. And I'm not gonna lie: we made out a lot too. One night at the end of July, on the way back from our nightly make-out session, we got in a fight. I couldn't even tell you what it was about now--it was that stupid--but we both said a lot of hurtful words. About a month went by without us speaking. It was all lost time. I couldn't tell you a thing that happened in that month. My whole existence was a blank canvas.
         Then, of course, it was time to come back to school, and I was forced to see him again. The first day we had a school-wide assembly. He walked right past me to sit a couple rows ahead of me. I don't even know what the assembly was about; I spent the whole time staring at his hair, longing to run my fingers through it. After it was over, he stood up and turned around; our eyes met for a brief moment before he hurried out through the crowd. We saw each other sporadically for another couple of weeks, each of us never speaking a word to one another, yet so much was still left unsaid.
         It wasn't until the day before Thanksgiving break that I had the opportunity to speak to him. I turned the corner to make my way to the bathroom during fifth period and there he was standing at the end of the hall. We both stood frozen, eyes locked, for what felt like a solid three weeks. He made the first move--like he always does.
         "I'm sorry," he said. And it was sincere. I can always tell when he's lying. He's not good at it; he picks at his nails whenever he knows he's about to be caught in a lie. But this time he stood still as a statue, and I knew it was the truth.
         "Me too," I returned, though I'm still not sure what for. Our whole break up was a whirlwind of emotions and words. Pure chaos. I couldn't be sure that I was even at fault. But I said it, because that's what you do when you love someone.
         I don't know what happened after that. But we were together again, like nothing had changed. Like those months apart meant nothing. I was complete again.

         It's my birthday. My parents offered to get me something to make the day special. Or maybe to do something for me. They offered to take me to dinner at a nice restaurant--one where you sit down at a table and the waiter pushes in your chair for you. They'd let me order the most expensive item on the menu. I wouldn't do that, but it's nice to know they'd offer.
         I told them I just wanted a box of Twinkies.
         
         I bought twelve boxes of Twinkies right after their big "comeback." It was supposed to be a surprise for Jared on the first day of senior year, but since we had broken up, I ended up peeling each one out of their cellophane wrapper, dropping it in the dirt in the backyard, and smooshing it with the heel of my bare foot. I would watch the cream creep out from beneath my arch before opening another and another.
         I didn't dare admit that to him once we got back together. That would have been torture for him to hear. Instead, we met in secret. After school let out, I would tell my parents that I was working at the used book store down the street from my house, but the truth was I had quit before the start of the school year, and instead I was meeting Jared in the woods behind the school. It was like nothing had changed between us. His kisses still left me breathless and woozy, his fingers like silk against my skin. I could have stayed there forever.
         Unfortunately, my parents wouldn't hear of it. One night we sat down for dinner like we normally did, and I said, "I think we should talk about Jared."
         My mother's fork clattered against her plate, and my father's glass paused at his lips. Both their eyes were transfixed on me. "I think I'd like to see him again."
         My parents shared a glance. My mother looked horrified; my father, on the other hand, held steady and replied, "I don't think you're ready for that, dear." He continued his eating.
         My eyes reached out for my mother, for someone to take my side.
         "We just think it might be too soon, honey, "she said. "You've only just begun healing."
         These remained nightly dinner conversations for about a week before I dropped the subject and decided to keep seeing him in secret. Sneaking around started to seem more and more exhilarating as time went on. I felt more alive than I had felt in months, and the more difficult it became to keep it a secret, the more I grew to crave the danger of it all.

         I've been told I can't have Twinkies for my birthday. They won't even let me go out for my birthday now. I feel like I'm being punished, though I'm not sure why. I tell the truth--exactly what I'm feeling. I just don't understand what they're saying anymore. I feel like they're just lying to me all the time, and I hardly think that's fair. Worst of all, Jared hasn't come around the visit. I'm starting to believe them.

         The bell rings at the end of fifth period and I pack up my Calculus book, make my way into the crowded hallway toward the guidance office. It's Wednesday so I won't get to see Jared until after my session instead of skipping out for "work study." The secretary, Mrs. Nawper, looks up from her pile of papers briefly and nods a hello to me. I'm a regular, so there's no need to tend to me. I shuffle past and into Ms. Pierce's office. "Good afternoon, Brooke," she says as I close the door behind me. "Have a seat."
         I take my seat in the padded chair in front of her desk and set my backpack on the ground beside me. I sigh. These meetings seem so pointless to me.
         "How are you feeling today?" she asks. A yellow legal pad is on her desk, with a couple of pages turned back so that she is faced with a blank sheet. She poses a ballpoint pen against the page, like a scientist ready to document her findings.
         "Okay," I say, mostly out of habit. A more appropriate word might be "indifferent" or "apathetic," but I've learned that these words have a negative connotation. "Okay" implies that I am more content than I am otherwise, so I settle for it.
         Unfortunately, when I use "okay," Ms. Pierce usually returns with: "Just 'okay'?"
         My response is a shrug, and her pen moves in large loops across the legal pad.
         
         I haven't seen Ms. Pierce in weeks. Instead I've met with Dr. Lowenstall. He has a handlebar mustache that he pinches with his index finger and thumb when he asks me how I'm feeling. I tell him that I miss Jared, and he tells me that this is a normal feeling as he jots against a stark white sheet of printer paper.

         Jared sometimes sneaks into my room late at night once my parents are asleep. He climbs up the tree next to the house and in through my window. One night, while we lie on my flowered sheets, I asked him how he got here. I had never heard a car or noticed a bicycle in the front yard.
         He smiled as his fingers tangled in my curls. "I just flew over. I couldn't be away from you any longer."
         I fell asleep in his arms, but when I woke in the morning, he was already gone; all that was left to remind me that he had been there were the curtains dancing in the wind from the open window.

         I lie on white sheets, my head resting on a white pillow with not enough stuffing. The bed is cold without Jared. Someone says good night and shuts off the overhead light, leaving only a sliver of light beneath the door against the tile floor. In the darkness I can imagine Jared's face and I miss him even more. Tears slip from my eyes. One by one they drip to the pillow. The damp surface lulls me to sleep.

         Christmas break, it became more and more difficult for Jared and me to sneak around. I had told my parents I was going sledding down the hill at the elementary school. They didn't like me going by myself, so I lied and told them Sarah was meeting me, but really I was meeting Jared.
         "How long are we gonna keep doing this, Brooke?" he asked as we lay at the top of the hill, my sled tossed aside unused.
         I stared at the grey overcast sky. "Well, I suppose we have a few hours before my parents start wondering where I am," I said, grinning to myself.
         Jared sat up, diverting my attention from the clouds. "I wanna be with you," he said. "Forever."
         I sat up to join him. "I wanna be with you forever too."
         "Come with me," he said, taking my hand.

         There's no window in my room, so the only reason I know it's morning is the shuffling about in the hallway. There's always activity out there, but the foot traffic during daylight hours outweighs the night. Someone will be in to get me soon, but I pull the covers over my head. Darkness is my friend.

         Jared led me to the pond at the edge of the school property. It had iced up overnight, making it look untouched glass. He pulled on my hand as he stepped backward onto the ice.
         "Jared, what are you doing?" I asked with a giggle.
         "I wanna ice skate with you," he pouted. He knew I coulnd't resist his pout. I stepped onto the ice, using him as my balance. We moved in unison, sliding out boots across the surface, almost dancing.
         It wasn't until we were halfway to the middle of the pond that I heard the cracking of the ice beneath our feet.

         My door opens, showering the room in light. Even from beneath the blanket canopy I've made for myself, I can see the light, and it pulls me out of my secluded daydream. Someone places a hand on my shoulder, saying quiet words. I don't hear the words, but I peek out from the covers. The woman above me smiles, motions to the clothes folded in the chair across from the bed, says a few more encouraging words, and leaves.

         The water was cold--colder than any water I had ever felt before--as my leg plunged through the ice. I reached out for Jared but was met with nothing but cold air. How could he have left me there? How could he have fled so quickly?

         In my new clothes, I walk the corridor with the lady with the nice smile who woke me this morning. We reach our destination and she opens the door, scooting me inside to see Dr. Lowenstall. I sit across from him at his desk.

         The ambulance arrived quicker than I would have expected for such a snowy day. A couple of kids saw me fall through the ice and called 911 from a cell phone. "Where's J-Jared?" I stuttered as the EMTs lifted my stretcher into the ambulance.
         "Who?"
         "My b-b-boyfriend," I stammered, heart racing as I tried to raise my back off the stretcher. "He was on th-the ice with me."
         The EMT gently pushed my shoulder back down. "There was no one else out there."

         Dr. Lowenstall doesn't start with the niceties today. "Brooke, I'd like to talk about what happened at the pond," he says, taking a pen from the jar on his desk.
         "We were ice skating," I say, my mind drifting back to the day. "The ice broke. And he left me there."
         The doctor's pen moves sharply against the page in front of him.
         "Why did he leave me?" I ask, tears welling in my eyes. "Where's Jared?"
         I hear his pen on the desk. Through the tears, I can see Dr. Lowenstall staring at me. "Brooke, Jared died in July."
         I dissolve into sobs--howling, terrible bawling. Over the last month they've told me the same thing at least once a day, but I refuse to believe it. I've seen Jared. I've kissed him. Felt him. Every day for months. How could he have died?

         My parents met us in the Emergency Room.
         "What were you thinking?" my father asked. My mother was crying hysterically into his shoulder.
         "I'm s-sorry," I said through the fit of shivers. "I had to see J-Jared."

         They've told me time and time again, but none of it makes sense to me. That night in July, Jared's truck was t-boned on the driver's side. He was killed on impact, while I made it out with nothing but a broken heart.
         My parents told me that when we got to the hospital that night and I was told that Jared hadn't made it, I refused to believe it. I started pulling the IV and other tubes from my body to get to him. After they sedated me, my parents made the decision not to mention Jared ever again.

         In the hours following my accident, I heard my parents talking with doctors when they thought I was asleep. The words "depressed" and "suicide" flitted through the conversations. But it wasn't suicide. I was just trying to spend time with Jared.
         As soon as my core temperature was brought up to normal, I was transferred to another hospital across town.
         
         I've been in this hospital nearly a month. That's almost thirty times I've heard the horrific story of Jared's death. And each time it still takes me by surprise. I've heard doctors call it a repressed memory--that my brain attempts to save me from the traumatic experience by blocking it out completely.

         They all thought I was crazy--that I was trying to kill myself when I walked out on that lake. Maybe I was--crazy that is. Love makes you do crazy things. And I love Jared. I wonder why he hasn't visited me.
         I stare down at my sock-covered feet, and all I can think is that my socks don't match.