ShameLess, page 3
“Oh Elle, wouldn’t you just razz my shit over this?” If only you were listening. If only you could.
I steal one last gander at my newfound ‘mystery man’, taking in the hot Greek god in his entirety, then take off in the direction of my car.
I feel exhilarated and yet weighted by having to say, ‘farewell’ to my friend. It is temporary, I know. I think the visit itself was necessary. It provided me a greater emotional liberation than I ever expected. Many things flood my mind as I continue driving, and my thoughts are hurdling back and forth between points of view. Like a blender, feelings and experiences mix, swirling together and clouding my judgment. I leap between visiting with Elle straight over to spying on my ‘mystery man’. Despite having had two entirely different experiences with him, and knowing his name, he puzzles me.
One side of him portrayed in the office is that of an egotistical ass. I am not impressed with this one. The other, more softened and vulnerable, revealed itself clearly while mourning. I favor the sentimental one. This side of him is the one diffusing the narcissistic one. This one appeals to me. It shows me brokenness in him that resembles my own, allowing me to relate to him. Obviously, we both see the same psychiatrist so he must be sort of a head-case, like me. I am particularly fascinated. What are his issues? Why does he see my doc? Why were he and I at the same cemetery? I shake my head, trying to clear the cobwebs starting to form by all of these questions. Ugh!
My mind travels back in time, pouring over the past two years of my life. I managed to attend our local University, getting my general ed classes out of the way. I tried not to focus on the poisoning sickness drowning me, otherwise known as depression, and grief, or all of the harassment. Not to mention, I am still trying to figure out who I really am. Some of the same kids from my high school followed me there, never letting me let go of that night nor the rumors that sparked their malicious gossip. I did not return to high school after the accident. My parents hired a private tutor for me to finish school at home, and get my GED. However, they enforced my return to school by saying academics are essential, and that I needed the social interaction, along with a degree for a stable financial future, and encouraging my moving on. I chose our local University since I thought most of our class was attending out-of-state colleges. Some did not. Some alleged ‘friends’ chose the same school as I did. Walking across campus and hearing shouts of “Whore”, “Killer”, “Slut”, along with other more threatening taunts was extremely difficult. Their persecution became too much to handle. Hence, another reason my mother and father insisted I see Dr. Bradford. What they did not know, and what Dr. Bradford will never know, is that their words became actions. Often times I would walk across university grounds only to be shoved from behind, out of nowhere. I knew who it was, I’m not stupid. There were times when I was heading to my car parked in the student lot after classes, and I would find human or dog shit smeared across my windshield, or “Murderer” spelled out on my rear window in red lipstick. Other similar outbursts occurred. I never told a soul. Why would I? I just grit my teeth to get through it. Somehow, by sticking it out, I managed to finish out these past two years, both academically and psychiatrically. I even swayed my skillful psychiatrist into believing that I need to move on, and am ready to do so. Who is brilliant now?
Anyway, despite it all, I did keep my promise to my mom, and to myself. I think, forcing myself to finish my gen-eds and continue treatments with Dr. Bradford, is the sole reason my parents eventually relented. Now, they are allowing me to transfer to a new college. Thank God! It is also to my benefit that they met with Dr. Bradford, and according to my mother, “It went well, dear.”
After a lot of convincing, especially since my dad happens to work as a Special Agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation, they caved. His agreeing to the move included strict conditions, which I fully expected from him. For instance, he insisted I call him once a day. The only way he would grant his seal of approval was for me to attend the college nearest the beach house. This one was easy for me to agree to since I absolutely love the beach and our house there. Next, he said I had to promise him I would follow our safety rules: a buddy system and the self-defense moves from the class he made me attend, to be used as needed. In addition, I was instructed to call Howie, his personal assistant if I needed anything, specifically during times I needed to reach him regardless of whether he was at the local office, or out of town on assignment.
However, in lieu of all of this, I couldn’t be happier. For once, since that tragic night of losing Elle, I feel hopeful.
Hope is something I haven’t had in a long time. Hope will never bring Elle back. It will never turn back the hands of time, but I can tell you one thing, as long as I am breathing, I am grateful to have just lived through the roughest, most turbulent, emotionally draining, and traumatic last two years. I am nowhere near being ‘okay’, to say the least. My heart is finally starting the healing process. I am glad to have this ‘do-over’, a second chance, if you will. Elle will never get to say this. Not at all. This inspires me to make the most of it, and the strength to keep moving forward – a second chance for me, and for Elle.
My life has been hell. I deserve this. I know Elle would agree. Possibly, I can somehow learn to forgive, overcome, and fight to become filled with less shame and self-blame. I owe it to Elle’s memory and to myself to at least try. There are times in your life when you have to accept your past to welcome your future. I believe this is that time for me.
I seriously do not want to get out of bed this morning, let alone get dressed or face my first day of college at a new school. Every day is a new beginning. This is that day for me. My insides are turning, churning like butter, yet gelling just the same. I will admit I am scared. I am nervous and a bit excited, too. NO ONE will know me. This gives me a tiny sliver of hope. Hope. There is that word again. I smile.
Today marks the day that I not only get a fresh start, but the day I technically get to move into my new dorm. I also get to meet my new roommate and officially start this new chapter. At times, I feel like the extent of my pain is subjective to the part of my soul that was once stronger. It fights for dominance, yet feels strangled by the ghosts of my past. It’s screaming, “Don’t do it! Don’t get out of bed and do NOT take this first step!”
“S’renaty!”
“S’RENATY!” The sound of my mother’s voice repeatedly shouting my name jolts me out of bed, regardless of whether my feet actually want to hit the floor.
Before I have a chance to respond, she is standing in my doorway, “Ren, what are you doing? Hurry up, or you’re going to be late. We still have over an hour drive ahead of us because there’s an accident reported on the freeway. I’m going downstairs to put a few more things in the Jeep, refill my coffee cup, feed and water Mags, and let her out to go pee. I need you up and ready to walk out the front door in less than half an hour.” She smiles, winks and snaps her fingers, never skipping a beat as she signals a ‘hop to it’ expression before darting down the stairs.
I stand here shaking my head wanting to climb back into bed and curl beneath the covers. I want to sink deep into the hopelessness centering my mattress, threatening my present, and trying to rob me of my future. More accurately stated, just sink further into depression, not allowing myself to believe there is no such thing as ‘hope’.
Instead, I fight against it. It is something I’m trying to get a little better at. I mosey into my own bathroom; slip out of my robe and into a hot, steamy shower. Standing amid the vapors only seems to clear my sinuses but not my mind of its webbed and mangled masses of invading thoughts.
Once done, I pull the shower curtain back and grab my towel from the rack. Promptly, I dry off. I have my right leg propped up on the closed toilet seat to start applying my favorite lotion. It dawns on me – I am preparing myself for what, exactly? For who? To be more precise, I guess it is not who, but that it is not Tucker Reeves anymore! He always loved when I smelled of amber. An immediate surge of missing him takes over; I shiver. I refuse to let myself to wallow in missing him – at all!
Like I am so accustomed to doing lately, I quickly dismiss it, shoving the thought away and turning my iPod on. Distracting my mind with the sound of the music, I continue applying the rest of my lotion. Ironically, as though someone knew I needed a kick to the gut, a profound chorus surrounds me,
“It's my life
It's now or never
I ain't gonna live forever
I just wanna live while I'm alive”
Here’s your sign, S’renaty! Here’s your sign! I think to myself as a slight snicker escapes my lips, pure acknowledgment that I so totally ‘get it’. Within no time, I’m falling into step with the rhythm as I begin belting out the lyrics. I take a few minutes studying myself in the mirror, and run my brush through my chocolate tresses. I stop only long enough to use my brush as a microphone during the repeat of the chorus. While staring at my reflection, I honestly watch myself for the first time in what seems like forever, but has really been more like 2 years. Simply, I beam back at this girl mirroring me. It’s now or never! I give her a brief air-kiss before turning away from her to face my day.
“Are you almost ready, Ren?” My mom calls from down the hallway. “Your father and I have a charity gala tonight that we can’t be late for. I need to be back in time to get ready.”
Mom and dad always expect me to attend these events with them, but I never subject myself to the snotty, arrogant girls with whom I used to call ‘friends’. At least this time, I have an excuse. I feel ashamed that following the accident, my parent’s social status suffered because of the persecuting done to me. They started receiving fewer invitations, and eventually were nearly shunned. Mom has actually worked hard to maintain a level of acceptance. It matters to her, not me. If that is her thing, that is fine, it’s not mine. I am happy I don’t have to attend the gala event this time.
“I’m almost ready, mom, pipe down.” I quickly snap back, knowing she is minutes away from reminding me how late we truly are running.
She has a tendency to be a bit melodramatic at times, especially since she volunteers with so many charities and involves herself in so many things. She gets overwhelmed causing her mind to become hazy, which annoys the crap out of me.
To avoid giving her a reason to irritate me, I quickly throw on a soft pink t-shirt with faded ripped jean shorts and thread a brown belt through its loops. I put on brown leather flip-flops before grabbing my purse and silver hoop earrings from my dresser. Then, I advance toward the door, pausing, and taking one last look at my room.
My new beginning starts now.One step at a time, Ren. You can do this!
I pull the door shut behind me, with a little more hope in my steps.
My mom asks, “Do you have your class schedule all planned out?” along with the other thirty questions within the first ten minutes of our hour-long car ride.
“Yes mom, I showed it to you yesterday but you were busy looking at invitation samples for next month’s garden tea party.” I answer her with more attitude than is needed.
She opens her mouth again, and I pray she asks if I want to turn on the radio. No such luck. “Don’t sass me, S’renaty. And, mind your manners. Your father didn’t invest all of that money into your attending the Etiquette Institute for you to start talking so crass, as though you have had no formal training. I understand you are going through some things, but you do know how to speak properly. Now, do you think you will go to lots of frat parties or join a sorority? You really should, you know. It’ll be good for you, S’renaty, and will look great on your resume’ when you graduate.”
Good for me? Look great on my resume’? I roll my eyes and give her the best answer I can offer, “Mom, I just want to start fresh at school. I don’t want to get overwhelmed with all of the social stuff right away. I don’t know what I’m comfortable with, yet, or what is ‘good’ for me. I’m sorry, but can we please not talk about this.”
She ignores me, and continues like this for the remainder of the car ride, disregarding my plaintive requests for her to ‘stop’. I start answering monosyllabically, but she still doesn’t take the hint.
Listen, I absolutely love my Mom to death! Truly. She wants what is best for me, even if I happen to disagree exactly what that might be. Just like attending the Etiquette Institute, or being a Debutante. Really? All of this is for her; not me. Anyway, I just have never been so relieved to kiss her ‘good-bye’ and watch her drive away. Sigh! I am thankful I am not still stuck, seated beside her, in that closed up Audi SUV listening to her ramble on and on about how this is such a monumental opportunity for me, a new beginning, yada-yada-yada. “Take baby steps, Ren. One at a time, honey,” she kept saying. Seriously?!
I mean, come on!
I understand that she loves me and means well; especially, given the fact she has been the one by my side through all of this, so she fully understands. Hell, she has been through it, too, in every sense possible, right alongside me. I get it. I do! Regardless of the current feeling I have that I feel I am suffocating, I totally understand, appreciate, and genuinely love her for it. I realize her intentions are genuine, but at some point, I just needed to get out of that SUV to b-r-e-a-t-h-e!
It has been quite a while now since she has been gone, leaving me with the task of unpacking. It gives me something to do and preoccupies my mind. She did offer to stick around and help. Undeniably, I jumped at reminding her, in the midst of all of her motherly affections, this is something I need to do alone. Besides, didn’t she have some big charity to-do to get ready for?
I still haven’t met my roommate, which I am hoping will be later rather than sooner. The peace and quiet is agreeable and I’m enjoying becoming acquainted with my new surroundings. The silence is becoming a little deafening, so I opt for some music.
I drop my iPod into its docking station, place it on shuffle, and get back to settling in while listening to Carolina Liar remind me of how misplaced I feel. “Save me from being lost. Show me what I’m looking for.” Oh Lord, show me. Scared out of my wits, I take a deep breath trying to ponder the whirlwind of emotions ravening my mind as I try to make sense of being here, starting over, and everything it will entail. Time slips by, unbeknownst to me. As I am in the process of finishing unpacking the hellish last box, the door swings open. A very bubbly, energetic bunny stands before me, greeting me.
Ugh! Fuck! Save me!
“Hey! So, you must be S’renaty James. I’m Jade Sterling. Oh my god, I’m so excited we finally get to meet. We are going to have SO much fun!” She has her arms full of boxes; otherwise, I absolutely know she is the huggy-type and would be throwing her arms around my neck. I am certainly not going to entertain that. The ‘old me’ would have been initiating a first hug during our first meet-n-greet, but not now, that’s for damn sure!
Hold up! “Excited to meet me?” How can she possibly be excited to meet me? I made it a point to be as brief as possible when replying to her emails and texts. I was not even thrilled to have received the first ones from her after I learned the school does that, so you have time to get to know your roommate before the move-in day. How courteous of them. However, I never got specific or personal with her, out of pure necessity to defend myself. I chose to respond to her emails with short, curt replies.
I do the only thing I can and give her another brief reply. “Oh, hey! Yeah, it’s great, huh?”
I turn away from her and wander toward the window overlooking the courtyard below. I gaze out, aware that I am ignoring her. Before, I would have offered to help her. I would have struck up a gossipy conversation about a hot guy I had seen or, one that I noticed being socially awkward. I would have most undeniably commented on her clothes as I helped her hang them; make some regard to her outfit, hair, make-up or shoes. Absolutely, I would have inquired about personal things such as her friends back home, whether she has or had a boyfriend, which frat party she was interested in going to first, or maybe even about her classes and what her major is. That was before. Not now.
These days, I know I am the socially awkward one, for the first time. I also realize I am not going to take baby steps. I shush my mother’s voice inside my head, which I am hearing vividly. Without doubt, I will be crawling through the start-up of this roommate situation. Hell, I will be crawling throughout this entire college experience. I am not a betting girl, but I would most indubitably bet my last heartbeat on this.
“Do you have a nickname? I feel like S’renaty is too long to shout across the room.” I hear her cutesy voice asking from behind me.
As I turn around, I reply, “My friends, I mean my family, call me Ren. I guess you can call me that, too.”
She is now grinning up at me while resting on her knees, pulling out framed pictures from one of her boxes. “Perfect! You look like a Ren to me. Who sings this? I love it! It makes me want to hit the clubs or shake my ass on the floor of a frat house basement par-tay.”
She lets out a giggle or two. Fucking giggles, really? She goes right back to pulling out items from her box. I stand here watching her shyly, at first, as the energetic vibe she omits is in perfect synchronization to how her body is swaying to the rhythm of the music.
“It’s Ice Nine Nail, Acceptance In The Waves,” I answer.
She nods, continuing to empty her boxes and jamming out to the music. She moves her whole body, banging her head during the chorus. Her inverted blonde bob swings flowing right along with her petite frame.
Every so often, as her head turns in my direction, her blue eyes sparkle even brighter than her smile. I can tell that Jade is oblivious to her own beauty, but what strikes me more ironic is how her inner beauty overtly shines even brighter. I smile at her, genuinely this time.
As she carries on, she chimes in, “Totally random, but why don’t you have a Facebook page? I tried to Facebook stalk you when I found out we were going to be roommates. I couldn’t find you.” Her sunny disposition is a mix of both cheerfulness and confusion, throwing me for a loop. I mean, why does she even care?
