Five Years
by Anna Szczebak '16
Is it cliché to say that on the worst day of my life it was raining? I remember how furious the winds were, shuddering breaths howling relentlessly. Teardrops fell like bullets.
But the weather was part of the fun. We slipped and slid down the brick walkway and flopped over the threshold crying, gasping, and shuddering with uncontrollable laughter. My mother didn’t bother to investigate; we had been laughing ourselves across that doorway for years. It was one of those moments that creates a true, tangible memory. It’s been a year and a half since I last talked to her, but every time I pause in that hallway I hear Eliza’s laugh, see her tangled hair dripping onto the floor, and somewhere the rain echoes like knuckles rapping on the roof.
“Liam! Oh my gosh,” Eliza, my best friend since second grade and the glue to my paper, groaned after sufficiently recovering. “My stomach hurts from laughing so much.” She lifted a hand and dragged it through her messy hair.
I frowned, staring at her arm. The elegant black swirls she doodled on her wrist had begun to bleed from the rain. Streaks of black journeyed across her arm and hand from the dripping marker. Eliza had been drawing the same pattern on her wrist for years, to bug her mom who refused to let her get the pattern tattooed on her arm until she turned eighteen. A last lingering raindrop slipped slowly over her wrist as if it was savoring the taste of skin and ink.
Suddenly breathing hurt and I raised a hand to my throat. The light atmosphere had dissipated, as if sucked in by a vacuum. We stared at each other. Her eyes were just as wide and horrified as mine. It was as if not just me, but both of us, were seeing the pink scars that spider webbed across her wrist for the first time. They were faint, thin, crisscrossing lines on a map that all led to one shockingly fresh scar, still scabbing in places.
“Are you kidding me? I can’t believe you!” I spun away from her and marched to the other side of the room. My heart was beating hard and fast, like I had just finished running a race. It felt like my voice had consumed all the air in the room. She opened her mouth but couldn’t muster the breath to voice a reply.
“It’s, it’s not a big deal,” she finally said in a faltering, quiet voice. “Really, it’s not. Please don’t worry about it.”
“Don’t tell anyone you mean! Don’t tell anyone you’ve been cutting yourself for who knows how long!” The anger I was feeling surprised even me. You’d think my first reaction would be concern, sadness, or pity, but I felt none of that, just blood boiling in my veins. Eliza had been drawing black swirls on her wrist since sixth grade. Why had it taken five years for me, for anyone, to realize the marker wasn’t just a pretty pattern? The design was her safety blanket, her seatbelt. She was so meticulous about always having marker decorating her wrist, because as long as it was there her secret was safe.
“Of course you can’t tell anyone!” She advanced forward, a new pleading gleam burning in her eyes and she grabbed my hands roughly. “You can’t! I’ve got it under control. There’s no need to drop a bomb like this in the middle of my life.”
“This bomb exploded the second you hurt yourself.” Her nails dug into my skin and I couldn’t pull myself from her vice like grasp.
“Promise me. Promise me you won’t tell.” Her voice was harsh and commanding. How had I not noticed how pale her skin was or how deep and dark the bags under her eyes were? The stranger standing in front of me had the same blue eyes as the girl I had known my whole life, but it wasn’t Eliza anymore.
“Okay. I promise.”
It was still raining hours later at 3 A.M. I had been standing in the middle of the parking lot staring up at the starless sky when my girlfriend, Amy, drove in. As soon as I got into the car she turned up the heat and looked at me. She didn’t touch me, didn’t say anything, just waited. I hardly registered that I was dripping all over the spotless car.
“I called her parents as soon as she left. They were hours away visiting Eliza’s brother at college. I got a call about an hour ago. They found her passed out on her bedroom floor. When her mom told me she, she, couldn’t stop talking about the rug. She kept saying it was red, so red.”
Amy held out her hand to comfort me. Her pale hand hovered, a lifeline illuminating the darkness. I just kept staring out the window at the rain drowning the earth and didn’t take it. I wasn’t going to let myself feel the relief that would descend with any type of comfort. After a long moment she pulled her hand slowly back into her lap.
“Is she okay?” Amy whispered, as if any even moderately loud sound would shake the world off its axis.
“She wouldn’t let me see her. She just kept screaming and screaming till the nurses made me leave. She hates me. I can, I can see it in the way she looked at me. Eliza never looked at me that way before.” I was almost yelling now. It felt like everything was falling apart. How was the binding of the book supposed to stay together without its glue?
“You know there’s nothing else you could have done. If you hadn’t said anything Eliza would be dead. Even though she’s screaming, at least you can hear her voice,” Amy said, still speaking softly.
“Yeah,” I said, staring across the parking lot where the yellow hospital lights flickered, illuminating the rain so it seemed like drops of fire falling from the sky. “I know. But it’s my fault she cut herself so bad after leaving my house. If I had been a little less angry, more understanding, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. I just wish…”
“Hey! You can’t think like that. She’s been cutting for five years. Eliza needs more help than you could ever give her.”
A tinge of gold appeared on the horizon and bled across the sky like watercolors. Headlights appeared on the roads as dawn approached and I envied the carefree people on their way to work. Sighing, I pulled myself into a ball on the damp car seat. Amy’s arms wrapped around me. Finally, in the middle of the empty hospital parking lot, with the sky still shuddering and sobbing all around us, I let myself cry.
But the weather was part of the fun. We slipped and slid down the brick walkway and flopped over the threshold crying, gasping, and shuddering with uncontrollable laughter. My mother didn’t bother to investigate; we had been laughing ourselves across that doorway for years. It was one of those moments that creates a true, tangible memory. It’s been a year and a half since I last talked to her, but every time I pause in that hallway I hear Eliza’s laugh, see her tangled hair dripping onto the floor, and somewhere the rain echoes like knuckles rapping on the roof.
“Liam! Oh my gosh,” Eliza, my best friend since second grade and the glue to my paper, groaned after sufficiently recovering. “My stomach hurts from laughing so much.” She lifted a hand and dragged it through her messy hair.
I frowned, staring at her arm. The elegant black swirls she doodled on her wrist had begun to bleed from the rain. Streaks of black journeyed across her arm and hand from the dripping marker. Eliza had been drawing the same pattern on her wrist for years, to bug her mom who refused to let her get the pattern tattooed on her arm until she turned eighteen. A last lingering raindrop slipped slowly over her wrist as if it was savoring the taste of skin and ink.
Suddenly breathing hurt and I raised a hand to my throat. The light atmosphere had dissipated, as if sucked in by a vacuum. We stared at each other. Her eyes were just as wide and horrified as mine. It was as if not just me, but both of us, were seeing the pink scars that spider webbed across her wrist for the first time. They were faint, thin, crisscrossing lines on a map that all led to one shockingly fresh scar, still scabbing in places.
“Are you kidding me? I can’t believe you!” I spun away from her and marched to the other side of the room. My heart was beating hard and fast, like I had just finished running a race. It felt like my voice had consumed all the air in the room. She opened her mouth but couldn’t muster the breath to voice a reply.
“It’s, it’s not a big deal,” she finally said in a faltering, quiet voice. “Really, it’s not. Please don’t worry about it.”
“Don’t tell anyone you mean! Don’t tell anyone you’ve been cutting yourself for who knows how long!” The anger I was feeling surprised even me. You’d think my first reaction would be concern, sadness, or pity, but I felt none of that, just blood boiling in my veins. Eliza had been drawing black swirls on her wrist since sixth grade. Why had it taken five years for me, for anyone, to realize the marker wasn’t just a pretty pattern? The design was her safety blanket, her seatbelt. She was so meticulous about always having marker decorating her wrist, because as long as it was there her secret was safe.
“Of course you can’t tell anyone!” She advanced forward, a new pleading gleam burning in her eyes and she grabbed my hands roughly. “You can’t! I’ve got it under control. There’s no need to drop a bomb like this in the middle of my life.”
“This bomb exploded the second you hurt yourself.” Her nails dug into my skin and I couldn’t pull myself from her vice like grasp.
“Promise me. Promise me you won’t tell.” Her voice was harsh and commanding. How had I not noticed how pale her skin was or how deep and dark the bags under her eyes were? The stranger standing in front of me had the same blue eyes as the girl I had known my whole life, but it wasn’t Eliza anymore.
“Okay. I promise.”
It was still raining hours later at 3 A.M. I had been standing in the middle of the parking lot staring up at the starless sky when my girlfriend, Amy, drove in. As soon as I got into the car she turned up the heat and looked at me. She didn’t touch me, didn’t say anything, just waited. I hardly registered that I was dripping all over the spotless car.
“I called her parents as soon as she left. They were hours away visiting Eliza’s brother at college. I got a call about an hour ago. They found her passed out on her bedroom floor. When her mom told me she, she, couldn’t stop talking about the rug. She kept saying it was red, so red.”
Amy held out her hand to comfort me. Her pale hand hovered, a lifeline illuminating the darkness. I just kept staring out the window at the rain drowning the earth and didn’t take it. I wasn’t going to let myself feel the relief that would descend with any type of comfort. After a long moment she pulled her hand slowly back into her lap.
“Is she okay?” Amy whispered, as if any even moderately loud sound would shake the world off its axis.
“She wouldn’t let me see her. She just kept screaming and screaming till the nurses made me leave. She hates me. I can, I can see it in the way she looked at me. Eliza never looked at me that way before.” I was almost yelling now. It felt like everything was falling apart. How was the binding of the book supposed to stay together without its glue?
“You know there’s nothing else you could have done. If you hadn’t said anything Eliza would be dead. Even though she’s screaming, at least you can hear her voice,” Amy said, still speaking softly.
“Yeah,” I said, staring across the parking lot where the yellow hospital lights flickered, illuminating the rain so it seemed like drops of fire falling from the sky. “I know. But it’s my fault she cut herself so bad after leaving my house. If I had been a little less angry, more understanding, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. I just wish…”
“Hey! You can’t think like that. She’s been cutting for five years. Eliza needs more help than you could ever give her.”
A tinge of gold appeared on the horizon and bled across the sky like watercolors. Headlights appeared on the roads as dawn approached and I envied the carefree people on their way to work. Sighing, I pulled myself into a ball on the damp car seat. Amy’s arms wrapped around me. Finally, in the middle of the empty hospital parking lot, with the sky still shuddering and sobbing all around us, I let myself cry.
