Winter Wakes

“Ms. Walton, stay after a moment, please?”

I looked up from my bag to meet the gaze of Dr. Davis; he gave me a bitingly serious look. I nodded and shrugged. “Sure.”

Samantha, a girl I had become a little more acquainted with than the rest of my class gave me a short wave as she left the classroom; I returned it before refocusing my attention to the front of the empty classroom where Dr. Davis sat behind his desk, arms situated comfortably on his large stomach.

“Well, Ms. Walton, how are you?” He inquired pleasantly. I stared at him blankly, questioning the innocence of what he had just asked.

I sat back in the chair a little, letting my hands drop to my lap. “Um, fine?”

“Fine?” He chortled. “You’re not very convincing, my dear. At least not unless you’re playing some tragically intense role. Your shoulders tensed, you responded with a questioning answer, you’re not a very convincing liar at all.”

“I’m sorry?” I replied uncertainly.

“Your test grades give you away, too, you know,” he added, opening his brief case and rifling through a stack of papers. “I could have saddled you with a C on your test in History of Theatre, but I didn’t.”

My heart seemed to plummet; making that low of a grade so early in the semester on a test could be nothing but bad. If I had that much difficulty with just the first one, what about the ones to come? What should have been my first concern and priority had taken the back seat to Simon’s issues, resulting in inadequate studying and focus. What was I doing?

“I made a C?” I replied softly. Saying it aloud seemed to make it worse, so very much worse.

“No, the grade on your paper is an A.”

I quickly looked up to find him focused on the single paper in his hand. “But you said I had a C.”

“You misquoted me, Ms. Walton. I specifically said I could have saddled you with a C, not that you made one.” He didn’t glance up. “You used pencil, a good decision if I must say so myself.”

“Excuse me?”

He heaved a sigh, dropping the hand that held the paper to his desk, rubbing his droopy eyes with the other. “You pay attention in my class, Ms. Walton. It is not in my nature to give a student a grade they do not deserve, additionally, I needed an average booster.”

“Are you saying you cheated for me?” I inquired, completely flabbergasted. I had known the teachers at Ivy League schools were brilliant, and some also quite eccentric, but this was beyond my ability to imagine.

“Please, Ms. Walton, I helped us both. It’s not good for a first semester teacher to report such a low class average. I would like to keep my job, thank you very much. But if you let this get out we will both be in deep shit, so I advice we keep this between us, agreed?”

I groaned, dropping my head onto the desk in front of me. “I wish this conversation had never happened.”

“What conversation?”

My head rolled against the desk as I shook it back and forth, before lifting a hand from my lap to give him a thumbs up. Smart teacher. That didn’t mean I liked the idea, although I will admit I was grateful for the grade boost, it was very appreciated, and very, very needed.

“Now, on to the main topic, you’ve never performed seriously before, have you? High school drama courses do not count, Ms. Walton. The other students here went to schools for the arts before they entered Brown, and I’m sorry but it is quite apparent you did not.” His words weren’t as direct as a sharp “you suck” but they got their point across very well. I knew I wasn’t fairing well amongst the trained performers I shared the classroom with, that was a given. The eye-rolls I received from classmates were all the confirmation I needed.

“Ding,” I replied darkly. I closed my eyes, head still pressed against the cool desk top. Dr. Anderson chuckled.

“May I offer you a deal, Ms. Walton?”

I sat up, uncertain of what was happening. A deal, from a college professor who had already altered my test grade, it was begging to seem a bit sketchy. All the same, I found myself nodding slowly.

“Allow me to personally train you, not just for this class, but for the audition for the spring play. The theatre department is putting on King Lear. I want you to try out for the role of one of the sisters. If you get a role, I’ll be able to bargain with Dr. Hales to get my own production this fall.”

I had absolutely no intentions of trying out for one of the theatre department’s productions, and from what he was saying; it would benefit him more than I. In fact would there even be any good for me when it came down to it?

“And I get out of it, what exactly?” I queried. He was rifling through his briefcase again, I watched silently, the shabby leather and tarnished brass clips reflecting that he had indeed carried it for a long while.

“A high A in all of my classes.” He closed his briefcase, holding out a small paperback book. “Here’s the script, familiarize yourself with it and pick which one of the sisters you would like to audition for.”

That time I felt myself tense. “I never said I would do it.”

“But you never said you wouldn’t, and the certainty of having A’s in a few of your classes, isn’t that something to look forward to?”

“This is getting really weird, you know,” I muttered, lifting my bag from the floor with every intention of leaving. “Um, I’m sorry, but I think I’m going to have to turn you down.”

“Ms. Walton, please, I am not attempting to bribe you or anything of the sort, I am just desperately trying to get some help, and you too, being a newcomer seemed like the one person in here who would possibly understand my plight. Dr. Hales from my understanding has become a complete megalomaniac since he was given the title of department head this semester. Dr. Bradshaw—who was a close friend of mine—resigned unwillingly at the end of the fall term after refusing to accept budget cuts. Hale was promoted without an increase in monetary payout and I was hired, fresh from receiving my doctorates degree, at a decently lower salary than he started for. But who could refuse the prestige that comes with Brown? It’s a gateway to other universities of the same caliber. But Ms. Walton, I need your help. If I can get my own play next fall I certainly will be able to get a job at another Ivy League school in the near future. And Hale needs a good slap in the face.” The last line he added quietly.

I stood at the door, silently contemplating what I had just been told. I turned back to him. “But tuition’s going up every year. And the teachers are suffering the effects of budget cuts?”

“It’s unfortunate, but true.” He nodded. Did he even care how little sense that made? I sighed from the doorway, pushing my bangs out of my line of sight before slowly stepping back into the classroom and up to his desk. I held my hand out, and with a knowing smile he placed the script of King Lear in it.

“Thank you, Ms. Walton. You will get a role in the play, I assure you, and I will keep my promise pertaining to your grades.”

I nodded, turning away. “No, thank you, Dr. Davis.”

***

“Did your brother ever say anything about Dr. Davis when he had him?” I skimmed the pages of the script before me, not looking up to the ghost in the window seat. I was comfortably situated, stretched out belly down on my bed in a t-shirt and flannel bottoms; five in the evening I had nowhere to go, nothing better to do. Simon was in his usual spot, his silent demeanor becoming increasingly common. It was a bit nerve rattling at times, I couldn’t help but wonder and worry what thoughts were going through his mind, how he was coping. It was never discussed; either a change in conversation or blatant ignorance would greet me. Frustrating? Yes, but really, what could I do?

“Brilliant lunatic of a man, if I recall,” He replied. “Why?”

“I honestly don’t know about the brilliant part, but the lunatic I can see. We came to an understanding today. I get A’s in all of my classes with him if I get a role in the spring play.” I glanced up. He watched me blankly; chin resting on his fist, other hand sitting on his knee.

He shook his head a little. “College teachers have no rules.”

“Brown University’s are actually worse than community college teachers; that’s for sure.”

I returned to the script, beginning to get a slight picture of what the play was about. Dear old King Lear banishes his youngest daughter after she cannot give a proper spoken show of her affections for him, leaving his power to be divided between his two eldest daughters, who are unsurprisingly corrupt. Clearly it was going to be one of the more tragic Shakespearean plays.

I felt a brush of cold by my right ear. “What play?”

Startled, I jerked away slightly; Simon remained where he was, blue eyes hovering surprisingly close. I stared for a moment. There was an inability to look away, everything about his face seemed perfect; bright, clear blue eyes that seemed to hold a light all of their own, they seemed to glisten, like ice in the sun; each pale blonde curl hung perfectly around his pretty chiseled face. Even the minor scar in the eyebrow he arched at me so often just seemed right against his alabaster skin.

It was a tug at the script my hand had been resting on that jerked me out of my mesmerized stated. One of his pale hands pulled at the corner; I quickly released pressure from it, allowing it to be slid towards him. He gave me a small grin, a slightly mischievous glint reflecting in his eyes before he took to examining the thin book.

“King Lear? We did this in high school,” He mumbled. “What role are you looking at?”

“He just told me to pick one of the sisters, so I’m really not sure right now,” I replied as I turned away, looking at my open closet. I could feel the intense flush on my cheeks. I didn’t want him to notice it as well, though.

“Well, duh,” he scoffed. “They’re the only female roles in the play. Can I make a suggestion?”

“Yeah.” I was still pretending to observe the contents of my closet, noticing a gray sweater I wanted to wear the next day.

“Is it too much to ask for you to look at someone when you’re speaking to them?”

“Trying to decide what to wear tomorrow,” I said.

I felt a cold hand on my scalp as my head was turned quickly, but not forcefully towards him. He was on his knees, one elbow propped on my bed as he gave me a pointed look. “Well stop. I’m trying to—your cheeks are really red.”

I pulled back from him, embarrassed and growing redder. I looked down at my comforter, not bothering to remove my bangs when they fell in my face. Jerk.

There was a moments silence before he spoke. “Maggie? Please don’t tell me you’re upset. That’s stupid.”

I clinched my fingers into a fist. Stupid? How insensitive was he? I exhaled heavily. “If you are this bad of a friend, I don’t see how you possibly could have been a good boyfriend.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He replied. I could trace the slight hurt as well as the bitter, biting edge in his voice. “And I was a good boyfriend, whether you’ll believe it or not.”

I turned my head, giving him a hard look from in between my bangs. “Oh? So how did you mean it?”

“Never mind,” He muttered, flipping through the pages. “Too bad they’re not doing Hamlet, I think you’d be a shoe in for Ophelia, I mean, she goes crazy after all.”

“Excuse me?”

No response. I felt a new heat, the heat of anger, and irritation. Why did it always revert back to this? It could never stay pleasant, one of us always triggered the other’s defense mechanisms, and they were nasty, jibes were thrown that were only meant to hurt, it was ridiculous, and I wasn’t going to let it die. Not just yet.

I gave him an acidic glare with a tight smile. “I think I know why you relate to that one, remind you of your own predicament, doesn’t it? ‘Murder most foul’ and all, right?”

It was always, always a battle to see just who could get the last word, which could hurt the other more to a point where they felt guilty. That always seemed to be the limit.

“Oh, and I’m the cruel one?” He hissed. His own hand was balled into a fist, clutching the comforter.

“You act like I’m not allowed to fight back, now that’s stupid, and not fair in the least. I have no reason to sit here and take all of your nasty comments and ridicule without firing off some of my own. You’re an awful friend.”

“You’re a brat; I will never retract that statement. You are a self-centered little brat, Maggie Walton,” He replied sincerely. I could see the fire raging behind his ice-colored eyes, noting that a violent reaction wasn’t there, just cruel words from the both of us.

There was a soft knocking on my door. I shook my head, training my focus there instead of the now silent Simon Dreyton. “Yeah?”

The door opened and my father stepped in, dressed for a service. “Maggie? Can I talk to you for a minute?”

I nodded, trying to ignore the irritation at my father’s presence. He closed the door behind him before tucking his hands into his pockets. It was then I noticed how anxious and uncomfortable he looked. He hadn’t looked that bad since before the doctor put him on his blood pressure medication.

“I don’t think you’re going to like this,” He stated. “And I’m sorry. If you’re upset with me I’ll completely understand. I kind of deserve it.”

My eyebrows pulled together. “Dad, what are you talking about?”

“There’s someone downstairs in the living room that came to talk with you, I told them I’d convince you to come down.”

“Who?” I asked apprehensively.

“Just know I did it because I love you, and you don’t seem to talk to anyone anymore. You’re paler than you usually are, and quieter, and I swear you’re losing weight, Maggie. I’m just worried about you,” He was already in the defensive, giving me reasons for letting this person into the house, obviously someone he knew I would have a problem with. I could already feel the knots forming in my stomach.

I swallowed. “Dad, who’s here?”

“I have to go, there’s a wake in thirty minutes and I’m already a little behind with the planning, just go talk to her, okay?” He sighed, hand already on the doorknob. “I think Chassie really misses you.”

Anger and resentment boiled up, I glared at him as he gave me a pity-filled look. “I love you, Mags, see you later.”

He left, leaving the door to my room open as he went. I became aware of my nails digging into the palms. Simon said nothing as I lay there, glowering at the door. Why was she here? I had no desire to see her, no desire to talk to her.

I pushed myself up off the bed, from the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of Simon moving, too.

“No, you stay.” I gave him a tired look. “I don’t need to deal with your shit as well.”

I walked slowly down the stairs, the doorway to the living room appearing before me much too quickly. I bit down on my lip as I hesitated in front of it. The next two deliberately slow steps pulled me into the room, in front of a girl I had no desire to ever see again.

She looked up at my entrance, arms crossed tensely in front of her chest as she gave me an apprehensive glance. The curls that were usually so painstakingly styled hung in limp waves around her face. The dark circles under her eyes were daunting and impossible to overlook. Smears of day old eye-liner only made it worse.

Pity though, was beyond me. I gave her a cold look, maintaining the large gap of distance between us. Venomous words were the only thing that seemed willing to fill my mind as I watched her. This girl was not the friend I had thought she was.

“Just tell me why you’re here and leave, I’m studying.” I let the icy daggers of my voice pierce her as she flinched at my words. In the brief silence her resolve seemed to strengthen, I saw her eyes harden as her lips turned down at the corners.

“Darren’s been missing,” She stated matter-of-factly.

I didn’t move. “And?”

“I need to know what you know,” Chassie demanded. I wondered why my father had let her in, knowing I had no desire to speak to her, or even just see her.

“Aside from Darren was cheating on me with you? Nothing. What the hell would I know? Yes, I know he’s missing, Chassie, and not to be a bitch, but it’s none of my business now.”

She seemed taken back for a second, only momentarily before her eyes grew hard again. “Oh, so now you just decide not to care? The you I knew would be shitting bricks in this situation, not saying she doesn’t give a damn. You had something to do with it, didn’t you? Because you were jealous!”

Her accusation stung, not because I was jealous, no, that wasn’t it at all. “Jealous? Are you on crack, Chassie? How the fuck could I possibly be jealous? I was hurt that the two of you would do that to me, not fucking jealous! I broke up with him; I cut communication with both of you because I was hurt. Why would I want anyone in my life that would do something like that behind my back? I chose to go on with my life without either one of you, I don’t want anything to do you guys, or are you really that thick? Darren is missing, yes I fucking get that, but how would I know what could have possibly happened to him when I haven’t spoken to either one of you in weeks?”

There was a sudden deflate in her personality, the angry accusatory front shattered like glass before me as Chassie paled considerably, face becoming riddled with panic and fear as she seemed to shrink. I watched her hands shake as she raised them to her hair, crouching down on the ground and buried her face in between her elbows. Convulsions rattled the rest of her body. I stood frozen above her, uncertain of what had just happened; it was obviously a break down, but why here, why now?

“Oh god, Maggie, I think something really bad has happened to him,” Her voice cracked as she spoke. “It—it’s my fault. I s-saw something I wasn’t supposed to a-and they knew it. A-and n-now he’s gone.”

A sharp prickle of despair suddenly hit my stomach. “What are you talking about, Chassie?”

“I c-can’t tell you, I can’t tell anyone else. If I did I’d be next, and I d-don’t want to know what they did to him. I’m s-so scared, Maggie.” Her wailing was muffled by the fabric of her coat, but the fear, and the implied meaning I wasn’t supposed to get from her words were as clear as day. Chassie had stumbled upon his parents’ real business. This was bad, this was very bad.

“You know what happened to Darren, don’t you?” I looked down at her, the messy ginger curls on the back of her head drooped towards the floor.

“I don’t wanna know,” She cried softly. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I-it’s my fault, a-and they know it.”

I had a brief flash of Darren’s crazed eyes right before he had barged into my house weeks earlier. It had been more than just about the text Simon had sent, the realization hit me as I watched my ex-best friend sobbing on the floor. Someone had leaked the truth; and that someone had been Chassie. That was why Darren was so upset, because he knew what would happen to him, because he knew his parents would hold him accountable. I was always at his house, wasn’t I? Wouldn’t I seem like the culprit? Instead it had been Chassie, leaving me to wonder just how long their little affair had been taking place. Was it really only after I became involved with Simon’s murder, or was it earlier?

“I don’t know what to tell you,” I muttered. She continued to cry, and I knew consolation was out of the question. I couldn’t, not knowing what she had put me through; the friendship was dead, this was no reason to revive it. I already had enough on my plate, selfish or not, I couldn’t add that to it. It wasn’t the time, it never would be.

Minutes passed before her sobs slowed, and she pushed herself off the ground. Wiping her already smeared eyes, she looked everywhere, everywhere but at me. “I need to go.”

I stood in the archway as she walked past me; towards the door she opened it, but stopped. I felt the cold draft through my clothes, goose bumps covering my skin.

“I came here looking for my friend, you know,” She stated. Her eyes met mine then, it was as though she was looking at a broken toy, or something that had never held any type of meaning for her. “But obviously she’s gone.”

With the closing of the door behind her, Chassie cut me from her life, like I had removed her from mine. I could feel whispers of loss nibbling at the corners of my heart as I realized that friendship was completely done. I should have expected there would be; she had been a part of my life for such a long time and now that she was just rubble in my past, nothing more.

The undeniable heaviness of the realization hung with me as I climbed back up the stairs and into my room. I sat down on my bed, staring blankly at the still open script. The hollowness was coming back again, not as bad as it had been when I had lost my mother, but it was there, none the less. I hated it; I disliked myself for allowing it to grow again over someone who had hurt me in such a way.

The cool presence beside me caused my heart to throb a little more; the one friend I actually had I had berated heartlessly a little while earlier. In comparison to Chassie, he was a good friend. He had protected me before, had he not? He had been there for me when I needed him, too, right? And what had I done? Kept secrets from him, called him out on his weakest points. Of course he provoked it, generally only as a defense mechanism, although it was still unkind. Either way, I held the sound knowledge that he needed me, and in a weird way, I needed him. I had no desire to think about what type of impact the loss of the ghost boy would have on me, even if our interactions bordered mostly on the unpleasant side..

“She was the reason Darren attacked me, not you,” I stated quietly. He said nothing in reply.

“She’s not worth it, but that’s not the reason you let her walk out,” His voice was still a little hard, probably still angry. “You would have hurt her more by keeping her around, but you realized that, didn’t you?”

I felt a tremble in my lips as they turned downward against my control; a rapid heat reached my eyes. I raised my hand, trying to rub away a tear from the inner corner of my eye.

Simon’s voice softened a little after a moment. “You would have had to keep so much from her, so many secrets. She would notice, and the friendship would have ended in an even bitterer, painful manner, wouldn’t it?”

I had been able to read him, he made it obvious, at least it seemed that way. It was something I could feel, but not what I could explain. Then, he had done me one better. He told me the truth, what I didn’t want to realize. I wiped away another tear without a word. Even after the fight, he was there. It was unusual, but very, very, welcome.

“I think you should audition for the role of Cordelia.”

I looked over at him, only to receive a small smile, he was still hurt—probably still a tad angry—that much I knew, but here he was, just when I needed him. “Regan and Goneril don’t suit you.”

I nodded, wiping the back of my hand below my eye. “Thank you.”

“I’m here, even when you can’t talk to anyone else, I promise,” He replied. “I’ll even help you rehearse, okay? I used to help Oliver.”

I scoffed, unable to stop a smile from spreading across my face. “I’m sorry for what I said earlier.”

It wasn’t always a pleasant relationship; that much was apparent. I had never said so many cruel things to one person in my life, I would never dream of it. He brought that out in me, he also brought out a feeling I tried not to place or dwell on. But one thing was certain, he was there when I needed him, and I tried to do the same for him; I couldn’t say how successful that was, but it at least was true.

Simon gave me a sideways glance as he picked up the script once again. “You’re still a brat.”