Tired of Being All Alone
one
Principal Stewart pulled me out of the class at the worst possible time he could have not have had a clue about.
He didn’t know, of course, that I had been next up to present my heavily worked upon art project; the one that I had spent months working on, the one that had eaten away at my social life slowly until, at last, I lacked any excitement at all. But he of course, had no clue that that was about to take place. Being Principal Stewart, he came in with his usual red faced smile, chuckling under his breath as he scanned the crowd until he found me—at which point he did a little finger wave, motioning me to follow him out of the classroom. He nodded at Mrs. DeVoir and then at the class, who saluted in response.
While all this was going on, I was gathering my things in a neat pile on my desk, figuring I would be back within five minutes, tops. This little confrontation had to be about the comment I made during personal health the other day—“I don’t see why we can’t learn about practicing safe sex, no one in this classroom is going to be abstinent!”—and I had talked it over with Dad. He didn’t find it offensive, and he knew everything there was to know about the way the school system worked. For some reason, I believed every word that came out of mouth, even if it sounded completely illogical.
“How are you, Heather?” Stewart questioned, his hands in his pockets. He had a way of making it seem like, with every sentence, he cared more than he had to. That’s the only reason why all of the parents loved him, Dad included. None of them could think of reason not to like him, I think played a large factor as well, and none of the students could either, so we all got along—sort of. “I haven’t spoken with you in awhile, have I?”
“No,” I responded robotically, silently urging him to get to the point. “Did I do anything wrong, Mr. Stewart? I mean, I…” Playing dumb was one of the things I had perfected when talking to school officials, or anyone that might have something against me.
“Oh no!” He began to chortle again, his stomach shaking with every laugh he heaved. His face darkened to a different shade of red, this one coming close to color of the walls in our kitchen. “Oh no, you haven’t done anything wrong at all! I just need you to come to the office with me, your—Aunt, wasn’t it? Yes, your Aunt is waiting in the office for you. You’re getting out early! And on a Friday, nonetheless. Come along, then.”
I started to walk and then froze, stepping back a few paces. “…My books. Mr. Stewart? I need to get my text books and –” I scrambled into the room when he nodded, trying to be quiet as I gathered them up into my arms and handed my project to Mrs. DeVoir. “I have to go, so guess I have to present next class, okay?”
Principal Stewart was waiting for me in the hall, still laughing a little. His belly jiggled like Jell-O, and, while I tried to ignore it to my best abilities, I smiled a little at his antics. The walk to the office was short and silent, to my liking, with only two or three comments on the weather and how well our debate team was going to do this year—there were a few very promising students, apparently. When we got to the office I found Auntie Jen in her usual smiley state, with Uncle Drew sitting beside her. They both looked up at me with thoughtful expressions before we left, to Auntie’s car, where they conveyed to me the scariest story I had ever heard in my life.
***
The funeral was held on a sunshiny Saturday morning about a week after he died, exactly two weeks before my sixteenth birthday. Dad had promised to take me to New York City a few weeks before, buying train tickets in the ‘caboose,’ as he had called it, though there was no such thing on an Amtrak train. We didn’t own a car, which only made him all the more excited to get out of the city. The morning of the funeral, Auntie Jen coaxed me out of bed and forced me into the shower, stating that not only did I stink, there was a surprise waiting for me when I got out of the bathroom, which was already full of steam. She had turned on the shower in advance, most likely thinking that the sound of the water would wake me up. It didn’t.
The surprise was a monstrous plate of homemade chocolate chip pancakes (her specialty), which I dove into with maple syrup and a mug of hot chocolate, trying to ward off what I knew was coming. After that, I sulked back into my room and pulled on the only dress that I owned: a purple one that I had bought on a trip to Florida the previous summer. I slipped a sweater over my shoulders and met Uncle Drew at the door, and followed him down the hall to the elevator and to the waiting limo—something that now reminds me of one of those movies you would see, minus the sun beaming down on us.
I didn’t shed a tear until I was expected to throw dirt over his grave, which was emblazoned with Paul Clarke / Accomplished professor, loving father, best friend. For some reason, when I looked down at the coffin it suddenly hit me that Dad wasn’t going to be around anymore. At first, I tried to ward off the tears by closing my eyes and turning my face away, but I couldn’t – The tears that I hadn’t shed during the entire ceremony were then streaming down my face, falling to the ground. The next thing I knew, it was a few minutes later and Uncle Drew was pulling my hand out of the fist I had balled it in to, wiping the dirt away and tugging me back to seat, where Auntie Jen sat waiting with arms open.
After the ceremony was over, I was driven back to the apartment by Uncle Chris and Uncle Drew, who informed me that I was to go to bed immediately. It was four in the afternoon, but I obeyed, falling into bed with a heavy sigh. At that moment, I didn’t want to have to get out of bed ever again—the covers seemed so welcoming, the pillow and mattress just as inviting. They all remained just as inviting, or at least I think they did, as I didn’t get out of bed for the next two days. I believe slept through the majority of the days, seeing as I can’t remember much of what I did, beside the short periods I was woken up to eat by Auntie Jen.
On Tuesday, I emerged from my bedroom to find the apartment full of flowers – All with rich, vivid colors, the kind that you always see in the fall. Somehow, I found Auntie Olivia among those flowers, slowly wrapping vases and dishes in bubble wrap and packing them into boxes. I knew exactly what she was doing; it had been explained to me a few days before the funeral that I wouldn’t be staying in Boston (I was to be shipped off to Arizona to live with Mom’s parents), and that all of Dad’s things would be stowed away in a storage unit until I decided to tackle them. It was hard to imagine any of his things in boxes, never seeing the light of day, but I pushed it to the back of my mind, and put my chin up.
“Auntie,” I said quietly and sat down on the rug next to her, picking up a red vase that had cobwebs in it, “how am I ever going to survive in Arizona?”
He didn’t know, of course, that I had been next up to present my heavily worked upon art project; the one that I had spent months working on, the one that had eaten away at my social life slowly until, at last, I lacked any excitement at all. But he of course, had no clue that that was about to take place. Being Principal Stewart, he came in with his usual red faced smile, chuckling under his breath as he scanned the crowd until he found me—at which point he did a little finger wave, motioning me to follow him out of the classroom. He nodded at Mrs. DeVoir and then at the class, who saluted in response.
While all this was going on, I was gathering my things in a neat pile on my desk, figuring I would be back within five minutes, tops. This little confrontation had to be about the comment I made during personal health the other day—“I don’t see why we can’t learn about practicing safe sex, no one in this classroom is going to be abstinent!”—and I had talked it over with Dad. He didn’t find it offensive, and he knew everything there was to know about the way the school system worked. For some reason, I believed every word that came out of mouth, even if it sounded completely illogical.
“How are you, Heather?” Stewart questioned, his hands in his pockets. He had a way of making it seem like, with every sentence, he cared more than he had to. That’s the only reason why all of the parents loved him, Dad included. None of them could think of reason not to like him, I think played a large factor as well, and none of the students could either, so we all got along—sort of. “I haven’t spoken with you in awhile, have I?”
“No,” I responded robotically, silently urging him to get to the point. “Did I do anything wrong, Mr. Stewart? I mean, I…” Playing dumb was one of the things I had perfected when talking to school officials, or anyone that might have something against me.
“Oh no!” He began to chortle again, his stomach shaking with every laugh he heaved. His face darkened to a different shade of red, this one coming close to color of the walls in our kitchen. “Oh no, you haven’t done anything wrong at all! I just need you to come to the office with me, your—Aunt, wasn’t it? Yes, your Aunt is waiting in the office for you. You’re getting out early! And on a Friday, nonetheless. Come along, then.”
I started to walk and then froze, stepping back a few paces. “…My books. Mr. Stewart? I need to get my text books and –” I scrambled into the room when he nodded, trying to be quiet as I gathered them up into my arms and handed my project to Mrs. DeVoir. “I have to go, so guess I have to present next class, okay?”
Principal Stewart was waiting for me in the hall, still laughing a little. His belly jiggled like Jell-O, and, while I tried to ignore it to my best abilities, I smiled a little at his antics. The walk to the office was short and silent, to my liking, with only two or three comments on the weather and how well our debate team was going to do this year—there were a few very promising students, apparently. When we got to the office I found Auntie Jen in her usual smiley state, with Uncle Drew sitting beside her. They both looked up at me with thoughtful expressions before we left, to Auntie’s car, where they conveyed to me the scariest story I had ever heard in my life.
***
The funeral was held on a sunshiny Saturday morning about a week after he died, exactly two weeks before my sixteenth birthday. Dad had promised to take me to New York City a few weeks before, buying train tickets in the ‘caboose,’ as he had called it, though there was no such thing on an Amtrak train. We didn’t own a car, which only made him all the more excited to get out of the city. The morning of the funeral, Auntie Jen coaxed me out of bed and forced me into the shower, stating that not only did I stink, there was a surprise waiting for me when I got out of the bathroom, which was already full of steam. She had turned on the shower in advance, most likely thinking that the sound of the water would wake me up. It didn’t.
The surprise was a monstrous plate of homemade chocolate chip pancakes (her specialty), which I dove into with maple syrup and a mug of hot chocolate, trying to ward off what I knew was coming. After that, I sulked back into my room and pulled on the only dress that I owned: a purple one that I had bought on a trip to Florida the previous summer. I slipped a sweater over my shoulders and met Uncle Drew at the door, and followed him down the hall to the elevator and to the waiting limo—something that now reminds me of one of those movies you would see, minus the sun beaming down on us.
I didn’t shed a tear until I was expected to throw dirt over his grave, which was emblazoned with Paul Clarke / Accomplished professor, loving father, best friend. For some reason, when I looked down at the coffin it suddenly hit me that Dad wasn’t going to be around anymore. At first, I tried to ward off the tears by closing my eyes and turning my face away, but I couldn’t – The tears that I hadn’t shed during the entire ceremony were then streaming down my face, falling to the ground. The next thing I knew, it was a few minutes later and Uncle Drew was pulling my hand out of the fist I had balled it in to, wiping the dirt away and tugging me back to seat, where Auntie Jen sat waiting with arms open.
After the ceremony was over, I was driven back to the apartment by Uncle Chris and Uncle Drew, who informed me that I was to go to bed immediately. It was four in the afternoon, but I obeyed, falling into bed with a heavy sigh. At that moment, I didn’t want to have to get out of bed ever again—the covers seemed so welcoming, the pillow and mattress just as inviting. They all remained just as inviting, or at least I think they did, as I didn’t get out of bed for the next two days. I believe slept through the majority of the days, seeing as I can’t remember much of what I did, beside the short periods I was woken up to eat by Auntie Jen.
On Tuesday, I emerged from my bedroom to find the apartment full of flowers – All with rich, vivid colors, the kind that you always see in the fall. Somehow, I found Auntie Olivia among those flowers, slowly wrapping vases and dishes in bubble wrap and packing them into boxes. I knew exactly what she was doing; it had been explained to me a few days before the funeral that I wouldn’t be staying in Boston (I was to be shipped off to Arizona to live with Mom’s parents), and that all of Dad’s things would be stowed away in a storage unit until I decided to tackle them. It was hard to imagine any of his things in boxes, never seeing the light of day, but I pushed it to the back of my mind, and put my chin up.
“Auntie,” I said quietly and sat down on the rug next to her, picking up a red vase that had cobwebs in it, “how am I ever going to survive in Arizona?”
♠ ♠ ♠
comments/criticisms?