Status: Complete.
Useless Dresses
Eleven
The bell rang the moment we made it outside.
“Aw, man,” Milly whined and turned back toward the building. “It’s such a nice day, too.”
“Nice?” I questioned and scanned the sky. A storm was on its way, massive heaps of black and grey rolling toward us from two directions.
Milly shrugged and gave me one of the cookies she’d bought from the lunch line then skipped off with the rest shoved in a pocket of her overstuffed backpack.
I hid myself in the crowd that emerged from the sets of doors leading into the cafeteria, making sure to avoid the eyes of the teachers dotted around the back courtyard. There were tables set around, and once the crowd had dissipated and the teachers went back to their classes, I took the table at the furthest corner of the lot and waited.
Rich slipped out of the cafeteria doors 10 minutes later.
We stared at each for a time, just stared without any sort of emotion on either of our faces. Then I spoke, because I knew he would never be the first person to talk.
“How’s your mom?”
“Fine,” Rich said automatically. I couldn’t take that for an answer, though. I stared at him until he shifted in his seat and tore his gaze away from me to look at the snow. “The same. Worse. I don’t know.”
His expression faltered and cracked, the way a window does when you throw a stone at it. It cracks, then you throw another stone and it cracks some more. Another, and the shattered bits cling to each other in a weak and desperate attempt to stay together. But it’s too late. By then the window is so messed up a strong gust of wind would send it flying out of its frame.
The storm crawled closer. Thunder bellowed at us from afar. Wind picked up some loosely packed snow and threw it around us. Rich slumped toward the table, his body rocked by a deep sob as his expression broke apart completely.
My backpack fell to the snow when I jumped out of the bench seat to sit by my friend.
“I—I’m such a—” Another sob interrupted him. I wrapped an arm tentatively around Rich’s shoulders, feeling awkward at the touch but not knowing what else to do.
“Rich?”
“I’m such a—an asshole.” Just as quickly as it started, the episode wound down and Rich regained his posture. I slid my arm back to my side and looked through the holes in the table.
“No you’re not,” I whispered.
Rich ignored me and held his hand out to catch bits of snow that still flew around us, warning us to take refuge from the oncoming storm.
“Do you think snow gets to choose where it falls?” Rich asked, his voice scratchy and low.
“What do you mean?”
“Does it get to pick? I mean, do you think it gets to pick if it falls over Maine or New York or Maryland, or over the ocean or in the mountains or something? Or does it just fall where the wind tells it to, with no choice in its future?”
I wondered about Rich’s odd behavior. I wished he would talk to me—about his mom, his home life, something personal. But I didn’t expect that to happen; I had forced Rich to come out here by saying the one thing he never wanted me to say. I’d betrayed his trust for my own benefit—so that I could talk to him, get back into his world—and I felt tremendously guilty because of it.
I finally said, “I don’t think the snow really minds where it falls.”
Rich shrugged, a forced and twitchy gesture, then closed his eyes tight and sucked in a sharp breath. “I’m the reason Milly’s brother is dead.”
“Milly’s brother committed suicide,” I said immediately, without thought, without hesitation. “It isn’t anyone’s fault.”
“I was just so mad at him. I don’t even know why I was so mad, I just remember feeling like I wanted to punch him. Hit him in the jaw and just keep hitting and I—he told me he was tired of making people angry all the time. He told me. He was my friend, and he told me, and you know what I told him back?” Rich didn’t wait for a response. “I told him, ‘Go. Go ahead. Better you kill yourself then me be blamed for your murder.’”
“He told you…he told you he wanted to commit suicide.”
Rich’s lips quivered. He whipped his head up to stare me in the eye.
“And you. You encouraged him?” I asked in disbelief. “Why?”
“I was angry,” Rich’s voice was so small, his eyes overwhelmed by a line of tears. Neither of those things made me any more accepting of what Rich confessed. “And I didn’t think…”
“Of course you didn’t think,” I mumbled, letting my voice reach Rich on a sudden gust of chilled air. “Why would you think? Why would anyone think? I…does Milly…?”
“I’d never even met Milly until you moved here. I smoked with her brother. Drank and smoked and skipped class. The classy stuff. I was so far gone that day I can’t even remember most of it. Just the anger. Then…”
I turned on my heel and stomped toward the side of the school.
“Kate.”
“I can’t talk to you right now.”
“Kate, please. You have to understand me.”
“I understand you, Rich,” I huffed against the cold. “I understand you better than I ever have. I understand you’re a creep without any sort limits when it comes to messing with peoples’ lives. You’re a liar and you’re…” I gasped away from the rest of my speech as a bitter realization began to grind at my ears.
“Just like me. You’re just like me.”
“What?”
I sprinted now, shooting away from Rich just as his short breath reached my neck. Then I passed the empty wall where Milly’s brother took his life, walked 10 feet away from it, collapsed onto my knees, and cried.
“Aw, man,” Milly whined and turned back toward the building. “It’s such a nice day, too.”
“Nice?” I questioned and scanned the sky. A storm was on its way, massive heaps of black and grey rolling toward us from two directions.
Milly shrugged and gave me one of the cookies she’d bought from the lunch line then skipped off with the rest shoved in a pocket of her overstuffed backpack.
I hid myself in the crowd that emerged from the sets of doors leading into the cafeteria, making sure to avoid the eyes of the teachers dotted around the back courtyard. There were tables set around, and once the crowd had dissipated and the teachers went back to their classes, I took the table at the furthest corner of the lot and waited.
Rich slipped out of the cafeteria doors 10 minutes later.
We stared at each for a time, just stared without any sort of emotion on either of our faces. Then I spoke, because I knew he would never be the first person to talk.
“How’s your mom?”
“Fine,” Rich said automatically. I couldn’t take that for an answer, though. I stared at him until he shifted in his seat and tore his gaze away from me to look at the snow. “The same. Worse. I don’t know.”
His expression faltered and cracked, the way a window does when you throw a stone at it. It cracks, then you throw another stone and it cracks some more. Another, and the shattered bits cling to each other in a weak and desperate attempt to stay together. But it’s too late. By then the window is so messed up a strong gust of wind would send it flying out of its frame.
The storm crawled closer. Thunder bellowed at us from afar. Wind picked up some loosely packed snow and threw it around us. Rich slumped toward the table, his body rocked by a deep sob as his expression broke apart completely.
My backpack fell to the snow when I jumped out of the bench seat to sit by my friend.
“I—I’m such a—” Another sob interrupted him. I wrapped an arm tentatively around Rich’s shoulders, feeling awkward at the touch but not knowing what else to do.
“Rich?”
“I’m such a—an asshole.” Just as quickly as it started, the episode wound down and Rich regained his posture. I slid my arm back to my side and looked through the holes in the table.
“No you’re not,” I whispered.
Rich ignored me and held his hand out to catch bits of snow that still flew around us, warning us to take refuge from the oncoming storm.
“Do you think snow gets to choose where it falls?” Rich asked, his voice scratchy and low.
“What do you mean?”
“Does it get to pick? I mean, do you think it gets to pick if it falls over Maine or New York or Maryland, or over the ocean or in the mountains or something? Or does it just fall where the wind tells it to, with no choice in its future?”
I wondered about Rich’s odd behavior. I wished he would talk to me—about his mom, his home life, something personal. But I didn’t expect that to happen; I had forced Rich to come out here by saying the one thing he never wanted me to say. I’d betrayed his trust for my own benefit—so that I could talk to him, get back into his world—and I felt tremendously guilty because of it.
I finally said, “I don’t think the snow really minds where it falls.”
Rich shrugged, a forced and twitchy gesture, then closed his eyes tight and sucked in a sharp breath. “I’m the reason Milly’s brother is dead.”
“Milly’s brother committed suicide,” I said immediately, without thought, without hesitation. “It isn’t anyone’s fault.”
“I was just so mad at him. I don’t even know why I was so mad, I just remember feeling like I wanted to punch him. Hit him in the jaw and just keep hitting and I—he told me he was tired of making people angry all the time. He told me. He was my friend, and he told me, and you know what I told him back?” Rich didn’t wait for a response. “I told him, ‘Go. Go ahead. Better you kill yourself then me be blamed for your murder.’”
“He told you…he told you he wanted to commit suicide.”
Rich’s lips quivered. He whipped his head up to stare me in the eye.
“And you. You encouraged him?” I asked in disbelief. “Why?”
“I was angry,” Rich’s voice was so small, his eyes overwhelmed by a line of tears. Neither of those things made me any more accepting of what Rich confessed. “And I didn’t think…”
“Of course you didn’t think,” I mumbled, letting my voice reach Rich on a sudden gust of chilled air. “Why would you think? Why would anyone think? I…does Milly…?”
“I’d never even met Milly until you moved here. I smoked with her brother. Drank and smoked and skipped class. The classy stuff. I was so far gone that day I can’t even remember most of it. Just the anger. Then…”
I turned on my heel and stomped toward the side of the school.
“Kate.”
“I can’t talk to you right now.”
“Kate, please. You have to understand me.”
“I understand you, Rich,” I huffed against the cold. “I understand you better than I ever have. I understand you’re a creep without any sort limits when it comes to messing with peoples’ lives. You’re a liar and you’re…” I gasped away from the rest of my speech as a bitter realization began to grind at my ears.
“Just like me. You’re just like me.”
“What?”
I sprinted now, shooting away from Rich just as his short breath reached my neck. Then I passed the empty wall where Milly’s brother took his life, walked 10 feet away from it, collapsed onto my knees, and cried.