I Can't Save You From Yourself

I walked through the rusty, maroon colored double school doors at seven the next morning. Held my head high despite how much I wanted to retract and hang my head low in the collar of my leather jacket like a turtle. People stared, of course. I ignored them to my ability. But that became difficult when everywhere you looked, was a pair of narrowed, or curious eyes, someone pointing at you and whispering to the closest person.

"Hey - It's the klutz!" One of the girls from the cheerleading team snickered to her friend. They hugged textbooks to their fake chests, and smirked at me as I walked by. While I didn't have to stoop to their level, I have this little bit of pride that I wear bras that are actually my size and not padded x3.

I had this all planned the second my eyes opened this morning. I'd take the school day and get it over with, I would go straight to classes, straight to lunch, and straight home, no eye contact, and certainly no skin contact. I was a bit of a recluse. Though, that is often easier said than done, I tend to make easy things more trouble then they are worth. Regardless, I'll trudge through the mud which is school and come home to finish packing for LA. It's a nice change from 'Bordao' the nickname the local kids had pinned upon Rodeo. Basically because there is nothing to do. I ought to know, I've lived here my whole life.

I had packed a few bags this morning, deciding on what I could live without for two days. Since I had to be back bright and early Monday morning for school. I groaned internally at the thought of more school... School, people, bullies and homework.

I dropped into my seat in the back row of Mrs. Fisher's class, and looked out the windows. The bright overhead fluorescent lights were messing with my vision. I took out my book and set it quietly onto the desktop. Ignoring what was going on around me in biology, I took a few notes, Mrs. Fisher had explained a few days prior to this class that we'd be dissecting frogs. Despite the fact that I knew they would already be dead, and had no more emotion left, it strangely bothered me to cut them open and inspect their organs. As if that would tell us rather or not that particular amphibian had had a good life or not.

I'm not squeamish, in fact I could handle it fine today, the est part about it, I guess, was watching the Barbie's do it, squeal in horror and almost puke on their partners.I hid my smile as I looked down, writing down a few things in my notebook, looking back on past notes from similar classes to get an idea of what to do with today's.

I had heard the metal stool scoot out from the lab table beside me with a low squeal. But my eyes stayed down, focused on my handwriting so it'd be legible. I looked up after I closed my notebook and almost dropped my pen in surprise of who sat next to me. 

My old lab partner, Kelci Ivercheck, had moved to the San Francisco bay area. And I had been a one- man show at experiments for the past week. So the sudden company was a surprise for two reasons. One being because I would not have to work alone, the other being for who my assistant was...

His hair was still bleached blonde, to be fair, I had half expected it to change over night. I could really get a good look at his face now. His eyes weren't glazed over, which told me he hadn't gotten the opportunity to dig into his stash. He had those same green eyes, soft face and was a few inches taller than me. But one thing hadn't changed a bit over night, his stare was quite the same. He looked at me for a long period of time before I dropped my gaze when Mrs. Fisher settled a metal tray between us on the blacktop with a light clatter.

Upon it was the sprawled out paling frog corpse. My stomach did little flips, but I had to remind myself that I had done this before and could do it still. Blondie hadn't moved his haunting gaze from my face to see the reptile we'd have the pleasure of cutting open.

I closed my eyes for a few minutes. I felt no need for any conversation to pass between me and Blondie since none had ever passed before. However, he thought much different...

“So...” he paused conversationally. “Your Christian right?” he asked awkwardly. Rubbing the back of his neck nervously as he did so. I tucked that carefully away for future observation to decide rather or not it was a nervous tick.

I looked at him and of course I stuttered...
“Uh... yes.. Yes but I, uh, usually go by Christie or Chris because well, Christian is so boyish and well, I... I—” I paused, realizing that I was making a ass of myself with my pointless rambling. I do this with everyone I meet. I stutter and trip over my own words and in simple English, end up humiliating myself.

But he didn't seem to notice my rambling. Instead he smiled softly as his eyes fixed upon the dead frog between us. I let out a silent breath of relief to have been released from his stare.

I needed to make more conversation. But I failed to know what to say. Already knowing in advance I'd be sure to embarrass myself or him.

“Hmm, and you are?” I asked softly. Sort of praying that I hadn't been heard at all. But no, I was answered with a chuckle. I looked over at him, expecting him to be spaced out.

“I? I'm Billie... Or Billie Joe. Whatever you like.” he knocked a few curly strands of blonde hair off his forehead and settled his gaze upon the white words Mrs. Fisher had scribbled across the chalk board. Her introduction was brief, like mine and ‘Billie’'s conversation. 

She paced the chalk board in her heels, they clicked every time they connected with the tiles, and oddly unnerving noise. She finally turned to face the rest of the class, and declared us to begin while she sat down behind her desk and began grading tests from a biology test we had yesterday.

“Ok, Chrissy. What do we do?” he asked, looking over and fixing his stare upon my face again. That wasn't the problem, really... The problem was, that he looked at me so expectantly, and independently, like our lives depended on our ability to slice open a frog.

"Haven't you ever done this before?" I asked nervously as I reached out and sorted through the tools that were on the tray beside the stinking, slimy, pale green corpse.

He chuckled, raising his hand to scratch the back of his neck again, eyes cast downwards at the amphibian. "Well, knowing how to cut open a frog really isn't something you have to know to make a living, is it?"

I shook my head.

"Then, no... Techinically, I wouldn't take biology at all if it wasn't required at least one year. I'm thinking about dropping out, anyways." He added with a shrug. "'Sides, Chis, you can't tell me you actually enjoy[/i/ doing this, do you?"

I swallowed back my fear that he had called me by my nickname rather than my full name. I forced myself to think before talking this time to prevent stuttering as much as possible, and concentrated on forming a normal reply.

"No, not really."

He pursed his lips and nodded thoughtfully, "That's what I thought."

I shook my head to clear it of his unorthodox replies, and straightened my thoughts to even remember what came first.

“Um, well, we begin by preparing the frog for operation.” I smirked, and my best shot at trying to be funny sunk. He nodded slowly and pulled on a pair of thin rubber gloves from a glove dispenser fixed onto the side of the blacktop.I sighed and pulled on my own. The sound of the latex snapping into place upon my wrists was strangely comforting to me.

I began by setting out the tools we'd need. And he insisted that I, do all the cutting and gutting and he'd watch for future reference. At first I was certain that was all it was and I agreed silently, picking up the thin metal blade and pressed it into the slippery skin with firm pressure. I cut a long line and looked over at Billie for some kind of approval. But instead I met a pair of dead looking green eyes. His face paler then a ghost, and he kept looking away. Finding interest in random things around the room. I came to an amazing realization, he was the squeamish one from us both. I chuckled softly and looked down at my work so far.

“You don't have to watch, I'll take care of it.” I insisted softly while wiping off the scalpel with a paper towel before preparing the next tool.

He nodded stiffly once and turned his head the other way to face the wall, tucking his nose and mouth into his elbow, resting it on the desktop. He seemed to calm down and be okay for a few moments, until the heavy reality seemed to have set in on him. Frogs being cut open was happening throughout the entire class room, everywhere he'd look, someone was either squealing in disgust or laughter, chasing girls with limp frog bodies, or carefully doing the assignment. That being said, he couldn't look anywhere without seeing frog guts. And for a moment I felt bad for him.

“Mr. Armstrong, are you okay?” Mrs. Fisher called from her desk. Billie wiped off his forehead before meeting her eyes and passing out right then and there. Shouts of surprise filled the room and I sat aside my tools and pulled off the gloves and hopped down from my stool. Not particularly worried about being discreet in that moment, I helped Mrs. Fisher pull him up onto his feet. His eyes opened briefly, and he fell into my side. He was a lot heavier then he looked. I shrugged away from him and pulled him up into a standing position.

“I can take him to the nurse... If you'd like.” I offered to Mrs. Fisher, because I somehow thought it was my fault Billie had gotten faint at the sight of frog guts, so it was the least I could do.

She nodded and held open the door for me as I half dragged Billie out into the hall. He stumbled a few steps along the way until we were outside. It was overcast today, not too odd for California I suppose. I looked up at the grey sky as he slowly began to gain the strength to actually move his feet instead of dragging his scuffed up Chuck Taylor's across the pavement.

Then as we were walking, he leaned into me, I caught a good whiff of his shirt while doing so. It smelled of cigarettes and alcohol, joints and everything else he smokes and does. Honestly, I don't want to know.

The nurses office was not attached to the school. Rather, it was across the parking lot from it and was the size of your average house and was maroon bricked and had bushes bunched up around it. It sat right beside the road that led into the parking lot from the highway.

I heard him chuckle darkly about something and slow down as he did so. 
“You probably think I'm a pussy. I pass out at the sight of blood, guts and gore.” he smirked and stood up straight for a minute, swaying enough for him to reach out and grip my shoulders to steady himself.

I slowly shook my head, a small smile forming on my lips. “No, not everyone enjoys cutting open frogs, I mean— like no one really does, just...” I had began my wonderful trait of stuttering again, and when I stutter, nothing I say really makes any sense. So I just stopped myself there before it got ugly.

He surprised me by laughing, though I couldn't imagine what for. I continued to help him hobble across the parking lot as he did so.

“What?” I finally laughed nervously, pausing in the middle of the lot.

He chuckled for a moment more then pointed a finger at me, swaying as he stood on his own, his other hand still firmly gripping my shoulder for reassurance. “Don't get offended, but I... I think your stuttering is cute.” he grinned and slouched off me to begin his way towards the nurses office again.

I froze at his words, my cheeks heating up a vibrant pink as I fumbled to move. Completely incapable of forming a reply that could stand up for itself the way his always did.

“You always cut yourself off because you think you are rambling. Truth is, I ramble a lot too and I don't know anyone else who does. So congratulations! You're apart of the stutter & rambling club.” he said with a grin. I just looked up at him blankly, realizing we were standing right in front of the nurses office door. I broke my gaze and pulled open the door and dragged him in alongside me.

His words continued to buzz in my head, repeating themselves like a plague. Throughout the entire time I had sat in the nurses office, to my math class, and now here I was. Sitting at my usual table in the corner of the cafeteria staring across the room at the grouped speculators. Barbies, jocks, nerds, outcasts, pot heads and the IDC's. Those stand for I. Don't. Care. Whereas I explained this yesterday.

I leaned back in my chair, I was almost finished with Wuthering Heights and would probably be found this evening before we leave in my parents attic digging through the boxes of my grandmother's belongings for more of her turn of the century books. They are always the best. I thought back and tried to remember which ones she had, I failed to recall many more then her having a few Shakespeare. I looked across the room one more time and met eyes with Mike. Sitting at the usual pot head table with Jason, the little brown haired kid and Billie. Since I no longer had to call him Blondie, I'll admit I'm sort of disappointed of that.

I dropped my gaze quickly though. Back to the water damaged yellow pages before me, reading is the only thing that would clear my head of all thoughts and chaos around me. But now that I had stirred up the thoughts of what Billie had said to me again, I now had to focus on settling them. But that's almost impossible when I can't concentrate on the words before me. If I cant read, I can't clear my mind. And that could be the roots of my falter.  

The bell rang and I was in the same routine as yesterday. I put my book back into my bag and gathered my stuff. Pulled the straps up upon my shoulders and carried my tray to the trash can. I avoided anything that could make me trip, and most of all, avoided anymore contact with the pot heads.

I headed out the same doors as yesterday. But as I did so, I heard Sandy Ferwell snicker with the other Barbies as they recalled what had happened there yesterday. I just kept walking down the hall towards my first class. 

History.

I should have known that I wouldn't have been able to avoid Billie so easily for the rest of the day. It somehow skipped my mind that both him and Mike are in my history class. So I kept my head down and concentrated on the blank piece of paper before me that I was filling up with notes. 

Mr. Varner hadn't entered the room yet, and only a few students hadn't showed. Blondie had been among them, Mike too. I turned my head to look out the windows. Sun was trying to break through the dark depressing clouds. Chances are that we'd have a nice big downpour before the sun will make another appearance.

Then I heard the familiar sound. Even though I'd only once heard it yesterday, the clatter as a backpack dropped onto the floor in the aisle way. And Blondie dropped lazily into his seat like he had yesterday. only he wasn't glazed. Unless he hadn't had the time before class to go out and smoke away in his Camaro in the parking lot.

“Thank you Chris for saving my life. I am forever in your debt.” I heard from my right.

I glanced over at him. His sarcastic smile, his sarcastic words. Then he threw a thumbs up to the back of the class room where Mike sat. Laughing his ass off and clapping hysterically. I looked at Billie for a moment longer and shrugged it off. I couldn't tell if he was actually trying to be nice or just be a asshole.

Mr. Varner walked in then, he greeted the class and we greeted him back because he glared at us all when he didn't reply right away to his greeting. He picked up a small stack of graded tests from his desk top and began to pass them around the class room. Mine landed upon my desk with a A+ written in red marker. I looked down at it in surprise. Sure I had studied all week but even then I had doubted that I had gotten them all right. I smiled to myself secretly, pressing the back of my hand to my lips to keep from being smug.

The rest of class had gone smoothly, I guess. Billie had continued to pick up on his staring contest at me. I ignored my best and swept from the room after the bell had rung and my backpack was packed.

I started down the hall, towards the double doors that were now becoming dotted with drops of rain. A crash of thunder sounded loudly outside the school. I stood under the awning outside the front doors, and looked at the rain coming down, splashing against the slick asphalt. I carefully calculated my movements, deciding exactly how many seconds it'd take me to sprint across the lot to my car. It was days like these that I was grateful to have a car, versus last year when it had to rain every time I had to walk home. I walked out the doors and saw my car. It was a yellow-green Plymouth. My dad had a brief racing career before he met my mom and that all went downhill. Now he works in a auto shop down on Main Street. I climbed in and tossed my wet backpack into the passengers seat. I started the engine with a low rumble, pulling out of my parking place and starting for home.

“Oh Chris, you're all wet...” my mother said as I entered the foyer. I had still gotten soaked walking the ten yards from the school to my car and now my dripping clothes were dropping water all over the wood floor. 

I nodded solemnly as she stated the obvious. She whisked me up the stairs into my bedroom and encouraged me to take a quick shower, get dressed and finish packing. I did as I was told, since I was too cold and tired to do otherwise.

I chose my clothes and tossed them into a pile on my bedspread while the shower heated up. I looked out my bedroom window while my clothes proceeded to mark up the floor with slick puddles. I kicked off my boots and hung up my jacket. I proceeded to change out of the wet clothes and stumbled frozen into the hot shower.

I stood before the mirror in my bedroom. Brushing out my damp hair and watched as it speckled the white neckline of my Ramones t-shirt, staining it with little grey drops. I pulled my hair up into a dripping pony tail and tied the laces on my dry shoes. A pair of navy blue Chuck Taylor's with little white stars painted on them. I chose a few more t-shirts from my drawer and tossed them into my suitcase that was sprawled out on top of my bed. I finished by shoving my last pair of shorts from my drawer into my suitcase and zipped it closed.

“Chris, honey, are you almost ready?” my mom called up the staircase.

“Yeah mom! Just five more minutes.” I called back and pulled my suitcase off the bed and set it onto the floor. I opened my back pack, checking to be sure I had everything. Retrieving my homework, and of course, Wuthering Heights. I remembered now that I was supposed to go find some more reading material. I slipped out of my room quietly and dashed toward the door to the attic at the end of the hall. Pulled it open and slipped in. Climbing up the brief staircase to the attic. There was one small window at the other end of the room. Sparing a reasonable amount of light over the dark attic. I walked towards one of the cardboard boxes against the wall.

The name Grandma Marie was written in marker across it. Also below it was written books. So I smiled to myself and opened the box to see her collection, a lot of old ones. Forgotten under a thin layer of dust that had settled on them sometime last spring. I picked up a old worn copy of Romeo & Juliet and a Stephen King book. I looked at them for a moment, their covers giving me enough of a insight, I closed up the box and took the books back downstairs to my room. One thing I noticed straight away about the books. Is that they smelled like Grandma Marie. Her floral perfume she always wore. The smell hung on the pages, probably because the bookshelf they had been on in her house, had been in her bedroom. Which always smelled the strongest of the smell of orchids and roses.

I put the books into my bag and slung the strap over my shoulder and picked up my suitcase in my other hand. I turned off the lights as I dragged it out of my room. Down the stairs to the foyer where my mom sat on the couch against the wall reading the newspaper that had come yesterday that dad had been reading last night. Speaking of dad, he came into the room a few moments after I did with his own bags. He smiled and helped my mom to her feet. Planted a quick peck on her cheek and turned to pick up her bags too. I turned around to look at my house. I'd only be gone the weekend. But still, that was enough to make me miss my safe haven. I sighed and pulled my backpack strap farther up on my shoulder and picked up my suitcase and proceeded out the front door after my parents.

After shoving all the bags into the small trunk of the Cadillac that had been my moms first car and she still owned. We all climbed in and began our journey for Los Angeles. During that process, I pulled my cassette player out of my bag and put in a tape of the Beatles. Put in my headphones and pulled out Wuthering Heights to finish the last three chapters.