Scars Part 10

 “Violence is something we simply do not tolerate at Jefferson, Miss Wheeler.” Principal Harrison’s voice was filled with warning and his eyes with disbelief. Connie’s father and Mr. Harrison had attended school together and belonged to the same fraternity. The principal was properly shocked that his goddaughter could produce such a black eye as the one before him, even by accident.

 Tim Carey was nursing his eye with a disdainful look at Connie and he kept muttering about chicks and their overreacting. Connie’s godfather stared at her very harshly. Still, she was not sorry.

  Alice’s blue notebook had been returned to her and Tim was punished for his behavior. If she had to do a little community service or detention to make up for it Connie didn’t mind. She thought of her growing collection of stories and dreams in her backpack and shuddered to think of Tim Carey reading them, and worse would be aloud to the class. But Alice, already a figure that drew ridicule and bullying, the punishment would have been too devastating to imagine.

  Connie sighed, wishing she could explain about the notebook, but knowing she wouldn’t be able to. So she simply nodded and said “Yes sir,” until the principal finally stopped his lecture on violence within the learning place.

A knock on the door surprised all three people in the room. Tim Carey removed his icepack and blinking rapidly. Connie glanced up in shock.

  Alice, whose greatest fear was being noticed, was asking to speak with the principal.

Nanowrimo Intro

  This again? I held my breath as she strode toward me, glancing around for some escape. I saw a door, but she’d seen me, so it was too late. Her eyes became like fire, their intensity boring into my soul. I was screaming in hell, those eyes flashing fire at me. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the fire disappeared and I was eleven years old in my grandfather’s store, buying myself a stick of candy. The candy was always the same: blue with purple swirls, and I could almost taste the flavor of spun sugar. Then this too faded. Next there was Rosie; her smile sweet and steady, her laugh like music, and her face too beautiful to be real. She was running towards me, reaching out with both hands. I began to run, but my legs wouldn’t move fast enough. Just as her perfect, soft fingers reached out to meet my own, everything vanished again.

And in the blackness I could feel again the stabbing pain of a breaking heart.

  I woke, drenched in sweat, and shaking. Tears burned in my eyes. I was always disoriented after the dream, it always felt so real, and I usually took a few minutes to realize where I was. Tonight however, I was surprised to find myself not in my New York apartment on Mercer Street, but rather back in the humble cottage on Cannon Beach. It startled me to see the place again. It had been, at one time the best place on earth for me, now a bitter reminder of things I would rather forget. But this is where it began, and I knew if I ever wanted it to end I would have to blend the dream with reality, find those eyes, find that store and forget the girl who broke my heart.

Scars Part 9

At Jefferson High, it was a normal day, a normal class, and a normal existence. But the moment was not normal. At least not for two students on that bright autumn morning.

  Connie Wheeler had skipped almost four complete days of school, under the pretence of a sore throat, and her friends were beginning to wonder about her.

  Now Connie, despite her modern, popular appearance, was really a very traditional and conservative girl, who had been raised to believe that an apology was due after a mistake. She was nervous, but bound by her sense of right and wrong, she swallowed her fears and resolved to say what needed saying and have it over as soon as possible.

   Outside the door to room 11, Connie hesitantly peeked in expecting to see Alice at their desk, bent over her blue notebook, scrawling away as usual. But what she saw surprised her.

 
  Alice stood at the window, her scarred face uplifted and smiling. The hood of the blue jacket was down around her shoulders, and midnight black curls fell about her face in soft waves, the sun shining on her peaceful profile.

  Connie was captivated. This new picture of Alice, looking so gentle and at ease, surprised her. As she stood watching in the doorway, the girl shocked her even further. She began to sing, soft words, unrecognizably low, but with so much spirit and in such a beautiful voice that Connie found herself in tears when the song was over, moved by the heartfelt passion in Alice’s voice.  

  Wiping away a damp eye, Connie sniffed---a fatal mistake. Alice’s head whirled around, her eyes blazing, cheeks flushed with anger. Immediately snatching her hood up and brushing hair over her face, Alice lowered her face to the floor, feeling that this invasion of her private moment was too much embarrassment to bear. She glanced around for an escape of some sort, but finding none, darted to a seat in the back of the room. Mr. Alden was one of those people who did not deal well with speaking to her and so Alice knew he would make no comment.

   Connie sprang quickly over to her, wishing fervently to make things right. But the bell ran and a flood of juniors and sophomores came pouring into the classroom. Helplessly, Connie took her seat, on the brink of despair, when she saw that Alice had left her precious blue notebook on their desk.

  Jason Swingle, whose seat Alice had taken, walked in, saw Alice in his chair and collapsed sleepily into the spot beside Connie, quite pleased to find himself next to her. Mr. Alden gathered his teaching handouts and found that he was several short. Instructing his class to behave themselves, the teacher left to make copies, with little hope that his orders would be obeyed.

 As soon as the door shut behind him, Tim Carey, an overly confident basketball star at Jefferson, began to look for some way of making trouble. He spied the blue notebook on Jason’s desk and thought to make a joke of it.

   “Hey Jason! Pass!” His robust voice called across the room. Jason good-naturedly tossed the notebook over, and Tim grinned wickedly as he flipped it opened. Alice sat like a stone statue afraid to breathe. That notebook held the contents of her world. It would shatter if anyone looked at it and so would she.

  Thinking of the horror she would feel if her own little jottings were read aloud, Connie quickly leapt to her feet.

  “You give that back Tim Carey!” Her voice was sharp, but Tim was only encouraged by the fact that he’d caught the attention of one of the prettiest girls at school. Laughing, but more interested in Connie than in the book itself, he called back,

  “What if I said no?”

Scars Part 8

Alice smiled. Her smile felt stiff, as if it hadn’t been out in months, even years. But she wore it almost proudly. Oh it felt good to smile! The rising sun shone down on her as she walked to school through the crisp autumn air, colored leaves crunching beneath her boots. Arriving at school, Alice pulled her hood up further and slipped quickly up the stairway to Mr. Alden’s English room. She always got to school early so as to creep in unnoticed by the other students and take her seat. They paid her little attention during first period. Probably insults took too much energy at 6:30 in the morning, and the real taunts didn’t begin until lunch. Alice did her best to escape. In between classes she could do little to hide but stick to the walls and keep her head down. During lunch she hid in the art room, and she never stayed at school longer than necessary. Once class was out, Alice was gone, speeding her way home through the cold afternoon light.

  Usually, avoiding people was fairly easy, for most of her peers, and most adults too, were uncomfortable around her. She could see fear and hate in their darting eyes as she walked through each day. Few spoke directly to her, but always she heard the whispers, the snickered jeers and the gossiping mockery. Their words sounded brave, bold even, but their fear was real and so was the distaste of even being around her. There were only a few students at school who would dare come near Alice at all: the bullies. They came to tease, to peck, to openly abuse. More than once at her old school, Alice had been so badly beaten that she had to stay home for weeks, and been too afraid to come to school at all for months. Here at Jefferson, she had escaped without any serious physical punishment. But the names they called out wormed into her mind and threatened to tear her soul apart.

  Today, however, Alice’s mind was far from these thoughts. The smile on her lips was real, the sky was brightening, and for the first time she could remember, Alice was almost happy. Taking her seat, she settled down with her blue notebook and pulled a pencil from her bag.  

  Pressing it into a fresh sheet of paper, Alice’s heart swelled as words spilled out from the deepest part of her awakening spirit.

Weekly Word Count

Total: 17,737

Scars Part 7

Connie ran the whole way home, her eyes blinded by tears. How could she have been so rude? All the horrible feelings brewing inside her had suddenly spilled out in an uncontrollable flood of words. She fumbled with her keys, wishing her mom were home to comfort her, at the same time glad she wasn’t there to be angry at her daughter for skipping school. Sobbing, Connie dumped her bag on the floor and fled to her backyard sanctuary. There was a tree in her yard that held a special place in her heart. Through every trial it had been her thinking place, a safe and familiar habitat for tears or laughter. Now beneath its quiet branches, Connie sank wearily down, desperate for peace to ease her twisted spirit. Even in the shade of her special tree, she couldn’t erase the look of calm despair shining through Alice’s eyes. Those horrible scars. They were ugly even to remember. Connie stood and walked back into her house, up the stairs to her bathroom. She stared at her reflection critically.

 Even with her face stained with running mascara and her nose red, Connie knew she was still beautiful. Her soft brown eyes were framed with thick lashes, her mouth was pretty and full, her teeth were straight and known for their whiteness; her hair was a pearly blonde and always hung neatly and stylishly atop her head. Connie’s family was rich and other girls were often jealous of her beautiful clothes and expensive jewelry. Most of them showed it. Spiteful and nit-picky, they would scrutinize her for flaws and spread rumors about her.

  Breaking into tears again, Connie realized that the one girl at school who had the most reason to be jealous had never so much spoken a word against her to anybody. She had never acted unkindly even after the way Connie had treated her. Compassion gripping her heart, Connie picked up her eyeliner from the sink top. Wanting to imagine, wanting to step into another world, another heart, another face--- she drew a jagged black line from her forehead across her nose and down her right cheek.

Scars Part 6

Alice ate lunch in the art room. Often she would paint while she ate, humming softly as she worked away at a still life and a cold turkey sandwich. Nobody else ever came to the art room during lunch, so it was the one part of the day that she could relax at school. Today though, her painting reflected her perturbed frame of mind. Rich blues that had begun as a tranquil seascape now swirled and thrashed like the storm that shook Alice’s mind. She was uneasy after English. Connie had never come back to class, and Alice had not seen her in the hall all day. Refusing to admit that she was worried over someone she hardly even knew, Alice sat in silence, determined to enjoy painting her picture. Still, her mind kept drifting to Connie’s strange behavior.

    Alice bit her lip as she worked, unconscious of time or sound outside of her own thoughts.

 Behind her, something clattered loudly to the floor. Whirling quickly around, Alice looked to see a student in a black t-shirt bending to pick up a pallet from the floor. Stomach flip-flopping, Alice hurriedly hid her face behind her hood. How long had he been there? She wondered, forgetting Connie and her troubles in a wave of panic.

  A rainbow of colors ran across the white linoleum, as the boy knelt to wipe up the spill. Alice felt a stab of guilt as she watched him struggle to keep ahead of the running paint. She was rude not to help him, but if she went over….

   The boy didn’t seem to know where anything belonged in the art room, and she realized that she had never seen him before. Maybe he’s new. Fighting fear, Alice stood and got a roll of paper towels from the cupboard. Walking the five steps she needed to reach this unknown boy was harder for her than a journey across Death Valley in July.  

  Alice held out the towels with a shaky hand, but the boy didn’t respond. She waved them a little, but still nothing. He didn’t look up.

She cleared her throat. Nothing.
She cleared it louder. Nothing.

 
  “Hey, do you need these?” The sound of her own voice felt louder than a bomb going off, but the kid barely noticed. He looked up at her in surprise, and Alice prepared herself for the inevitable grimace of revulsion.

 
  “Oh sure, thanks.” He smiled, no sign of shock or horror on his face. Alice stared. For the first time she could remember, a person had looked at her as if she were anybody else.

 

    “You’re welcome.” She stammered. But thank you was in her voice.