Tommy
I used to have so much to talk about at lunchtime. I used to sit at a table full of people, mostly footballers and cheerleaders, all making jokes and telling stories. Usually, those jokes were at someone else’s expense, and the stories defamed and degraded other’s characters.
Now, sitting at a table with Harry and a couple other guys that were still friends with us, I felt so much better. When I looked over at that packed table, where Shirley would come and sit on my lap, intentionally making the other girls jealous, I didn’t miss it at all. In fact, it repulsed me. How did I sit at that table throughout all these years of high school?
I felt like I’d broken out of chains that held me down for so long. Heavy, tight chains that forced me to do things and act a certain way, making me hate myself more and more. Why did I endure all that? Just so people that I despised would like me? Why would I want their approval?
Harry waved a hand in front of my eyes. “Earth to Tommy.”
“Huh? What?”
They all chuckled. “Nate was asking if he and Jayce could come over this Sunday. You down?”
“This Sunday’s the court date, Harry,” I reminded him.
“Ugh, right. What about Saturday?”
“I can’t Saturday,” said Nate.
“I can, though,” Khalid interjected. “What’s that about a court date, anyway? Is it with girls?”
“At a courthouse, ‘dumb-butt’,” I said.
“You’re dating someone in a courthouse?”
We rolled our eyes, chuckling. “No, the trial. The one our sister’s testifying for?”
“Oh. I thought you guys did that already.”
“She has to go again.” The bell rang, setting everyone in motion. We grabbed our packed lunches and bags. “She ran out of the courtroom.”
“Why?”
“The defense lawyer was a jerk, that’s why,” I muttered.
“They’re just doing their job,” Harry said.
“She was obviously enjoying psyching Diana out. And you heard the opening statement. It was sickening.”
“How’s Diana handling it all?” asked Khalid.
“Not well. It’s really hard for her. Now that I saw that guy up close…” Harry shuddered. “He looked so creepy. The way he looked at her… I didn’t like it at all. I can’t believe they let a four-year old girl stay with him.”
We exited the cafeteria, starting down the hallway. “I’m only hoping they’re not even harder on her this time,” I said. “They wanted to put an ankle monitor on her.”
“Geez. That’s extreme,” said Nate.
“They didn’t, though.” Harry stumbled, pushed by the thick crowd around us. “They just said they’d fine us if Diana ran away again.”
“But they should understand that she’s… you know, going through a lot, right?”
“I don’t think they care,” said Khalid.
A commotion ahead interrupted us. “You’re sick! Y’all are sick! What the ‘heck’ are you saying…”
“What’s all that?” We continued ahead, following the murmurs and stares of the crowd all the way to the bathrooms down the hall. I recognized Thelma, Kate, and Alma at the front of the crowd, who watched the door intently.
“Hey, guys,” said Harry.
“Hey,” Thelma said, her brown eyes never leaving the girls’ bathroom door, the source of the screaming.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“No idea,” said Kate. “S-sounds like a fight.”
“It was so sudden, too,” Alma added.
A girl then exited the bathroom, her face flushed and wet with tears. I blinked, shocked at who it was. She looked back at the other girls exiting, who were drenched in water.
“What the hell, Ivy?!” Lisa shouted, her hair dripping.
“Me?! Listen to yourself literally making fun of a dead girl!”
“Ivy, it was just a joke!” Michelle and another girl confronted Ivy. “You seriously have no sense of humor!”
“That was not a joke!”
“You didn’t have to throw water at us!”
“Making fun of someone who literally died of cancer isn’t a joke!” Ivy continued. “‘She never had style’? ‘Ivy’s better off now’? How is that joking?”
“Oh, lighten up-”
“So because I had second thoughts, you guys just decide to trash me behind my back?”
“You are so sensitive!” Lisa shook her head, gaping at Ivy. “You should know us by now. We tease each other.”
Ivy stared at them. It was as if she didn’t notice the entire crowd of students watching her. She then chuckled, quietly at first, then started laughing until she was bending over and clutching her stomach. Everyone looked at each other, uneasy.
“Se puso loca?” Alma muttered. I didn’t know a lot of Spanish, but I knew ‘loca’ meant ‘crazy’.
“I really am an idiot,” Ivy then said. She looked around at everyone, nodding. “I’ve been an idiot!” she yelled at us. “Look at me. Tell everyone you know! I’m the idiot of the school!”
“Ivy, could you calm down?” Harry said, reaching out with concern. “You need a minute. Take a breath.”
“No, Harry, I’m fine. I’m…” Her jaw trembled. “I’m sorry. I…” She raked her hair back. “I’m so sorry.”
“We’ll forgive you,” said Lisa. “We just need to-”
“Not you, you dolt.”
Lisa’s painted lips dropped open. “Dolt?” She poked at Ivy’s shoulder. “Listen, sweetie. We were there for you. We made you happy after you lost everything. The best parties, the best clothes, lunch at our table. And let’s face it, you’re happier with us than you were last year. Don’t act like Amy and Monica were perfect angels just because they died. We’re better friends than they were.”
Ivy glanced at her wrist, which had a bracelet made of pink rubber bands. After a couple of seconds, she ripped it off her wrist, shoving it into Lisa’s chest.
“I took hours to make that,” the other girl snapped.
“Miranda, I made these bracelets when I was nine,” Ivy retorted. “And this one is ugly. Quit lying.” Chuckles and snickers erupted. The tardy bell rang, prompting people to move, but many stayed behind.
Ivy looked Lisa dead in the eyes. “I don’t need you,” she said. “I never did. I was with you because I’m an idiot. Because I couldn’t accept reality. Now I see… you guys are just heartless wretches who don’t care about anyone but themselves.” She shoved Lisa back, letting go of the bracelet.
“You are lucky we even cared about you,” Lisa immediately said back. “You’re gonna regret it. I know you’re gonna come crawling back to us when you realize you’re no one without us. I know you will. You’re a pathetic loser, just like your dead friends.” She left with her clique, still soaked with water. Ivy stayed behind and power-walked the other way as the final bell rang.
“Why does stuff like this always make me late to class?” Harry sighed.
“Go,” I nudged him. “I’ll see you guys later.” I had a free period, so I could talk to Ivy.
“What are you gonna do?” Alma asked.
“Just see what’s going on.” I jogged in the direction Ivy ran off to, trying to find her. The crowd started to thin as people entered their classrooms. It took a little while for me to locate Ivy’s loud sobbing from an empty hallway.
She was curled up against a line of lockers, her head buried in her arms. I approached her slowly, taking in her appearance. She wore a tight, yellow, off-shoulder top and even tighter ripped black jeans— how could she survive the cold with that? Her hair was tied up in a high ponytail, her head covered in hairpins.
“Ivy?” I beckoned.
She looked up, revealing her eyeliner-stained cheeks. She wore so much makeup now, as if wanting to hide her real face. This wasn’t the Ivy Amy knew. This wasn’t the Ivy I knew since childhood. She’d changed so much since Amy got sick.
Then again… we all did.
“I… God, I can’t even…” She turned away, ashamed, and searched her pockets. “Don’t you have a class?”
“No,” I answered. “What about you?”
She sniffed, wiping her eyes. I searched my pockets and found a couple of tissues I’d brought. “Here.” I held them out.
She stared, taking them. “It’s no wonder Shirley manipulated you so easily. You’re too nice for your own good.”
“What’s the point of being mean? It’s not gonna make anything better. If Diana could forgive me for being such a jerk, I can forgive you. Besides, it’s her you need to apologize to, not me.”
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She shook her head. “I don’t know how…” She still didn’t look me in the eyes, keeping her brown irises focused on anywhere but my face. “I don’t know what happened to me. Since Amy died, I’ve felt like I’m in a… brain fog. Everything’s felt like a weird fantasy. With them, I thought I could be… something. I feel like I’ve been on drugs this whole time and broke out of it just now.”
“Well, that means it’s time to get clean and start over. It’s never too late, Ives.”
She chuckled, bursting into tears again. “I haven’t heard that in…”
I sat next to her, leaning against the lockers. “As one of the leading experts in having toxic relationships… block them, ignore them, and show them you really don’t need them. If anything, they’ll be the ones crawling back to you because they need someone to pick on.”
“They pick on each other.”
“Well, then let them pick each other apart. Don’t be part of it.”
Ivy slowly turned her eyes to me, finally able to meet my gaze, but just barely. “I don’t think I’m gonna go to class… you can… go if you want. You don’t have to stay with me.”
“I don’t have to. But I will.” I smiled.
“You really are way too nice.”
~~~
Diana
“He’s going free because of you.”
“He’s gonna hurt us again.”
“He’s gonna take us away.
“All of this is because of you.”
“We’re like this because of you.”
I covered my ears, forgetting the voices weren’t actually real. “Could you guys just let me read?” I returned to the verse my eyes were on.
How long must I struggle with anguish in my soul, with sorrow in my heart every day? How long will my enemy have the upper hand?
“Then concentrate and stop thinking,” one of them said sarcastically.
Don’t let my enemies gloat, saying, ‘We have defeated him!’
“She can’t stop thinking. She never stops thinking. That’s why we all got hurt,” another interjected.
I sighed, flipping through the pages. Maybe the sorrowful tone was causing all these thoughts. It would be a long while until I’d find something uplifting, though…
He heard me from his sanctuary; my cry to him reached his ears.
I went back to the previous page I was on, surprised at how quickly I found something positive. The psalm changed tones so abruptly, at least to me. From hopeless and suffering to relief and praise? How?
Why didn’t he listen to my cries? Even with everything happening, I was still taking time to read and try to learn more. But none of my prayers were answered. I didn’t get out of this stupid trial. I didn’t deliver a good testimony that day. If anything, I probably made it impossible to put that monster away for good.
Why did he even exist? Why would God make him in the first place? A heartless, cruel monster who loved to torture and terrorize innocent children?
“Maybe he made him for you. You’re a disgusting person.”
“Just shut up. Shut up. Shut up, shut up!” I snapped the book closed, turning to the various girls of all ages around me. “Why are you here?!”
“Why are you even asking that?” the 14-year old said.
“Why do I have to see your faces every time I want to think?! Why do I have to remember every freaking horrible thing that’s happened to me?! Why can’t I… why can’t I think of something good?”
“Nothing good’s ever gonna happen. There’s always gonna be bad things,” said 10-year old me, holding a burnt stuffed Lonnie in her arms. “You make them happen.”
“Stop saying that! I never wanted this! You think I wanted those kids to burn Lonnie?! You think I wanted Mr. Jasper to touch you like that?” I turned to my 6-year old self, who was still drenched in water, shivering violently. “And you, you think I wanted those monsters to literally torture you and shove your head in a water bucket over and over?!” My voice cracked, tears rising. “You think that in 2017, I wanted those kids to tie you up and throw ‘stuff’ at you in the basement?” I was now looking at 9-year old me.
“Then why didn’t you stop it?” one of the little ones said.
“I COULDN’T DO ANYTHING!” I shrieked. “I was alone! I am alone! I can’t do this…” I curled up on my bed, hugging my knees to my chest. Lonnie jumped on the bed, noticing my distress, and lied down on my lap. I wished he could see what I saw.
“You’re supposed to tell the truth when you testify,” one of the older mes said. She was close to my age, around 14. She wore overalls and an oversized, stained shirt— what I wore at the Masons’ farm. “Why didn’t you just do that?” she said. “Why didn’t you tell that witch what he did?”
“She twisted my words,” I said.
“Then un-twist them! Tell her you’re like this— we’re like this— because of him! He started it. Both him and his wife. You’re living proof of that.”
“But they’re not gonna care about any of you.” I went to my desk, pushing the Bible aside to make room for my diaries. I flipped through the pages, reading snippets of my life.
… he said he wished I was dead…
… my hair smells like eggs now…
… they said I was a demon…
… I think I killed him and I didn’t mean to…
As I read, one of the girls would shiver, the memories flashing through my head. The 13-year old burst into tears, turning towards the window.
“Marco didn’t die, you know,” I told her. “He’ll wake up eventually.”
“He could’ve. A 3-year coma? That’s practically dead.”
“He deserved it. Pushing him down the stairs was pretty light compared to what he did to you.”
“I should’ve just kissed him when he asked me to,” she sighed.
… my arm will heal soon…
… Mr. Brian gave me a new phone…
… beat me up in the barn…
“I can’t use any of this,” I said. “This is all stuff that happened without him around. They won’t pin this on him.”
“He did stuff to you, too,” said the youngest.
“But I don’t remember.”
“Yes, you do.” This voice was foreign. None of the girls were talking. “And through this pain you will stand up.”
I looked around my room slowly. Lonnie was still on the bed, watching me closely. He tilted his head in question.
“Who is that?” I whispered.
“My beautiful girl,” the voice continued. I couldn’t describe it; it was loud, booming in my head. My different selves started to fade. “My daughter. You’ve suffered so much. But happiness is coming. You just need to clear this last hurdle, and I will give you the strength to do it.”
“What strength? You never had any,” the 13-year old scoffed.
“You’re always holding yourself back,” another added.
I stared at the diaries. Page after page. Entry after entry. Experience after experience. So many horrible memories, with small sparkles of happiness every now and then, but very small.
“You’re supposed to remember Patrick, not everyone else. Stop looking at those things. They’re just gonna remind you how hate-able you are.”
“I mean, eventually, this family’s gonna get sick of you, but deal with that later. Focus on Pat.”
“Shut up. You guys don’t let me focus.”
“You can, if you focus on me,” the strange voice interjected again. So silent, yet so loud. So… frightening. “Don’t let him sway you anymore. Focus on me.”
“Maybe just go back to being depressed, pathetic, and lonely, and then you won’t have to worry about the trial,” the oldest chuckled. She was 15, wearing the dirty rags Mrs. Mason gave me to wear.
“Better yet, finish the job. Don’t let them ‘save you’ this time,” the 14-year old said with a laugh.
“Shut… up.” I crumpled one of the pages of my diary, the one talking about how Jordan locked me out of the house one winter, in the snow.
“You deserve the bad things. You made them happen.”
“Focus on me.”
“You’re a bad person.”
“Focus on me.”
“You killed Marco. That was too far. It doesn’t matter what he did to you.”
“Focus on me.”
“You didn’t even call your parents ‘Mom’ and ‘Dad’ until a week ago! You think they’ll call you their daughter after that?”
“You’re my daughter.”
“Shut… UP!” I threw last year’s diary across the room. The oldest girl screamed, disappearing when it soared through her, then smacked against the wall, landing on the carpet.
I stared at the empty space, then turned my gaze on all the other girls. All those versions of me. Worse and worse, one after the other. Every year, it got worse.
And every year, I’d carry one more of them in my head. One more weight on my shoulders. I’d keep them with me. Why?
Looking at my diaries, an inexplicable rage overtook me. I’d been sitting quietly in my seat, staring into space with my thoughts. Checking that my door was closed, I grabbed one of the notebooks and tore the pages out.
Every crinkle, crunch, and tear was like music to my ears. With every page, my versions would shudder and fade, disappearing with anguished cries. They didn’t exist anymore. Only I existed. The memories were just that— memories. How did looking at them over and over again the past years fix anything?
Chills wracked my spine, leaving tight goosebumps on my pale skin. Every tear made me feel giddier. More torn pieces of paper fell on the floor like hail, covering the area around my desk until it was a pile. My handwriting was scribbled on them, now incomprehensible to me. Like another language. I didn’t need to look at it anymore.
Even the covers were so frayed and worn that they didn’t take much force to break apart, even with my feeble strength. Soon, all my diaries were on the ground, except the one my parents gave me. Lonnie was watching me from my bed, his tail wagging, as if excited.
You got it, Diana! You’re breaking free! Keep going!
I stood from my chair, stomping on all the torn pieces. Lonnie jumped down, sniffing them curiously. I took a moment to breathe, standing there in the paper puddle. I’d need a trash bag.
Now I was alone in my thoughts… almost. One little girl was left. The one that lived with Patrick. The one that would tell everyone why he needed to be put away.
“He was mean,” she began. “He hated Auntie Kim. He hitted her lots of times. Once, he clinked a bottle on her head.”
“C-clinked?”
“You know. When the bottles get all piece-y. They make clinking sounds.”
I crouched at her eye level. “Wh-what else did he do? Tell me.”
“He…” Her sea green eyes blinked back tears. “He would hold me here.” She put her hands around her neck. “And it was scary because I can’t breathe like that. And not breathing is bad. And he did it a lot. He holded me here and he putted me up like this.” She raised her small fists in the air. “And he said he hated me and that he wished I was dead. Like my mommy and daddy.”
“Did he…” I swallowed, trying to control myself. “Did he do the same to Kim?”
She nodded. “Mm-hmm. He holded her like this, and he shaked her back and forth, back and forth.” She imitated the motion. “And he called her mean names, and a lot of words I don’t know, but they sounded bad.”
Movement in the corner of my eye startled me. I could see the faint silhouettes of Patrick and Kimmie, the former lifting the latter in the air by her neck, screaming. They flashed away as quickly as they appeared.
“He said he hated her again and again. He said he didn’t like her or the other kids. He said they were mistakes. Mistakes are bad, right? It’s when you do something you didn’t want to do. So he said that the kids were something he didn’t want. And he hitted her face like this.” She slapped the air. “And there was a lot of weird red stuff on her face.” She touched her eyes and cheeks.
“What else?” I didn’t tremble. I didn’t cry. I didn’t tear up. I just listened.
Soon, I had many new pages full of old memories in my diary, memories I thought I’d never recall. All of this was my testimony, my smoking gun. Patrick Dossi was going to jail, period. And hopefully, with my stories, he’d stay in there for good. A rabid animal in a cage, where he belonged.
I looked back at the little girl, who still held innocence and confusion in her eyes… something I’d lost so long ago. I hadn’t lost the naivety, but naivety wasn’t innocence. I missed innocence. I missed not knowing… anything.
“I’m… I’m sorry.” The tears rose as I faced her. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve been braver. I should’ve been smarter. All the times I annoyed Pat, and he hurt me… he hurt us. Knowing how he was, I still… I’m sorry. I never wanted this.”
She stared at me, her sea green eyes on mine. She then said, “Why are you saying sorry?”
“Because it’s my fault.”
“No, it’s not.” She shook her head. “It’s not. Don’t cry. Crying is bad.”
“You… you mean that?” I asked her.
She nodded. “It’s not your fault. Don’t cry.” She held out her little arms. “Gimme hug. Hugs make people stop crying, and I don’t want you to cry, because crying is bad. I want you to smile like this!” She smiled brightly. “Because smiling is good.”
Hesitantly, I came closer and let her wrap her little arms around me. The sobs came pouring out like a waterfall, the hug getting tighter and more comforting. I felt Lonnie licking my face, making me laugh through the fat, sticky tears. I could feel the girl growing in my arms, her arms getting longer and stronger, her own body trembling with cries.
When I opened my eyes, the little girl was now… me. Me-me. I was looking in a mirror. Then I blinked, and she was gone. I was alone again, except Lonnie, who let me hug him and pet him all over.
“Diana.”
I looked up. There was someone there… but I couldn’t really recognize their face. It was like my brain wasn’t able to comprehend who was standing before me. I wanted to stand, ask them who they were, but I couldn’t move.
“I’ll always be with you. I was always with you. You just needed to look.” The mystery figure approached, bending down to kiss my forehead. “You don’t have to worry. I’m right here. Just call to me, and I will answer you.”
The door opened, breaking me out of my mental haze. Davis— Dad— approached, concerned. “Hey, Diana… you okay? What’s wrong?” He sat down next to me on the floor.
I quickly tried to dry my face. “N-nothing! Nothing.”
“It’s not nothing.” He looked around at all the paper. “What’s all this?”
“It’s… a long story.”
“Diana? What happened?” Mom entered, gawking at the mess. “What’s going on? Did you have a panic attack?” She knelt next to us.
“No… not really,” I said.
“Sweetheart, what’s the matter?” She pushed back my hair.
Dad pulled me into a hug. “You know you can always talk to me or your mom, right? Are you stressed about the trial?”
“Yes… I was. But… not anymore. I think I know what to say now.”
“I know you do.” He took my face in his hands, a loving look that I’d never seen before sparkling in his eyes. A warm feeling stung my heart, like a good pain. “You know I love you, right? I love you. You and Amy, you’re both my girls.”
“I love you, too, Daddy.” I looked at Mom. “And I love you, Mom.”
Her green eyes watered and she kissed my face, hugging me and Dad. “I love you, my sunflower.”
For the first time, I knew… I was gonna be okay.