Surrender

have you ever seen the atlantic in winter?
if you wanted to, would that be enough?
because i've seen you in dreams a lot
and i've wondered if i'm the only one
with her head in the clouds
and her hands searching for yours.

have you reached out, but missed your chance?
if i said i loved you, would it make you smile?
because i don't know what i want anymore,
but i'm pretty sure it's far away
and i'll never be able to catch it,
so i might as well surrender.

have you ever wanted to be someplace else?
if i promised to hold you hand, could i convince you?
because i'm looking for someone to cling to,
a warm room with a nice view,
a pleasent smile,
and you.

*************************************************************

^ i'd like to walk the boardwalk with a boy in the winter. ^



"would you catch me if i was falling? would you kiss me if i was leaving? would you hold me 'cause i'm lonely without you?" ~ counting crows 'round here (*storytellers version)

Concealment

I rarely write short stories, so this was more challening than I'd expected. It will, if all goes well, be made into a short film. Excuse typos and spelling errors, etc. I'm still proofing it!

"Concealment"

The crimson droplets gracefully fell to the base of the sink, yet no tears accompanied them. She’d lost her ability to cry. She’d forgotten how to cry. Staring at a face in the mirror that she no longer recognized, she wondered how many years she’d already taken off her own life. The smile she’d painted onto her face to get through the day had washed off as soon as the bathroom door closed behind her. Now, silence. Her breathing became rhythmic as her body calmed down. She fell to her knees being careful to keep her arms draped over the sink so as to not make a mess. She laid her head down against the vanity as if she was deep in thought or prayer, but her mind was empty.

Minutes passed before she was able to stand and collect herself. The sink was littered with dozens of drops of blood and she stopped to wrap her wrist in a towel before turning the faucet on to rinse the drops away. Water hit the beads of red liquid and made the sink appear to be tie-dyed. The beauty mesmerized her. Sitting on the toilet seat next to the sink, she held the towel tightly around her wrist and waited for the bleeding to cease. She couldn’t help but watch it ooze and part of her hoped the bleeding would never end. She sat quietly, inspecting her injury. She never realized how white her skin was under the surface. Once the bleeding slowed, she rinsed the towel, pulled out a band-aid from her pocket, and covered the wound. Again, she stood and faced her reflection. She rinsed her face with cold water, mushed her face around with her hands, and practiced her smile.

“Okay,” she thought. “You’re fine. You had a wonderful day. Everything’s great. Go!”

She flushed the toilet so she would not appear suspicious exiting the bathroom. She straightened out her long sleeved blouse, wrapped her tiny metal razor back into its cocoon of tissues, and shoved it back into the right hand pocket of her jeans. With her hand still shaking slightly, she turned the doorknob and slipped slowly from the safety of the bathroom. Entering her living room, she found her older brother on the couch reading with papers and highlighters scattered around him: the life of a grad student.

“Are you ever going to graduate!?” Margaret asked jokingly as she cleared off a place to sit next to her brother.

“Are you ever going to get a job!?” brother Tim replied smiling as his eyes peered over the top of his book. His sarcastic reply received a fake smile and an evil eye from his sister. His eyes were a translucent brown and she felt that he could read into her soul when he looked at her like that. He placed his book, still opened, down on his lap. “How are you?” he asked.
She thought for a moment before answering.

“I’m fine. I had a wonderful day. Everything’s great. You?”

“I’m pretty good minus the piles of papers I have to grade and my thirty page paper due in two weeks,” he answered smiling.

“He can’t even complain believably. It’s obvious he loves every second of it,” she thought envying her brother.

Margaret loved her brother and was proud of him, but she couldn’t help but want to be him. He was smart, funny, and even she had to admit that he was pretty good looking – as brothers go. His dark brown hair covered his forehead and tickled his eyelids when he blinked. He was always calm; he was always comforting. She could tell him anything – almost.

Tim was five years older than Margaret. He was a scholar. Even as a child, his nose was in one book or another. As a sophomore in high school, his writings could be found in at least three different publications and the number only increased as he aged. He was a poet, a novelist, a journalist. He won awards all throughout high school and college. As a graduate student studying English, he both continued to write and began to teach…and he loved every single moment of every single day.

“That’s some shit you must have just taken. You were in the bathroom for like – half an hour!” he said teasingly breaking the silence. She felt her face grow red. She offered another fake laugh and tried to let the moment fade.

“It was only awkward in your mind,” she told herself.

“Shut up, you jerk!” she said with a laugh as she stood and walked to the stairs. She retreated to her room where she would spend an hour on homework and another four on various Internet activities.

She shut the door behind her and sat at her desk. Her face was blank. The voices that had whirled around inside her head all day had been silenced and she wanted to take it all in. Her mind was clear. Raising the sleeve of her blouse, which had kept her wound safe and hidden, she noticed a deep red and brown stain permeating through the pad of the band-aid. Inside one of her desk drawers she kept a small ceramic box. It was hidden by strategically placed papers in the back of the bottom drawer. She took her tissue wrapped blade from her pocket and placed it into the box. From the box, she took another band-aid and replaced the first one. She tucked the ceramic box back under the proper sheets of paper and began her French homework.

Everyday was the same as the last. Margaret drowned in the monotony. She constantly felt unprepared for what was thrown at her. She never knew enough. She never did enough. She was never good enough. The pressure was all in her head. She couldn’t live up to her own expectations. It wore her down and by the end of the day she became delusional with self-doubt. Unable to cry out or quiet her insanity, she resorted to any means necessary to be able to think straight. She stopped caring about the costs.

There was one silver lining to Margaret’s day and his name was James. He was in her Renaissance and the Middle Ages class and was the stereotypical quiet guy who always sat in the back and rarely spoke or addressed the professor, but he knew he was smarter than most of the class and would chime in when necessary. Margaret noticed that whenever her professor began to look desperate, James would raise his hand. He had been in her Intro to Western Civ class the previous semester and she admired his charm. James had been the only boy the entire year to recognize her existence and for that she was grateful. He would hold the door for her and smile if they met in passing. He had even helped her study before their Western Civ final and she credited him heavily for the B she received for the class. James was mysterious and she craved to know more about him. Always appearing deep in thought, she feared speaking to him and interrupting some earth-shattering discovery he was in the process of addressing inside his mind. His presence in her life comforted her and that was all she really cared about. The semester was nearly over, though, and she feared her time was running out. School had become just an excuse to get out of the house and to see him. She knew her motivation had died somewhere years ago and was too tired to find it. She couldn’t even remember why she bothered attending college anymore.

* * * * *

Bursts of outrage were perforated by short bouts of silence and calm. Margaret lived for the silence and calm. Inside her mind, she struggled to hear her own voice among the collection of others that all sounded slightly like hers, but all of them were devious. She felt her brain was turning against her. She felt disabled, but found no one outside herself to blame. The arguing within her own mind made her wonder if this was how it felt to lose your mind and go insane.

“You’ll never be good enough!”

“You’re worthless!”

“You’re nothing!”

“Stupid!”

“Loser!”

“Hack”

“STOP,” Margaret screamed.

She woke from her sleep angry and sweating. The alarm clock sitting on her bedside table read: “2:12am.”

“Fuck.”

She lay on her back and caught her breath. Staring at the ceiling, she noticed the light sneaking through her blinds. It made patterns that danced as the breeze flowing through her opened windows pushed her blinds back and forth and back and forth.

“You know it’ll help,” she heard a devious voice say. “Just do it so you can get some sleep. What’s the big de-”

“Don’t!” shouted a more familiar voice. “Turn on the TV. Play the radio! You can find other ways to distract yourself,” the calmer voice tried.

“Bullshit!” Voice One ejected. “You know nothing else works!”
“You can try!”

“Why bother!”

These arguments occurred within her skull constantly.

“Stop! Stop! Stop!” she screamed and jumped up.

She rushed over to the light switch and flicked the light on. Frustrated, she paced around her room, thinking hard, and listening to both side of the argument going on within her mind. She clinched her fists. She ground her teeth. She began to pull her hair. She began to panic. It just wouldn’t stop. She couldn’t hear over the fighting anymore.

Margaret fell to her knees. She reached for the handle of her bottom drawer and shuffled through the papers concealing her ceramic box. From the drawer, she pulled out the box she had placed in there earlier. She lifted the lid and placed a few items on the floor, beginning with a washcloth that she unfolded and flattened onto the fuzzy carpet. Next, she selected a bandage and lastly, her tissue wrapped razor blade.

Lifting the sleeve of her nightshirt, she revealed her flesh, which was littered with scars and scabs and opened wounds. She felt the bumps roll under her finger tips as she grazed the surface of her skin. Eyeing the blade sitting on top of the towel, she picked up the blade and played with it carefully watching as the light reflected off of it. Margaret gripped the base of the blade between her thumb and index fingers and pressed the sharp end down against her skin. She held the blade steadily against her arm and thought for one more moment.

“Do it,” she heard one of the devious voices cry.

Gracefully, she slid the razor down her arm. Her skin sliced opened slowly and the pale white skin that was revealed quickly filled with deep red blood. It didn’t sting. I hardly pinched. She felt her body gradually relax as beads of blood began to form. The screaming in her mind ceased.

Then, a knock on the door.

“Maggie?” she heard Tim say, but he’d already turned the knob before she could tell him to stop.

“Wait!” she tried, but the door swung open.

“Oh my God!” What are you doing!?” he blurted out.

“Nothing!” she tried to downplay the situation knowing full well that her brother was much too smart to fall for that. “I slipped.”

“On what!? And what were you doing with a razor blade anyway!?”

Realizing too late that her excuse would never be believable, she sat silently thinking hard about what she could possibly say to make this go away. Tim closed the door and fell to his knees. Out of breath, he tried to form words. The razor fell from Margaret’s fingers onto the carpet. She lifted the washcloth off of her floor and wrapped her wrist as her brother’s face turned dull and pale. His jaw lay open against his chest and he stared off into space as if his brain was too overwhelmed to comprehend the scene laid out before his eyes. He couldn’t decide whether to blow up in anger or weep in sadness.

In a weak voice, Tim asked again, “What are you doing?”

Silence. Margaret tried to come up with some kind of viable excuse; however, knowing it was too late to turn back time, she confessed.

“I’m sorry. Tim, I’m really sorry. No one was ever supposed --. I’m sorry,” were the only words she could muster.

“But what are you doing?” Tim asked with a low growl of frustration.

“I’m not suicidal --.”

“What the fuck are you doing!?” Tim finally yelled. “What is this? What is so fucking horrible with your life? Tell me…what are you thinking? Are you pissed at mom and dad for not getting you that laptop for you birthday? Are you pissed at me for still living at home and impeding on your space!? What is happening here? What the fuck are you doing Maggie!?” he blew up and with tears in his eyes, he collapse against her. Holding her, he added calmly, “I’m sorry, okay? I love you. I just don’t know what’s going on.”

She still couldn’t force tears from her eyes despite the pain written on her brother’s face.

“I’m not mad at anyone,” she started quietly. “This isn’t about anyone. This isn’t anyone’s fault. It’s just me.”

“What does that mean?” he asked desperately.

“There are things that I think about and feel – and sometimes they’re horrible things about people and I hate myself for it. I’m not smart enough or pretty enough. I let people down. I’m tired of feeling like nothing and it’s my own fault! I don’t study enough or I just don’t try hard enough. I could be better if I wanted to, but I’m just too weak.”

“Who told you this?”

“No one. I just feel it. I don’t really know where it came from, but it weighs me down,” she tried to explain. She made eye contact with her brother and added, “I don’t do this because I want to die. I promise. I just need the rush to help me breathe again. I know it looks bad, but it’s not what you think.”

“You’re not suicidal?” he asked skeptically.

“No, not really,” she said. “I mean, I think about it, but I couldn’t do it. Sometimes I think that if lightning stuck me or something and I died, I’d be okay with that, but I couldn’t – ” her words trailed off into silence.

“I’m sorry I yelled,” Tim said, “but you have to stop this…God…how long has this been going on?” he asked, fearing the answer.

“About two years,” Margaret answer meekly.

Tim lowered his head and shook it in dismay.

“I had no idea, Maggie. I had no idea.”

“I didn’t want you to worry – ”

“But I’m your brother! You’re my best friend! How did I not know about this!? How didn’t I see it?” he raised his voice slightly, but only out of regret. “Am I a horrible brother for this?”

“No! Tim, it’s really not as bad as it looks.”

“I want to help you. You have to stop this…”

“I don’t want to.”

Tim appeared dumb-founded. Frustration began to show on his face. He stood up and took a few steps back. She stood up to face him.

“I’m not going to let you continue to self destruct, Maggie. It’s not an option,” he said angrily.

“Look, it’s just not that big a deal. Really…and it’s the only thing I have that helps. You can’t take that away!”

“What am I taking away? How does this help anything!? This isn’t healthy and you don’t deserve it! You need to get that through your head! Maggie! Please! Let me help you.”

Tim’s desperation was evident in every syllable he spouted and Maggie hated herself for causing him so much pain.

“This is what I mean, Tim. Look at what I’ve done to you. I just…hurt everyone.”

“No. Maggie, come one. That isn’t true,” he said, rubbing her left arm with his right hand to comfort her. She still clutched her wrist with the washcloth. “Yes, I’m hurt, but it’s because I feel like I’ve let you down. I don’t know how I could have let this happen to you.”

“You haven’t let me down. No one did this. It’s my fault, but I just don’t think it’s worth trying to fix. I have tried and I’ve failed. It’s more harmful than helpful. It’s just no use.”

Tim fell silent. He didn’t understand, though he wanted to horribly. Out of breath, he focused on his sister with the sad realization that he hardly knew her. His eyes examined her arm. It’d been so long since he’d seen either of them exposed, but he’d never given it much thought. Next to each scar was a scab and every scab, another scar. They nearly covered her arm and he wondered what other areas of her skin mirrored this.

As the silence went on, Maggie thought hard about her brother’s proposition. There was no going back and she couldn’t undo the harm she’d already done to Tim. She couldn’t forgive herself for forcing those tears down his cheeks.

“Okay,” Maggie said firmly.

“Okay?”

“Help me,” she said looking up to meet her brother’s glance.

Tim forced a smile across his lips and took a huge breath out of relief.

Hugging his sister, he whispered, “I love you. We’ll fix this.”

She smiled and replied, “Go to bed.”

* * * * *

As with all her ups, Maggie was well aware that another down surely lurked behind a nearby corner. She woke the following morning questioning the events that she vaguely recalled occurring earlier that morning. Pulling off her pajamas, she surveyed her scars in the mirror on the wall in her room. For the first time she saw, full scale, the affects of her frustration. Scars and scabs were prominent features along her arms and legs. Even her stomach hadn’t escaped her blade. Though, faded, she could still detect their presence. She traced the dulled lines across her body with the tips of her fingers. It tickled. She dressed herself in her usual uniform of long sleeve shirts and long pants, brushed her teeth, and headed for class.

James sat behind her, quietly reading and waiting for the professor who was habitually late. She could hear him breathing and fiddling with his pen and she wondered what he was thinking about – if his mind was as engulfed in silly daydreams as hers always was.

“Hey,” she felt a tap of her shoulder and turned around.

“Yeah?” she asked him trying to hide her glee.

“Umm, I was wondering if you wanted to get together to study for this final. It might be kinda rough. Studying with you last time seemed to help me…I don’t know if – ”

“Oh, it helped me too,” she replied eagerly. She mentally scolded herself for cutting him off. “I mean, you can bounce ideas off a study partner. That helps.”

“Yeah,” he said smiling.

“So, umm, when is good for you?” Maggie asked.

“Oh, anytime. Whatever’s good for you. My schedule is flexible,” he answered.

“How about Tuesday? Maybe 6-ish? …My house again?” she said meekly, fearing he would dislike part or all of her plan.

“Tuesday evening? Sure. That sounds perfect!” he said with an enthusiasm that both surprised and excited her.

“Perfect!” she said with a gleaming smile that she no longer cared to hide.

Twisting back around in her seat, her body tensed up as she realized the implications. There was so much to think about.

“What if I screw up? What if I say something insanely stupid? What if I have something in my teeth when he shows up!?” she worried, but for a change her worries felt healthy.

The rest of the week didn’t feel so bad. Maggie wasn’t sure if her good mood was due to her brother’s companionship or her excitement regarding James, but she decided not to question it. For the first time in years, she felt strong enough breathe on her own. The little tedious chores she had to do no longer felt like huge burdens. She walked with a hop in her step. Tim had agreed not to divulge the details on Maggie’s actions with their parents in exchange for her promise to start seeing the school’s health counselor. She had already made her first appointment for the first week of the next semester and, in the meantime, Tim made it known that he was always available for her. She felt close to him again and that made her feel alive. Feeling something other than just worthlessness, she was able to smile on her own and when she saw her reflection, she knew who the girl staring back at her was.

* * * * *

5:55pm on Tuesday. Maggie sat alone in her house waiting anxiously for her doorbell to ring. She could hear the clock in the kitchen ticking and tocking. She tried to breath, but her nerves had gotten the best of her.

“If you hurry up, you can do it quickly before he gets here! Do it! Do it!” she heard a devious voice chant quietly.

Another voice chanted, “No. No. No. No. No. No. No…”

The doorbell rang and woke her from her trance. She stood up and took a breath. She knew she’d made this evening up to be much more than it would probably ever turn out to be, but the fantasies were fun and she felt that they were harmless. Walking to the door, she could hear him balancing his keys, notebooks, and text books in his hands. The door opened and James looked up and smiled. She left herself melt inside as her stomach turned into one huge knot.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

“Oh…yeah!” she said as her face turned red from embarrassment and she snapped out her dream world.

He followed her into the living room where a large table was set up for books and pens and highlighters. Her books had already been placed carefully on the surface in size order waiting to be opened and run through. Margaret took her seat at the end of the couch and James took a seat next to her. She was pleased that he’d chosen to sit next to her instead of on the chair that sat to the left of the table. He dropped his books on top of the table and finally got organized, placing his keys in his pocket and taking off his jacket.

“Sorry, I’ve been out of it all day. Stress, I guess,” he explained.

“No problem. Ummm, do you want anything to drink or are you good to get started?”

“I think I’m okay right now. Thanks!” he replied.

The two classmates opened their respective notebooks and reviewed the passages their professor had suggested rereading. After a couple of hours, they wore out and decided they’d covered enough.

“I’m really tired and I feel like my head’s going to explode!” Maggie said laughing.

“Yeah. This stuff is a lot to take in. It’s not too hard, though, right?”

“Not the way you explain it,” she said seriously.

“Hey, come on, you know this stuff. It’s not like you’re always lost in class. You know what’s going on.”

“Yeah, but you like…you know this stuff. You talk about it like you lived there.”

“Haha. I wouldn’t want to live in the Renaissance!”

“Why not!?”

James was quite for a moment before answering, “Because I like it here. You’re here.”

He raised his head to look into her eyes and he slipped a little closer to her. She grinned and felt her face turn red, once again. He slid his right hand up her left arm and she could feel his warmth under her sleeve, it permeated through her and lit her on fire. He inched closer again and this time she could feel his breath on her lips. His hand slipped up her neck and then her cheek where his fingers traced her smile. Finally, his lips gently touched hers. From her mouth, his lips wandered to her cheek and to her neck while his hands touched her shoulders and chest. She laid back and he fell atop her.

Biting her lip, “James,” she whispered, worried that her parents might walk in. “James,” she said again.

* * * * *

“Who is James?” the nurse cried out in frustration. “You don’t know a James!” Amy, Maggie’s nurse, tended to her inside her hospital room while her parents waited outside for news on her worsening condition.

The room was all white. There was no hint of color aside from the blue floral print of the tissue box that lay of Maggie’s bedside table. Floor to ceiling, bed sheets to window drapes, the room’s sterile appearance seemed to summon the Miserable behind its doors to rot. The walls stood cold, no textured wallpaper or framed copies of famous works of art to entertain the mind. Her body, saturated in sweat, squirmed uncontrollably. Maggie screeched in confusion, unable to differentiate between fantasy and reality.

Amy stood next to a rolling table on which lay syringes, bottles of chemicals, and gauze. The wheels squeaked and even in her sedated state, Maggie could hear when that table was being wheeled to her door. Amy fiddled with a number of objects, but her patient could not tell or understand what medications were being injected underneath her skin. She couldn’t feel the needles poking her skin, nor could she recognize any sort of relief that was supposed to come as a result of them. She only lay there in hopes that her brain would find some way of reconciling between her pain and her desire to live.

“I don’t understand. She spends most of her time just lying awake. She looks almost peaceful. Why does she keep having these sudden outbursts…and who is James!?” Emily, Maggie’s mother, asked Dr. Skinner desperately.

“Mr. and Mrs. Taylor, your daughter is seriously deranged. Her mind floats in and out of fantasies and daydreams. She thinks they’re real. She thinks her brother is still alive and whoever James is, he seems to be her confidant.”

“Why would she choose a confidant who doesn’t exist in real life, though?” Mr. Taylor asked.

“Perhaps she feels she doesn’t really have one in real life. So, to compensate, her mind developed a crush on a boy who didn’t exist simply because he listens to her.”

“But she could always come to us!” Emily said, very distraughtly.

“Sometimes young people don’t realize that,” Dr. Skinner tried to calm her. “It’s not your fault. She experienced a great trauma.”

“But what about the cutting?” Mr. Taylor asked.

“That only began after her brother’s suicide. Maybe she subconsciously feels responsible or she feels like he deserved to live while she was the one who deserved to die. It’s hard to know. Losing a close family member can be devastating. Maggie found Tim after his death. That kind of trauma, well, it could destroy anyone.”

“Will this ever get any better?” Mr. Taylor asked, fighting back tears.

“We’re doing all we can, Mr. Taylor. I’m sorry I can’t be more optimistic, but the brain has so many functions that when it malfunctions, it’s not always easy to correct it. Some part of Maggie is aware that you two love her. Don’t give up yet. There are still lots of treatments, but right now, all you can do is comfort her…even if she doesn’t recognize you. I’m sorry I can’t offer you anything more. If you have any further questions, feel free to call me.”

Dr. Skinner shook Mr. and Mrs. Taylor’s hands. He handed Emily a box of tissues and rubbed her shoulder before heading back down the long hallway. Any had finally gotten Maggie to quiet down and she followed Dr. Skinner soon after, leaving the Taylors alone. Emily embraced her husband and his arms clenched her body while his hands rubbed her back. They listened to they daughter’s faint murmurs and prayed.