Chapter Guide: "Crossroads"
Part 1 (Edited: 05/18/07)
Part 2 (Edited: 05/18/07)
Part 3 (Edited: 05/18/07)
Part 4 (Edited: 05/18/07)
Part 5 (Edited: 05/18/07)
Part 6 (Edited: 05/18/07)
Part 7 (Edited: 05/18/07)
Part 8 (Edited: 05/18/07)
Part 9 (Edited: 05/18/07)
Part 10 (Edited: 05/18/07)
Part 11 (Edited: 05/18/07)
Part 12 (Edited: 05/18/07)
Part 13 (Edited: 05/18/07)
Part 14
Part 15
~Crossroads~
~Part 1~
“There’s something inside of you that snaps when you see the person you love the most with someone else. It makes you want to cry to try and release the pain, hoping that maybe if you let out a sob or two they’ll realize you never really stopped loving them. Maybe they’d find sympathy for you and run up to you and tell you that it was all a nightmare, that time hadn’t passed, that the distance between you hadn’t grown.”
He stops and plays with the band-aid that is currently wrapped around his thumb. It has been adhere to his finger for such a long period of time that the skin underneath is soft and pale.
“But in fact….it has?”
He looks up at the man sitting across from him, a clip-board resting lightly on the top of his knee as he observes his patient with questioning eyes.
“It’s like in high school,” He begins again. “Senior year comes and goes, and you make false promises that you’ll stay in touch, that you’ll still be friends with everyone and you’ll go hang out during the week. Then everyone gets their own lives. Suddenly the past isn’t as important. Because the friendships that you’ve built are just part of your high school immaturity. Joe goes to Boston and becomes a fisherman, Krissy goes to California and becomes a C list celebrity on some reality show you’ve never heard of and don’t ever wish too.”
He looks out the window of the high rise building and watches as a few pigeons fly by.
“And you wonder if they ever think about you. If, in their busy lives, they ever think about the two hours they spent in the cold outside when there was a fire drill freshman year. Or if they remember Prom, and how they partied all night long and how they were so slap happy that they danced in Dunkin’ Donuts at five-thirty in the morning when they were suddenly struck with hunger.”
His comment elects a smile out of the man listening.
“Or if they remember the tears they shed at graduation when they said good-bye to innocence and said hello to reality. Then there’s your high school squeeze. The one that you’ve known since freshman year but never really talked too. The one you finally had a class with senior year. She gets along with everyone so easily, and yet she has an edge about her. She can easily take care of herself. But she’s so beautiful that you find it hard not to periodically look at her as she intently listens to the teacher. You see other guys with her and you know by their body language that they just want her for their own purposes, not to make her happy, or to actually care about her.”
“Finally you get enough guts to start talking to her. At first you just borrow her an extra pencil for a pop quiz, but then she asks for help and you can’t seem to tell her no. You finally realize that she does notice you even though you don’t make it your mission to talk to her. For three months you sit next to her in Consumer Education. To you it’s the best class because it’s fun and people share their own insight. She talks the most in class, but always about the topic at hand.”
“There’s a month before Prom and the idea of having to ask a girl has been bothering you for nearly three weeks. You’ve already been asked but graciously declined; of course you sent the poor girl flowers afterwards because you felt bad for turning her down. But you have eyes for someone else. So one day after Consumer Ed you decide to place yourself in front of the firing squad. She can either save you, or pull the trigger herself.”
~**~**~**~
He stared at the clock above the board, but his eyes moved back down to her as she was talking to one of her friends about what she’s going to do over the weekend. She drinks, she’s already said it herself. But she’s not like the rest of the kids in class, she knows her limits and she never tried drugs. But maybe that’s what he wants to think. Because she’s perfect to him.
The bell rang which signified the end of class.
“Have a good weekend, everyone.” The teacher called as she sat down at her desk, preparing for the next class.
He grabs his books and balances them against the side of his leg as he walks out of the room. He watches her from across the hallway as she says good-bye to her friend and stops at her locker.
What am I doing? She’s never going to say yes.
He shook his head as he swallowed his pride and walked over to her.
“Hey.” He said as he stopped next to her.
She gives him a slightly confused and surprised look but smiles. “Hey, Michael. What’s up?” She looks back at her locker as she stuffs a book on the top shelf and takes out another.
I can’t believe I’m doing this.
“Um…” He cleared his throat. “I was hoping you had a few minutes, I kind of needed to talk to you.”
She looked back at him for a moment, her hand steady on the built-in lock on her locker. But after a moment of her staring at him she slammed it shut.
“Well, I have trig next, but I don’t think Mr. Nelson would be too upset if I was late once.” She adjusted the strap of her purse, which rested on her shoulder, and brought her books up to her chest as she leaned against her locker.
He looked around the hall for a moment, watching his fellow classmates pass along as they headed to their own classes.
“The thing is…” He sighed and swallowed hard.
“Are you alright?” She asked as she saw sweat start to appear on his forehead.
Son of a b****. This f***ing sucks, what am I supposed to do? She thinks I’m an idiot.
“Not really.” He said. “Look…” He paused. “… I don’t do this a lot. I’m sure someone’s already asked you. Prom is in a month and tickets go on sale next week. I thought maybe…we could go. I mean…just as friends or something…I guess…I don’t know.” He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Idiot.”
She bit her lip as she smiled and looked down at her shoes. She looked back up at him.
“I appreciate you asking me, Michael.”
Oh shi*!
“I know it took a lot for you to ask me.” She said. “But I wasn’t really planning to go.”
He nodded softly and looked down at the carpet beneath his feet.
“Hey.” She set her hand on his shoulder. “It’s not you. I’ve turned down everyone that’s asked me, not just you. You’re a great guy, Michael. And the girl that does go with you is going to be lucky.”
He nodded. “I understand.” He smiled softly. “Have a good weekend.” He said as he started to walk past her. “Oh,” He stopped and turned around. “And…congrats on the montage thing.” He said.
“What?” She asked with a slight smile. Maybe it was the fact that he was the first person to actually notice she'd won something for submitting her work to the annual school art magazine, or maybe it was just the fact that he had enough guts to actually compliment her. Whichever it was, it definitely scored him some points, even if that wasn't his intention.
“You got second place for your short story, right?” He asked. “It was really great. I liked it.” He gave her one more smile and wave before heading off to Chemistry.
He had been sitting in class for about a half-hour, listening to his teacher give a lecture about the chemicals they would be using in the lab on Monday. Out of the corner of his eye he saw someone standing in the hallway outside the door. He turned his attention away from Mr. Clark and saw Sydney Bristow standing near the door trying to get his attention. She laughed at how bored he looked. Math and Science were definitely not his favorite subjects, nor was he very good at them.
She waved her hand for him, trying to tell him to come out and join her. He contained a laugh as she saw a hall monitor and had to walk around like she was headed somewhere important. A few minutes later she was back.
Michael raised his hand.
“Yes, Michael?” Mr. Clark asked.
“Um…I’m not feeling very well. May I go to the office?” He asked.
“Very well, but try to be back before the end of class.” Mr. Clark said. Without question he continued on with his lecture.
Michael Vaughn got up from his seat and walked out of the room. Sydney pulled him around the corner.
“What are you doing? Are you trying to get yourself a detention?” He asked amused.
“Shut up.” She said. “I’ll go with you.”
“What?” He asked. Was he hearing her right?
“I’ll go to Prom with you.” She agreed.
“I thought you said…”
“Forget about what I said.” She told him. She turned her head to see the hall monitor coming back. “Shi*, I have to go.” She looked back at him. “Um…I have softball practice tonight until eight, why don’t you stop by the field and we’ll talk?” She asked.
He couldn’t even answer her. She gave him a quick hug and then ran back down the hallway, leaving him shaking his head and laughing.
~**~**~**~
He smiles at the thought of the memory.
“And how long has it been since that happened?”
“Six years.” He says. “I haven’t talked to her in five. Until last night. She called me at home, she got the number from my mother. She wants to get lunch today. That’s why I’m dressed up like this. I’m meeting her after our session.”
“Do you still love her?”
He pauses for a moment, his fingers playing with a thread that hangs from the material on the arm of the chair he is sitting in.
He takes a bit too long to answer. The timer beeps, signifying the end of their session.
“I guess that answer will have to wait until next week.”
Part 1 (Edited: 05/18/07)
Part 2 (Edited: 05/18/07)
Part 3 (Edited: 05/18/07)
Part 4 (Edited: 05/18/07)
Part 5 (Edited: 05/18/07)
Part 6 (Edited: 05/18/07)
Part 7 (Edited: 05/18/07)
Part 8 (Edited: 05/18/07)
Part 9 (Edited: 05/18/07)
Part 10 (Edited: 05/18/07)
Part 11 (Edited: 05/18/07)
Part 12 (Edited: 05/18/07)
Part 13 (Edited: 05/18/07)
Part 14
Part 15
~Crossroads~
~Part 1~
“There’s something inside of you that snaps when you see the person you love the most with someone else. It makes you want to cry to try and release the pain, hoping that maybe if you let out a sob or two they’ll realize you never really stopped loving them. Maybe they’d find sympathy for you and run up to you and tell you that it was all a nightmare, that time hadn’t passed, that the distance between you hadn’t grown.”
He stops and plays with the band-aid that is currently wrapped around his thumb. It has been adhere to his finger for such a long period of time that the skin underneath is soft and pale.
“But in fact….it has?”
He looks up at the man sitting across from him, a clip-board resting lightly on the top of his knee as he observes his patient with questioning eyes.
“It’s like in high school,” He begins again. “Senior year comes and goes, and you make false promises that you’ll stay in touch, that you’ll still be friends with everyone and you’ll go hang out during the week. Then everyone gets their own lives. Suddenly the past isn’t as important. Because the friendships that you’ve built are just part of your high school immaturity. Joe goes to Boston and becomes a fisherman, Krissy goes to California and becomes a C list celebrity on some reality show you’ve never heard of and don’t ever wish too.”
He looks out the window of the high rise building and watches as a few pigeons fly by.
“And you wonder if they ever think about you. If, in their busy lives, they ever think about the two hours they spent in the cold outside when there was a fire drill freshman year. Or if they remember Prom, and how they partied all night long and how they were so slap happy that they danced in Dunkin’ Donuts at five-thirty in the morning when they were suddenly struck with hunger.”
His comment elects a smile out of the man listening.
“Or if they remember the tears they shed at graduation when they said good-bye to innocence and said hello to reality. Then there’s your high school squeeze. The one that you’ve known since freshman year but never really talked too. The one you finally had a class with senior year. She gets along with everyone so easily, and yet she has an edge about her. She can easily take care of herself. But she’s so beautiful that you find it hard not to periodically look at her as she intently listens to the teacher. You see other guys with her and you know by their body language that they just want her for their own purposes, not to make her happy, or to actually care about her.”
“Finally you get enough guts to start talking to her. At first you just borrow her an extra pencil for a pop quiz, but then she asks for help and you can’t seem to tell her no. You finally realize that she does notice you even though you don’t make it your mission to talk to her. For three months you sit next to her in Consumer Education. To you it’s the best class because it’s fun and people share their own insight. She talks the most in class, but always about the topic at hand.”
“There’s a month before Prom and the idea of having to ask a girl has been bothering you for nearly three weeks. You’ve already been asked but graciously declined; of course you sent the poor girl flowers afterwards because you felt bad for turning her down. But you have eyes for someone else. So one day after Consumer Ed you decide to place yourself in front of the firing squad. She can either save you, or pull the trigger herself.”
~**~**~**~
He stared at the clock above the board, but his eyes moved back down to her as she was talking to one of her friends about what she’s going to do over the weekend. She drinks, she’s already said it herself. But she’s not like the rest of the kids in class, she knows her limits and she never tried drugs. But maybe that’s what he wants to think. Because she’s perfect to him.
The bell rang which signified the end of class.
“Have a good weekend, everyone.” The teacher called as she sat down at her desk, preparing for the next class.
He grabs his books and balances them against the side of his leg as he walks out of the room. He watches her from across the hallway as she says good-bye to her friend and stops at her locker.
What am I doing? She’s never going to say yes.
He shook his head as he swallowed his pride and walked over to her.
“Hey.” He said as he stopped next to her.
She gives him a slightly confused and surprised look but smiles. “Hey, Michael. What’s up?” She looks back at her locker as she stuffs a book on the top shelf and takes out another.
I can’t believe I’m doing this.
“Um…” He cleared his throat. “I was hoping you had a few minutes, I kind of needed to talk to you.”
She looked back at him for a moment, her hand steady on the built-in lock on her locker. But after a moment of her staring at him she slammed it shut.
“Well, I have trig next, but I don’t think Mr. Nelson would be too upset if I was late once.” She adjusted the strap of her purse, which rested on her shoulder, and brought her books up to her chest as she leaned against her locker.
He looked around the hall for a moment, watching his fellow classmates pass along as they headed to their own classes.
“The thing is…” He sighed and swallowed hard.
“Are you alright?” She asked as she saw sweat start to appear on his forehead.
Son of a b****. This f***ing sucks, what am I supposed to do? She thinks I’m an idiot.
“Not really.” He said. “Look…” He paused. “… I don’t do this a lot. I’m sure someone’s already asked you. Prom is in a month and tickets go on sale next week. I thought maybe…we could go. I mean…just as friends or something…I guess…I don’t know.” He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Idiot.”
She bit her lip as she smiled and looked down at her shoes. She looked back up at him.
“I appreciate you asking me, Michael.”
Oh shi*!
“I know it took a lot for you to ask me.” She said. “But I wasn’t really planning to go.”
He nodded softly and looked down at the carpet beneath his feet.
“Hey.” She set her hand on his shoulder. “It’s not you. I’ve turned down everyone that’s asked me, not just you. You’re a great guy, Michael. And the girl that does go with you is going to be lucky.”
He nodded. “I understand.” He smiled softly. “Have a good weekend.” He said as he started to walk past her. “Oh,” He stopped and turned around. “And…congrats on the montage thing.” He said.
“What?” She asked with a slight smile. Maybe it was the fact that he was the first person to actually notice she'd won something for submitting her work to the annual school art magazine, or maybe it was just the fact that he had enough guts to actually compliment her. Whichever it was, it definitely scored him some points, even if that wasn't his intention.
“You got second place for your short story, right?” He asked. “It was really great. I liked it.” He gave her one more smile and wave before heading off to Chemistry.
He had been sitting in class for about a half-hour, listening to his teacher give a lecture about the chemicals they would be using in the lab on Monday. Out of the corner of his eye he saw someone standing in the hallway outside the door. He turned his attention away from Mr. Clark and saw Sydney Bristow standing near the door trying to get his attention. She laughed at how bored he looked. Math and Science were definitely not his favorite subjects, nor was he very good at them.
She waved her hand for him, trying to tell him to come out and join her. He contained a laugh as she saw a hall monitor and had to walk around like she was headed somewhere important. A few minutes later she was back.
Michael raised his hand.
“Yes, Michael?” Mr. Clark asked.
“Um…I’m not feeling very well. May I go to the office?” He asked.
“Very well, but try to be back before the end of class.” Mr. Clark said. Without question he continued on with his lecture.
Michael Vaughn got up from his seat and walked out of the room. Sydney pulled him around the corner.
“What are you doing? Are you trying to get yourself a detention?” He asked amused.
“Shut up.” She said. “I’ll go with you.”
“What?” He asked. Was he hearing her right?
“I’ll go to Prom with you.” She agreed.
“I thought you said…”
“Forget about what I said.” She told him. She turned her head to see the hall monitor coming back. “Shi*, I have to go.” She looked back at him. “Um…I have softball practice tonight until eight, why don’t you stop by the field and we’ll talk?” She asked.
He couldn’t even answer her. She gave him a quick hug and then ran back down the hallway, leaving him shaking his head and laughing.
~**~**~**~
He smiles at the thought of the memory.
“And how long has it been since that happened?”
“Six years.” He says. “I haven’t talked to her in five. Until last night. She called me at home, she got the number from my mother. She wants to get lunch today. That’s why I’m dressed up like this. I’m meeting her after our session.”
“Do you still love her?”
He pauses for a moment, his fingers playing with a thread that hangs from the material on the arm of the chair he is sitting in.
He takes a bit too long to answer. The timer beeps, signifying the end of their session.
“I guess that answer will have to wait until next week.”
,
