Beyond reasons

Chapter 3 - Her eyes are green

Before 10 days

Finn

  The sound of plates hitting the kitchen counter wakes me up in the middle of the night. For several weeks I have not been able to filter the words that my mother blows up when arguing with my father. I remember from an early age their morning quarrels and the panic attacks that my older brothers, Caden and River, struggled to prevent for nights on end. I love and have always loved my parents, they gave us absolutely everything we have ever needed, but sometimes the situation gets out of hand. To my surprise, after a few minutes, tonight only the echoes projected in my mind remain from the characteristic screams remain. I stare at the ceiling for a long time, at the ceiling on which I glued phosphorescent stars with their help a few years ago. I close my eyes and try my best to relive the moment, I fail, it disappears in a second when I want to access it. I fall asleep.

  Ever since Caden and River left to continue their studies in another state, with scholarships for the sports they practice, the impact that my parents' arguments have on me has become overwhelming. The little play interpreted every morning by me and Clara, my little sister, turned into a routine. We hoped that time would make us adapt to the situation, but I no longer think that such a thing is possible. It was conveyed to me throughout my childhood that the family is our supposed shelter, unfortunately for me, it is the place where I find the greatest amount of suffering.

  My soul found shelter in school and music. Due to my age, I have more frequent opportunities to escape from the present. I used to be jealous of Caden, who was training late, or River, who was not absent from any party. I can live what I wanted so much then because looking back at the house, most of the time a feeling of guilt prevents me from leaving. I know what it's like to be left in the dark, and since Clara came into the world I've given her my light. She is fragile, she needs all the light she can have.

  The sound of cars honking chaotically makes my ears ring. I don't remember where I am or how I got to this point, the panic doesn't hesitate to spread in my body. I freeze. I can not move. I can not speak. I can not ask for help. But who would I ask for help? I got stuck in the middle of the street, the drivers passing me visibly disturbed by my decision to stay here. I regain partial control, enough to pull into a parking space and decide what to do next. My phone vibrates in the back seat, the caller is dad. I don't answer, I'm not able to have a normal conversation now, instead, I enter the address of the high school in GPS and start on the road again, this time more consciously.

  For years I have been counting down the days until high school ends until I can escape the terror. Lately, I have developed the stupid habit of falling asleep anywhere, anytime without exception, and the bell turns out to be unable to wake me. Of course, Mr. Brown doesn't miss such an opportunity, a history almanac hits my skull hard, making a sound more uncomfortable than the pain I am left with.

  After I leave class, I head to the office of Mr. Nathan Lewis, the school psychologist, where I made an appointment last week. I wait in front of the office impatient, an emotion I didn't think I could feel during a therapy session. The sounds of an old song carry me over endless distances. Suddenly I float, I'm lighter than I've ever been, the notes seem to vibrate through me. The musical line continues to undulate and move in its characteristic way in front of me. With my eyes closed, the soloist's tone is the one that guides me on this enchanting path. I wish I could float forever among the problems I have, as easy as the music carries me through the hours that flow irreversibly, but the song ends and the door opens. A middle-aged man, with his face burning and his eyes almost closed, looks through the stack of papers in his arms and looks up after finding the one he's searching for.

- Finley Bartholomew Hart!

- I am he ... I'm the only one in the waiting room, I didn't think it necessary to raise his voice that high.

- Get in!

  A stifling air greeted me as soon as I stepped into the room full of things, which belong to a wide range of categories. I try my best not to make a bad impression, I prefer to leave aside the comments about what was here, although my curious gaze continues to wander around the room until I see it in its entirety. Next to the trash can is a path consisting of crumpled napkins and pieces of paper, of all sizes and shapes, filled with hasty writing. There are napkins hidden everywhere, with every extra second I give to a section of his office, I find cellulose stuck in all the cracks. I look up at the bookshelf, where I come across an antithesis of classical literature and Vogue magazines. On the wall, hung by a thin elastic, there is a translucent penny board that lacks a wheel.

- So ... I understand you're in trouble, young man? it catches my attention using a southern accent.

  Me? No problem! I came to the psychologist just to see what it was like. Well, I fall asleep in the most inappropriate places, I have imprinted on my eardrum and retina different scenes from different days with my parents arguing, I hear my little sister crying every night in her room because she knows that the nightmare will start soon, my attention disappears completely and irreversibly, regardless of the subject of the discussion, I have panic attacks and sometimes I simply freeze.

- So? he grins falsely.

Then I realize, I got stuck, I isolate myself inside and the outside froze.

- I have problems at home, I hurry to answer as soon as my mouth opens.

- More exactly?

- My parents often argue.

- All the parents are arguing. Is that why you came?

- Yes.

- You're okay, you can leave.

  I listen to his command, get up and leave the office, although I am aware that what I am doing is not good. I want to go back and blame him, the words don't seem to be on my side today. I'm leaving more upset than I came and the only thing I can think of is that I need to unload myself somehow. I slip behind the canteen and take my new pack of cigarettes out of the most hidden pocket of my backpack. The feeling I have when the plastic rustles in my hands, the smell of tobacco that I associate with freedom, the cardboard that I open for the first time today. All these insignificant things allow me to get rid of the constant stress I live in ... the fear that tomorrow may be worse. I inhale the first fume as deep as I can into my lungs, it burns me in the back of my mouth, but when it comes out my worries evaporate as easily as the vapors in the air disappear. The heat inside dissipates once I reach the end of the cigarette, everything settles exactly where it was, leaving me with a bitter taste behind.

  I check my schedule, I have French with Mrs. Catherine in room 14C, it's not my favorite, but I will never be her favorite either. In class nothing is changed, everyone has the same fake smile, they talk non-stop, and their eyes empty when it comes to the emotions I'm really going through. The teacher is late, which pushes me to fall asleep. History repeats itself, I have awakened again with the help of a book, more accurately a dictionary this time. Before I recover, a handwritten note on a pink note greets me. I read it and go out into the hall as fast as I can before calling the director to report the little incident.

  I lean against a wall next to the classroom and let my body slide down. On the other side of the hall, far too small for the number of students studying here, a girl looks at me. Looks like she's expecting something or someone. I don't know her, but the image of her crying breaks my heart. Maybe she needs to talk to someone, I get up and sit next to her without asking for her permission. She smiles at me with the most sincere smile ever.

  Her eyes are green. That shade of green brings hope no matter what happened. It rekindles my hope without a word, just blinking in front of life. Deep in her tear-filled eyes, I can see the fresh scars she wears. She went through a lot. She knows I can see everything, but still lets me keep looking at her.