A Year in Juvenile Detention : Carl Gallagher

Distancing

Areum had always been a whirlwind of energy and chaos, drawing attention to herself with her rebellious spirit. But lately, she had retreated into herself. The fire that had once burned bright in her eyes had dulled, and she barely spoke to anyone. Even the other inmates, who usually thrived off her unpredictable antics, began to notice her absence.

"Hey, where's Areum? I haven't seen her stir up trouble in ages," one girl remarked during lunch, glancing around the cafeteria. The usual buzz of gossip and laughter filled the air, but there was a noticeable absence where Areum's wild laughter once echoed.

"Yeah, what's up with her? She's gone totally quiet," another girl chimed in, picking at her food. "Is she sick or something?"

"Maybe she's finally learned to behave," a guy joked, though his laughter fell flat. Everyone knew Areum wasn't the type to back down easily. Her silence spoke volumes, and it felt unsettling.

Carl sat a few tables away, his own heart heavy as he overheard their whispers. He had been worried about Areum ever since their conversation, but watching her withdraw more and more made him feel helpless. She used to have a fierce presence that could light up a room, but now she blended into the background, a shadow of her former self.

Each day, he would glance over at her table, hoping to see her animatedly engaging with others or sharing sarcastic quips. Instead, she often sat alone, her sketchbook propped up in front of her as she doodled absentmindedly. Even when others tried to pull her into conversations, she would respond with curt answers, her eyes drifting back to her art.

"Hey, Areum!" Carl called out one day, pushing past the other inmates to reach her. "What's with the radio silence? You act like you're in your own little world."

She looked up, her expression unreadable. "Maybe I am," she replied flatly, returning her attention to her drawing.

Carl's frustration mounted. "You used to be the one getting everyone riled up. What happened to that girl?"

"I don't know, Carl. Maybe that girl is tired," Areum said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Tired of all the noise and drama."

"Come on! You're better than this," he urged, desperation creeping into his tone. "You're just going to let all those assholes push you around? Fight back!"

But instead of igniting her spirit, his words fell on deaf ears. Areum didn't respond, her silence more telling than any argument. Carl felt a knot tighten in his stomach, a mix of anger and worry.

As the days turned into a blur, Carl noticed the other inmates began to change their perception of Areum too. They were used to her stirring the pot, challenging authority, and pushing boundaries. But now, she was barely speaking, and it felt like the air had gone out of the room whenever she walked in.

"Dude, Areum isn't even acting like herself anymore," one guy said to Carl while they were outside for rec time. "I mean, what's up with that?"

"Yeah, she's practically a ghost," another chimed in. "What's the deal? Did she finally give up?"

Carl clenched his fists, frustration boiling beneath the surface. "She's just going through a phase," he said defensively, but even he wasn't convinced. Deep down, he recognized the truth. Areum wasn't just quiet; she was distancing herself from everyone, including him.

He tried to engage her in conversation whenever he could, but every attempt felt like hitting a wall. Areum would give him short, clipped responses, her eyes always darting back to her sketchbook. It was like she had built an invisible barrier around herself, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't break through.

One afternoon, Carl caught sight of her sitting alone again, her sketchbook on her lap, the sun casting a warm glow around her. She looked lost, her brow furrowed in concentration. He felt a pang of longing for the old Areum—the one who would challenge him, laugh with him, and fight alongside him.

He approached her cautiously, taking a seat beside her. "You used to be the one everyone wanted to be around," he said softly, trying to keep his voice light. "What happened to that girl?"

Areum didn't look up. "Maybe she realized that being loud and wild doesn't always get you what you want," she replied, her tone void of emotion. "Maybe she's just trying to figure things out."

Carl's heart sank. "Figuring things out is one thing, but isolating yourself isn't going to help. We're all in this together, Areum."

At that, she finally looked up, her eyes flashing with a mix of frustration and sadness. "You don't get it, Carl. I'm tired of the games. Tired of pretending to be something I'm not."

The truth of her words cut deeper than he anticipated. He had never thought of Areum as anything but fiercely authentic. But now, as he looked into her eyes, he saw the conflict brewing within her.

"Areum, I just want to help," he said, his voice earnest. "I miss the you that didn't care about what anyone thought."

For a moment, her expression softened, and Carl thought he might have reached her. But just as quickly, the wall went back up. "I don't need your help, Carl," she said firmly, the steel returning to her voice. "I can handle this on my own."

And just like that, the distance between them grew wider, leaving Carl feeling more helpless than ever. As he stood up to walk away, he could feel the other inmates' eyes on him, the judgment palpable. They had all seen the change in Areum, and now he was starting to wonder if the girl he missed was gone for good.

With each passing day, Areum became more of a mystery to him—a puzzle he couldn't seem to solve. She no longer stirred trouble, no longer laughed at his jokes, and most painfully, she no longer reached out for him.