The In Between

6: Never Giving Up

One day when nothing ever feels the same

Just like every other time before

I'll find a way to wake you from this bed you've made

Even though I know you want me to

I'm never giving up on you.

Ms. Wyatt addressed the issue at counseling that day, once everyone was split into groups. "I was called into the office to detail what I've seen or heard during the counseling session. I was asked to share my impression of you both. I heard about the conflict, as well. I don't suppose you'd like to share your side of the story, Riley?"

"There's not much to report. Pain. Pain. Yellows and greens and reds. Breathlessness, more pain, blues and greens."

"Riley, no one can help you unless you tell them what's wrong," she says.

"Well, what's wrong is that my ribs have hurt since yesterday and I'm not sure how to handle it. My grandmother, in the same breath, said I was growing into my Irish ancestry and called me an idiot, both because of my black eye. It feels a bit hopeless because I don't think I can ever escape these people, and the stress is really getting to me lately. This is not the first time I've dealt with bullying but it's the worst so far and there's only so much I can take before I explode. Cam is probably the first friend I've had since 7th grade and he actually stood up for me, which is a first and I don't understand why he did it at all."

"Let me address the easiest of that, first. Cam, why did you stand up for him?"

"I don't know, I can't just stand there and watch him get picked on by people. Watching the situation, just, like, it wasn't his fault. And he offered to help me with something earlier anyways, so I didn't exactly have a reason not to."

"Well, yeah, but..."

"No. No buts. Come on, man, I cannot watch someone get hurt, especially someone I'm friends with. It's not me."

"Thanks. It means a lot to me, like, you don't even know." I don't know what else to say, so I leave it at that.

"And your ribs have hurt since yesterday? Have you told anyone," Ms. Wyatt asks, concerned.

"Only Cam.

She looks at me with a mixture of her earlier concern and newfound disbelief. "Why have you only told Cam?"

"Grandma would suggest healing it at home, the principal has very little concern for my side of the story, and I don't know who else I would tell, so..."

She shakes her head. "What exactly does your grandmother do for you guys? Anything?"

"She pays bills, takes us in for check-ups most of the time, buys food, works, drinks."

"So she somewhat does her job?"

I think about it for a moment, then answer, "I mean, she does alright. It's not her fault people tend to hate me."

She processes that. "And how long have you dealt with bullying," she asks. "Has that been an issue for a while?"

"At least 3rd grade, so yeah," I say, nodding. "A little before my mom died. She was driving to a meeting with the principal, about the bullying, when some drunk-driving idiot ran into her, and that's how she died. Dad left the year I started kindergarten, and nobody could find him to take care of us. For all I know, he might be dead, too."

"... And you, Cam? What's your backstory?"

"I don't feel 100% comfortable sharing it."

"Please? The more you tell it, the more you'll heal."

He sighs. "My particular batch of problems, at least the one that landed me in here, was self-harm."

"Okay. Most people who self-harm have a reason for it. Do you know your reason?"

"Yes," he says.

"Would you mind sharing?"

He sighs again. "My parents are very judgmental, very opinionated people with no sense of filter or censoring. Words hurt, but they hurt some people more than others. My brother Charlie is a year older than me, and when I was like 4 or 5, I guess he couldn't handle what they had to say, so he took it out on me. It started in all sorts of ways, stealing or breaking toys, sitting on my head. Eventually, though, he determined he liked hitting. He tried it once or twice with classmates, got in a lot of trouble. Tried it once or twice with me, heard nothing. So it stuck. If he didn't get caught in school, he did it there, too. The other kids saw that and decided they didn't have to treat me well. I was ignored or bullied at school, my parents picked on everything we did or didn't do, and my brother was beating me up verbally and physically. Friends I'd make didn't care about what I went through, they'd expect my help and then disappear when they no longer needed me. So one day, I picked up a pair of scissors and tried what seemed to help others. And then I couldn't stop. 2 years later, here I am."

Ms. Wyatt looks pretty upset by that. " You know, you're stronger than anyone gives you credit for being. I'm sorry you have to deal with that. You're both really strong, you've kept living, and that's something a lot of people couldn't do in those situations. Thank you both for sharing your backstories with me, it's not always easy to do, but sometimes it helps to say it."

I almost believed her, but Cam didn't look like he was anywhere near on the same page. When she got up and walked to another table to work with another group, and he just stayed staring at the ground, I could kinda tell something was wrong. "Cam," I say, to no response, no movement. "Cam, are you alright?"

He snaps out of it, looking up as if that hadn't happened, and says, "Yeah." I didn't believe it at all, but before I can say so, he says, "Hey, what is it like to have synesthesia?"

So I answered the question, and the session went on.

The next school day didn't have anything interesting to report, except for the fact that Cam's mood hadn't seemed to improve at all. He was so cheery most of yesterday, it was hard to see him so stuck in his own mind. I tried to, whenever possible, distract him from that. When I get like that, the thing I want most is for someone to break me out of the state of mind I'm in, so I tried to do that, but it didn't help very much.

There was no major big humongous fight, thank goodness. I did pass the Lovely Angels™ in the halls a few times and overhear them whispering about me and Cam, but I didn't think much of it, not when I had more important things on my mind.

It was Friday, time for the weekend. We had some project for counseling that had to do with telling stories about experiences with anxiety and/or panic attacks, so we talked about that. Anxiety was something else we had in common, and panic attacks were not something new to either of us. The topic turned to sensory overload.

"It's honestly a bit more common for me to have sensory overload than a panic attack, but that's probably an understandable thing."

"Oh, that reminds me, how would one be able to tell if they had synesthesia?"

And that, ladies, gentlemen, and captains, is how Cam Casey discovered he had synesthesia. Quite a few types, too. Grapheme-color, very slight pain-color, and OLP. That last one, I was jealous of, a bit. We spent a short while discussing (nah, more like arguing over) what color each letter was. We agreed about G being blue-green and 0 being white, but that's about all we agreed on.

When counseling ended, all seemed okay. Cam thought it was crazy-cool that he was a synnie, and I thought it was pretty neat, too. We said goodbye and went home. I think that might've been the first time I was concerned about missing someone over the weekend, but I tried to not think much of it. It's not like the weekend lasts very long, anyways. Grandma was sitting in front of the television watching some game show or other, when I got home. I made Annie and I some food, and then sat down to make sure all my homework was done. I had to finish up the history homework, but after that was done, I went and relaxed in my room. It was officially the weekend, and that was a gorgeous fact.