t w e l v e
Thursday. My sixth day in Homer, Alaska. My third day - technically fourth - attending Homer High School. What can I gather from my very limited observation of the small coastal town? It is slowly sucking the life out of me. Not literally, of course, but the lack of sun is starting to get to me. I enjoy the rainy days as much as the next environmentalist, but goddammit I need my sunshine.
Flynn and I never spoke last night. I got home at around five, but he was nowhere to be seen. I made some lasagna with green pepper and thin slices of pepperoni decorating the top of the casserole and made a note on a Post-It notepad informing my grandfather where he can get his dinner.
Flynn's words keep circulating in my head. I didn't even think he noticed that I was locking myself up in my room. I didn't mean to give off the impression of being hostile, rude and ungrateful. I just don't know what I would find in the company of a sixty-something-year-old dude. Maybe I could ask him about my grandmother? I never knew the women, and I do not want to get to know her in her afterlife but the shadows in my room at night, prevent me from achieving my wishes.
Last night at around two in the morning, I awoke with a sudden gasp of air. The realization of why I was awake, sunk in almost instantaneously. My eyes searched through the room - which was lightened up by my desk lamp seeing as I still have not yet bought a nightlight - and my eyes fell on her. My deceased grandmother, sitting on the edge of my bed and holding the photo of my mother and myself, on one of our last trips. I clenched my comforter between my fists, willing my eyes to close but I could not bring myself to look away.
This was the first time I met the woman.
We didn't speak. She didn't seem to have noticed that I was conscious and aware of her presence. I did notice that a tear roll down her cheek and fell onto the glass of the photo frame. Looking at her, I realized how much we look alike. We shared the same soft features, except she was prettier than I could ever hope to be. She was beautiful because she was good. A golden glow surrounded her and I knew there was no need to banish her because she was not permanently stuck in this realm. She has moved on, she is in her version of euphoria. She was only visiting.
Even as she sat there, she looked only a few years older than me. I recognized her from photographs that hang on the walls in the hallway. Over my years of being in touch with the dead, I have learned one thing. Souls will look at the age they feel. If a person who is a young adult of twenty feels as though they are much older and tired than their actual age, it will reflect that in death unless their feelings change.
I wanted to ask her to tell me about my mother, where she is, how she's doing if she misses me. But I didn't want to scare off my grandmother. She was in a very vulnerable state. After about twenty minutes, she quietly stood up and placed the frame back on top of my drawer, before turning back to me. I closed my eyes at this point, hoping that I would be able to fall asleep. The floorboard slowly squeaked as she moved closer and I smelled her perfume. I recognized it as being Elizabeth Arden perfume brand, a brand my mother used to spray on her pillow at night and sleep, on the days she felt most lonely and no pleas from me could save her happiness for the day.
Suddenly, I felt the softest brush of lips against my forehead, and then the smell of perfume was gone.
I stare at myself in the mirror, feeling detached from the person staring back at me. I take a deep breath through my nose, feeling the air burn my lungs, before forcing myself to smile. This is a new town, this is a brand-new Ophelia. After this year, I'll be off to college and after that, I'll have my little cottage in the country, with my cats and a cow and ducklings because that's what I want. I just need to push through today.
I pat down my outfit, white overalls with an olive-green sweater underneath them. The clouds are lacking together and it reminds me of snow clouds, something I am quite excited about. If it snows, I am making a snow angel, no doubt about it.
I grab my tote bag and rush downstairs, hoping to catch Flynn. He sits at the breakfast table, with a cup of steaming coffee and a bowl of salad in front of him while he reads the news on his tablet. I notice that he set out a glass of orange juice and a salad for me, at the other side of the table. I beam at the sight and hang my bag over the stairs' bannister, skipping towards the table.
"Morning, Pops", I greet and join him at the breakfast table. He looks up, surprised and perplexed at the endearment I used to address him.
"Ophelia", he greets back and sets down his tablet. I grab the salt and pour some over my salad, before grabbing a napkin and carefully plucking out the tomato pieces.
"Thank you for the breakfast, grandpa. I appreciate it", I say earnestly and push the napkin away, making sure no tomatoes spillover.
"You don't eat tomatoes?"
"I am allergic", I wave my fork dismissively and grab a piece of avocado, popping it into my mouth.
"Since when?", my grandpa asks incredulously and puts his tablet on the table, forgetting it for the moment.
"I don't have one but I don't like being rude and say I don't like tomatoes, so I lie", I shrug and continue eating my salad. My grandfather gives a small chuckle and shakes his head in disbelief before his eyes turn serious. I feel a groan build up with annoyance at what is about to come up.
"Ophelia, if you ever feel like you need professional help, it's nothing to be ashamed of", Flynn starts slowly and stares at the table, digging his thumbnails into the hardwood.
"Your grandma didn't believe in it and that's what got your mama in trouble, so I take it very seriously", he sighs and grabs his fork, starting to rummage around in his bowl in an act of discomfort. I stare down at my bowl, closing my eyes as I try to think of ways to change the conversation. Finally, I remember the question I wanted to ask earlier this morning.
"My grandmother? Can you tell me about her?"
Flynn looks up sharply, his eyes blunt and calculating, as if guarding the E. memories he has of my grandmother, too scared to share it with me. After a while, the walls behind his eyes fall and he releases a tense breath of air.
"Cassie, she was wonderful", my grandfather sighed and closes his eyes in the course of his memory taking him back to the years of being with my grandmother.
"She was the polar opposite of me. She liked this town-", my grandfather looks up and chuckles at a hidden thought.
"I thought you liked this town? Why do you keep on living here?", I ask and tilt my head slightly. I know that somehow, I will push a limit to what I may ask and I'll be given the silent treatment. I just hope it's not now.
"Like Homer? Bah!", my grandfather slaps his hand against the tabletop, shaking his head at the mere thought.
"This town doesn't like me, and I don't like it. Bunch of weirdos and freaks live here", Flynn snorts and takes a bite of his breakfast. I try not to make note of the clear irony in that sentence.
"Did you get to the library alright?"
I think back to yesterday afternoon, where I spent an hour walking around the small crystal shop before remembering I have to get to a library. I made it in time, luckily. I was able to print the books at the library for a minimal fee, and now it's in binders in my bag.
"Yeah, all good. I am surprised at the variety of books the library has to offer", I say and make note that it would be wise not to mention the crystal lady. My grandpa wouldn't like me hanging out there.
"Mmm. If you're done eating, let's go. We're running a bit late."
-
I enter my English Literature classroom just in time for the tardy bell to ring. I breathe a sigh of relief and sprint to my desk, making sure not to make eye contact with Kofi. I can feel the eyes of my fellow students on me, some whispering while others stare.
I glance around the borders of the classroom, noticing vague gray misty forms forming in some parts. I don't mind these kinds of spirits, as they're only the residual spirits of former students of this high school. They did not necessarily die young, but if a place has formed a large part of who they are, some of their soul will still be able to enter the located place. I always thought of it to be sweet, that one would go back to your roots, even after death.
"My best friend is back!"
I freeze at the sound of the voice, feeling the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. I slowly turn my head to face the spirit who seems to make it his mission to harass me. The spirit stands with a proud smirk on his face, his hair still in a curly mess while his clothes hang off of him in an unflattering manner. He reminds me of coffee beans.
"What do you want?", I turn my head and cup my hand in front of my mouth, trying to give off the effect of a yawn.
"Well, only your attention, of course. You'd be surprised how lonely it gets, not being able to talk to anyone, especially not with those sods", the spirits snorts and gestures towards the gray misty forms.
"I don't want to talk to you", I state and roll my eyes, turning my head back towards the front of the class. Mrs Cullen still hasn't arrived yet, and I wonder whether teachers also get reprimanded for being tardy.
"Too bad, Ophelia, because I have wonderful news to tell you", the spirit sighs and leans against the wall of the classroom, a stench of decomposition radiating from him. I try my best not to be rude and gag.
"What can this news be?", I ask with a sarcastic drawl, not questioning how he could even know my name. Spirits tend to eavesdrop.
"I will tell you, as soon as you promise me your undivided attention."
"You always ask for it at the most impossible times!", I raise my voice slightly, grabbing the attention of the surrounding students. I clear my throat and cough, giving them a sheepish smile. The spirit cackles and takes a step forward, bending down to meet my eyes. I feel the rise of electricity around me, with each step he takes. The air cools down and the smell of death grows strong.
The moment we make eye contact, I feel my soul leap with fear and terror. The spirit's eyes are empty and void of emotion, his irises brown and cruel with years of resentment. I hear someone behind me complain about the sudden drop in temperature, their teeth clattering.
"I am your only friend. I will meet you after school in the girls' locker room."
The spirit takes a step back, his form slowly disappearing into thin air.
"Before I forget, your mother says hi."
And then he is gone. The classroom door opens and high heels click against the linoleum floor. My mind replays the words of the spirit, trying to make sense of how does he know my mother passed on. Did he meet her? What happened?
"I am so sorry for being late, folks!", Mrs Cullen apologizes for her late entrance. The class quiets down and the focus shifts in the classroom.
"To make up for it, I graded your essays!"
The classroom erupts in a mixture of excitement and complaints. I myself am surprised, I never had a teacher release the assignment grades within the same week it was handed in.
Mrs Cullen's glow from yesterday seems to have grown and her face is even more beautiful than what I remember. Her entire being radiates so much love and affection, and one cannot but feel loved in her presence. I smile affectionately and rest my chin on the palm of my hand, wondering how I did on the essay. Not well, I'd assume. I am not good with literature and I didn't have the book to work with, only the SparkNotes I was able to download from Google.
"Alright, as usual, I will hand the essays out. If there's a pink sticker next to your grade, please meet me after class."
I roll my thumbs, nervous about the teacher's words and whether my essay would have a pink sticker on it. Mrs Cullen starts to give out the essay in alphabetical order, according to her students' surnames. She reaches 'L' and gives me a small smile, filled with understanding and encouragement. I close my eyes as I take the essay from the teacher, and sigh when I see the pink sticker next to a red-circled D. Mrs Cullen walks away, leaving me to my own devices as I stare at the grade. I know I am being silly when my eyes start to burn with frustration, but I really tried with this essay. I expected at least a B-.
It's no secret that I am not academically inclined, except for anything Math-related. I force myself to calm down because after class Mrs Cullen will talk to me. The class goes by slowly as I take notes on what our teacher expected from this essay. After our period is up, I slowly make my way towards the desk. Mrs Cullen talks to a few students, seemingly having a group discussion with them. Once, she throws back her head and laughs at what one of the students have to say.
After they exit the class, I move a little closer to her desk. Mrs Cullen turns to me, her mouth giving me that same smile that holds expectations for me.
"Ophelia! I can see something bothering you", Mrs Cullen walks closer, sitting on the front of her desk with her ankles crossed. I lazily wave the essay in the air, before crossing my arms.
"I tried with this one, but I sucked", I give a dry chuckle. Mrs Cullen purses her lips together, her eyes slowly analyzing me.
"I am sorry you feel that way. I saw your marks from your last school. Why do you keep on with this subject if you're not satisfied with the marks?", Mrs Cullen asks and folds her arms in front of her chest. I feel my skin turn red as blood rushes to my cheeks and the tip of my ears warm. I hear my teacher give a sharp intake of air, but ignore it.
"I really want to be a librarian someday. That's why I need this subject", I admit. It's stupid that I can't even analyze a Gothic novel correctly, yet want to work between books someday that is much harder to understand.
"I see", Mrs Cullen hums lowly. I notice her chest not expanding really with air, but her eyes seem to be too far away to notice that she's not breathing. Once she stares back at me, a decision seems to have been locked in behind her eyes.
"Alright! How about we push in extra classes until your grade goes up to a B?"
I feel my mouth open agape, surprised that she'd help a student in learning how to understand a book. I remember that I need to answer and nod fervently.
"I would appreciate that so much, thank you, ma'am", I thank my teacher. Mrs Cullen gives me that bright smile of hers and confirms the new arrangement with the clasp of her hands.
"Alright! I'll see you next week Tuesday after school, say around 3 to 5?"
I grin in response.
-
I enter my French class in a hurry, not wanting to be late. Mrs Tomes was not understanding at all when I tried to explain to her that my English Literature teacher kept me behind, and handed me a detention slip for tomorrow. I groaned in response, which earned me a dirty look before the Algebra teacher gestured for me to take a seat.
"Mlle Lee! Comment te sens-tu aujourd'hui?"
I jump at the sudden mention of my name, before smiling back at my French teacher.
"Je me sens plutôt bien aujourd'hui, merci", I reply and nod my head in greeting, before hurrying to my seat in the back of the classroom. The classroom starts to filter in with more students, some greeting the teacher while others joke about. I smile at the sight of my peers enjoying themselves. When others are happy, I am happy. It's contagious.
I take out my binder and a pencil, writing down today's date. A big commotion starts at the front of the classroom, and I look up to see the boy from yesterday. Today, he's dressed more warmly, with a maroon turtleneck sweater and dark jeans. His hair is tied into a small bun at the back of his head, while a few curls jump out and neatly hang around his face. I swallow loudly and feel my heartbeat starting to race. The boy frowns and glances around the classroom, before his eyes land on mine. In that split second that our eyes meet, everything stops.
The boy's eyes remind me of King Midas' riches and how it killed him at the end. His eyes remind me of the collision of stars and how we only see the after-death a million years later. They're the color the first few rays of sunlight, and how it warms your skin. His eyes are beautiful, even across this short distance between us. He flutters his eyelashes and turns towards the teacher, grinning at her and speaking to her in French, without the normal pauses one would expect of a non-native speaker.
The boy keeps his head low as he enters the classroom, and I glance around him, waiting for the spirits to arrive. They do not take the full form they did yesterday, but small whispers echo across the room. A few gray shapes form, but none of them is powerful enough to take full form.
I don't notice the boy taking the empty seat next to me until the chair scrapes against the floor. I flinch and jump in my seat, before glancing at him. He doesn't look at me, but for a moment I swear I can visibly see a muscle in his cheek jump. I turn my gaze back to my notebook, trying to focus on calming my heart and relaxing. They are not here. Just because they're following the boy, doesn't mean he's a killer.
If he was, he would've been caught a long time ago. Besides, he's like what? Seventeen? Unless he'd started to kill people while in the womb, there's no chance that those spirits could be vengeful spirits. Why are they following him, though?
I notice the boy's hands clenching and unclenching, his toes tapping against the linoleum floor tiles. Is he annoyed? We start to discuss noun use in complicated sentences, and I make sure to keep note of what's being discussed. The irritating tap of toes stops and I notice the boy making some rough notes in his notebook. His hand moves elegantly and slowly across the page, sometimes looping and other times staying still.
I force myself to focus on the work, not concentrate on a silly boy who won't help me pass this year. Instead, I notice how annoying my hair is, hanging in my neck. At first, I think it's momentarily irritating, but after a few minutes, I am starting to wonder if I should cut my hair here and now. I reach into my tote bag and pull out a large clip I always carry with me. I reach up for my hair, slightly registering the boy freezing in his seat, his body tensing for some reason. I shrug it off and twirl my hair, pinning it together with my clip. I breathe a sigh of relief and go back to my writing, not before I notice a soft 'are you kidding me?' coming from my right.
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a/n - is it obvious I don't speak a lick of French? also, double updates?? nice. ok luv u, bye