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The Scream
Anika Boyd
They say that once you have killed something, a part of yourself dies too. I wondered vaguely if and when it would happen or if I would be ready for it, as I stared out of my bedroom window waiting for Charlie to show. Then, I started to think about that. How my whole life had once revolved around waiting for Charlie and how now, for the first time, Charlie was now waiting on me. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. Part of me was a bit amused that now he was the one in nervous disarray, wondering what it was that “I” wanted, what “I” was going to do. The other part of me, shaken with nerves thought of the task ahead. My hands were starting to shake.
It reminded me of our first meeting. How full of expectation and nerves I had been, dressed in a white dress, that he would later whisper, his hand on the small of my back, how the dress reminded him of lilies and new beginnings. I remembered the way he had smiled then, at that exact moment, leaned in close enough so that I could feel his shallow breath against my ear as he whispered with an air of determination and finality, “and every beginning and end will be with me.” I remember how terrified I was then, as I am now, at how true that vow had become.
We humans are wretched, reckless things when it comes to love. And what we do in order to keep it. I fingered the pill bottle I held in my hand. The pills were so tiny. So white and pure, my mistake and my salvation so easily tucked into a plastic bottle.
But with that realization came the Scream, as if within the womb. It came as it always did, slow and steady, then wild and anguished, rising forward, creating its own pulse within me and waiting to be unlocked by tightly clenched teeth. It always came in the mornings as I was sitting down at breakfast to a bowl of Shredded Wheat; or, as I would run to the bathroom a few bites later with my breakfast climbing up my throat, it never failed to surprise. Sometimes I would endure its fury alone and at other times my mother would hold my hair back from my sweaty face while gently patting my back until I got my bearings.
I turned away from the window for a moment and watched my mother pass by my room for a third time. I knew I would not be alone in this, but I still felt loneliness. I stared back out of my window. I could see that the wind had picked up some because the leaves that had fallen from the trees were starting to rise and circle one another. The Scream was getting louder as the seconds ticked by and I clamped down on my teeth again. Be quiet you! It quieted some but I wanted it to go away. I started to put my hands over my ears, but I knew that even that would not stop it. I would only have to endure it for a little while longer and then it would silence.
I was staring so hard beyond, my eyes started to hurt. Where was Charlie? The road leading to my house lay empty and I was starting worry. Would he still come? Does he hate me? I thought about our last conversation.
It began a week ago, under a Sycamore that we had deemed ours, under a blazing sun. It was so hot that Charlie had taken off his jacket and made a blanket of it for me. We sat cross-legged with our knees barely touching in a deep silence. Charlie’s hair had flopped over his left eye as it always did and I was tempted to push it back but I hesitated, my hand suspended in the air. His face was unreadable so I stared at his hands for clues. They worked in a fast rhythm to tear out the grass in front of him. I put my hand down and tried working my mouth. I opened and closed it a few times.
“Charlie.”
I hesitated when he started to yank out the grass violently at the sound of my voice. I tried again.
“Charlie, I just… I Can’t.” he yanked even harder.
“Stupid grass,” he spat out. “Is it weird to hate grass? If it is I do.”
“I know this is hard for you, it’s hard for me too.”
“It’s everywhere, all over the place. I can’t even rip it all out.”
“But Charlie…”
Dirt and grass was starting to fly everywhere and I had to shield my face.
“Sometimes I think I can hear it Charlie, screaming at me, wanting the things I cannot give.”
His hands suddenly stopped their rampage and he stared at me finally, his face contorted in a mixture of frustration and agony.
“You know it can be beautiful too," he said. He wasn’t talking about grass anymore. “It’s a part of us. A part that’s you, and a part that’s me.”
“It won’t be the same you know. We won’t be the same,” I said.
“Maybe I don’t want to be the same! Maybe I want different! Did you ever think of that?” he was yelling now and the Scream started to become unbearable. A wave of nausea hit me and I swallowed.
“Well maybe I want it to stay the same. I want to be eighteen. I want to be with you!”
Charlie shook his head. “I don’t think I could be with someone that would…” And then he had squeezed his eyes shut blocking out the sun, blocking out me. So there it was. The thing he could never say out loud, and the one thing I couldn’t stop thinking about. <
“So that’s it then?” my voice cracked and I looked away.
“I don’t want you to do this,” he answered instead, his voice strained.
“Will you still come?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he said.
“Charlie I can’t do this without you.” I was pleading with him and I didn’t care.
He started to pull up the grass again.
“Please Charlie…”
He sighed. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll come.”
I smiled grimly. “It’s for the best. You’ll see.” I had tried to put my hand on his shoulder then, but he shrugged it off, stood up, and walked away from me. Today would be the first time we’d seen each other in a while.
I wiped away a stray tear and shifted in front of my window. The sun was slipping away and an ugly gray cloud was beginning to take its place. It would rain soon. I hoped Charlie would wear a helmet today. He was always breaking the rules, challenging fate in his way. In many ways, I think Charlie thought himself invincible. He saw life as a test of endurance. Always testing how far and fast he could go. He was perfectly happy with living life in the moment without a care. Maybe that was why he fought me so hard. You can’t see past the present living in the here, the now. I on the other hand have always been the practical one. I was the seatbelt to his wild ride. I would be that seatbelt once more even if he couldn’t see it now. I would protect us both. He’d see it after a while. He’d forgive me sooner or later.
Then I saw a flash of light in the growing darkness, taking me out of my thoughts. I could hear the roar of his motorcycle coming to a stop in front of my driveway. I watched his hunched figure straighten and as his foot reached down toward the kickstand. He moved slowly, dragging each foot forward as if it were weighted down by bricks. No helmet. I watched him all the way until he reached the door. He knocked once, hard. I looked toward my mother who I noted, had taken post on my bed.
“Will you get that?” I asked.
She nodded and left and I listened as she went down the stairs to answer the door. I waited patiently to the rise and fall of voices from below until they lifted and found me.
“She’s just in here Charlie,” my mother said. She smiled. “It’s nice to see you again.”
Charlie smiled back. “It’s nice to see you, too.”
She looked at me then. “Would you like me to stay?”
I shook my head. “No, we’ll be fine,” I assured her. I wondered then if that were true. She smiled once more, this time at the both of us, before closing the door. Charlie’s eyes left where my mother had once been and made their way toward me. He smiled sadly.
“You’re wearing the white dress I love so much.”
“And you look like you’re dressed for a funeral,” I said teasingly, trying to lighten the mood.
He looked down at his black attire and grimaced. “It kind of is,” he said, his voice catching. I thought he might start to cry so I stepped closer.
“Do you want to sit down?” I pointed to the bed. He shook his head. He looked at the pill bottle I had forgotten I was still holding and frowned at it. He didn’t see it as I did. He saw a destroyer and I saw a way out.
“So, this is it, that’s what they gave you?” he gently took it out of my hand and twisted the orange bottle around with his fingers and furrowed his brow. “I thought it would be…a lot more complicated than this…” he paused before asking, “Is it safe?”
I nodded. “Yes. Or at least that’s what the doctor said at the clinic. He said there are a lot of women who decide to take the pills instead of getting a procedure done there. This way it’s private and I won’t be alone. There’s actually another one I have to take after the first set to make sure, you know. I really don’t think it’ll hurt at all.”
He handed the orange container back to me and shifted around uncomfortably.
“How long does it take exactly? I’m only familiar with the other way.”
“It can take up to a couple of days to two weeks,” I said.
“You sure you want to do this?” he asked. “You know, you can always change your mind.”
I sighed. “Yes Charlie, I’m sure.”
“It really wouldn’t be so bad if we kept it,” he said quietly.
“Yes it would.”
“It really wouldn’t.” and then he really looked at me. “We could be a family.”
“It would ruin us,” I said.
“Or,” he said stubbornly. “It could be the best thing that ever happened to us.”
I shook my head sadly. “I can’t take that chance. I’m really sorry Charlie.”
“I don’t think it would ruin us. But if you do this…” he stared at me with a determined expression. “We will not survive this.”
“Charlie…”
He turned away. “Let’s just get this over with. I’m done talking about it.”
I wanted to say so much more, but one look at his face told me he was already barely holding it together and I didn’t want him to leave. Not yet. I stared down at the bottle and pressed the tabs together and popped it open. I could feel the Scream gaining momentum as I shook two pills out.
For the first time
sense this dreadful thing happened to me I wondered about the thing inside of
me and how it screamed. Could I really do this? I stared at Charlie’s now
unreadable face. We were at the beginning of the end. His eyes bored into mine
and I knew, as I imagined a hunter knew as his rife aligned with his mark, that
it would be so easy, so simple, to put pressure upon that trigger, to feel that
quick vibration of a bullet releasing. Yes, I thought solemnly. I could take a
life.
