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Backsliding
Nov. 27th, 2001 12:31 pmIt's hailing outside, so she shuts herself in a classroom with empty desks. Driving home, she may land in a cornfield, so she doesn't think about it. People say she runs away from her problems, but some (most) problems can't be solved.
"Are you all right?" asks a teacher, her favorite teacher. "Where have you been all semester? You're hardly alive anymore, not like last year. When I look at you, there's no one there. You're not a B student. Has someone been hurting you?"
"It's just insomnia," she says. "Sometimes I feel like I'm in sensory deprivation with all these white walls."
"You're not eating enough," says Valancy. "You look skinnier every time I see you."
"I eat all the time," she says. "I weigh in every morning to be sure of my new metabolism. My clothes still fit. You must be mistaken. Where is my jacket?"
Patrick says that he misses her when she is gone, because he is in love with her. Valancy also says that she misses her, but she is not in love with her. She doesn't miss them, although she thinks of them fondly.
It is still hailing.
"There must be a story behind your name," says D'layna, who feels there should be a story behind her hame. "I've been trying to ask you all semester." It's a family name, of course; her parents nearly named her something else. Aristotle, because they thought it would be funny. Aristotle Stott.
She has to admit it is funny.
Children have been afraid of her recently, which she doesn't understand. Afraid, but fascinated. They stare at her in airplanes and supermarkets, and they are very quiet.
"The trouble with you," Arielle says, "is that you're not compassionate."
"Think like a reader," says someone else. "You can't just write what amuses you."
Patrick wants to play chess because he knows he'll win.
The kitchen appliances are spread on the floor while the spaceman sprays for bugs. He goes through the cabinets with a tiny aspirator, movements meaty and delicate. "Can you kill spiders with poison?" asks Valancy.
"Not with solids," the spaceman says. "But I use liquid. Just a little, in the corners."
Valancy wants her to put them away, and she agrees that she should. They stay on the floor. She cannot bear to touch them. She dreads going home, but how else will she sleep?
Perhaps she should go to Patrick's.
"You love that notebook more than me," says Arielle.
Sometimes, she wonders if she is abusive to Valancy. Other times, she wonders if Valancy is abusive to her. This song has been stuck in her head for two weeks. Even her heart beats in rhythm. She has no other job for it; a 1995 survey revealed that more people in her age group believe in UFOs than think Social Security will be there when they retire.
"I'm an actor," she says. "I need an audience." Valancy hates it when she says things like this.
It may still be hailing, but who can tell? There are no windows, only whiteboards.
"Are you all right?" asks a teacher, her favorite teacher. "Where have you been all semester? You're hardly alive anymore, not like last year. When I look at you, there's no one there. You're not a B student. Has someone been hurting you?"
"It's just insomnia," she says. "Sometimes I feel like I'm in sensory deprivation with all these white walls."
"You're not eating enough," says Valancy. "You look skinnier every time I see you."
"I eat all the time," she says. "I weigh in every morning to be sure of my new metabolism. My clothes still fit. You must be mistaken. Where is my jacket?"
Patrick says that he misses her when she is gone, because he is in love with her. Valancy also says that she misses her, but she is not in love with her. She doesn't miss them, although she thinks of them fondly.
It is still hailing.
"There must be a story behind your name," says D'layna, who feels there should be a story behind her hame. "I've been trying to ask you all semester." It's a family name, of course; her parents nearly named her something else. Aristotle, because they thought it would be funny. Aristotle Stott.
She has to admit it is funny.
Children have been afraid of her recently, which she doesn't understand. Afraid, but fascinated. They stare at her in airplanes and supermarkets, and they are very quiet.
"The trouble with you," Arielle says, "is that you're not compassionate."
"Think like a reader," says someone else. "You can't just write what amuses you."
Patrick wants to play chess because he knows he'll win.
The kitchen appliances are spread on the floor while the spaceman sprays for bugs. He goes through the cabinets with a tiny aspirator, movements meaty and delicate. "Can you kill spiders with poison?" asks Valancy.
"Not with solids," the spaceman says. "But I use liquid. Just a little, in the corners."
Valancy wants her to put them away, and she agrees that she should. They stay on the floor. She cannot bear to touch them. She dreads going home, but how else will she sleep?
Perhaps she should go to Patrick's.
"You love that notebook more than me," says Arielle.
Sometimes, she wonders if she is abusive to Valancy. Other times, she wonders if Valancy is abusive to her. This song has been stuck in her head for two weeks. Even her heart beats in rhythm. She has no other job for it; a 1995 survey revealed that more people in her age group believe in UFOs than think Social Security will be there when they retire.
"I'm an actor," she says. "I need an audience." Valancy hates it when she says things like this.
It may still be hailing, but who can tell? There are no windows, only whiteboards.
