The Choice: Part 2

The Choice
Part 2

I was weird kid, growing up. I don't know, maybe everyone is, but everyone else sure had a time of pointing out my strangeness in particular. You know how in those movies about childhood, there's the group of kids who are bullied around, but overcome it because of their friendship? Well, I was that group. I had a few friends, but almost all of them took part in the ridicule. I had to untangle my mixed emotions by myself, and I guess it was a sign of things to come.
It's not like in the movies.
I did have one friend though, I haven't talked to him since we were in school then, he had this thing about lying in the most insane sort of ways. He once said he had a labyrinth in his basement filled with giant metal spiders, and when I came over to see he said he'd torn it down, and all that was left were those little cardboard bricks you get at dollar stores. Well, he invented a new story like that every couple of months, and I guess it was sometime during my last year there that he said something about being a werewolf. I don't know if I'll ever be able to say definitively why this captured my interest so much, except that it's the opinion of some people that you can be born in the wrong place. In any case, I learned everything I could from him, stuff about a massive organization of werewolves who funded shitty movies about themselves in order to fuel common misunderstanding, and who ran the governments worldwide. What you had to do to get in was prove your trade and, eventually, be submerged in a pool of blood and bodies and drink yourself out, or die.
As you can imagine, this all turned out to be bullshit. Being eleven at the time, however, I didn't care so much. I was just interested in the subject matter. For the next three years, I spent my free time watching old horror movies, learning the ins and outs of Hollywood lycanthropy. I actually used that word back then, because I didn't understand its origins.
My interest -my obsession, I suppose- was part of what I later coined as terminal escapism. I guess as a child my parents promised me the sky, and I was dumb enough to believe them. When the world started to disappoint me, I found cultural niches into which I inserted myself to the extent that I would have rather died than be shown reality.
So, I moved across the country at the end of elementary school, and spent those same three years being about as nomadic as any family can be. Eventually we settled, just in time for high school.
Well, here I was, a fourteen year old kid obsessed with mythical creatures and possessing of about as many social skills as a rock. I did, however, have something of an innate understanding of people, probably because I spent so much of my time watching them, when I wasn't at home watching movies or reading. So, I went to school to learn; I didn't want to be involved with people, socially speaking, but I did watch them. I wanted to learn how people worked, to explain why they were all so different from me. As if I weren't already awkward enough, I decided to make every person around me an animal in a zoo that I was somehow outside of. I was the one studying them. I was the one in control.
Then I met Caroline.
It was about two months into my Freshman year and I was as miserable as I could get. I had begun to consider suicide, but in that stupid teenage way where you only think about doing it because you don't want to. Well, I saw her in my Biology class, drawing in a sketchbook while the teacher was giving a lecture, and I was immediately taken. Every few moments I would peer at her over my notes, checking to see that the spark was still there, and in contrast to my expectations it seemed to grow each time I looked. Every detail about her seemed different from those around me. Hair down her back, myriad bracelets on either wrist, and a necklace of the crescent moon.
And she drew pictures of wolves. Every day I made the effort to sit closer to her, to see what she was drawing when I passed by. My curiosity piqued at the sight of them, and I had a feeling in my gut. The easiest word would be butterflies, but it was more than that. Excited nervousness. The potential at having someone who shared my potentially unhealthy obsession with the nonexistent, who could help fuel my escapism for a little longer than it might sustain on its own.
For almost a month I played this game, watching her, seeing what classes she went to, listening to what little she ever said in class. She never answered a question and never spoke up. Whenever the teacher called on her, she gave the answer in a lilting voice that seemed both majestic and mysterious. I wanted to know everything about her, but the more I considered what I might say, the less likely it seemed she would tell me what I wanted to hear.
It happened one day that I'd finally gotten to sit next to her. I spent most of the hour thinking what to say, and not saying anything, as she just drew. I resolved myself to ask her one question, to break the ice. The hard part was figuring out which one.
It seemed like a good idea to ask her simple things, like hey, what's your name, or hi, what are you drawing? Or I could have said, I like what you're drawing, or you have nice hands, or your necklace makes your eyes glow like the moon. Something, anything to get the fires kindling.
I could have said anything simple, or mundane, or flirtatious. Instead, I asked her, “Are you a werewolf?”
The sentence ended before I could stop myself from saying it, and as soon as it was done I knew I'd made a fool of myself. Immediately, I added on, “I mean, do you -are you- into werewolves? Er, are you...”
I trailed off as I saw the look of shock and surprise on her face. The fear and the curiosity mingling. I realized very quickly that I'd hit the nail on the head, and that was almost worse than being an ass. Because now, holy crap. A werewolf? No way. Impossible.
We stared at each other for a long time before class ended, and she just walked away. I wanted to say more, I wanted to follow her to her class and apologize or ask for an explanation, or something... instead, I let her go. I didn't want to cause her or myself any more problems than I already had.
So, I went home that day not knowing what to think. Was she a werewolf? Was she playing along? Was I just an idiot seeing what I wanted to see? I wrote it all out in a journal, and the only conclusion I could come to was that I wanted to know more about her. Whether she was or wasn't, her reaction meant something. We shared a common ground that was about as unlikely as they could get, and I felt that an opportunity was approaching.
With the amount of time that has passed between then and now, I have learned that what I had at the time was a crush, I didn't let myself think that at the time, of course, because the last thing I wanted was to seem sexist. But, god, she was cute.
So, the next day came, and she didn't show up to class. I thought maybe she'd skipped town, or was waiting outside with a cadre of other werewolves to do me in for having figured out their secret. Or maybe she was just home sick. They all seemed like viable options.
Well, twenty minutes into class she showed up, and she came right to the seat next to me and, without saying a word, pulled out her sketchbook and opened it to a blank page. She scrawled something at the top, set the pencil down on the paper, and slid the pad in front of me.
It read: Who are you?
I looked at her, and her eyes were so staring so intently at me it was honestly a bit scary. My heart was racing and I was beyond excited. This was just like a scene from a movie or something. And it was a chance to talk to her! To exchange thoughts!
Of course, I had no idea what to put down. My name? Should I describe my whole life's story, the way I came about my obsession? That seemed to be the only way to do it justice.
Instead, I wrote: Just someone with a curiosity.
She squinted one eye and shook her head, as if to say, What the hell does that mean? She grabbed the pad and wrote: How did you know?
I thought for a moment, then put: Lucky guess?
This time she looked at me more like a person, as though her initial assessment had been thrown for a loop. She wrote: Are you one, too?
I bounced the eraser off my lip for a few moments. I considered lying, but it seemed to me she should be able to tell, through scent or some other so-called superpower. If, at least, she was a werewolf.
I wrote: If I was, would you need to ask?
Another puzzled facial expression as she read that, and then with more care she replied with: How do you know so much?
I thought about it.
I wrote: I watch a lot of movies.
At this point, the bell rang, and impulsively she started to put her things away. She stood up and started to walk out, then turned and looked at me and said,
“You and I need to talk. Out loud. Where no one else can hear us.”
“I, um... the ROTC field is abandoned during lunch.”
She nodded. “Then I'll see you there.”
She walked out, and I watched her go, and I felt more alive than I'd ever been in my entire life.
I spent the next four hours thinking about her, plotting out how our conversation would go, trying to imagine every possible contingency. She could be drawing me out there as part of a trap. It got to the point that I was so over-exposed to the thought of her that I almost didn't go just because I was afraid of being let down. I wanted something interesting to happen. I didn't want to be disappointed.
My life had been a series of non-events to that point, during which I watched other people's lives unfold as mine only curled tighter. It seemed I was an extra in the background, someone whose face the audience might see for a split second before returning their glimpse to the star. I wanted to be the focus, for once I wanted to be the main character. And the best part was, I felt guilty about it. I felt guilty for thinking I should have more than what I already did.
I always was a giant bundle of issues, and I can't say that much has changed. I'd say the only difference is I've gotten better at dealing with them. Or hiding them. I never really learned the difference.
So after driving myself mad and almost psyching myself out over talking to Caroline, I took a breath and decided to go to the ROTC field anyway. This was the first instance where I demonstrated to myself the possibility that I might actually have a spine.
I waited there for almost ten minutes before she showed up, blue jean bag slung over her shoulder. I always admired her bag. It looked like she could have made it herself, and even if she hadn't she'd drawn enough stuff on it for it to be unrecognizable. She wore a skirt that went down to her ankles, and billowed in the wind. I hid myself in a tree as she approached, trying to make sure she didn't have anyone following her.
As soon as she stepped into the circle of trees and tires, she set down her bag and said, “Get out of that tree, you look like an ass.”
In my surprise and embarrassment, I tried to hurry down, only to lose my grip and fall to the ground. She looked at me and shook her head.
“Okay, so you're definitely not a werewolf,” she said, marching up to me, “and you don't seem like anything else, so I want to know what the hell your deal is.”
As I sat up I said, “Anything else? What, like vampires, or faeries, or...” She glowered at me, and I bit my lip. “Okay, yeah, no, it's like I said -wrote, I mean, it was just a lucky guess.”
“What do you mean a lucky guess? What the-” She grabbed her head and then pointed at me. “You have no idea the lengths I've gone to trying to keep this a secret, and you're going to tell me you just... you just looked at me and guessed? I mean, what kind of a freak are you that that would even... compute as a logical situation?”
I rubbed my arms. “I was right, wasn't I?”
“It doesn't matter that you were right, that's not something you just say to a girl you've never met before!”
“Well, yeah, but... I was right, wasn't I?”
She gaped at me, then sighed. “Yeah.”
She paced for a while, and we didn't say anything for an uncomfortably long time.
Eventually, I said, “So, now what? Are you going to, uh, kill me, or something?”
She looked at me like I was a madman.
“What? Kill you? Yeah, that's what I'm going to do, on school grounds no less. How would that make any sense at all?”
“Well, it's just, in the movies-”
“It's not like in the movies, okay? This is the real world. I mean, this is exactly why I don't tell anyone, because idiots like you are raised on stereotypes.”
“The real world, but you're a werewolf.”
“And?”
“And werewolves don't exist in the real world. They're scientifically impossible.”
“And yet, here I stand.”
“Well, yeah, but you could be lying.”
“Lying? You're the one who asked me the stupid question in the first place! What reason could I possibly have to say yes to that? To fuel some BS teenage drama? That is the last thing I need.”
“I'm sorry,” I said. “I didn't mean it like that. This is just, uh...new for me.”
She laughed. “What, talking to werewolves?”
I coughed. “Well, that, but really just, uh, talking to girls.”
Caroline looked at me for a moment and smiled despite herself, shaking her head.
“Who the hell are you, anyway?”
I shrugged and told her my name.
She took out her phone and checked the time. “Crap, I have to go. Well, uh... don't tell anyone, okay?”
She turned and started to walk away, and I hovered for a few moments, unsure of what to do. I called after her, and she turned. “What?” she asked.
“This is kind of really awkward -for both of us, I mean, obviously, but... I would really like to talk to you some more. I mean, like, get to know you.”
She shook her head. “Why?”
I shrugged. “You're an interesting person. And I...” I trailed off, not wanting to sound like more of a jackass than I already did.
Impatient, she said, “What is it?”
“I just, I don't believe things don't happen for a reason, you know? I mean like... I don't think us having this conversation is something that's going to be followed by us just never seeing each other again. Like, um...”
“You mean destiny?”
I bit my lip again. “I wasn't going to lay it on that thick, but-”
“But that's what you're saying, right? That you and me, us, having this conversation, that's destiny?”
“I...yeah, I guess.”
She shook her head -what seemed to be her reaction to everything- and said, “You are a weird kid.”
“Do you disagree?”
At this she gave pause, and I realized that, for the first time since I talked to her, she was actually looking at me -not just point her eyes at me but actually seeing me, measuring my presence as a person of any sort of value.
She said, “I'll get back to you on that,” and started walking away again.
I called after her, “Is that a yes?”
She responded only, “Maybe.”