is the first time he has ever done so. Usually, he lets students pick their own partners, but he did it to save you the anxiety of finding one on your own.” This did surprise Aaron. He knew that Dr. Mayer would probably be a lot easier on him than he needed to be, but to go out of his way like that just to make one of his students feel more comfortable…. It wasn’t just the mark of a good teacher, it was kind.
“Why do you feel like you can’t do a project with another student?” his mother pressed, bringing one hand up to cup her chin as she prepared to consider his answer. He just wasn’t sure he could give her one. She wanted him to reason out his fears, to justify his panic when there was no logic to it. If he could act rationally and logically control his emotional responses in the first place, none of this would be an issue. So, rather than trying to explain the fear, he tried to describe it.
“When I think about having to spend the amount of time needed to complete this project with a stranger, to see them stare at me, to feel their judgment and their pity, I feel panicky,” he said, trying to articulate the feelings as well as he could.
“Okay, I can accept that. I cannot say that I understand, because I don’t, and I won’t patronize you by saying that I do.” It was one of the first times in his life that his mother had spoken to him like an adult. He found he appreciated it, more than he could say. It was mildly
disconcerting, though, because he was so used to her trying to placate him. “So, what if you and your partner did a majority of your work through instant messaging or texting or e-mail?”
In his head, Aaron started to protest, but since he couldn’t find a logical reason, he closed his mouth. What if all the work could be done over the computer? He could e-mail his instructor when he had a question, and that was okay. The better question was, why hadn’t he thought of it? He had been so preoccupied with the thought of having to interact with someone that it never once occurred to him that it wouldn’t have to be in person.
“I… I guess I could do that,” Aaron admitted, but his mother’s expression did not change. It didn’t brighten as he expected it to. “Are you sure that’s all you’re worried about, Aaron?”
“What do you mean?” Aaron asked, mildly confused. What else would it be?
“Now, you can certainly tell me I’m wrong, and maybe I am. I’m wondering if there’s another reason you don’t want to work with someone, why you avoid people in general. Your best friend was murdered, and I’m wondering that you think maybe if you let yourself get too close, too invested….”
Aaron stood up abruptly and left the room. He was afraid of what he might say if he opened his mouth. He was afraid of what he might feel, what he might relive if he allowed his mind to go there.
Making sure his mother hadn’t followed, he stopped briefly at his parents’ medicine cabinet to grab one of his anxiety pills. After a moment of thought, he changed his mind and took one of the tranquilizers instead before going into his bedroom. His mother would not let him keep the medication in his room for fear he would kill himself with it. Downing the pill with the soda, he set the can on his desk and then threw himself onto his bed. Aaron lay on his stomach, his face buried in his pillow as he tried not to think about Juliette. Even now, he couldn’t remember the good times with her without hearing her scream.
What he couldn’t admit, not even to his mother or to any of the dozen shrinks, was that when he thought about Juliette, when he heard her screaming in his head, it also brought back everything they had done to
Aaron
him as well. It made him feel selfish to focus on his own trauma when he had survived and she hadn’t. He should be cherishing his second chance at life and not squandering it, locked away and not really living.
These were the last thoughts he had
“Why do you feel like you can’t do a project with another student?” his mother pressed, bringing one hand up to cup her chin as she prepared to consider his answer. He just wasn’t sure he could give her one. She wanted him to reason out his fears, to justify his panic when there was no logic to it. If he could act rationally and logically control his emotional responses in the first place, none of this would be an issue. So, rather than trying to explain the fear, he tried to describe it.
“When I think about having to spend the amount of time needed to complete this project with a stranger, to see them stare at me, to feel their judgment and their pity, I feel panicky,” he said, trying to articulate the feelings as well as he could.
“Okay, I can accept that. I cannot say that I understand, because I don’t, and I won’t patronize you by saying that I do.” It was one of the first times in his life that his mother had spoken to him like an adult. He found he appreciated it, more than he could say. It was mildly
disconcerting, though, because he was so used to her trying to placate him. “So, what if you and your partner did a majority of your work through instant messaging or texting or e-mail?”
In his head, Aaron started to protest, but since he couldn’t find a logical reason, he closed his mouth. What if all the work could be done over the computer? He could e-mail his instructor when he had a question, and that was okay. The better question was, why hadn’t he thought of it? He had been so preoccupied with the thought of having to interact with someone that it never once occurred to him that it wouldn’t have to be in person.
“I… I guess I could do that,” Aaron admitted, but his mother’s expression did not change. It didn’t brighten as he expected it to. “Are you sure that’s all you’re worried about, Aaron?”
“What do you mean?” Aaron asked, mildly confused. What else would it be?
“Now, you can certainly tell me I’m wrong, and maybe I am. I’m wondering if there’s another reason you don’t want to work with someone, why you avoid people in general. Your best friend was murdered, and I’m wondering that you think maybe if you let yourself get too close, too invested….”
Aaron stood up abruptly and left the room. He was afraid of what he might say if he opened his mouth. He was afraid of what he might feel, what he might relive if he allowed his mind to go there.
Making sure his mother hadn’t followed, he stopped briefly at his parents’ medicine cabinet to grab one of his anxiety pills. After a moment of thought, he changed his mind and took one of the tranquilizers instead before going into his bedroom. His mother would not let him keep the medication in his room for fear he would kill himself with it. Downing the pill with the soda, he set the can on his desk and then threw himself onto his bed. Aaron lay on his stomach, his face buried in his pillow as he tried not to think about Juliette. Even now, he couldn’t remember the good times with her without hearing her scream.
What he couldn’t admit, not even to his mother or to any of the dozen shrinks, was that when he thought about Juliette, when he heard her screaming in his head, it also brought back everything they had done to
Aaron
him as well. It made him feel selfish to focus on his own trauma when he had survived and she hadn’t. He should be cherishing his second chance at life and not squandering it, locked away and not really living.
These were the last thoughts he had
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