idea. I pushed you to take it, and you accepted because you felt it would have made me happy..”
“That’s ridiculous, Sophia!”
“Is it, Tony? Is it really? And do you remember that day? Do you remember how I froze up and watched him kill dad without helping him..”
“You were scared!”
“I just stood there! I just stood there and watched! I should have done something..” Mom’s arms are now around me, holding me tight, stopping me from lashing out at myself with my nails. Her tight hold, along with Tony’s who throws his arms around both of us, immobilise my movements.
“It wasn’t your fault..”
“I’m sorry,” I call repeatedly. “I’m so sorry.”
I can hear them talking about me downstairs. I don’t hear what they are saying exactly, or maybe its just my paranoia, but I hear the whispering. I hate myself even more after that freakout at Dr. Young’s office, for now they are worried about me.
I wanted to apologise, not worry them. An apology would never bring dad back, but I want to tell them that I’d never willingly do it. It was something greater than me, a set of actions set to motion that was beyond me. I couldn’t stop it for I had no idea that there was something to stop. The freezing of my muscles as I watched dad die was beyond me. I remember that moment so vividly, as though it were yesterday. It is my clearest of memories. I doubt I’ll ever forget it. I stood there, screamed at the top of my voice for my muscles to move, but they never did. It was beyond me even before it began. I couldn’t fight it if I tried. I lost this war even before I was born.
He comes to me again tonight, as he has done for each night ever since the party. He lies on his usual spot, the small space on the left end of my bed, lies on his side and watches me.
“I couldn’t stop him from dying,” I say quietly. Resigned.
“No, you couldn’t,” he whispers back. “It was my fault for calling you...”
“Yes,” I tell him. “You are just as much to blame as I am.”
“I had no idea the unfortunate incidents I’d set to motion by calling you. I shouldn’t have..” I laugh mirthlessly, making him stop his apology. He looks at me bemused.
“Trust me, I’ve been down that road. I know what you’ll say, and for some reason or another, I believe that you’d never wish to harm me or my family in anyway..”
“I wouldn’t,” he says quietly.
“And that’s why I know to believe you when you say you’re sorry.”
“Oh Sophia! I’m so glad..”
“Let’s not talk. Please. Just lie here with me.”
And that’s what he does. He lies there quietly by my side, and though it takes about five hours for my sleep deprived eyelids to finally slide shut, he never once leaves. He never once speaks.
Chapter 14
It’s been a quiet set of days, for me at least. I’ve kept up a steady routine- school, cheerleading practice, home, quiet nights spent with Gauthier lying by my side, and weekend games.
On my free afternoons, I spend them in the garage, where I have set up dad’s music room exactly as it had looked back in Hamilton. His guitar and records’ collection run along the walls. His acoustic guitar that he often played on hangs on the front wall, and standing on the floor below it is the keyboard he’d at times play. I spend my time here learning his songs, playing his acoustic guitar, singing to myself. I find that playing his songs reduces my guilt. It is a form of atonement, my way of telling him that I am very sorry, but that his legacy still lives on through me. I am not a great guitarist, neither am I a great vocalist, but I am good enough to not do too much damage to his songs.
Most of those afternoons, mom is at work and Tony is out with his friends. When they are home, they come to the garage and listen, smiles on their faces. I can tell that it makes them feel good too to hear dad’s old songs. But when they are out, Gauthier is my audience. He rarely ever says
“That’s ridiculous, Sophia!”
“Is it, Tony? Is it really? And do you remember that day? Do you remember how I froze up and watched him kill dad without helping him..”
“You were scared!”
“I just stood there! I just stood there and watched! I should have done something..” Mom’s arms are now around me, holding me tight, stopping me from lashing out at myself with my nails. Her tight hold, along with Tony’s who throws his arms around both of us, immobilise my movements.
“It wasn’t your fault..”
“I’m sorry,” I call repeatedly. “I’m so sorry.”
I can hear them talking about me downstairs. I don’t hear what they are saying exactly, or maybe its just my paranoia, but I hear the whispering. I hate myself even more after that freakout at Dr. Young’s office, for now they are worried about me.
I wanted to apologise, not worry them. An apology would never bring dad back, but I want to tell them that I’d never willingly do it. It was something greater than me, a set of actions set to motion that was beyond me. I couldn’t stop it for I had no idea that there was something to stop. The freezing of my muscles as I watched dad die was beyond me. I remember that moment so vividly, as though it were yesterday. It is my clearest of memories. I doubt I’ll ever forget it. I stood there, screamed at the top of my voice for my muscles to move, but they never did. It was beyond me even before it began. I couldn’t fight it if I tried. I lost this war even before I was born.
He comes to me again tonight, as he has done for each night ever since the party. He lies on his usual spot, the small space on the left end of my bed, lies on his side and watches me.
“I couldn’t stop him from dying,” I say quietly. Resigned.
“No, you couldn’t,” he whispers back. “It was my fault for calling you...”
“Yes,” I tell him. “You are just as much to blame as I am.”
“I had no idea the unfortunate incidents I’d set to motion by calling you. I shouldn’t have..” I laugh mirthlessly, making him stop his apology. He looks at me bemused.
“Trust me, I’ve been down that road. I know what you’ll say, and for some reason or another, I believe that you’d never wish to harm me or my family in anyway..”
“I wouldn’t,” he says quietly.
“And that’s why I know to believe you when you say you’re sorry.”
“Oh Sophia! I’m so glad..”
“Let’s not talk. Please. Just lie here with me.”
And that’s what he does. He lies there quietly by my side, and though it takes about five hours for my sleep deprived eyelids to finally slide shut, he never once leaves. He never once speaks.
Chapter 14
It’s been a quiet set of days, for me at least. I’ve kept up a steady routine- school, cheerleading practice, home, quiet nights spent with Gauthier lying by my side, and weekend games.
On my free afternoons, I spend them in the garage, where I have set up dad’s music room exactly as it had looked back in Hamilton. His guitar and records’ collection run along the walls. His acoustic guitar that he often played on hangs on the front wall, and standing on the floor below it is the keyboard he’d at times play. I spend my time here learning his songs, playing his acoustic guitar, singing to myself. I find that playing his songs reduces my guilt. It is a form of atonement, my way of telling him that I am very sorry, but that his legacy still lives on through me. I am not a great guitarist, neither am I a great vocalist, but I am good enough to not do too much damage to his songs.
Most of those afternoons, mom is at work and Tony is out with his friends. When they are home, they come to the garage and listen, smiles on their faces. I can tell that it makes them feel good too to hear dad’s old songs. But when they are out, Gauthier is my audience. He rarely ever says
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