The Real World

 

 

I am Liana. You probably hate your past, but me, even more so. We can’t reverse the past, yet ever so many times I have tried. I can’t forget what’s happened, but I’m learning to move on. The scar is an ever present reminder of my past mistakes, but I’ve learned from them. While in my circumstance, how could you not? I was a giddy seventeen-year old, and what could I say? But without any further ado, I shall relay my story.

It was a hazy, hot summer evening, about the middle of August. The sun still hung in the sky, pouring its last bit of light on the world. The trees’ brilliant green shone around like emeralds, and it seemed that our little bit of Earth wanted to hang onto summer forever. The oppressive heat of the earlier day was departing, and tender warmth was left, the kind that makes you want to lie on the sweet grass, full of dew, and gaze at the stars, and wonder at the world about you. But unfortunately, that’s not was I was doing that night.

I had picked up some friends for a movie: my best friend Shay, her older brother Kevin, who was my boyfriend, and Shay’s boyfriend, Kyle. As we rode home, Shay was in the backseat with her brother. They were “fighting” the way brothers and sisters do, and their antics were beginning to irk me. Kyle rode beside me, in the passenger seat, and we kept up friendly conversation as I was driving him back to his house, which was in the hills, in the outskirts of town.

“This weather we’re having,” I said, “I wouldn’t mind if it were like this all year long.”

“I know,” Kyle agreed, “This is such fun. We have no school, no work to bog down our minds. All we have is the sun, the theater, and the lake. I love it. I’ve been making some money lifeguarding, and I’m going to take Shay to that really nice restaurant in Latham. She’ll love it.” He smiled, his white teeth standing out against his skin, tan from lifeguarding in the sun by the lake.

“Gee, I wish my boyfriend were so considerate. He’s been working, but he’s saving up for college. It was something about the “real world” or other,” I said wishfully.

“The real world’s coming up quick, however you look at it,” Kyle said, a hint of sadness in his voice. “We’re not children any longer. We can’t depend on our parents. We graduate in a year, and the real world comes in by default, whether we like it or not.” There was no laughing in his voice now.

“Well,” I said, trying to ease the tension, ”I suppose that…” Just then I was cut off by the ringing of my cell phone. I picked it up, steering around a sharp turn in the road. “Oh, it’s Sarah! She texted me. She wants to meet tomorrow to go to the mall, all of us,” I said, peering in my rearview mirror at Kyle and Shay, who were still “fighting” and “punching” each other. I glanced at the road, then back at my cell phone screen. “Oooh, and she’s treating us to lunch!” Just then, the road turned sharply. And the next few moments were a blur.

The road before us was steep and curved, and a house was perched at the base of the hill. Still busy looking at my phone, I didn’t see the last curve in the road, and I failed to steer into it. All I remember was that , and then I was outside my car, on the lawn of the owners of the house, curled up in the fetal position, groaning and crying and swearing and throwing up. All because when I came to, there was an ambulance, and a dead man, and a smoking tractor, and a dented car on the side of the road. Kyle and Shay were severely wounded, and Kevin was dead. And so was the man on the tractor. And for a moment, I thought I was too.

I had a severe laceration on my leg, which was bleeding profusely. Blood streamed down my legs, onto the well kempt grass. I didn’t care. I still lay there, crying and groaning and hating myself. I am the epitome of a failure, I repeatedly told myself. And then came the officers, the medics.  All I could believe was that it was a dream, that it was all in my head, that it would all work out, that this was a nightmare that I could wake up from and forget about.  But, no, it was all too real, and the searing pain in my leg confirmed that, as did the dead man on the side of the road. I stood up, leaned over, and threw up again. More emergency responders arrived at the scene. I was wracked with remorse, eaten by guilt. There was nothing I could do to reverse this. They were dead.

I was numb the rest of the night, and I wondered if I could live through tomorrow. My leg was sewn up, the blood washed away, and I was exhausted. The family of the man on the tractor, whose name was Anthony Graceton, was arriving and leaving, all staring and pointing at me. A young man, about two or three years older than me, tears streaking unashamedly down his face, turned to me, and gave me a look. I shall never forget this look as long as I live. It was a look of terror, of remorse, of pain, of sorrow, of something that lives deep within us all, but rarely is seen by others. All was chaos.

I was carted off to the hospital for stitches and an overall health checkup to ensure that everything else was functioning properly. Shay and Kyle were in critical condition, and had already been taken by Medevac to a hospital thirty miles away. I was taken home, where I was bugged by angry questions and pointing fingers. I didn’t feel anything. I was numb. My license had been revoked, also.

In my dreams that night, I saw the car, careening out of control. I saw the man, the poor, innocent farmer, riding upon his tractor. And I saw myself. A foolish, giddy seventeen year old, laughing and texting and putting off the “real world”. And I saw what I really was. I saw the impact, car to tractor, and the crumpled, broken body of the dead man on the ground. I saw my friends, one dead, and the others near death, on the ground. I saw my parents’ car, mangled and ruined. I saw myself as a failure.

And so began the next few years of my life. I became a recluse. I blamed myself for everything, for in reality, it had all been my fault. I am a murderer. I am a coward. I am a failure. That was all that I could think of in those next two years. Bleak was the most exciting way to describe my life. My friends deserted me, and my senior year of high school, supposedly a joyous time, was filled with heartache and remorse. I began to cut myself, masking the interior pain by blood. My arms were scarred, my eyes were red, and I was, to say little, a mess. My parents were alarmed, and tried to break through to me, but I was untouchable. I was living in my own little world, where the “real world” couldn’t touch me. Or perhaps the real world had become too real. I honestly don’t know.

Finally, I could no longer take it. I gave up. It was winter, a year and a half since the dreadful event, and I could no longer take it. I had gone off to college, for what, I didn’t know, nor did I care. I just needed to get out of that town, away from the people who were so quick to judge. So, I decided to end it all. On a cold, December night, just before Christmas, I ran in the biting, frigid cold, to a bridge. It was situated off of campus, and had been the site of several suicides before. I shall spare the details of the events that followed, but obviously all attempts failed because I am still alive to tell my story.

Just when I thought that all hope was lost, I met Felix. He was like no one I had ever met before, always jovial, forever optimistic, and incredibly slow to judge. I greatly envied these desirable characteristics, and wondered however could he be this way in this world of pain and suffering? I met him on a chilly night, about two weeks after I had attempted suicide. He was in the library, just coming out, and I was walking to Calculus. I usually walked with my head down, eyes on the ground, wishing to be invisible, and often the result of that was bumping into people. Often I had been told that I was pretty, but lately, my hair was limp, my eyes void of makeup, and my smile vanished. Anyhow, I was walking in my usual manner, with downcast eyes, passing the library, when suddenly the door opened and a young man, with arms filled with books, collided with me.

“I… I’m sorry,” I heard myself stammer.

I was more than surprised when he offered a cheery, “Oh, it’s fine.”

As I helped him recover his scattered books, I mustered up the courage to shyly ask, “So, um, what is your major?”

“Chemistry, and I love it!” he replied exuberantly. “And you?” he queried.

“Accounting, and I hate it. I’m just trying to get out of my house, and my town.” By this time, his books were back in his arms, and in the warm light pouring out of the library’s glass doors, I saw him. I had finally lifted my eyes from their usual resting place on the ground. My first thought was that he looked rather nerdy, but then I got to thinking that he was actually rather handsome.

“Do you want some coffee?” he inquired.

“I actually have to get to Calculus, but um, maybe some other time?” I said rather hopefully, but cautiously.

“Yeah, sounds great. How about tomorrow afternoon?”

“Sure. So, it’s a plan?”

“It’s a plan,” he said, smiling, his face bright in the darkness of the evening.

I walked away wondering what had just transpired. I chided myself for allowing to be pulled out of my bubble, for becoming more than a recluse, for beginning a social life. What was I doing? I asked myself as I walked in the frigid cold to Calculus. During the whole class, the teacher droned on and on about the limit of a line, and I stared into space, thinking about Felix. I hadn’t caught his last name when he introduced himself, but even in the dark, he looked strangely familiar. I wondered about him. Then the class was over, and the teacher was handing us some horrible homework that I had no clue on how to complete, due to the fact that I hadn’t been listening. The thing about Felix that was so intriguing was that even in our short conversation, he was so optimistic, so cheerful.

I trudged slowly back to my dorm. My roommate was sitting in bed, texting. I think that she perceived me as strange, and quiet, and introverted, and she had no idea of the former events that had transpired before now in my life. I don’t think that she took college seriously, or even life for that matter, but then again, neither did I. She smiled at me when I entered the room, out of common courtesy, not because we were friends. I smiled back, for the first time ever. It felt different, like something inside bubbling up and coming out in the form of a smile. She gave me an interested look, and then turned her attention back to her phone screen.

That night, I fell asleep thinking about the next afternoon.

 

 

 

 

 

The next morning, I dressed excitedly in anticipation of the coming coffee date. I was nervous, and fidgeted all day throughout all of my classes. It was all that I could think about, and my poor teachers’ patience was greatly tried. Finally, it was three o’clock, the time we had set to meet at the college coffee shop.

“Hello,” Felix greeted me as I entered.

“Hello, how are you?” I said in return to his greeting.

“Fine. Beautiful weather we’re having, isn’t it? The sun hasn’t shone so brightly in weeks!” he said enthusiastically.

“I don’t know. I usually tend to say that I prefer warmer weather, but the way you put it, the sun and all, I guess it is really beautiful for being so cold.”

“Would you like a muffin and some coffee?” he asked considerately after we were seated at a cozy and small table in the corner of the café.

“Um, I guess that would be nice,” I replied. We approached the counter and selected what we wanted. He stood at the register, ready to pay, and the cashier asked for his name and student ID.

“Felix Graceton, and my number is 197385.” Suddenly, it hit me. I knew who he was. I was sick to my stomach. Time seemed to slow down, and my past came back to torture me. He is the young Graceton who looked at me the night I hit Anthony Graceton on the tractor. Graceton. They must be related. I wasn’t sure I wanted to see him anymore. I have to get out of this situation before he asks for my full name. I felt as if I were trapped, and I gasped for air.

“Thank you, and are you paying for the nice young lady here,” she asked, motioning to me, “or will she be paying for herself?” Both seemed not to notice my situation. I had to think quickly and get out of this.

Yet, when we arrived back at our table, he surprised me greatly by saying, “Yes, I am a Graceton. I am his younger brother.” Upon his admittance of the fact, I burst into tears. The pressure that had been building finally burst the dam of my tears. I cried, sobbing in a way I hadn’t sobbed since the night of the accident. It may be called involuntary manslaughter, but I felt as guilty as if had been voluntary. He knew who I was. Finally, he placed his arm on my shoulder and said, “Liana, we all make mistakes. It’s in our past. I made the mistake of driving under the influence while in high school. It was shortly after my brother was killed. I severely wounded two people in the car, and killed the other. Do you think that your situation is entirely unique?”

I was very surprised, but managed to whimper, “No.”

He smiled and said, “I was the one that looked at you as you lay upon that lawn, crying and groaning and swearing. Little did I know that I would be in the same situation two months afterwards.” He smiled a sad smile. “Do you feel better now? I know who you are.” What he said next completely took my breath away. “We want reconciliation,” he said simply.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” I stammered.

“I want you to meet my family. They will accept you with open arms. It is much easier to forgive and reconcile when you have been in the same situation.”

I was more than at a loss for words, but somehow I managed to stutter, “I… You mean that they are willing to completely forget and move on?” The idea in itself was almost too much to think about.

“Yes,” Felix said. There were no words left. Nothing I could say would have been appropriate for that moment.

That was the moment that I began to move on. I may have only been nineteen, but that was the turning point. That was the pivotal moment where moving on was a necessity, not just an option. My fragile self could not have survived much longer under the strain and stress to which I subjected myself.

“So, when can you come, and meet my family?”

“Um, this weekend?” I said questioningly.

“Sure.” Little else was said. We arranged for him to pick me up on Saturday, exchanged farewells, and with that, we parted.

 

 

 

 

Finally, Saturday arrived. The sun shone brightly, and in my imagination I saw it completely melting the snow. Unfortunately, though, it was only my imagination. Felix arrived, and I silently clambered into his car, anxious yet decidedly excited. His home was only about an hour and a half from the college, and we spoke little on the way. The revelation that had came to me during the week that reconciliation was possible was nearly too much to think about. It was liberating to think that I would no longer have to live under the constant nagging of my past.

Felix’s home was large, roomy, and absolutely beautiful. His parents were excited to meet his new “girlfriend” even though they had no idea who I was anyway. I wasn’t his girlfriend; we were just friends, or at least that is what I told myself. As we pulled into his driveway, his parents were standing at the large picture window in the front of the house, waving frantically, and smiling cheesy grins. I had all that I could do to not laugh out loud.

“Hello,” Felix’s parents greeted us with smiles as we entered. “And just who is this gorgeous young lady?” Felix’s father asked. We were suddenly peppered with questions.

“Her name is Liana Williams,” Felix said.

His parents’ faces turned white, and they smiled a crooked, cold smile. My bottom lip quivered, and tears began to form in my eyes. Their eyes widened as the realization of who I was hit them. Mrs. Graceton sat down and began to cry.

Then she said, “You, we’ve wanted to meet you. To tell you – all’s been forgiven.” Her tears flowed down her cheeks and onto the flowered chiffon shirt that she wore. Her husband nodded in ascent. Never had I felt more whole.

Suddenly, there was a flurry of excitement, and suddenly I felt like I was the center of attention. They asked me to call my parents, who came later in the day. I shall never forget that day. The day I realized that it was time to come out of my shell, the day that I found out that not everyone pointed fingers, and that some people made the hard choice to forgive, even if it cost them something that was very dear to them. It was a celebration of reconciliation. Now, this is the real world.

Later in the day, Felix and I walked through the Gracetons' garden. The snow was melting, and the daffodils were just beginning to peek up through the layer of white fluff above them. Felix was quiet, and his manner greatly contrasted with that of his usual countenance.

We walked along silently for a while, until he broke the silence, saying, “You… Do you feel better?”

“Yes,” I replied. “A great burden has been lifted off of my shoulders.”

“Well, I was wondering…” It was so unlike him to stammer and be unsure of himself that I became exceedingly curious about what was on his mind. “Would you like to see a movie on Thursday night?”

“Sure, that sounds awesome.” I felt a bit unsure of myself, also, to be honest, but I’d play along.

“Great.”

“Is that all?”

He smiled and said, “No, we can do it again, if you’d like.”

I smiled back. Again, no words were necessary.

 

 

 

So, that is my story. It almost sounds like a fairy tale to me, because of the way it all ended. And yes, we did go to a movie on Thursday night, and then we went again, and again, and so on. And then he asked me to marry him, to which I said yes. So, here I am now, years and years later, and you know what? We certainly can’t change the past, but we can change the future. And that is just what I chose to do, and I think that is what I shall continue to do forever, until I die. After all, isn’t that the only way to survive in the real world?

 

Impressum

Texte: Ariana W
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 09.04.2014

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