Mom gasps. “I don’t want you walking, Waylynn Graff. If you don’t want to drive, then hire someone.” I bet she doesn’t even know how snooty she sounds. My dad rolls his eyes but quickly wipes the look off his face when Mom turns her head like she senses he’s mocking her.
I’m actually going to miss them. The realization hits me hard and fast. My face must register my thought, because Dad asks, “Is everything okay?”
I’m able to mask the emotion on my face just as quickly as he did, and instead I smear a wince on my features. “Just thinking about my orientation tomorrow.” It works as a good cover. I am a little nervous about spending the day on campus tomorrow. I should have taken Mom up on the offer to request a private tour, but I was feeling brave at the time and wanted to mix with all the other freshmen. Now all I can think about is how the huge group of us are going to stand out clear as day as incoming freshmen.
“You’ll fit right in,” Dad soothes, trying to make me feel better. The problem is, I don’t know if I want to fit in. I think I’d rather not get noticed at all.
“What can I help you with? Have you unpacked the things we brought today? Do you have something picked out to wear?” Mom brings her hands together in a clap under her chin, so she looks like she’s praying.
“Umm…”
“Waylynn,” she chastises. She hates stammering. “Come on, let’s go find something nearly as fabulous as you. We want to make a good first impression.” Her annoyance is short-lived, like always.
* * *
I standin the open rear doorway, waving to my parents as they back out the brick driveway separating the house from the garden. There are tears shimmering in my mom’s eyes, but she’s smiling so broadly, I bet her face hurts. I flick a tear off my own cheek as the red glow of their taillights disappear down the street. I’m only a few blocks away from sorority row, but I’m not surprised by how lonely the street feels. With my house situated on a corner, it feels entirely separate from the neighborhood, especially considering how large the lots are and the nature park across the street. I doubt I’ll ever interact with my neighbors, but that’s fine with me—the couple I saw next door looked older than my parents.
Fucking hell, whispers through my mind the moment I engage the deadbolt. My breath catches before I moan out a weak sounding, “No.” That was too clear, and it’s too quiet to pretend that was something other than it was.
My hands shake when I pull the zipper on my bag open and fist the orange bottle of pills. It has been a busy few days, so maybe I forgot to take my medicine this morning. I know I’m lying to myself. I never forget to take my pills, but I dump the bottle out in my palm and start counting them just in case.
Seventeen, sixteen… I pop one in my mouth and swallow it down, dry as a bone. There are exactly how many there should be in this bottle, damn it. I stand at the island, listening for the deep voice again, but nothing comes.
It’s a relief to hear silence, but a small part of me missed the voices. They have been with me for as long as I can remember, up until a few months ago that is. This is the longest I’ve gone without hearing them.
Maybe Dr. Tobin can up the dose of my current medication. I shake the bottle. Maybe I can up the dose myself, but I already feel a little fuzzy some days and I don’t want to walk around like a zombie.It’s better than being crazy, I think to myself.
“Give it a few days.” I’m trying to calm my nerves. There’s been a lot going on the past few weeks, and starting college is stressful for everyone, but none of it makes me feel better.
After setting the house alarm, I tote my purse upstairs to my bedroom and leave it on my nightstand, pretending it’s normal for me to haul it around, when really, having my pills closer is my true motivation. Even though I have no intention of taking more, it’s just comforting having them nearby.
I power on the television, then turn on a favorite movie, something I’ve seen twenty times but could never get sick of.
A snort leaves my lips when I walk past the chair, artfully draped with the clothes my mother picked out for me to wear. There’s nothing wrong with the jeans and Gucci cropped cardigan. It came from my closet, after all, but it screams trying too hard, not to mention it’s going to be almost ninety degrees tomorrow. I would be a red-faced sweat hog just from walking across campus.
When I enter the bathroom, I hit the music icon on my phone and select an album before turning on the shower. I’ve become so used to using background noise to drown out the voices, it’s become more of a habit than anything else, but it feels important now.
By the time I’m climbing into bed, Keanu is picking up his new car and I’ve successfully avoided the only part of the film I don’t like, but in truth, I’m not really paying much attention to it anyway.
I glance around the room, surprised at how comfortable I am, considering it’s my first night here. Being in a new place isn’t all that unusual for me, since my parents moved us around our fair share, but being alone is new. Even when I was in Netherwood, I always had a roommate, so this may take some getting used to.
As I settle against my pillow, it gets really hard not to think about all the what-ifs. What if I hate it here? What if I can’t handle my class load? What if I eat alone every day like a loser? What if I hear something in my head and respond to it? Now I’m really just giving myself anxiety, because that hasn’t happened in years. Even then, it was just the abrupt nature that would have me quickly responding to things only I could hear. The voices never interacted with me. It’s more like I’m hearing random snippets of someone else’s conversation, but when I was younger, I would try to talk back to them to see if maybe they could hear me too. I got very familiar with a few of the voices, like the one I heard tonight. Even though it’s changed so much over the years, I know it’s one of the same boys I grew up hearing all the time.
When I close my eyes, I see the image of him I created in my head. He’s vague and faceless, but still familiar to me somehow. He feels big in a sense, as if there’s so much inside him, it would be hard to contain in a small package—if he were real, that is. I’ve never given the voices a name, because that would make them too real, when they already feel more solid than the world around me.
One of the theories my parents have, or that my therapist implanted in their minds, is that I created these identities as a coping mechanism when my brother died, but I don’t even remember my brother. Still, they tell me I changed after the accident.
I don’t have theories as to why, and I gave up trying to figure out what goes on in my head a long time ago. It’s easier that way.
With my eyes still closed, I pick up the eerie music from the movie, and something about it seems to fit with the surreality of the moment. Does that mean I think the voice is like the boogeyman?
YOU DON’T ALWAYS NEED A PLAN. SOMETIMES YOU JUST NEED TO BREATHE
Even though I’m early—a horrible habit I developed in a bid to never be late—I linger in the back of the group. There are not as many students as I thought there would be, but considering I did an online orientation two months ago, it shouldn’t surprise me. I wonder if I could have skipped this altogether.
I glance around, trying to take everything in without looking like I’m staring at people. Several have already formed small groups and are chatting in a way that makes me think they already know each other. Maybe they do from the dorms and such.
For a fleeting moment, I think that was a missed opportunity and I should have taken a room with the other freshmen, but the thought is gone before it’s even fully formed. I didn’t ask how I escaped the requirement to stay in a dorm as a first year, instead I only offered a grateful thank you to my mom after she arranged it before we started house hunting.
