Izzie Business
By calei esprit

Chapter 03
Familiar Forests, New Trails

I apologize for the rather long delay between this chapter and the last, and thank you to those who have commented on the story thus far!

“The seating plan is on the centre table. Please use it to find your seat.” I heard a man say as I walked into the classroom. It was brightly lit, much of it by sunlight from the wall of large windows across from the entrance, and looked to be by far the friendliest classroom I had ever been in. Since this was one of the few elective courses in grade nine, most of the students actually wanted to be there, and it showed.

A fair number of students were already seated at the large studio tables, and were chatting quietly with their neighbour(s). I didn't have to wait too long before I was able to check the seating plan. Quickly orientating myself, I ascertained which seat was mine, and walked over to it.

I was about to sit down when I heard an urgent, “Miss!” from the same male voice as before. Being used to being referred to as such, I spun around to face him without thinking about it. “That isn't your seat,” he continued. I motioned to myself questioningly, and he responded, “Yes, you. That is Eric MacIntyre's seat.”

With some embarrassment, I said, “I'm Eric MacIntyre.” The lanky teacher's eyes widened with surprise, but to his credit, he quickly recovered.

“Um, very well then, have a seat,” he said awkwardly.

I did just as he suggested, ignoring the soundtrack of laughing students I had grown accustomed to hearing in elementary school. I had honestly believed that high school would be different, but I guess it was naive of me to think my peers' disposition would change just because another summer was behind them. I just hoped I wasn't doing something to make matters worse, like blushing. Sighing tiredly, I put my new canvas shoulder bag on the studio table and dropped myself on my assigned stool.

Glancing over at my neighbour, a dark haired girl of some ancestry that I couldn't identify, I noticed that she did not join in with the “mirth”. I hoped that, that was a sign of her being different than our fellow classmates, but it felt more realistic to believe that it was just because she was too busy worrying (about the social ramifications of sitting next to me) to laugh.

“Megan,” the girl said, and I tilted my head to look at her. I must have looked confused, because she elaborated, pointing at herself, “Me. Megan.” She spoke and looked at me like I was daft. My only response was to blink a couple times. It was enough for her, because she then asked, “So, what's your real name anyway? Obe Lisk over there might buy that Eric crap, but I don't.”

Obe Lisk? It took me a minute and a glance at the teacher, but I got it eventually. This girl is so weird! I thought. “Unfortunately, that is what is written on my birth certificate.”

 

“Whatever you say kid,” Megan said nonchalantly. “I'll find something more suitable to call you later.”

I like her, I decided.

Thankfully, I was saved from having to come up with some kind of response by Obe's timely, attention-grabbing clap. He moved right into a standard introductory class, only just barely waiting for everyone to stop talking. I sat with smirk on my face, thinking that I was going to enjoy this class, and the feeling had very little do with anything the teacher said during his spiel.

When the teacher finished speaking, he told us to use the remainder of the class to work on our first assignment. We were to draw anything we wanted, as it was meant to be an “ability assessment assignment”, but the medium was limited to pencil only. I rarely used anything other than a pencil, so the limitation didn't bother me at all. Megan and I didn't speak much throughout the rest of the class, as we were both very involved in our drawing. Far too soon, the bell informed us that it was time to go to our next class, wherever that may be.

I started packing up my art supplies. Most people did that well before the bell even rang, so there were only a couple students still in class by the time I headed towards the door. As I neared the exit, I heard something smash against a locker. I stepped out quickly to see what it was. “It” turned out to be a giant manifestation of jock-essence that looked like he ate people like me for a light afternoon snack. Holding “It” against the locker was Dave, who I knew, because he helped out in my class last year. He almost looked small next to the other guy! Dave glared up at him with a malicious expression that made me scared, and it wasn't even directed at me! I couldn't tell if he was about to throw up, or bite his “prey”.

 

“Don't you ever say shit like that about him again!” Dave growled, “or I might accidentally forget this society has consequences for violent actions.”

 

Suddenly, someone shoved me from behind. I tried to stop myself from falling and turn to see who it was at the same time.

 

“Don't stand around in the doorway, kid,” Megan said, sounding as if she were chastising a toddler.

 

****

 

I found myself looking at a big blurry patch of brown something, but quickly shut my eyes. It hurt to have them open. “Mom?” I asked with urgency in my voice. I don't think it came out right, because my Mom sounded really worried when she asked what was wrong. “Please, don't tell Dave what Dad said, okay?” I breathed, trying to do so coherently, but quietly. This was a question I didn't want Dave to hear.

 

Mom was quiet for a time before she answered, “We'll talk about it later.”

 

Her answer didn't set me at ease in the least, but the sound of her even breathing and the gentle hum of the car did. I don't know why, but I always found this sort of strange non-silence very comforting.

 

****

 

Finding myself now laying on my back, I stared up at the tall towers of business that scrolled across the car window. They loomed over me menacingly, like frost giants surveying a trespasser of Jotunheim, threatening to crash down in on me and swallow me whole. Briefly, I could almost see teeth amongst glass and steel.

 

As we continued to move through whichever city we were in, it seemed as though the rows of skyscrapers continued on endlessly. I didn't feel in a hurry though, because I wasn't in pain anymore. I felt tired, very tired, but I wasn't in pain. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see my mother still sitting with my head in her lap, but I couldn't pull my gaze away from the car window. I think I was afraid that if I looked away, they would strike–I wasn't so sure anymore that they weren't frost giants. Slowly, they began to back away until they were just barely within my view.

 

I stared at thedark sky above. Storm clouds unlike any I had ever seen before covered every inch of the sky, as far as I could see. They seemed almost angular in nature. I might have been scared, if I wasn't so in awe of their strange, and almost violent, beauty. A large bird floated along like a wisp of black smoke, looking almost entirely ethereal. Before I knew it, the bird, which I guessed to be a raven, was gone. I blinked roughly, wondering if my mother had given me some of her migraine pills, because I felt like I was tripping.

 

At last, the car came to a stop, and Dave got out. He left the car running. I heard my mother open her door, and felt her lift my head as she slid out. Lowering my head to the seat slowly, my mother kissed my forehead and told me she would be right back.

 

I was starting to find it hard to stay awake, but I wanted to wait for my Mom to come back before I fell asleep. My neck felt a little stiff, and wasn't very happy about my head's new elevation. Thankfully, that was the only discomfort I was feeling. I decided that my Mom must have given me something, but I didn't remember taking any pills.

 

Outside the car, Dave and my mother were talking, but I couldn't hear any of their conversation clearly. Something is wrong, I thought.

 

I tried to roll on to my side, and I began to worry when I found that I couldn't. Suddenly, the lack of pain I felt was no longer a blessing, and as time and thought dragged on I grew more and more worried. Gods, I'm not paralyzed am I? That can't be; it doesn't make any sense. Could I be?

 

The car door at my feet opened roughly. I could smell Dave, as I began to rise towards the ceiling of the car. I saw his face briefly as he carried me out of the car. He looked so different that I might not have recognized him under different circumstances. He was very nearly snarling, and looked absolutely dreadful. The way he held me limited how much I could see of our surroundings, but I could tell we were on a bridge. I wondered why he was taking me out of the car here; maybe a tire popped, I theorized.

 

“Hurry up!” my mother hissed, “I thought you said you've done this before.”

 

What?

 

“I have; though I didn't have to get rid of the body last time,” Dave responded.

 

Get rid of a body? Last time? Oh my God...

 

Dave lifted me slightly higher, and began to hold me away from him. I wanted to grab onto him, but I still couldn't move. I wanted to scream at him, but I couldn't find the words. I wanted to know why they were doing this, but I was given no answers. He dropped me, and I stared upwards watching the bridge move further and further away.

 

****

 

I screamed and bolted upright. There was a brief moment when my mind was completely blank, even forgetting why I was screaming. I didn't stop screaming though. Sharp, throbbing pain dared to bring me back to reality. Following it was the dull throbbing pain that existed everywhere the sharp pain didn't. Noticing that I was now in a hospital room, I guessed that it must have been a dream: I wasn't paralyzed; I wasn't falling to my death. I had stopped screaming, but I was shaking uncontrollably. I felt a hand guide me into laying down, and I had the sense to let it. The pain I felt lessened significantly, and I sighed in relief.

 

“It's okay. You're safe now,” I heard my mother say softly.

 

I nodded, but I still couldn't stop shaking. She held my hand almost too tightly. “Where's Dave?” I asked.

 

“He had to go make a phone call,” Mom responded. Her statement hung in the air as if there was something being left out. After some time, she broke the silence, “I'm not going to tell him what your father said.”

 

“Thank–“

 

“That's your job,” she interrupted me. “You shouldn't hide the truth from him, like you did from that Kurt boy.”

 

“What?” I croaked, and then coughed something out of the way of my vocal chords. “He knows about me. I met him in grade eight.” She looked a little surprised at that, and I decided I didn't want to know what was surprising about it. “I just don't want him to know Dad saw us out front; right be–”

 

She squeezed my hand, and interrupted me again, “Okay.”

 

I closed my eyes, and breathed deeply. I felt a lot better now. The swelling around my eyes seemed to have gone down, and I found it a lot easier to breathe. My arm still hurt, but it was a bearable, dull throb. I felt a tightness around the middle of my torso, but the area had more or less stopped hurting when I laid back down.

 

“He's kinda cute. A little old for you though; don't you think?” my Mom shared, much to my surprise and embarrassment.

 

“Mom~!”

 

Not a moment too soon, Dave returned from his phone call. He didn't look very happy, but when he saw that I was awake, he smiled at me and asked how I was feeling. “Not too bad,” I replied, offering a small smile of my own. I tried not to wince from the movement of facial muscles over bruised areas. I guessed that I managed, because Dave looked reassured.

 

Dave was about to say something when a nurse, or possibly intern, walked in. He was wearing pale blue scrubs, and carried a flimsy looking clipboard. He looked friendly enough, and about as tired as I felt. His eyes looked at me, and then at the clipboard, and he seemed confused for a moment.

 

“Ms McIntyre?” he asked, and I nodded. “Right. Sorry, someone must have copied down the name on your insurance card wrong, so I was confused for a minute.” I swallowed, and sat there feeling awkward. When I didn't say anything, he asked, “Is it okay if they are here for this?” He motioned to Dave and Mom. I nodded.

 

“Okay,” the man took a breath, “Your left arm is broken. We've got it set right now, and we'll get it in a cast some time today. You also have two cracked ribs, which look like they will heal nicely so long as you are careful in your movements for the next little while. Nothing else looks too serious; some bruising and minor abrasions. Irregardless, you'll need to stay in the hospital for a day or two, maybe longer if we find any signs of internal bleeding or other complications.”

 

I tried not to sigh at the mention of staying in the hospital, even though I didn't want to go home any more than I wanted to stay in the hospital. The intern/nurse showed me where the “help button” on the bed in case I needed something and my Mom wasn't around. He said I should stay in the bed for now, but he did say it was okay for me to go use the room's attached bathroom if I got someone help me there and back. He gave me the standard instructions to get lots of rest and whatnot, and finished by telling me someone would be in to talk to me later. I assumed that it would be a psych-something, the same as when I was in the hospital from the incident with Kurt. I worried about what I might, or should, say to them.

 

“I have to go,” Dave said once the intern/nurse had left. He frowned. “The Old Guy said he couldn't spare me at the club tonight. He said for you to heal up fast, though, and I'll spare you the other things the crazy old fart said,” he chuckled, and I managed a weak smile. Knowing the Old Guy, I probably didn't want to know what he said. Dave looked like he truly did not want to leave, and I wished he didn't have to; I wanted him to stay. He walked over to the side of the bed opposite my Mom, leaned down, and gave me a gentle hug, which I returned. “I'm sorry,” he whispered.

 

“It's okay.”

 

He released me, and turned to my mother, “Do you have someone to come pick you up or whatever?”

 

“I'll arrange something,” she responded.

 

“Okay,” Dave nodded, and started to head for the door. “Bye Izzie, Mrs Scott.”

 

“Bye!” I said, and my mother offered a “Drive safe!”

 

Once Dave left, my mood withered rather abruptly. My ribs, however, were just glad that the goodbye hug went on without forming an acute angle using them as the vertex–or an angle less than a hundred and forty-five degrees for that matter.

 

I yawned, another wave of tiredness washing over me, and covered my mouth. Blinking my eyes a couple times to clear out the tears that formed as a result, I looked over at my Mom. She looked as though she was deep in thought, and kept looking over at me.

 

“I left a note for your father saying you ran away, and that I was going to spend a couple of days at my sister's, with whom you are going to be staying. They don't get along at all, so he won't show up there.” I yawned again, and she waited for me to finish before saying, “I.... Get some sleep, dear.”

 

I didn't want to go to sleep. I wanted to know what was going on. I wanted to know what this all meant. I wanted to know if her recent behaviour meant she was okay with me being her daughter. But as I looked at her, I got the feeling that she didn't know any of these things much better than I did.

 

“Mom, why did you help me?” I asked. She looked at me as if I slapped her, and I instantly regretting asking.

 

She reached for my hand again, and said, “You're my baby.”

 

I tried to ask her if that meant she was okay with me–with Elizabeth–but I couldn't. Instead, I started to cry. She moved her chair and herself closer, and wiped my cheeks with a finger.

 

“I'm sorry,” she said, “I don't know why I'm having such a hard time with this. I... I look at you, and I can't help but see my little baby boy. I don't know what's wrong with me. Some mother I am, huh?” She laughed mirthlessly, and wiped away some tears of her own. She started talking again before I could say anything, “Someday, I'll get over the hang-ups I have. I just hope that when I do, it's not too late for me to get to know that wonderful girl you no doubt are underneath all the makeup and strange clothes you normally wear.” She smiled, but the sadness didn't leave her eyes. “But in the meantime, you need to rest.”

 

I wished I could get up and hug her, especially because I couldn't find any words to respond to what she had just told me. I started to say something a couple of times, but I would have stopped for lack of words, even if my Mom hadn't silenced me with her insistence that I rest now, and talk later. Still, despite everything, I felt kind of happy. She was trying, and right now that was good enough. I lay there for a long time thinking about what she said to me, and to be honest, sometimes thinking of how it would be even better if Dave were there with me.