QUEEN OF SORROW

We stayed for as long as time allowed at the restaurant; until we had to get back to the campus, and it turned out that Amanda volunteered to drive Heather back, which allowed us extra time without having to break any speed limits to get back ourselves.
“Did you see how they got along so well?” I asked after I closed the car door.
“Are you playing Cupid?”
“More like Emma.”
“So, you were trying to get them together?”
“Yeah, you couldn’t tell?
“I’ve found that girls can say and do a lot of things that guys can’t without someone getting more nervous than a cat in a room full of rocking chairs.”
“Like flirting with each other?”
“That and trying on each other’s clothes.”
“Nothing wrong with that.”
“Swimsuits?”
“Ah, yes, the unwritten woman code,” I said with a slight smirk.
“Did you just make that up?”
“No, Karen Anne did.”
“Of course,” Mike replied as we drove onto the college access road. “She has taught you well.”
“Amanda needs someone who will look at her like a princess.”
“So, she needs a lady in waiting?”
“No, another princess—Heather mentioned that she liked her.”
“Okay. I’m still not really understanding.”
“Heather is like me, kind of, someone who has been told their whole life to be like, like that.”
“That?”
“Yes, to be that: a cog that fits squarely into the gears; no questions, just do as your told.”
“And as your birth certificate says?”
“Uh-huh,” I replied as we parked in front of the dorm hall. “She’s been so crushed by people telling her to wear this, adjust that and go chase after that guy. Maybe that’s not what she wanted. Maybe she was looking for a feminine touch; a soul partner. And, boom, enter Amanda.”
“And she told you all this?”
“In her eyes, Michael, they were spilling out the frustration.”
“You really do need to change your major.”
“I know, right?”
We walked into the front lobby to see Richard’s door closed. It was kind of a relief to not have to see his face, but I also had to wonder what he had planned for us. I told Michael it was all a threat and for the most part it was, but one couldn’t help thinking of the worst.
We climbed the stairs to our floor and walked to our door to see two envelopes taped to it.
“Richard’s form of mail call?” Michael asked as we each took a letter. I unlocked the door and we walked in.
Michael opened the first letter.
“What does it say?”
Michael bobbed his head a few times and rolled his eyes a bit.
“Richard really hates us, or at least you, and so that means the both of us.”
“Let me guess: some babbling about safety and security and sexual perversion will not be tolerated.”
“Close. You’re to report to the academic counselor tomorrow.”
“That’s probably what this says too,” I replied as I opened the other letter.
Michael stepped into the bathroom as I sat down at my desk and opened the letter.
I read the first line and clenched my hands into fists. It was from the school academic advisor.
“Michael Nelson!” I yelled.
“Voice?” He said through the door, like that would stop me.
“You haven’t heard my voice yet!”
“What?” He asked as the toilet flushed. I closed my eyes for a second and took a deep breath. Maybe I had read the line wrong, so I started again from the top. Nope.
“How are doing in your math class?” I asked with a bit of cattiness to my tone.
“I could be doing better,” he answered as he opened the door. “Why?”
“Because you haven’t been to class for the past three weeks.”
“I was there yesterday.”
"Are you ready to stop lying?"
He looked at me with his mouth agape. "I'm not."
"You are."
I shot my hand out with the letter precariously hanging between my thumb and forefinger, like it was toxic.
"I can explain that," he replied as he took the letter, folded it up and put it in his pocket.
"All ears here."
“I’m not good at this, the college thing.”
I replied with a raised eyebrow and a rolling hand motion to ask him to continue.
“The math, computers, using a darn voltmeter—it’s not what I want to do.”
“Then why did you sign up for them?”
“Danny said they were a good step into some good money in the future but cost and some of the reading is completely crazy. Relational databases? Two pages about system memory and three-hundred and twenty pages about the philosophy of business science.”
“I have no idea what that means.”
“Same here. So, after I got that job with Danny I just decided to the best I could with classes and work as much as I could when asked.”
“So, you’ve skipped class? A month’s worth?”
“Well, Danny said he’d take care of that if I recorded the football game for him. It was blacked out here.”
“Wait, what did he do?”
“He changed my grades. Hacked into the records. I didn’t want him to do it, but I was worried—”
"Don't you dare say you were worrying about me."
"I'm daring to."
"I'm fine," I replied as I sat on the bed.
"You don't see it from my side of the fence."
"What do you see?"
"I see that we have to pay for the surgery and you're going to be able to make it big in whatever you do. I'm just--I just thought that it was for the best to do what I know I can do and let you finish."
"That was stupid," I replied with as much piss and vinegar that I could and as soon as I said it I felt a sickness in my stomach, throat and mouth.
"I think I just heard your dad there." Michael replied with a slight look of sadness.
I wanted to throw up at that moment.
"Oh, my God...you're right. I'm sorry. I'm--" I ran over to him and hugged him; while crying at the same time. Instant tears, only seconds had gone by but I heard that phrase in my head repeat itself hundreds of times.
I wanted to wear a night gown; my father would say “that was stupid’.
The day I had a period; “stupid doctors said they’d take care of that”
I wanted to join a private drama troupe “that’s a stupid thing to do.”
And here I was, being the spitting image of my father, except with longer, colored hair; insulting the only other person in the world who gave a damn about the real me.
“I don’t deserve you,” I whispered in his ear.
“I don’t deserve you, but we got each other anyway, don’t we? He asked as he hugged me back.
"You know what I want, Mike?"
"Hmm?" He asked as we took a short step away from each other.
"I don't want to have to go through all of this. I’m going to drop out at the end of the semester."
"And do what?" Mike asked as he grabbed my hand.
"Whatever the Hell we want, right? Do we really need to go sixty-thousand dollars in debt to get a piece of paper that says we might have learned something?" I pulled him closer to me.
“I could do more in a metal shop than with a computer,” he said. “Maybe some wrought iron work, farm-related business.
“Yeah, we could work out on a farm or something.”
“What? And leave this paradise?” Michael asked as he looked around the room. “That’s crazy talk.”
We looked at each other for a few moments, letting the feeling of what we were going to build.
“You know, this could be our last night in this room. We should sleep on the upper bunk,” I motioned to the lone bed that was hardly used.
“Sleeping is the farthest from my mind.”
I woke up hours later and the thoughts of what we were going to do with the rest of our lives running out of control. The sex-infused euphoria that not entirely worn-off but I had to focus on the truth: we couldn't go anywhere we wanted to. We just couldn’t go out and get a truck with a camper on the back, throw a dart, and live John Denver style; at least I couldn’t do that without the medications I would had to take and I had my doubts that a small-town drug store would carry—much less ever heard of—the injections that I needed after my parents had subjected my body to everything else.
Michael was right, it was expensive; even still under my parent’s medical insurance and he would find out one day and put a stop to it; leaving me to be more disfigured than I already was. Would it be possible for me to sue my parents for childhood trauma and stress?
Michael woke up a few hours later to see me sitting at my desk with my clipboard and playbook binder laid out.
“Have you been up all night?”
“No, just this morning, going over my notes; I-I’m sorry about what I said.”
“No,” he got up from bed, wearing only a pair of boxers, “you were right. We should have talked about it.”
“What will your uncle say?”
“He’ll be relieved; as he won’t have to pay for it. What about your parents?”
“They’ll be furious. Of course, they kind of are now, so, same old same old.”
“Your mother too?”
“I don’t know,” I answered with a sigh.
Mom never outwardly defended me in front of my dad and seldom did she say that I should be myself. She took a hands-off approach to the subject matter. She called me Kris and avoided using any pronouns about me which I wasn’t sure if she was being nice to me in code by stating my name in lieu of he or she. It would have been nice to have her tell me in private that she believed in who I was trying to be.
I wanted to think that maybe she was waiting for me to do something with my life and when I was out from under my father’s thumb that she would stand up to him and tell him off; or maybe leave him outright. She didn’t want to tell me about our dirty laundry and I probably would not have taken it well if she did.
The only thing she did confide in me was the existence and death of my older brother. She even took me to the cemetery where he was buried. We drove to Memorial Park in Memphis, past the grotto and to a rather large monument for an infant. The large granite sculpture of a baby boy with the engraved “Kristopher Alexander Novoselic”.
I hated my brother for dying; had he lived then my life may have been different. I would be Kristi from day two; a little girl with a slight deformity that could be removed but instead it was like my father wanted to throw me onto a potter’s wheel and mold me into the boy who should have lived.
And yes, on that day, I picked up the disturbing thought that maybe I should have been the one to die and that death was just taking it’s time, playing with me, until the day I finally decided to do myself in—as Kris was the one wanted by everyone; the one who would play football or maybe excel in business. The one who would have a happy prom picture with, maybe, Karen Anne English and have that wedding with hundreds of people and he could then come to a cemetery and note the small plaque on a tiny plot on the far side of a grey and cold graveyard. He could see that he had a little sister; if his parent would tell him.
Michael laid his hands on my shoulders and I snapped back to reality.
“You okay?”
“Uh-huh, just-just a little tired. You really need a shower.”
“Want to join me, one last time?”
“Have we before?” I asked.
“No, because it is kind of cramped.”
“Let’s do it anyway,” I replied as I closed my binder.

Two hours later I was at the university office; a building I stepped foot in once to hand in registration paperwork. The building was old, but, so was the rest of the campus and it still had that ancient but dignified look to it. The Martin Luther-esque letter left on our door did not state what the meeting was for. I thought it was simply about how I called Richard "dick" and he didn't like it.
I was escorted into an office with, I suppose, an academic counselor by the name of Mark Styles. He had a PhD after his name and reminded me of my dad as his face scowled as I stepped in.
“Thank you for meeting with me, Kristopher.”
"Kristi,” I replied.
“How long have you gone by that name?”
“In my mind, all of my life. Outwardly, a few months. Here? A few days.”
“Do you think of yourself as female?” He asked as he raised his eyebrows up. They were so bushy, I had to wonder if he brushed them in the morning, had to go to a stylist every month.
"Yes."
"But you're in a male dorm room."
"Yes, because that's what is on my birth certificate."
"We are here to discuss an issue that occurred in Miss Peterson's lecture on Monday."
"Then why bring up what dorm I'm in, I--"
"Miss Peterson reported that you disrupted her class and attempted to assault her."
"Wow, I didn't know this meeting would be about that."
"Did you disrupt her class?"
“She wasn't in the room at the time and I don't know, maybe two minutes had gone by, it was at the start of the block hour.”
"She states you were insubordinate to her."
"I only disagreed with her; and that was after class; after she made me stay late."
“And then there was the assault.”
“Assault? You said attempted.”
“Did you attempt?”
“No, but she did scratch me.”
“Where?”
“Are you asking me this to prove anything or to say it would be a defensive attack by Miss Peterson?”
“What I’m saying is--”
“I know damn well what you’re saying,” I yelled as I stood up from my chair. “You’re trying to get into my head like Miss Peterson did. Find some way to piss me off so I’ll say or do the wrong thing, like stand up for myself when I’m getting the third degree by someone who isn't campus security and I don’t even get to face my accuser.”
“Miss Peterson does not have to be present for these proceedings.”
“And you know what, Mr. Styles, Miss Novoselic isn’t going to be present for this facade either.”
I grabbed my bag and walked out the door. I was pissed that I didn't lean across the desk and throttle him, but I was also proud of myself for holding onto my temper—as I was ready to explode, and it wouldn’t take much to do it.
My cell phone rang with a number on the screen that I never heard of. It was a Knoxville number, but I had no idea who it was and the thought about chucking my phone onto the roof or into the nearest trash can sounded great at the time.
I kept my composure, took a breath and answered the call in a stern, but not too bitchy way. “Hello?”
“Is this Kristina Novoselic?”
“Yes,” I replied with a bit of annoyance to the “old man voice” on the other end of the call.
“This Donald Marks at Wyatt Industries.”
“Okay,” I asked, trying to not sound annoyed at the probable sales pitch that I sometimes got due to my father’s name.
“We have you listed as a personal contact for Mike Nelson.”
My demeanor changed instantly. “Yes?”
“There’s been an accident.”

♦♦♦
I ran across campus to the dorm parking lot; hoping that maybe he went with Danny and left the car even though I still didn't have a license. The car wasn't there, and I had to wonder if I could run four miles or so to the hospital, across a bridge filled with heavy traffic. I decided I could do that and possibly swim across the Tennessee River if push came to shove.
I ran across campus to the main road--thinking about might have happened to Michael. His supervisor said he was struck in the upper arm by some equipment, but he didn't know the extent of the injury or wouldn't tell me over the phone. Maybe it was just a break or a burn or something simple. I hoped for that.
A horn honked like mad behind me and I moved further away from the road before I turned around to see Michael’s car with Danny at the wheel. He unlocked the passenger side and I climbed in.
"How is he?"
"It's a pretty big gash."
"Gash? Oh, my God, what happened?"
"Do you know where we work at?" Danny asked as he floored the accelerator just as Michael did. I had to wonder who taught who to drive.
"He said you guys move boxes."
"No, we cut metal,” Danny said while a making motions with his hands. "Big, hulking sheets of metal. The saw must come apart or something."
"Dammit," I whispered. "He's okay though?"
"He was conscious enough to think that you'd try to run to the hospital."
"He knows me well."
"Yeah, that reminds me of something. Something I have to say."
"Huh?
"Do you know how much he talks about you?"
"Yeah."
"A lot. And I want to apologize to you for being a jackass all these years, I mean--"
"Did you change Mike's grade?”
"I really wanted to see the game, but I had work to do here."
"Ingenious."
"But I couldn't get past the teacher's handwritten notes; they used them to override my changes."
"So, you know?" I asked.
"Yeah, but we have a workaround. Mike’s going to stay at my place and--”
"We were planning on leaving the school at the end of the semester."
"I know that too."
"Thanks, Danny."
"You're welcome."

Danny dropped me off at the entrance of the emergency department and I went in but had to fight with the nursing staff about who I was and who I came to see.
"Are you family?"
"I will be in six or seven months," I replied as the nurse behind the desk gave me the "I really don't care" eyes.
Danny walked in ten minutes later to see me stewing in a seat in the corner.
"Should have said you were his sister or his goth brother."
"That's funny, " I replied with my eyes closed.
"Sorry, I meant--"
"Yeah, I know," I said as I looked back to the nurse’s station. They didn't rush us back so it was safe to assume that he wasn't dead but a part of me felt that the staff wouldn't care if he was and left me in the waiting room as he passed away.
“I’m going to just go back there.”
“They kind of frown on that, security and all,” Danny pointed at the burley guard standing in the other corner of the room.
“Let him stop me.”
“Just wait a few more minutes, after that you can probably stay with him all night.”
“And you bet I will,” I replied as the intercom crackled.
“Kris Novoselic”
She pronounced it wrong, but I didn’t care as I ran up to the counter with Danny lagging.
The nurse gave us a set of badges and buzzed the door, allowing entry.
“Room 33A”
I ran down the hall, not exactly sure where to find the room.
“Next right, Kristi!” Danny yelled from the doorway.
I raised my hand and waved, which I hoped he recognized as my way of saying “thank you.”
“I’ll catch up.”
I turned the corner and looked at the signs on the wall. Room 33A was halfway down the hall and the door was closed and the windows was covered by a dark film. I didn't want to open the door for fear of seeing him in a pool of blood or wrapped up like a mummy or something.
Danny came up from behind me and opened the door.
“Nelson, you dead?”
I cringed at Danny’s dark humor, considering where we were, as we walked in.
“Not all of me, Dan.”
Mike was on an elevated bed with his left arm wrapped in gauze and tubes. His expression brightened when he saw me.
“Kristi.”
“You were right,” Danny said as he leaned up against the far wall.
“Did you try and walk here?”
“I tried to run,” I replied. “I would’ve taken a swim if I had to. What happened?” I asked as I wanted to just rush in and hug him but, his expression showed he was in pain.
“It’s cur to the bone.”
“Shit, what?” Danny asked.
“Almost straight through like a hot iron. Thank God for painkillers.”
I wanted to cry.
“Don’t cry, Kristi, it’s okay. I’ll be fine.”
“What are they going to do?”
“Probably cut it off. I got another one.”
“It’s not funny,” I choked as I stepped over to the other side of the bed and grabbed his hand.
“I know, but, it’s okay, I mean, they got stuff to fix it with.”
“We can rebuild him,” Danny commented.
“That could take, take a long time,” I stammered.
“It’s okay, Kristi. Do you think less of me? Am I half the man I used to be?”
“You’re a quarter,” Danny stopped mid-sentence as I shot a death stare at him.
“I’ll be okay, if you’re okay.”
“I’m fine, Michael.”
“You’re lying.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m lying” I blubbered.
“This doesn't’ change anything and think about it. It’s still cheaper than four years of college.”
“Stop making jokes.”
“Is it the drugs talking?” Danny asked.
Mike nodded and then looked at his arm. “Yeah, I hate to be without them right now.”
“I’m going to stay here with you.”
“No.” Michael replied as he shook his head.
“Mike-”
“The show needs to go on.”
“Damn the show, you nearly lost your arm!”
“I haven’t lost it, it’s right here. You. Go. To the play. You said so yourself that the director would forget to turn the lights on if you didn't do it.”
“But--”
“I’ll be here when it’s over. Danny, can you bring her back afterwards?”
Danny nodded.
I leaned over and kissed his forehead. “I love you.”
“Love you too. Now get going. I’ll be here.”
“See you later, Mike,” Danny waved as he moved into the hallway.
I didn’t want to leave. Michael couldn’t physically make me leave and I would have loved to see Danny try to force me out but I surrendered to the request and we left the room to go back to campus.
The drive back was quiet. Danny didn't say a word until he pulled the car up near the theatre.
“Call me when you’re ready to go back.”
“I’m ready now.”
“He does know you well.”
“Yeah, he does,” I opened the car door but hesitated to get out. “Do you think he’ll lose his arm?”
“Don’t know, sorry, but as he said, he’s got another one.”
“Yeah, that helps.” I got out of the car.
“Kristi.”
“Yeah, Dan?” I was not happy with the joking manner everyone else was in.
“He’ll be okay. Just imagine he’s out in the audience or if you like, I can get a picture and blow it up to poster size and put it in the audience.”
“How about a cardboard stand-up?”
“That may take a few days.”
“The poster is a good idea. I can get the troupe to sign it.”
“I’ll get going on it then.”
I felt my mood lighten a little “Thanks, Danny,” I replied with a wave as a I closed the door.
It was close to six as I ran into the theatre,
“Kristi!” Mr. Montesi raced up to me. “Thank God. Are you okay?”
“Umm, yes sir?” The rest of the troupe looked at us for a moment and then went back to what they were doing. I didn’t see Heather, but assumed she was in the wings getting ready.
"Have you seen Heather?”
"No sir, she isn't here?”
Mr. Montesi cleared his throat and shook his head. “I need everyone to come out to the front. Front and center, right now!” I walked with him to the stage area.
His voice boomed throughout the auditorium—Mr. Montesi never needed a bullhorn.
The troupe slowly came onto the stage, all of them bewildered as much as I was because Mr. Montesi never raised his voice unless he was laughing. I had never him get angry, unless it was a part of a dialogue and he was trying to articulate the lines.
We became even more so when four campus security guards along with two Knoxville police officers entered. Mr. Montesi ran towards them and they spoke back and forth in a quiet tone. One of the officers looked at the stage and soon all seven of them were looking at us.
Mr. Montesi’s closed his eyes for a moment, sighed and then called my name.
“Kristi!”
The entire troupe looked at me as he walked back to the stage, followed by the two Knoxville officers. I had no idea what could be running through their heads because I was trying to figure out my own thoughts. Did the college call the police on me because for my “insubordination on multiple levels” or that I had one too many dresses in my dorm? Oh, yes, it would because I was in the dorm and Richard finally got someone to listen to him and they called out the big guns.
I stepped down from the stage as Mr. Montesi tried to whisper something to me but the officer cut him off.
“Kris Novoselic?”
“Kristi,” I replied.
“Could you come with us, please?”
“Not until you tell me what’s going on.”
The officers showed no emotion; like twin androids with no sign of life behind their eyes.
“We need to speak to you about Heather Ashman.”
“I’m coming with her.”
“Sir, we need-”
“With all due respect, she is my student. She goes, I go.”
The eight us left the theatre and the two Knoxville policemen, Mr. Montesi and myself went into his office. Mr. Montesi sat at his desk and I sat on the opposite side. The officers stood on the side.
“Do you know Heather Ashman?”
“Yes, she’s in the drama department.”
“Are you friends?”
“We haven’t always been but just recently we’ve—Your line of questioning leads me to think something’s happened to her.”
“Yes, she’s dead.”
“What?”
“Campus police found her two hours ago,” Mr. Montesi stated.
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did she talk about anyone threatening her?” The second officer took over.
“No.”
“Have you received any notes or emails?”
“I have no idea how to use e-mail and no, nothing, why?”
“There was a note found with her with a reference to Kris Novoselic.”
“What does it say?”
“The TBI has it now,” the first officer replied.
“Are you living on campus?” The second one asked. It was like they were playing the roles of bad cop and shitty cop.
“Yes, for now.”
“For now?” They both raised their eyebrows at my response. Like I could possibly do anything to Heather with everything else going on in my life at that time.
“Never mind, personal business. I am in the dorms, so yes, I’m here.”
The officers looked at each other and then at me.
“We need you to come to the station.”
“Why?”
“We need you to answer a few more questions.”
“No, not until you tell me what happened to her. I mean, how did she die?”
“That’s not confirmed. The note had your name on it and she had a playbook with your name on it as well. We needed to know—”
“She didn’t commit suicide she wouldn’t have she just went out with Amanda. Have you talked with Amanda? We need to go find her, she-” I got up and went for the door.
“Kristi,” Mr. Montesi motioned for me to come back to my chair.
“No, I introduced Heather to Amanda and Amanda has had a boyfriend who beats her and--”
The officers’ faces stood cold and blank as they had earlier, not seeming to care about what I had to say.
“If her ex found them together then he might have killed Heather, thinking she was me.”
They avoided looking at me and one reached into his pocket and pulled out a card.
“Please contact the station as soon as possible. Thank you.”
He handed the card over to me with a robotic gesture and the two left the office without another word.
Mr. Montesi ran his hands through his hair as he walked to the doorway.
“Are you okay?”
“Can I have a few minutes, sir?”
“You can have the rest of the afternoon off. I’m canceling practice for tonight.”
“Thank you.”
Mr. Montesi stepped out of the room in a catatonic silence and closed the door.
“It could have been me.” I mused as I closed my eyes. “Oh, Heather.”