Authors: Carol Robi
“Sophia!” I look up, curious as to who would call me out so loudly while in the middle of cheerleading practice.
I wave back nervously at Gauthier who is waving at me from the bleachers. When I turn away, the whole squad is looking at me curiously, and I don’t miss Tony’s frown from behind Coach Murray’s head who’s drilling the basketballers on warmups.
“You know the new guy?” Aiki, a bright eyed First Nation’s girl asks wide eyed, but I just shrug before turning back to Emily, the cheerleading squad captain, who then calls out another routine that the girls show me, and I’m expected to learn.
“It’s good to see you cheering again,” Tony says about an hour later, settling himself beside me on the bleachers as I tie my laces. I am glad for the distraction, as I am trying my best to ignore Gauthier who is still seating a few bleachers above, where he’s been throughout practice, boring a hole through my head with his intense gaze.
“I think I like being back at it too,” I answer him with a small smile. “Looks like once again I shall be cheering you on as you destroy opposing teams.”
“The formidable duo!” He says laughing lightly. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he tells me, placing a hand on my shoulder and squeezing lightly.
“I think we should celebrate!” Jennifer says, interrupting my intimate moment with my brother by coming to plop herself beside me.
“Great idea,” Gauthier’s voice sounds, right before he moves to sit on the bleacher below us, and once again I fight the familiar constricting of my throat whenever he is in the vicinity.
“What’s a great idea?” Mandy asks as she walks over.
Soon the whole basketball and cheerleading team think the idea of celebrating their new members is brilliant, and they agree that meeting up at the court in West Road Park will be a great idea. Of course Gauthier is invited, being that he is the hottest topic on everyone’s lips in school.
So I find myself being marshalled into Collin’s jeep, sitting between Jennifer and Mandy while Tony sits at the front passenger seat as we drive to the said park.
“I think he likes you,” Tony says later at the park, walking over to seat on one of the wooden benches by the basketball court, watching the guys shooting hoops. Gauthier is by far the best at it. Even Tony who is now the starting shooting guard of our school team doesn’t come close to beating him. He’s probably given up trying to beat him and is why he’s come to keep his sister company.
“What?” I turn to Tony distracted.
“The new kid- I think he likes you. I’m not entirely sure how I feel about it though.”
“And how ought you to feel about it, kiddo?” I ask him, an amused smile playing at my lips. He looks at me quizzically for a moment or two, before smiling, although slightly inhibited.
“You shouldn’t call me kiddo. You were only ahead by four minutes..”
“And that’s enough for me to call you kiddo for a whole lifetime,” I tell him smugly, and we both laugh at this. My attention is again captured by the tall lean boy as once again he sends another shot whistling effortlessly through the basket. I study the careful way by which he makes sure to steer clear of everyone as they run after the ball. Not once since I first saw him have I seen him touch or be touched by anyone. In fact, it feels as though people go out of their way to avoid touching him, despite the great attraction he is.
There is a strange energy about him, something so appealing that has everyone wanting to be his friend, people clamouring for his attention, fighting each other to get closer to him. Yet the same energy ensures to keep them at bay, ensuring that no one ever touches him or accidentally bumps into him. Everyone is awry about touching him. Everyone but me. For days now my mind has been dizzy with the need to touch him whenever he gets close to me.
“He’s weird,” I tell Tony after pondering for a while, a chill running up and down my body.
“I could talk to him,” Tony says. “I won’t let him anywhere near you if you don’t..”
“Hey, hey, Mr protective Brother! Chill out. I can fight my own battles,” I say laughing, playfully trying to wrestle him off the bench.
“Stop it..” Tony starts before helplessly falling into involuntary laughs while attempting to slap my hands away, for I am now tickling him at his weak spot.
“It’s not fair for two siblings to keep each other company,” his voice sounds, and I fight my every instinct against looking up, for I do not want to be startled by his eyes again.
“No it isn’t,” Mandy agrees, walking over to us and pulling at my brother’s hand to force him to rise off the wooden bench we are sitting on. “Come on, Tony. Time to talk to me,” she says flirtatiously. I make a face at him as he is forced to rise, and he mimicks it, causing me to laugh out.
“You have a great laugh,” Gauthier says, settling on the space beside me that Tony has just vacated. “You should laugh more often.”
“I should,” I agree, looking anywhere but at him.
“So you two are new here too?”
“Yep,” I say. There is a prolonged silence as though he is expecting me to expound. I remain silent for I’m not sure what else I ought to say. Plus, my tongue just got tied up again, and I am once again fighting against the urge to run my fingers through his hair, or to trace the sides of his face, or to..
“How long have you lived here?” He asks, and I am glad that he spoke up in time to break my disturbing train of thought, for I had subconsciously started raising my hands to touch him.
“Just over a month,” I say after clearing my throat, looking anywhere but at him.
“Do you like it?”
“What’s not to like?” I rush to say.
“You hate it?” He concludes.
I shrug. “I didn’t say that,” I point out.
“You didn’t say you like it either,” he reasons, slight amusement in his voice.
“Neither did I say I hate it.”
“True.” He admits.
He then folds his gloved hands on his knees, and I stare at the movement of his fingers clad in the well-fitting leather gloves. It is in that very moment that I note for the first time the fact that most of his skin is covered. He is wearing a long sleeved hoodie under his light jacket, its sleeves coming past his gloves, just upto his palms. The long sweatpants he wears are not odd even though summer is just coming to an end, for it is quite chilly up here in Greenfield most year round.
He is not a germaphobe, I then note. He just can’t stand skin contact with people.
“Are you afraid of touching people?” I cannot stop myself from asking. I hear his sharp intake of breath.
“Something like that,” he says after a pause.
“Since when?” I ask him.
“I’ve been avoiding human contact since.. since I was of reasoning age,” he says. There is that odd something in the way he speaks again, how he slowly chooses words, or just the odd word choices in themselves. Like how he says human contact, rather than contact with people. It has me on edge.
“Why?” I choose ask him. He chuckles before attempting to answer.
“I’ll tell you if you agree to go on a date with me,” he surprises me by saying. My breath catches at the almost unassuming, confident way with which he’s just asked me out.
“Then I guess I’ll never find out..” My words die out unspoken in my mouth the instant I turn to face him, and the smug smile on my lips freezing in place upon meeting his eyes. Their intensity burn through me, confusing my thoughts, ransacking my mind, scattering my inhibitions, opinions.
“Pick me up tomorrow at six,” I hear myself say before I can stop myself.
“Why not tonight?” He asks in his captivatingly quiet voice.
Why not tonight?
I ransack my mind, trying to recollect my thoughts so as to remember why I can’t tonight.
“I have family therapy at 5pm,” I say. He nods once, before breaking contact.
“I’ll be there to pick you up at the end of Connelly Beach Road at six tomorrow,” is all he says before walking away, and I’m left staring after him speechlessly, unsure of what exactly made me to so willingly accept to go on a date with him.
Those riveting eyes, Sophia,
I tell myself, watching him receive the ball my brother unexpectedly throws his way, and he in turn mindlessly sends the ball through the basket with an effortless jump shot.
Those riveting eyes have you enchanted,
I admit to myself.
“Sophia has a date..”
“Tony!” I exclaim.
“Do you now?” Dr Young says.
“Yep!” Tony answers her with an amused look.
“You’ll pay for that,” I threaten him, our cheerful moods pleasing both our therapist and our mother.
“That’s great to hear,” Dr. Young says smiling. “Tell me about him.”
“Yeah,” mom now puts in. “This is the first time I’m hearing about it. Tell me about him.”
“I..” I start. “It’s this new kid at school. His name’s Gauthier.”
“That’s an uncommon name,” mom puts in.
“And he’s weird too,” Tony says. “Keeps staring at Sophia so intensely..”
“Tony! Shut up!”
“No, Sophia,” Dr. Young now puts in. “We don’t stop each other from speaking in here. This is a fair sharing ground for everyone, remember?” I nod defeated. Mom and Dr. Young now turn to Tony curiously.
“Go on,” our shrink says.
“I guess he just likes her, but he stares at her in this intense way,” he says shuddering slightly, and its clear to all that it makes my brother uneasy. It does also make me uneasy when he stares at me. Very uneasy indeed.
“Does it bother you?” Dr. Young now says, writing down something on the notepad resting on her knees. “Does it bother you when you see someone being so intensely interested in your sister? Does it make you feel as though he intends to hurt her?” I now turn to Tony too.
“It bothers me,” Tony admits. “But.. I really doubt he’d hurt her. I think he just likes her a lot, and doesn’t know how to hide it.”
“That’s teenage love,” mom puts in laughing. I see the worry on her face, even though she’s trying very hard to seem okay with this. Her acting is impressive, for someone’s who’s grown so protective that she’s afraid of dropping us at school every morning, and will not even entertain the idea of buying us a car at the moment.
“It is,” Dr. Young says smiling. Now she turns to me, and I squirm in my seat, knowing questions will now be coming my way. “Tell me about him, Sophia.”
“He’s.. His name is Gauthier..”
“You already said that,” mom says.
“He’s just moved here from Southampton.”
“England?”
“Yeah.”
“With his family?”
“I guess.”
“You guess? What do you know about this boy really?” Mom questions.
“That he swims, plays tennis and runs too,” I say. “He also shoots hoops with Tony and the guys in the basketball team at times.”
“And that was enough reason for you to accept to go on a date with him?” I look at my mother, unsure of what to say next. It is quite odd too, especially because I was sure I’d have said no to him right before my mouth opened and said yes. And how had he even known my address? I suddenly get nervous.
“I’ll cancel..”
“No!” It’s Dr. Young who now says this. “Don’t. Don’t let your fears hold you back. You opening up to someone new is a great step to recovery, Sophia.”
She now turns towards my mother and says, “it is what we’ve been working for. It is what your previous therapist had been working for too,” she finishes, mom nodding in reluctant acceptance.
I watch the grey Audi slide smoothly to a stop by the kerb in front of our house, and I tug my jacket tighter around me as I walk forward. He rushes out of the car and meets me on the sidewalk, and I make sure to look anywhere but at his eyes.
“Am I late?” He asks a little perturbed, looking at his watch to confirm the time.
“No,” I answer him. “You’re a minute early, to be exact. I just- I thought to wait for you out here,” I say, slightly nervous.
“I see,” he says. He now looks unsure as to what to do, if the knotting of his gloved fingers before him is anything to go by.
“I need to know where we are going,” I tell him. “Mom said to text her the location before we leave.”
“Oh.. umh.. We are going to a restaurant called Noire for dinner,” he says. “It’s on Elm Street twenty seven.” I nod, typing a quick text to my mother as he speaks. Her reply is almost immediate.
Alright, honey. Have fun!
But call the second you feel uneasy.
I feel better knowing that mom will just be a call button away, because there is something about this boy that unsettles me just as much as it intrigues me.
“Shall we?”
“Yeah, let’s,” I answer, my elbow now tingling where his warm gloved hand just reaches as close enough as it can without touching my elbow, leading me forward and opening for me the door to slide in. My elbow still tingles even when he is settled back on his seat and starts the car.
We are silent while maneuvering through the city’s evening traffic. The air around us is thick and heavily charged, the constant need to touch him rising to a near necessity, heating up my body, that I open the window all the way despite the chilly breeze, and stick my head as far out as I can without appearing too obvious.
“Do you have a curfew?” He asks.
“Ten o’clock on school nights,” I tell him. We fall silent again.
“You have a nice car,” I say.
“Thank you,” he says. “How was the game last Saturday?” He asks.
“We won,” I tell him. “Why didn’t you come to watch it?” I ask, risking a quick gaze his way. His eyes remain fixed on the road gratefully, allowing me time to admire his outline.
“I wouldn’t serve any purpose there,” he says simply.
“You’d cheer,” I suggest.
“Isn’t that what you do?” He asks, turning towards me suddenly and catching my gaze. I am momentarily lost in the depth of his eyes before he pulls them back to face the road.
“It is,” I say breathlessly, still attempting to recollect myself. “I lead the crowd in cheering.”
“I am sure the crowd was just as loud without me as part of it,” he says smiling.
“Still,” I say, captivated by the outline of his smile. “It would have been good to have you there,” I shock myself yet again by saying out loud. I clamp my mouth shut abashed, beating myself silently for my unbridled outbursts, dreading his reaction to my words which are a blatant proof of my interest in him.
“I am glad to know that my presence holds as much regard to you, as yours does to me,” he says simple, not at all weighed down with embarrassment at the admission of his interest in me clear in his words.
I clamp my mouth shut after that and do not speak again until we arrive.
My breath catches when we step into Noire, a beautiful restaurant set at the edge of the river running across Elm Street, with beautiful lighting, exquisite furniture, spacious, elegant and in no way suitable for one dressed as I am, in jeggings and a loose sweatshirt.
“I.. I had no idea,” I stutter with embarrassment. “I thought we’d go to the mall or a pizza place like.. normal teenagers do,” I say shrugging. “I’m underdressed.”
“You’re perfect,” he says in an almost whisper, causing my whole body to glow under his compliment, and I continue to feel his intense scrutiny of my features though I don’t look up at him.
“Thanks,” I manage to say with great trouble. He says nothing in answer, but rather leads me on, his proximity once again sending waves of electricity coursing through my whole body.
“Gauthier,” a woman’s voice calls with familiarity, and I turn to catch sight of a beautiful young woman with clear porcelain skin and an austere high bun smiling from behind a desk at the lobby.
“Marjorie,” Gauthier acknowledges her with a confident smile. He suddenly seems older to me, too sure of himself, plus the fact that he’s on friendly terms with the Maitre d’.. or maybe he just often brings his dates here.
“You table is ready for you,” she says with a knowing smile, clear adoration in her voice, before she nods to someone and a waiter quickly rushes to our side, leading us to a table with direct view to the river outside.
“You come here often?” I ask the minute he is done helping me to my seat and he occupies his.
“Why do you ask that?” He asks me calmly, scrutinising me over the restaurant’s mellow lighting. I turn away before his gaze has the chance to melt my insides again.
“That Maitre d’, Marjorie- she knew you. And also the waiter smiled at you as though he knows you.”
“My family owns the restaurant,” he says easily. I mustn’t be hiding my expressions from him very well. “You don’t believe me,” he now says.
“You just moved from England,” I point out the obvious discrepancy with his tale. If they just moved here, how could they have a restaurant open and running already?
“Yeah,” he says. “But like I said before, my family is from all over. I had family here too..”
“Who?”
“What?”
“Who? An uncle? A distant cousin?”
“My father.”
“Really?”
He chuckles before answering. “Yeah, really. Why? Don’t you believe me?”
“I just.. I’d have thought you lived with your father before in England.”
“I did, at times. And he also at times lived here.” I am now the one studying him. His story is loopy, but I see no reason for him to lie to me.
“Where is your father now?”
“Here,” he tells me.
“In Greenfield City?”
“The one and only,” he says smiling. I quickly look away from his smile, not wanting to find myself tongue-tied again.
“Does your family now permanently live here?” I ask.
“It does, for now.” I can feel his eyes studying me now. I avoid looking up at all cost, pleased when the waiter arrives. After we order, I resort to avoiding his eyes again, an uncomfortable silence settling over us.
“You don’t believe me,” he finally says.
“You just.. your story has holes, Gauthier.” He laughs lightly at this while I sip at my water.
“What holes?”
“I can’t quite place my hands on it. But it does.” Now he laughs more openly, staring at me over his glass of water.
“You’re clever,” he says. “I like that.”
It’s my turn to chuckle.
“You thought I was stupid?” I ask with a frown.
“I hoped you weren’t,” he says.
“So why exactly did you ask me out anyway? Are you one of those shallow cute boys for whom looks is all that tips the scales on whom they want to date?”
“I am glad you think me a cute boy,” he surprises me by saying. I shake my head now, unable to resist the urge to smile. “And no,” he proceeds to say. “I’m not as superficial as that.”
I make the mistake of meeting his eyes, and I’m completely unable to look away this time.
“You- I was interested, ‘tis all,” he simply explains, interlocking his gloved fingers together against the edge of the table.
“Interested in what?” I ask him, my eyes never straying from his, our food forgotten, going cold on our plates.
“To learn more about you,” he says. “Now please eat up, because I have something to show you.”
It’s a struggle to look away, but I eventually do, and resume eating in silence.
“What do you want for dessert?” He asks.
“I’m too stuffed for dessert,” I tell him, laughing nervously.
“Come on. No one forgets to leave room for dessert!”
“I do,” I say laughing, making the mistake of meeting his eyes again.
“Oh Yeah? You do that often?”
“Yes, I do.” I admit, unable to break the trance his gaze holds me in. “More often than I should.”
He now smiles, a happy one, rather than a confident one, and for the first time I see him blink and look away. It is the first time he’s visibly shown that I too do have an unnerving effect on him.
He clears his throat.
“Then come on. There’s a place I’d like to show you,” he says, and my interest is piqued.
“What place?” I ask, rising from my seat as he does so too. I then notice that he doesn’t move to pay, and none of the staff raise a question about that. Maybe his family does indeed own the place.
“Where are we going?” I ask, rushing to keep up with him as he zigzags his way between the tables and heads towards what must be the service area. Nobody stops us when we walk through steel doors labelled
Personnel Only
. Not even when we walk through a very busy kitchen area, where people call out hellos to him in the middle of all the helter-skelter of activities, my burning necessity to be close to him the only thing that expertly manouvers me safely between the hectic traffic after him, until we burst through large steel doors once again, and emerge into a long empty corridor with dim lighting.
An unsettling silence settles over us once the steel doors swing shut behind us, and suddenly cold air slaps me, greatly contrasting the warm air of the kitchen we’ve just been rushing through. That and the dim lighting and overly shadowed corners of this empty corridor quickens the apprehension settling into my senses. My heart begins to pick up its pace almost immediately, and my goosebumps rise. An involuntary shiver courses through me, as my head screams at me to stop. I do stop.
My whole being, my mind and body, scream at me to run, to run as far away and as fast as I can. So I start to turn, and do just that, right before he speaks.
“Stop.” The word is said so simply, so low, that I’d never have taken any heed of it if my whole body had not frozen on the spot. And try what I may, I am unable to move a single inch.
Panic pumps in my blood, hot and thick, and my mind runs wild as I realise I am dreaming again. I must be. There is no other explanation. Why am I dreaming again? Why now? When did the dream start? Did I ever come for a date? Did I ever meet Gauthier? When did the dream really start? Does Gauthier even exist? What’s the last thing I remember before sleeping?
I feel the same pull again, the pull of my dreams, much stronger than before. More intense this time.
“Please,” he says softly. “Come to me.”
I turn to him curiously, involuntarily, studying him, as the words he says swim around me, arresting me from going anywhere else, forcing my feet to take a step closer to him, and yet another, until the loose hem of my sweatshirt is brushing against his well-fitting pants.
“Am I dreaming?” I ask him with a shaky voice. My heart plummets even lower when he shakes his head before he answers.
“No,” he says. “You aren’t dreaming.”
“I don’t understand.” My voice has a calmness in it that is not my own. My whole being wants to revolt, scream, lash out, but I’m imprisoned by his gaze. Immobilised in place.
“I know,” he tells me, with eyes so sad and dark.
“What’s happening to me? Who are you?”
“I’ll explain later. I promise to explain it all. Right now I need you to come with me.” I look at him in panic when I feel myself lean even closer to him, despite all my wishes, my mind crying out unheard, my limbs acting on their own accord. I feel like a marionette. A mindless puppet.
“I have no choice.” My voice is barely a whisper.
“No, no you don’t,” he admits sadly.
“Why not?”
“Because I.. because you couldn’t resist me even if you tried.” He must have seen the way my face falls at this, or the flash of panic in my eyes. “Don’t worry. I’ll never- I’d never.. no harm will come to you. I promise you..”
“I want to go home,” I urge again in a whisper. I am screaming inside, but he is controlling me against raising my voice. I feel the restriction, though I can’t quite place a finger to it.
“I know you want to go home. And you will. Just not at this moment,” he says before stepping forward, turning behind to look at me, before proceeding. And despite all my inhibitions, my feet start moving, and I follow him.
The dark corridor is long, painfully long and silent. Long enough for all sets of scenarios to cross my mind, silent enough for me to hear the constant thumping of my heart against my chest. The echo of our footsteps is like a timer of my impending doom. The deeper in the corridor we go, the further we keep walking, the less I believe that I’ll ever make it back into my mother’s protective hands.
We have been walking for a while when I see a door approaching ahead. An identical door, steel double doors, to the one we left behind. It is that realization that causes me to relax a little, a suspicion that I could be dreaming after all. Gauthier could be a figment of my imagination. A coping mechanism, that my psychiatrists are always so eager to talk about. My heart slows down as we walk the last few steps to the door, and my mind embraces the idea that this might be the hoop I need to jump in order to wake up from this new nightmare. I just need to go through the door, and it will all be alright. I’ll wake up.