Week Seventeen

“Hey Ariella!” A voice called from what sounded like down the hallway. “I know it’s late, but I can see the light on in your room, so I’m assuming you’re up.” The voice became clearer, and Ariella could now tell it was Arthur. He entered her room without knocking (though in fairness to him, it was half-way open) and placed his backpack on the ground.

“Sorry I didn’t text or anything—my phone died on my way home from work. But since I’m leaving for my grandparents’ tomorrow, I wanted to give you your present.” He knelt on one knee and shuffled around his backpack, before pulling out a long red package. “Merry Christmas!”

“Thanks,” Ariella said with a slight sniff as she took the gift. “Your present still hasn’t come in the mail yet, so you’ll have to wait til after New Year’s.” She sniffed again, this one loud and ugly, the kind you had to apologize for (if you, unlike Ariella, put on the pretense of manners).

“You sick?” Arthur said, eyeing the fleece blanket draped over her shoulders and the cup of tea on her nightstand. “What do you think?” Ariella asked dryly as she pulled another tissue out of her pocket. (She bit back a ‘No wonder you didn’t become a doctor.' Their fight may have been months ago, but she still thought Arthur would be a bit touchy on the subject. He held a grudge like that.)

Arthur gave a half smile but eyed her curiously. “Is that all?”

“Yup,” Ariella said (in a hopefully nonchalant tone). Arthur gave her his patented ‘I’m-not-going-to-shut-up-til-you-spill’ look, and Ariella sighed loudly. “Fine, not it’s not.”

“You want to talk about it?” Arthur asked as he took a seat beside her. He phrased it as a question, but really it was an order.

Ariella took a long sip of tea before quietly admitting, “Things fell through with my psychiatrist.”

“Oh,” Arthur said simply.

“Yeah,” Ariella said with a grimace. She could tell it pained Arthur not to be able to offer any words of comfort, but he had been friends with her long enough to know spouting off clichés only upset her more. Instead, Ariella rested her head on Arthur’s shoulder, and they sat in silence for nearly eight minutes, until Ariella said, as if just realizing it herself, “It was my new one too. I’d only had her for a couple of months.”

“You didn’t tell me about that,” Arthur said softly, and Ariella was scared to look at his face. (Like she needed to feel any more guilty.)

“I know,” Ariella said, and the silence soon settled once more.

Finally, after Ariella had sipped the last bit tea left in her mug, she said, “Aunt Rosa was pissed. More than usual…more than she’s ever been. I don’t know why this time set her off, but it did. She’s…” Ariella was startled to realize she was now holding back tears. (Why? Why? She didn’t even like Aunt Rosa, she’d never liked Aunt Rosa. How pathetic did you have to be to cry over someone you couldn’t stand? Shouldn’t they have lost the ability to hurt you by now?) “She’s, um, she’s given up on me, I think.”

“Given up?” Arthur repeated. “How d’you mean ‘given up’?”

“She told me…well, sh-she said…that, u-um,” Ariella stammered, taking deep, shuddering breaths to try and steady herself. In spite of the fact that Aunt Rosa’s angry rant had been mentally replaying itself over and over in Ariella’s head, she found herself struggling to repeat the words. “That I’m on my own. From now on.”

Arthur looked at her in plain confusion, and Ariella felt the sudden need to explain, even if talking rationally seemed impossible. “She said, uh, I-I can find my own mental…help, I guess. Whatever you want to call it.” Ariella squirmed, remembering exactly what Aunt Rosa had called it. “But she’s not going to, um, bother. Herself, I mean. Not going to bother herself. Not with my…problems.” Her face had gone as red as her eyes. She had rambled so much, she wasn’t sure she had actually made any sense. (But there was no way Ariella was going to repeat any of that.)

“That’s ridiculous!” Arthur said hotly. “She’s your guardian! She can’t just decide she’s tired of taking care of you!”

“I am an adult, technically,” Ariella pointed out. “And I don’t know…she’s terrible, obviously, but…I kind of get it. I can’t stick it out or get it together; I’m a mess! It’s not just her that thinks it, my psychiatrists do too. Everyone does really. And yes,” Ariella said pointedly, sensing Arthur was about to cut her off. “You do too. Come on, Arthur, I saw how disappointed you were when I told you I was dropping out. You acted like I was throwing my life away!”

“I don’t—” Arthur started loudly, but seemed to catch himself. He took a deep breath and tried again. “I don’t think you’re throwing your life away. I was sad, yeah, but only because I didn’t think it was what you really wanted.”

“It wasn’t.” Ariella’s lip trembled now. “I tried, Arthur. I tried so hard. But it was too much, okay. I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t do it. I’m not hard-wired for it, I’m not normal. That place was going to drive me crazy—well crazier.” She added wryly.

“Hey, stop, don’t call yourself that,” Arthur said sternly.

“Please don’t start this right now,” Ariella said, groaning slightly. Arthur (much like her second psychiatrist) was a big believer in positive thinking and would usually scold her if she used “negative language” to describe herself. It could be sweet sometimes, but more often it was incredibly patronizing.

“Look, I’m just saying, that you,” Arthur said, pausing to look directly into her eyes. “You are not crazy.”

Ariella shook her head but made sure not to break eye contact. “But that’s the thing, Arthur, I am. I am crazy. Okay?” She struggled to find the words to explain herself, but felt she had to continue that he was so intently fixed on what she was saying. “I know you think it’s like me insulting myself or whatever, but for me… for me it’s a part of life. A part of me. And I can’t just like pretend that I’m not. I wish I could! I waste my life away wishing that I could.” She laughed a little as she said this, surprising herself. “But when I have to start stimming on a date? When I can’t meet my deadlines because of a panic attack? It just reminds me that that’s never gonna happen. Not for me.”

“Maybe you just need to take a break, I don’t think…” Arthur stopped, realizing Ariella had begun crying again. “Hey you know what…It’s late. I think you should maybe sleep on this. We can talk about it in the morning.”

“I don’t need sleep. I run on caffeine and feminist rage.” Ariella mumbled, as she wiped her tears with her blanket.

“I know, I know.”

“Hey wait,” Ariella said, sitting up. “I never opened my present.”

“Oh, yeah, I guess so. Here,” Arthur said, picking the package off the ground where it had fallen (she really hoped it wasn’t fragile) and handing it to her once more.

She tore off the wrapping paper and struggled with the bow for a minute (why did Arthur have to double-knot EVERYTHING??), before pulling out a rectangular picture frame. It was a picture of both of them on their first day of second grade. Both of Ariella’s front teeth were gone (which didn’t stop her from grinning proudly), and Arthur stood a head below her. Arthur’s parents were standing to his left, while Ariella’s parents…

“I found it last summer, when I was looking for a duffel bag for camp. I thought you might like it.”

“Yeah,” Ariella said, sensing her eyes were about to get watery once again. “I do. I love it. Thank you.” She leaned over and hugged Arthur briefly, before returning to the photo. “Gosh, we both look like such products of the 90s.” Ariella said laughingly, pointing at her side ponytail and Arthur’s painfully purple overalls.

Arthur smiled at her and patted her shoulder. “I’ve got to get going.”

“Right, right, early morning flight, I know.”

“Get some sleep, okay. I’ll call you tomorrow, we can talk more then.”

“Okay,” Ariella said, falling onto her side. Arthur turned the lights off as he left the room, but Ariella never took her eyes from the photograph, until she found she could keep them open no longer.