Page 10 of Haunt Me

Or that’s what I thought.

I have no idea what he wanted for me—there wasn’t enough time to find out. I guess he just wanted me to be happy. And I have failed at that, so spectacularly.

But back then, I was sixteen and I wanted to make him happy more than I wanted to make myself happy. People talk of overbearing parents who pressure them too much… Well, my dad did nothing but love me and tell me that he would support my dreams no matter what they were. He himself was living his own dream after all, and he wanted nothing less for his kids.

But I loved him so much that I wanted to give this to him, even though he never asked. Love is a bigger driving force than fear or pressure, that’s what I’ve found.

So off I went to the best and priciest boarding prep school. It so happened to be located in the middle of nowhere, otherwise known as Amherst, Massachusetts. I was bored out of my mind.

For the next two years, I would spend my days inside a dorm house resembling a castle, on the edge of the orange woods, even though I secretly dreamed of going to Julliard, like my brother. He had already gotten in, when he was fourteen.

I hated every single class, but I gave it my all, just for the hope that it would make dad happy. I was happy with every paper graded A, every success, every extra-curriculum activity, everything added to my CV for that interview at Harvard. I was determined to get in, study my ass off, and then become one of those hard-working people at an office that have nothing, absolutely nothing to do with music their whole entire life. I would show my dad that his lifewasn’t wasted, as he always joked. I don’t think he believed it, not really, but somewhere deep inside, his own parents’ disapproval still hurt.

I idolized him and my mom–but mostly him. And I wanted to do anything I could to please him, to make his dreams come true.

Something he had never ever asked of me.

I think it had never crossed his mind to.

Anyway, a success I would be. I wasn’t nearly talented enough to compare to him or to my mom in music anyway. As for my little brother, no one could compare to his musical genius, not even them. So I wouldn't even try. I would conquer the corporate world, or die trying.

My dad being proud of me or for me had become something like an obsession, fueled daily by the love and admiration he always showed me. But I didn’t feel worthy of it. In a musical house, I was the least gifted. Of course, I could play several instruments, but not well enough. Not as well as they could. And I couldn’t compose music worth for crap.

So I wanted to make them proud on some other level. In academia, I could compete. Studying was so easy for me, it became boring.

Still, the music was boiling in my blood. In my boring prep school, I would sneak out of class and run away to the woods in the back, trying to distract myself from how much I hated all of my classes and how obsessed I was with music.

It was not going well.

And then, it went worse.

First, because my dad died a few weeks into the first semester.

And then I died myself.

Eden’s Old Phone

Eden: Ok, I’ve wanted to ask this for so many years, and now I finally can. So, here goes. (Try not to make fun. I know you will. But try.)

Eden: It’s about Jane Eyre.

Eden: Do bookish plots happen in real life? Do you randomly walk up to a gothic castle and meet the love of your life? Do peoplestill die tragically, just for the sake of the plot, after being insane for their entire lives? Can you actually say ‘I am no bird and no net ensnares me’ to a literal human being and expect them to fall in love with you? I have so many questions.

F: You’ve had this phone for a few hours.

Eden: So?

F: So, you’re losing your mind already.

F: I want you to sit there and think about that for a second.

six

It’s six years ago. I’m me, but also not me. Issy Woo doesn’t exist yet.

I’m just Isaiah, trapped inside the most boring prep school in New England, having just buried my father. The blue sky is quickly becoming populated by clouds so perfect they look like a child’s drawings, the trees have turned yellow, and I’m feeling like a failure.

I ambeinga failure.

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