Page 11 of Unspoken Words
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When I wokethe nextmorning, Ellie’s words still played in my head, and I didn’t know what to do with them. She was only trying to help, just like my parents, friends, teachers, and counsellors. But talking about Aaron didn’t help. It only made things worse. It only hurt more and made me angry, and I didn’t want to be angry because it upset Mum and Dad, which was why I chose to block them all out, to blockeverythingout. Except, no matter what I did, I couldn’t block out Ellie’s words; they kept repeating over and over, like a song.Get out of my head!
Rubbing the palms of my hands over my face, I groaned, sat up in my sleeping bag, and grabbed the neck of my guitar. I slid it onto my lap and lightly strummed a few chords, the tune instantly bonding with Ellie’s words but not drowning them out like it did the sound of the bouncing basketball. Curious, I went to play louder but thought better of it, not wanting to wake everyone up.
“Screw this!”
I threw on my clothes, laced up my runners, and collected my guitar before stepping out of my tent. Mum and Dad were still asleep, but Mr Mitchell was already awake and preparing the fire for breakfast.
He looked up when I tried to bypass him. “Good morning, Connor. Did you sleep well?”
I wanted to answer him and say, ‘yes, thanks, eventually.’ Mr Mitchell seemed nice enough, but talking with adults led to talking about Aaron,always,and I didn’t want to do that. Talking wouldn’t bring him back.
Not wanting to be rude and also remembering that Ellie’s dad was my new Vice Principal, I nodded and quickly headed straight to the river, to the spot where Ellie had pretended to be a tree. I remembered her pink Chucks poking out at the base of the trunk, and it made me laugh. She was kinda funny: odd and a little quirky but also normal—unlike the girls from my old school. They were fake. One day they liked you and the next they didn’t, like you were part of a stupid popularity contest. Aaron and I hated that crap, so we’d mostly stayed away from them and focussed on basketball instead.
Bounce. Bounce.
‘Connor, take the shot!’
Sitting on the same rock I’d sat on yesterday, I positioned my guitar and started strumming chords again, this time louder. The bouncing sound in my head ceased, but Ellie’s words grew stronger—they hadn’t left my head the moment they’d entered it.
Hold on to the memories.
I hummed them, unable to help it.Damn it.I didn’t want to hold on to the memories. Aaron was gone and I’d never see him again. What was the point in holding on?
What’s gone isn’t gone until you let it slip away.
I pronounced the words a little clearer than a hum and, strangely enough, saying them out loud wasn’t too bad. They didn’t hurt. They didn’t make me angry.
They didn’t make me hate the world and everyone in it.
Sucking in a deep breath, my fingers fell slack, my arms grew limp, and everything stopped—everything but the gentle splash of the river and the chirp of happy birds.
“You’re singing my words?”
I snapped my head in the direction of Ellie’s voice to find the same pair of bright pink Chucks as I had the day before, except this time they were accompanied by a denim skirt, a matching pink t-shirt, a lace glove—on one hand only—and a big white bow among a heap of boofed red curls, all of which belonged to Ellie.
“I … er … that doesn’t look like camping clothes,” I stuttered, deliberately turning the conversation back on her.
She glanced down at her outfit. “Good. Camping clothes suck.”
I blinked then looked at what I was wearing. “So these suck?”
“It’s different for boys. All boy clothes suck.” Ellie took a step closer, her voice softer. “Were you just singing my words?”
I noticed a spot on her face that hadn’t been there yesterday. “What’s that?” I asked, pointing to the small mark, again, deliberately avoiding her question.
“A fake beauty spot, like Madonna’s. Except hers isn’t fake.” Ellie’s finger lightly swept over her upper lip, and she avoided my gaze. “I kinda love her, especially her music.”
I smiled. Eloise Mitchell was confident and honest whether she intended to be or not. I really liked that about her. It was brave. Unique. And it inspired me to be the same.
“Yes, I was singing your words,” I admitted.
Her eyes darted to mine, and they shone like green emeralds. “So you liked them? You didn’t think they were stupid … that I’m stupid?”
I chuckled and simultaneously choked; her eyes werereallypretty. “Why would I think you’re stupid?”
“For writing you a note about grief when I don’t know what grief feels like. I just wanted to help you feel better after I forced you to tell me about your friend. Words make me feel better so I thought they might do the same for you.”
