Samantha could ever so distantly recall, earlier this morning, thinking that College hadn't prepared her for the fight happening then, in homeroom, an incident which had also happened to involve Gauge. It seemed she could not, therefore, muster the words to describe how she felt about what was happening presently and her subsequent lack of preparation for it.
Her expectations when she'd sat down had been for Gauge to get up immediately. For him to move as soon as his knees would let him, make some demeaning comment about her being a weak female, and then move on. After all, he'd only shown the highest level of disdain for her. The wall between them was like a force of nature - she was a teacher, he was a student. She kept order, he disrupted it. She attempted to help those less fortunate in this school, and he tore them down. They were fundamental opposites, no more, and as such, he would not ever deign to be seen sitting against the lockers with her by his side.
Those expectations, like a ship on a roiling sea, had been completely thrown out of place.
The last few moments were something incredible. "My bad . . . ," he'd said, before scooting closer to her. She'd tensed up - habits may die, but memories do not, even memories from long ago - but glancing at him, she'd seen immediately that he was not at all being hostile. He'd just looked weak. And then, from there, words had poured forth from him, a tide of inexorable pain that he was, for some un-surmisable reason, allowing her to witness. "I hated you. Until just now . . . you wanna know why?" she'd simply stared, knowing it was a rhetorical question. With what had looked like a good deal of effort, he'd started speaking. "You . . . remind me of Sierra. She was like my mom. I was 5 when dad started dating her. And I imprinted in a way."
At that point, Samantha had been very sure she knew exactly where the story was going. After all, Gauge'd said she was like his Mom. But still, Gauge continued, and Samantha listened. "She was hard on me. Said I was smart and needed to act like it. That school would get me outta the hood. And my brothers got behind it. Made sure I went to school and kept kids off of me. No one messed with nerdy Gauge unless they wanted Miles and Jackie to put them in the hospital. I thought it was going to work out. I thought I'd make it. Then . . . before the start of Freshman year . . . dad . . . he . . ." Here, Gauge's speaking and breathing took on a slightly random, sort of syncopated rhythm. Samantha had been fairly certain that he was holding back tears. His tone, however, had remained conversational.
"He told us . . . that she had left. He was drunker . . . than usual. He said someone had broken into the house and she'd gotten scared and ran away. There was blood on the floor. A lot of blood. And I sat and cleaned it up. And waited for Sierra to come home. She never did."
"Good God", she'd thought. "What in the hell has he-"
Then, Samantha had barely had time to react as, quite suddenly, he'd laid his furred head on her shoulder, ears brushing her neck. Her first reaction'd been to tense up, and despite a fairly refined control of her own body language, she had indeed tensed just a little. But he'd hardly seemed to notice it. Her inner and outer body frozen, her mind had been the only real thing that had remained active, desperately clawing at something, anything, in order to decide what to do in this situation, one in which she'd felt truly clueless. Teachers manuals would have only said to direct him to the Guidance Counselors, an amusing proposition when it came to Gauge. Past experiences with other students had never been near this level, for no canine like Gauge - involved in the violence, with such serious problems - had ever let her get close. So she had remained sitting with Gauge, unmoving, and just listened.
"I mean its obvious now that he killed her. But . . . I dunno I guess I hated her for leaving us . . . And I guess you look so much like her . . . you got some of it too. And that's not all. You talk like her too . . . and you look at me like she used to. When ever I'd get in trouble at school she'd always give me that look and know exactly what I felt and why I'd done something . . ." And all of that was why she now sat in the hallway, Gauge's head on her shoulder, her expectations completely defenestrated and replaced by a reality that was, in fact, far harsher than any attitude he could have possibly thrown at her for sitting with him. That was why she felt completely at a loss, perhaps as helpless as the student next to her, lacking any semblance of preparation for the scenario she was presented with.
"I miss her . . ." he said, his voice a whisper, a ghost of the Gauge she knew. Had she looked upon herself in this moment, not knowing its buildup, she might have cheered for her. Hooray, she'd finally gotten Gauge to open up to her. But now, well, it didn't feel right. This whole thing didn't feel right. It wasn't as if her conscious mind was confused about the fact that she didn't feel happy after he'd just told her a story that was tragic as anything, no, that part seemed plenty logical. The whole thing just didn't feel . . . well, she wasn't entirely certain there was a word for what it felt like. A mix between defeat, sorrow, and an irrational fear for the creature sitting next to her.
They remained in silence for a long moment, an ironic reflection of the silence that had punctuated their "showdown" earlier today. She didn't move, instead just allowing him to rest his head there, afraid that any action from her might break the extreme fragility of the current peace between the two of them. Finally, however, she decided that she could speak. The reality of the situation was bearing down hard on her, and she could ignore it no longer - this moment was delicate, and she wanted to figure Gauge out and let him say what he needed to say. Yet they were in the middle of the school hallway, and if another student saw them like that, Samantha was sure Gauge would close himself off, and doubtful he'd ever open back up out of the potential for teasing by his classmates.
Ever so gently reaching her right paw up her side, she pushed it beneath his head and her shoulder, cradling the side of his face in it. Attempting in the extreme to not feel like she was pushing him off, she instead moved herself away from him, supporting his head with her paw as she rotated herself to face him. She closed her eyes for a long moment, then, she looked at him, his head still resting in her paw. But instead of studying him, as she often did with her students (perhaps brown bears weren't the only ones who were obvious about it?) she stared directly at him, meeting his gaze, not moving her eyes. "Gauge, we're still out in the hallway" she finally said in her gentlest tone, attempting, in as much as she could, for it to sound like a reminder meant for his sake. That's what it truly was, after all, but still, she wasn't sure if he would take it the wrong way.
Moving her right paw away from his face, she then stood up. As she did so, she produced her left paw, waiting for him to take it so that she could help him up, smiling softly, comfortingly, albeit somewhat unsure, down on him.
Topic: Pellicius High School, 4200 Hanso Lane (Read 14613 times)