Be Myself! - 46. Building New Bridges

Brandon ended up taking me to my music class. He only let go of me once I had been safely ‘delivered’ to the teacher, and promised he was going to look for me during the break to check on how I was doing. At first, I was not sure if he was being serious, or just trying to be nice to me, but the expectation made me unusually anxious to get out of music class.

At least I did not have a panic attack during class like I feared. The teacher gave me one of the school’s violas to practice on for the day, and tactfully avoided asking when I would get my own instrument back. I do not think she could have known the role my viola played in everything that happened, but she probably figured I did not have access to Joseph’s house anymore, and that it would take a while for me to be in a condition to go viola-hunting.

Despite my fear that the music would bring me more flashbacks, I felt mostly good during the lesson. It had been months since I last played anything, but thankfully my body had not forgotten how to find the rights notes on the fingerboard or how to handle the bow. I did not have any music sheets with me, so I spend my time recalling melodies from memory. My usual practice routine (as much as I still had one after three long months of neglect) usually started with fifteen minutes of scales and arpeggios, the kind of boring, but necessary work that a lot of my classmates did not think twice about skipping. But, like in so many other school stuff, I felt that there was no point in doing something if I was not going to do it properly, so I always took my teacher’s advice and got on with the boring things before rewarding myself with the more interesting work.

But on my first day back I allowed myself to be like my classmates and stayed clear of scales and boring exercises. I had not played viola for so long that all I wanted was to enjoy my favourite instrument again. The exercises could wait another day or two. Instead, I played the main theme of the second movement of Beethoven’s seventh symphony. The music was slow, introspective, and (for me, at least) full of a kind of sadness that fit my current mood well. Every time I listened to that melody, I felt my heart bleed, and a compulsion to break down crying. Yet, playing that melody made me feel light and calm. It was like a session of therapy. I let my heart bleed. I allowed myself to express the sadness and the pain of the last two weeks. I did not mind the tears that came with it. Even though the whole tune was just about two minutes long, I played it over and over again until the bell rang. Getting out of my small room was like getting out of a trance. The outside world became much brighter and noisier than I remembered it being, and I took some time to adjust.

(...)

The rest of my classes were not as eventful as geography or music, but the same could not be said about the breaks.

Brandon and Wendy found me during the first morning break just as Oliver and I had reached the rugby fields where the rest of the LGBTI Club was hanging out. My friends looked suspicious at the duo’s approach, but I was kind of happy to see them. Brandon had been telling the truth when he said he wanted to see me again, and that sounded promising.

“Hi, Oscar. Are you feeling better?” Brandon asked. We were standing just a few paces away from the rest of my friends, close enough for them to hear our conversation (and probably to jump in if things started to turn ugly, though I thought that was unlikely to happen. Hannah, on the other hand, looked ready to grab Brandon’s throat and slash it open with her teeth).

“Yeah. Thanks for helping me out earlier.”

“That was nothing.” Brandon grunted his reply and looked away. Wendy and I rolled our eyes.

“So, Oscar,” Wendy continued the conversation. “We just want to say that we are sorry for the way we’ve been treating you. We’ve learned our lesson. Being gay is not a bad thing, and we shouldn’t have given you such a hard time because of it.”

“Took you long enough…” Helena rolled her eyes, making Wendy turn to her with a displeased scowl.

“I’m not talking to you.” Wendy spat. Helena rolled her eyes again, but said nothing. When Wendy seemed assured that Helena was not going to interrupt her again, she turned to me. “Six months ago, when I heard you had fucked the school whore, I got angry not only because you were gay, but because you had cheated on me, and because you were lying to me about the kind of person you liked. That’s a good reason to get angry, right?” She smiled slightly, hoping for my approval.

I did not expect Wendy to admit she had been wrong, though just a couple of hours earlier I would not have expected her to talk to me at all. It was not quite an apology, but I could tell she was trying to get our recent past behind us. “I can understand that you got angry because I cheated on you, and I’m sorry for that.” Wendy’s smile grew as I spoke, but I noticed that Helena and Hannah narrowed their eyes. Jean had a huge grin plastered on his face since Wendy spoke of the ‘school whore’. “But I didn’t lie to you. I didn’t know I liked guys back then.”

“I showed Oscar the light!” Jean shouted, grinning suspiciously at Brandon. “It’s all my doing!”

“And also, I’m not gay. I’m bisexual.” I told Wendy. It felt weird saying it out loud, even though it had been a while since I decided to use that word to describe my sexuality. It felt particularly weird saying it to Wendy and Brandon too, because of their past homophobia.

“Whatever.” Wendy waved her hand dismissively. “We’re just glad that you’re ok, and we want to ask if you would like to hang around with us again sometimes. You know, for old times’ sake?”

“I…” I did not know what to answer. It had been nice being around Brandon like we used to be half-a-year ago. We had been friends for almost two years. I knew the two of them for a lot longer than I knew the LGBTI Club. If they were willing to be around me again, I should probably take that chance. Things were never going to be like they once were, but it didn’t meant I had to reject everything to do with them.

“Oscar has new friends now,” Jean said. He walked towards us and grabbed my ass with the most obvious pomp he could muster while grinning suggestively at Brandon. To their credit, neither Brandon nor Wendy looked disgusted, but it only made Jean keener to push their boundaries. “He’s too busy to hang out with people who thought he was disgusting until two weeks ago.” Jean’s hand moved to the front of my trousers and he kissed my neck. Brandon began to look uncomfortable.

“We’re sorry, ok?” Wendy said, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “When we saw what your father did–“

“Joseph isn’t my father anymore.” I interrupted Wendy. We did not need to include that man in this conversation. Wendy seemed surprised, probably because of how harsh I sounded. I was not going to apologise for that.

“Ok, sorry. But I was saying that when you nearly died because of him we realised that we didn’t really want to lose you.” Wendy dropped her arms. Jean kept kissing my neck and touching private areas of my body, but she did not seem bothered. Her gaze softened. “I guess I understand if you like your new friends and want to stay with them, but can’t we do some stuff together every now and then? We don’t need to break all contact.”

“I guess that’s ok.” It was not a bad idea. If Wendy and Brandon really were sorry and willing to start again, I should give them a chance. We had a lot of history to simply let it fade away.

“Excellent!” Wendy grinned widely. “How about we celebrate this reunion with a double date? I’ve got a new boyfriend now, and it would be cool if I could introduce him to you. And then you can introduce me to your boyfriend.” Wendy looked at Oliver, who instantly started to blush. “What do you say?”

I looked at Oliver too, trying to see if he would be ok with it. Despite the faint redness of his cheeks, my boyfriend nodded. “We could try that, though I think I want to wait until I’m feeling a bit better.” I was technically still healing from the surgery in my abdomen, and my jaw’s mobility was still limited by the wires. It would not make for a great date if I could not eat any of the food served.

“Oh, ok. Sure, I guess.” Wendy’s smile got a little awkward. Maybe she had not realised that I was still not feeling that great, though it was hard to see how she would not think that when the wires on my mouth were so obvious. “But don’t forget! Come find me when you’re feeling up to it!”

“Ok, I’ll do that.”

Wendy, and even Brandon smiled at me and left. I felt optimistic at the way things were going with my old friends, even if they kind of reminded me of my old life. Hopefully, now that we were willing to start on a blank page, I would be able to associate my old friendships with my new life in a different way. I kind of looked forward to that, actually. It would mean I could take away all the good things that I cared about in my previous life, and leave only the bad stuff behind. I could bury Joseph and Claire without worrying that a few treasures would be forever forgotten too.

(...)

During the rest of the week, things slowly settled into a level of normalcy. I hung around my friends as much as I could, and they seemed happy to have me around them. Even Helena and Hannah seemed to have dropped their mean hatred of me. Helena invited me to sit next to her in biology (the one class we shared), and showed remarkable patience when my brain refused to understand some of the things the teacher was explaining. She did not even call me ‘idiot’ for needing to hear the same explanation three times. The two girls who used to openly doubt my capabilities and trustworthiness due to my cisgender male privilege took it as their mission to become sort of new bodyguards for me while at school. They were not exactly defending me from physical accidents as such (I could easily avoid those by waiting until students were already inside the classrooms to move about), but their mean faces next to me meant that people felt wary of approaching during times when I did not want to talk to anyone or hear comments about Joseph and Claire. Even if people had the best intentions when trying to talk to me, hearing those kind of things always made me feel bad.

It was kind of touching that the two members of our group that I feared the most had decided to help me, of their own free will. It was even more so when I realised that they understood my not wanting to talk to others about my experience, and were willing to ensure my wishes were respected. I would never have guessed that they would be up for it.

Oliver and I were notified on Wednesday that we would have our first counselling appointment later that week, on Friday. Oliver’s would be after lunch, and mine would be right before lunch in place of my music class. The headmistress had offered us counselling at the school, and Ms Savage strongly advised us to take it. She also looked for a counsellor for herself, Mr Viñas, and Sam. Both women were adamant that therapy would play a key part in not only my recovery, but in the whole family’s.

So midday on Friday I headed to the counselling rooms near the headmistress’s office. Henry had been seeing the very same counsellor ever since he was attacked by Arthur McKay, and he reassured me that she was really good and professional. I had no idea how the session would work, or how it would help me in the long run, but I was willing to give it a try.

The waiting area for the counselling rooms was bright and cosy. I arrived a little early to avoid crowded corridors, so I sat in a comfy armchair to wait for my name to be called. There were teenage magazines and comic books on a coffee table nearby, and a water fountain with plastic cups. The place smelled of chocolate cookies, even though I could not see any around. The radio played softly in the background, and I recognised the song as being Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony. The music was calm and relaxing, as if I was sitting by a stream in the middle of the woods on a sunny spring day. It did a good job of keeping my nerves and expectations at bay while I waited for the counsellor.

And I would have entered my first counselling session completely relaxed and even cheerful, if not for one unfortunate coincidence. The door to the counselling rooms opened at twelve o’clock sharp. I expected to see the counsellor calling me in, but the person who came through the door was not even an adult. He had short black hair, wore round glasses and managed to make me panic at the mere sight of him, even though he was younger and shorter than me.

Arthur McKay, the guy who hurt Oliver and Henry, walked out of the counselling room with a troubled expression. He did not notice me, but I did not need his acknowledgment to make my heart race and my legs freeze in place.