Avalon

And so, my depressingly sad final paper for writing 2. Enjoy, or... don't I guess. It's supposed to be about moving on... I call it: "Avalon"

Avalon hadn’t been to school in a week. As far as she was concerned, she wouldn’t be going back—ever. Six days had gone by, and she still had a jaded gloom painted across her face. She didn’t react to anything, and she wouldn’t say a word. She didn’t come to the table for meals, and she hadn’t eaten anything her parents or siblings knew of.
She had stayed in her room the first three days—except to go to the funeral. Her mother couldn’t believe she had even gone, but she didn’t try to stop her. She thought it might help bring closure. It hadn’t.
On the fourth day, her mother came home from the grocery store to find her sitting on the back porch, just staring at the lake. She tried to talk to her, to comfort her, but she didn’t react. She didn’t push her away, but she didn’t even acknowledge her presence. She just sat and stared.
On the fifth day her parents begged her to eat something. She wouldn’t. She was in a state of mind all her own, with no sense of time or people around her. She must have been starving, because her face grew sallow and thin, her cheeks sunken and ashy.
Her mother cried every few hours, at the sight of her hallow child. Her dad tried to ignore it. Her siblings shrank away into their rooms or friends’ houses to get away from it.
Her phone, which was still plugged into its charger where it had been for six days, flashed red every two seconds. Every few hours it would buzz to signal a new message or phone call. At current, there were 59 unread texts, 36 missed calls, and 28 new voicemails.
Alone in her room, Avalon would either sit in a curled up position in the corner, or lie face down on her bed. No one ever heard her cry, but her eyes were always red. If she did cry, it was silent and painful.
Some would say she hadn’t accepted it yet, that it hadn’t sunk in. Her mother thought she was dying, and maybe she was. How long could the body survive in such a state? Some would even question if the mind was working. It was. That’s all it did, day and night. It searched from every angle, looking for a way out of its misery, looking for peace, but not finding it.
Finally, the morning of the sixth day, her mother decided that she’d had enough. She stormed into her room, threw Avalon’s books into her backpack, and shoved her into the bathroom to shower. Her mother had feared she wouldn’t, but she did, the water pouring for almost an hour. She finally came out, hair dripping, but wearing clean clothes nonetheless.
Her mother tried to get her into the car, talking to her and shoving her gently, but Avalon wouldn’t acknowledge her attempts. Just as she was about to threaten calling her father, Avalon got up and walked into the garage and entered the car. Her mother, exasperated, grabbed her backpack and followed her.
They drove in silence, her mother sick of repeating her sympathies. They pulled up to the school, and her mother waited for her to get out. She let five minutes go by, and then began to calmly instruct her to get out of the car. She didn’t.
Five minutes of being ignored, and her mother burst into tears.
“Avalon, I can’t do this anymore!” she sobbed. “Get out of the car. Go to school. Live your life—” she choked.
Avalon got out of the car. Her mother threw her backpack after her. She grabbed one strap and dragged it forward towards the door. Her mother waited for her to go inside. She stopped at the door, and sat her tall figure down. She leaned against the wall, and tilted her head back.
Her mother made a phone call and drove away. Two minutes later, the school’s principle came out. He kindly asked Avalon to go inside. He held the door open for her. She stood up, grabbed her backpack, trudged into the hallway, and sat heavily down again.
“Avalon,” he said sternly. “It’s second period. You have Spanish with Mrs. Gurney. Go to class, Avalon.” She gave no response, as was expected, and altered the gaze of her clouded blue eyes to the tile pattern on the floor. “Avalon, I know you can hear me. Go to Spanish class now.” Avalon didn’t. The principle gave up.
And so did the vice principle, guidance counselor, and school nurse. Avalon wasn’t moving.
The bell rang. The hall was flooded with students.
“Avalon?” called a girl. “Avalon!” She ran over to her side, and crouched down to look her in the eye. Avalon wouldn’t meet her gaze. “We’ve missed you…I’ve missed you… I came over; your mom wouldn’t let me see you… I called, I texted, why didn’t you answer?” Another girl came over.
“Avalon! Are you… feeling better?” she asked apprehensively.
“Hey! Avalon? You’re back!” a boy shouted.
All of the noise flooded Avalon’s ears; she couldn’t comprehend the words. The tile floor she had been staring at was covered with bags and feet now. She looked down at her own shoes. The people kept talking, but as they did their voices molded into one high-pitched ringing that made Avalon’s pale face twitch around the eyes, ever so slightly. She let her dark brown hair fall and cover her face. Minutes must have passed, and the bell must have rung, because the noise faded and the faces left. All but two. A boy and the first girl.
The principle started walking towards them, and the boy stood up to leave.
“Hey, I’m glad you came,” he said before bolting down the hall.
The principle told the girl to go to class. She said no. He looked at her, brow furrowed at this short blond girl, but she said no again, thin lips set in their convictions. He sighed heavily, and left.
The girl waited until the principle was out of sight, and she took a breath.
“Avalon, if… if you want someone to talk to…” The words hung in the air like fog over a lake in the morning. “You—you look terrible.” The words weren’t meant as an insult, the compassion was genuine. The girl’s hazel eyes scrunched into a squint, as she thought carefully over her next choice of words. “Avalon, if you don’t want to…I can’t blame you… I just—I’m waiting, when you’re ready. I know you might think it’s soon, but healing can’t come without some acceptance.”
They sat in silence for a long while, enough time for the bell to ring again and the masses of students to file by and stop to see her. She didn’t seem to notice any of this. When they had all left again, the girl was still there. She stared up at the ceiling, down at the floor, and over at Avalon.
“Avalon, I can’t see you like this! It’s killing me. You think I don’t feel it too? You think I’m not affected by everything? Avalon! At least look at me!”
And for the first time in over six days, Avalon did three things. She looked over at the girl and made eye contact through the haze, and started to cry. And she spoke her first words since the night it all happened.
“Not now.”
They were barely above a whisper, but the girl heard them.
“Tonight, Avalon. Tonight.”
Avalon nodded.

~*~

Avalon went home with the girl that day after school. Her poor mother must have been worried sick, as she didn’t have her cell phone and didn’t call to let her know. She still wasn’t talking, and hadn’t said anything since her two words with the girl.
“Avalon, it’s good to see you!” the girl’s mother exclaimed. “Clare, you didn’t tell me she was back in school.” Clare shot a darkened glance and head shake at her mother who quieted.
Once at Clare’s house, the two girls went to her room. Clare sat on her bed, and Avalon sat on the floor leaning against the dresser.
“Now?” Clare asked. Avalon shook her head. Clare frowned, her tiny pink lips pursing anxiously, and opened her backpack. She took out a thick envelope and tossed it at Avalon. “That’s your homework for the past week. I’ve been collecting it for you.”
Avalon looked down at the envelope, and pulled it toward herself. She didn’t open it, but held it in her hand. Clare began working on her own homework, and the time dragged on.
“Now?” Clare asked after a few hours. Avalon shook her head again, and Clare sighed. “Then you’re eating something.” She left and came back with a bowl of soup a few minutes later, and held it out to Avalon. After a moment of waiting for her to take it, she spoke. “Avalon, take it.” Like an obedient puppy, Avalon accepted the bowl. “Now eat.”
Avalon did, and realizing of her extreme hunger from the six day fast, she finished it in less than two minutes.
“Now,” Clare said, and it wasn’t a question this time.
Avalon’s lip quivered and her eye twitched, before she replied. “Not here.”
Clare stood up, took Avalon by the hand, and led her out of the room and outside. They walked into a garden, and settled near a fountain. Clare sat, and Avalon followed.
“Avalon,” Clare began slowly. At that moment, the trigger was somehow set off and the tears came in great streams down Avalon’s face. She tried to stop, but couldn’t control it, and the torrents fell. She buried her face in her hands, but it did no good to staunch the flow. As Clare watched, a silent tear rolled down her own cheek, and she put her arm around Avalon. Avalon shut down, and she collapsed into a heap in Clare’s arms.
Time passed, but the sadness still flowed. When her eyes had finally run out of tears to cry, Clare gently let her go. She went into the house and came back with a glass of water, and after she had fully calmed down, Avalon drank it eagerly.

~*~

“I don’t know what happened, nobody does. But they’ll figure it out, I know they will. I can’t imagine what motivated this; she was so good to everyone. Who’d hate her that much?” Clare stopped, afraid to go to fast. “The police think it might have been random,” she tried. “You couldn’t have done anything, I know it and so do you. If you, for some unexplainable reason, blame yourself, stop. You weren’t there, you left before it happened. You couldn’t have stopped it.”
Avalon was shaking her head, but she didn’t say anything. Clare looked confused.
“You don’t, do you? Blame yourself, I mean.”
Avalon’s head stopped shaking, and she sputtered out an answer. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? Avalon, it’s just me. Tell me the truth.”
“Yes…”
“Yes you do?”
“Yes.”
“Why? It was someone’s fault, all right, but it wasn’t yours. You weren’t there—but someone was, and they’ll catch that person, Avalon.”
“I was there,” she choked, and the tears sprung anew.
“You were not there, Avalon… You left a half hour before it happened. And don’t even try to blame yourself for not staying, you had no reason to—” Clare said firmly.
“No, no, I was,” Avalon stammered amidst the tears. Her incomprehensible words tumbled out in a flood, and Clare looked confused.
“What do you mean you were there?” Clare questioned after a moment. “You were at home. In your room. Doing homework. Your mom said so, and so did your brother. You weren’t anywhere near her, Av.”
“I watched it, Clare. I was there.”
“Avalon, slow down. How were you there?”
“We were studying out by the lake, and I had to go,” Avalon started, voice shaking. “And, and I left to walk home.”
“Exactly. You left. You had to be home; your mom would have called you if you stayed and you would have left anyway.”
“That-that’s not it…” Avalon stammered. “When-when I got the-there, I-I realized I’d forgotten my English folder, and-and I went back to get it. I grabbed it, and I saw…”
“Saw… who did you see? Who was it? Avalon, you have to tell me!” exclaimed Clare, eyes wide open.
“Vi,” shuttered Avalon.
“I know Violet was there, but who was it? Who was with her?” Clare demanded.
“No one…” whispered Avalon.
“So you didn’t see?”
“I saw,” breathed Avalon, words failing her.
“Did anyone come up while you were there? Did you see who it was? What happened? Did you know him?”
“No, Clare, no one was there…”
“Then you didn’t see what happened,” shrugged Clare.
“No, Clare I saw!” cried out Avalon.
“Saw what? Saw her? You couldn’t have seen what happened if there was no one there, obviously. Did you see anyone on your way back home? Anyone suspicious? Did you, did you see them shoot?”
“Yes,” admitted Avalon.
“Who was it then?”
“Vi,” she faltered. Her eyes pleaded with Clare to stop the questions, and Clare’s eyes filled with tears.
“Violet? Violet shot the gun?” Avalon was quivering all over now, and the tears were streaming down her hot cheeks. “Vi—are you sure? Are you absolutely certain?”
Avalon nodded furiously despite her shaking body.
“Vi… I… I didn’t know…” Clare stopped. Her heart beat faster, and her mind raced. A tear slid down her face, and more were soon to join its number.
“But I did, Clare. I did! I just never thought…” she couldn’t finish.
The sun set on the girls, and their tear streaked faces gleaming in the light. The silence soon became unbearable, though, and Clare interrupted it with a thought she had been fostering in the quiet.
“But… But if Violet shot the gun… Why weren’t her fingerprints on it? And why was it just out of her reach?”
Avalon sat in the silence, face towards the falling sun, as if mustering the courage to answer the painful question.
“Because I moved the gun.” Clare’s face went paler than she had thought it could, and she was speechless. Saying the words seemed to bring a bit of peace to Avalon’s stricken face, but you could see the hurt and secrets built up still. “I wiped it down and moved it. I—I don’t know how, I don’t even remember if I wiped it down good, but I guess I did because…”
Clare tried to talk, but nothing came out. She waited, pondering her thoughts, amazed at the reality of the situation.
“So… are your prints on the gun then?” she asked hopeful of a rejection.
Avalon nodded, and sighed slightly. She dug her toe into the moist earth of the garden. Clare’s face scrunched up, and she burst into a fit.
“Are you mental? Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Messing with a crime scene—drastically modifying it—removing evidence? Those are probably all felonies. Not to mention—if your prints are on the-the mur-murder weapon, when they get around to fingerprinting the family and friends, they’ll know, Avalon, and they’ll think… things. They’ll think you killed her! I believe you, only because I know you’re a terrible liar around me, and you don’t own a gun, and… you really cared about Vi… But the police don’t know any of that, and even if they did, it wouldn’t matter.”
“I… I know, Clare. And that’s why I did it.” Clare pounded the ground with her fist, and it sunk into the dirt. She pounded them again, breaking the stems of the flowers in the process. Their petals lay in a pathetic pile being buried by the repetitious hammering. Finally, exasperated, she drew her hands up to her face and smudged dirt in her eyes.
“You can’t do this, Avalon! I won’t… I won’t let you!” The frustration in her voice was evident. Just when she’d thought she was healing the pain of the loss, it was being ripped ruthlessly open again, leaving the wounds exposed and bleeding. “Why?”
“Because it’s my fault,” Avalon said, surprisingly calm. She looked into the sunset, eyes squinting in the light. A peace had found its way over her eyes, as if it would somehow be able to pay penitence for its failure.
“How? You didn’t pull the trigger, did you? Or maybe… maybe you did?” she spat incredulously.
“No. But I didn’t stop it from being pulled, did I?”
“How could you have?” Clare nearly shouted, not caring who heard anymore.
“She told me, Clare. She told me she was going too…”
“There was no way you could know she meant it,” choked Clare.
“I should have… I should have been better, I should have taken her to a counselor, told her parents, but I didn’t want to betray her trust like that…”
“Well it’s over now, she’s dead, and you can’t change that,” screeched Clare, emotions in turmoil. Avalon’s face was bent in intense concentration—as if she thought she knew the answer but was afraid of it.
“Exactly. I can’t change it,” she whispered quietly.
“So move on! Get a good lawyer, I don’t know.”
“I can’t. I deserve the punishment…”
“But you didn’t do anything,” Clare bawled.
Avalon’s face wrinkled and her wet cheeks moisture was renewed feverishly.
“I could’ve.”
Clare sat, crying, refusing to respond to this reply. She couldn’t accept it, she couldn’t understand. The thoughts sprang from anger at Violet, frustration with Avalon, exasperation with herself, sympathy for Violet, depression with Avalon. It overwhelmed her and spilled over the sides.
“I could’ve, and I didn’t. Not soon enough,” Avalon concluded.
~*~
“What does the defendant plead?” the judge asked. Avalon’s eyes flew up to the judge’s stern glare, then back at her hands, wringing in her lap. Her lawyer gave one last pitiful glance towards Avalon, then became stone cold as he faced the judge.
“Guilty.”
Clare leaned forward in her seat, far in the back row, and her eyes filled with hopeless tears at the magnitude of confusion and guilt that crowded her, the same confusion that had stolen the life of a friend, and was now about to ruin the life of another.