I’ll Be Seeing Ya, Kid Lizzie
I’LL BE SEEING YA, KID
Lizzie
JANUARY 22, 1999
I T HAPPENED AGAIN LAST NIGHT .
The monster attacked me in my sleep again, hurting me so severely that I brought my injuries back to reality with me.
It hurt to sit on my chair in class, and by the time big lunch rolled around, I was close to losing my mind. Every part of my body ached, but it was my mind that was truly shaken up. Because it was getting harder and harder to tell the difference between what was real and what was my imagination.
Reaching my breaking point, I avoided my friends at break, escaping from the classroom as soon as the lunch bell rang. Praying for an escape and seeking out solace, I hid behind the wall at the back of the pitch, knowing Shannon and Claire wouldn’t find me here.
Sitting cross-legged on the grass, I slumped against the wall behind me and tried to breathe through the pain. I wasn’t sure which was worse: the pain in my mind or the one between my legs.
The scalding-hot tears trickling down my cheeks were my only assurance that I was, in fact, awake and in school. I could feel, touch, taste, and see my tears. Those were real , which meant I was, too.
Sniffling, I placed my trembling hands on my thighs and forced myself to look. My body tensed when I saw the claw marks the monster had left on my skin.
Dark purplish fingerprints were imprinted into my flesh. They looked bad, but I knew they paled in comparison to the damage the monster inflicted inside of me. On the parts I couldn’t see in the mirror.
The scariest part of it all was that I thought a small part of me might be starting to like it, which didn’t make any sense because I knew I didn’t. I hated the monster, and I never wanted to go to sleep at night because I dreaded him crawling into my body. But lately, something strange was happening inside of me—a horrendous pulsing feeling that made me feel sick.
It was growing deep down inside of me and got worse when boys looked at me. Especially Hugh. When he looked at me, it grew so strong, it felt like I had another heartbeat in my belly. The worst part of it all was I thought I might like it.
I was not a good person.
Crying harder now, I balled my hands into fists and hit myself in the head repeatedly, hoping and praying I could somehow erase the bad thoughts.
I’m bad .
I’m bad .
I’m bad .
My fists continued to flail until I grew exhausted from the effort it was taking to bludgeon myself. Still trembling, I clenched my eyes shut and dragged in several deep breaths, desperate to steady myself before the bell rang.
“This seat taken?” Startled from the sudden intrusion, I turned to see Joey Lynch take a seat on the grassy embankment beside me. “Why are you crying, kid?”
Sniffling, I quickly batted the tears from my cheeks and cleared my throat. “I’m not.”
He arched a disbelieving brow but made no further comment. In his hands, he held a battered-looking Discman.
Instantly distracted by his presence, I turned my attention to the sound of music drifting from the tiny earbuds in his ears. “What are you listening to?”
He didn’t respond; instead, he took his right earbud out and handed it to me. When I pressed it to my ear, it took me a few seconds to register the song blasting as Michael Jackson’s “They Don’t Care About Us.”
“Found it at work,” he explained, holding the Discman up. “Boss was chucking it.” He shrugged before adding, “Just in case ya assumed I lifted it.”
“Why would I think you stole it?”
He shrugged but didn’t respond. Instead, he took a quick glance around us, scoping out the area, before retrieving a rolled-up cigarette and lighter from the pocket of his school trousers.
Intrigued, I watched as he wet his bottom lip before placing the cigarette in his mouth and lighting the other end.
“So.” Joey took a deep drag of the cigarette and then seemed to hold the smoke in his lungs for an extra-long beat before slowly exhaling. “Feel like naming the culprit yet?”
“The culprit of what?”
“Your tears.”
“No, because I wasn’t crying,” I snapped, attention riveted to the strange circles of smoke he exhaled from his mouth. “You know, you’ll get expelled if the teachers catch you with a cigarette in your mouth.”
His lips twitched. “Is that so?”
“Yeah,” I replied, scrunching my nose up when the sickly sweet smell invaded my senses. “That doesn’t smell like a normal cigarette.”
“Because it’s not,” he mused, sounding like he didn’t have a care in the world. He took another deep drag and exhaled slowly before adding, “We all have our ways of getting through the day, don’t we, kid?”
“Yeah, but you’re only in sixth class.” I frowned, feeling confused. “You won’t get into secondary school in September if they catch you taking drugs, Joey.”
His green eyes flicked to mine in challenge. “Are you going to rat me out?”
“No.” I shook my head. “I know how to keep a secret.”
“Yeah.” He exhaled another cloud of smoke. “Me, too, kid.”
Sighing heavily, I hooked my arms around my legs and rested my chin on my knees. “I bet I’m better at it than you are.”
“Hmm.” His lips twitched, and he turned his attention back to staring straight ahead. “So let’s have it.” Flicking a trail of ash onto the grass, Joey took another drag of his self-made cigarette. “Who made you cry?”
“Why?” I arched a brow. “Are you going to beat them up?”
“I might,” he replied with a lazy shrug. “If you need me to.”
“I don’t need anyone.”
Now he did smile. “I figured.”
“What’s so funny?”
“You,” he replied. “You remind me of someone I used to know.”
“Who?”
“My younger self,” he surprised me by saying, before turning to face me. “Listen,” he said, all business now, scowl firmly back in place. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way, but either way, we’re still going to end up at the same conclusion.”
“Which is?”
“You telling me who made ya cry, and me fixing it for ya.”
“Why?” I narrowed my eyes. “Why would you help me?”
“Why would you help me?” Joey shot back, fisting the jumper he was wearing. I knew it came from the bag I had given him because I remembered the green thread mam had used to fix the sleeve.
“I did that for Shannon ,” I explained. “Besides, you don’t even like me.”
“I don’t have to like you in order to help you,” he explained calmly, taking another drag of cigarette. “I just have to help.”
“Just like that.”
“Just like that, kid.” Letting his head fall back, he exhaled heavily and let his shoulders relax for what I thought might have been the first time ever. “Besides, I don’t like owing people.”
I didn’t know how to answer that, so I kept quiet, dutifully studying the scary boy sitting beside me.
The one I knew wasn’t like the others.
He remained beside me, smoking his strange cigarette until there was nothing left. It wasn’t until his cigarette was quenched and the tiny stub was tucked in his pocket that Joey spoke again. “I will return the favor, kid.”
“Oh yeah?” I replied, tracking his every move as he stood up and dusted himself off. “How?”
“That’s up to you,” was all Joey replied before he turned around and walked away. “I’ll be seeing ya, kid.”