Written Back in October

"Carmle, you need to get out of my fricking head."

"But I live here."

"Do I look like I fricking care?"

"Why are you yelling at me?" He whines.

"'Cause I'm upset!" I pause, breathe, wait for the words to come as they pour into my head, "Why does anyone yell?"

He's calm of couse. The smug jerk. "Why are you upset?"

"Because!"

It's not a reason, but Carmle doesn't say that. He just waits, smiling slightly.
I sigh, frustrated. At this point I think I begin to pace. "Because I'm frustrated. Because I just hate people right now. Why do you think I'm talking to you?" I gesture violently.

He ignores the insult. "What happened?"

"Nothing." My throat is closing up now, it's tight, the way it gets before I cry. "I just can't stand them. I just can't handle their--" lost words, "them! I can't! I don't want to anymore!"

I think the great thing about my version of Carmle, the one that lives just inside my head, is that he doesn't have to speak to get his point across. He doesn't have to talk to make me feel better, to make anyone understand him. He pulls out a chair and lightly grabs my hand. I have to do this gulpy-swallow thing to keep the tears from trickling out. I have to breathe deep to keep my face from turning red and puffy.

The dumb thing about me is that I keep talking, and that only makes it worse. "And I'm upset all the time. And I don't want to go to that place again where I feel worthless--" and on that word a hiccup bursts out and the tears start pouring. I can feel my face do that weird rubber band thing I do when I cry. I hate that face. I don't look at him, I stare at the kitchen table and I want to cover my face but he hasn't let go of my left hand so my right comes  up and sort of hovers around my cheeks, and then wipes at the tears (go away!) and covers my mouth (stupid rubber band) because I'm trying to keep talking and sob at the same time. And I'm peaking at his face really fast and then away. He looks sad too.

"But I think I'm going there anyway because I'm always tired and I feel like, slow, and... I don't know, like I'm not really here. And I keep zoning out. And I talked to Mr Great yesterday and he helped for a little while but only enough to get me home and I'm still MAD at them. And I just want to sleep." I'm so tired, "And I miss her."

And then I'm sobbing these great hiccuping sobs and evertyhing is running running; My eyes, my nose. My mouth is open and I'm sure I look crazy, but it's hard to care about what you look like when you're bawling.

It's hard to care what you look like, but I'm always conscious of what I sound like--I'm trying to stifle the sobs becuase I feel like I should be a lot quieter. We're in my house at the kitchen table and I know no one is home, but like a dream, I also know I need to be quiet because Thomas is upstairs sleeping maybe.

Camle lets go of my hand for a second to pull a tissue out of his inside pocket like Doctor Who and I cover my face then and wipe my hands on my jeans and I'm still crying. Carmle hands me the tissue and when I've slimed it into a ball, he hands me another one. He must have a never ending supply in there.

But he's quiet as I cry--I don't think he knows yet how to comfort people.
"I just miss her." I manage to get out whilst crying, "I just miss her." He's nodding.
When I've calmed down a little, Carmle's staring out my kitchen doors into the back yard. I don't know what he's looking at, but it's fall and the trees are beautiful.

"You've lost someone before." I don't ask it, becuase as his creator (or discoverer) I know weverything there is to know about him. I don't mention his loss by name, becuase I don't want to hurt him. Evertime I hear her name it's like a slap to the face.

"Yes..." He answers slowly, still in his own world outside the glass, "My father..."

"Mr Great says it gets better." I say, "But it's been a year and this--still happens. It still hurts so much."

"It gets better and worse," He says, "It's been ten years since my dad died and I still miss him, but not everyday. I don't think about him all the time, which is good. Mr Great said it's good to live life." He smirks at me, reminding me that while he's in my head he knows what I know and my memories are his memories. he sobers. "But...I also can't remember him as well. It's like you said yesterday, he feels farther away."

My face crumples for a moment because the grief as chosen to come again. To remind me, and I don't want to lose her. I feel rotten inside, like the parts of me no one cane see are being burned up. I feel hollow.

Carmle takes my hand again. "It's okay," His voice is rough. I think there are tears in his eyes. "It's gonna be okay? Right? 'Cause you have us, right?"

He's asking me, which is cute and weird at the same time. Like he's trying to comfort me, failing and so asking to be comforted in return.

"Right!" I  laugh/cry, smile, pat his hand, "Right. You have me and I have you."

For an instant I can feel the walks of my house expand and fall away so that Carmle and I are sitting at a table in the middle of an infinite room. And like ghosts, the room is filled by hundreds upon thousands of figures. I know them. They are the people that I've kept in my head, and the ones I will keep and the one's I've read about and the people I will read about, all standing around our tables, looking at me. They whisper: "And us..."

And vanish.

We wait for a little while, just sitting together. It got brighter which doesn't make sense since my kitchen is brighter in the morning.

"I don't want to be here, though." I say, looking at him.

And he leans back and interlocks his fingers behind his head. "Well, I don't blame you. Seems like your school is exceedingly dull."

I smile. "It is. I wanna go home and sleep."

"Or write about me."

"I told you, not until November!"

He pretends to be suprised, "But!"

"No buts!"

He gets out of his chair, chuckling. "Okay. See you later then, love." He kisses me on the forehead and walks into the light coming from the hallway.

I'm back in the library. "Everything is Fine" by Motion City Soundtrack isplaying continuously on my iTouch and my arm aches from its awkward angle. Forty minutes before the bell.

[hahaha! I love Carmle to pieces. This was just an excersise I did with his character, but looking back on it, it seems more like an exploration of me. :p Look for more stuff like this. I think I'll try and get more of these out since I'm not going to get to Carmle's part of the novel anytime soon, and I really need a Carmle fix once in a while. :)]