Senor Hedgiepoo

December 17, 2011
         I slide the notebook across the table and surrender some of the deepest parts of me to Mr. Hedgepeth. After months of vague free-writes and tired eyes, he'd called me in to chat, a writing conference of sorts. After more than an hour, during which I got all dumb and teary at least twice, he sent me home to write what I've been avoiding for almost an entire year now.
         He's reading the finished product now. I watch him scan across the page, eyes narrowing and then widening again. Fidgeting with the hem of my shirt, I wait for him to finish. When he does, he pauses for a moment before speaking.
        “We can definitely move on to focusing on the writing, but I think the most important question right now is, are you ok?”

I can feel my eyebrows shoot up in surprise, my mind back-tracking the last conversation and this piece. Did I say anything to imply that I wasn’t ok?

“I’m fin-” I begin, but he interrupts before I finish.

“I know you’ll say you’re ok, but Jess, how can you be? You never really dealt with this.”

His words shock me speechless.

“You’re very tough, and so strong, but it’s ok to say that life’s not fair, and it’s ok to be angry and hurt, and it’s ok to disagree, and it’s ok to not be ok.”

I remain silent, his words sinking in. This silence is very different from the ones shared with my parents; it is not awkward or piercingly loud or unbearable, it is quiet and thoughtful and understanding.

“Do your parents even know?”

“No!” The reply comes too fast, too loud, too off-key.

His eyebrows rise, but give way to a look of sincere understanding.

“You know that you’re protecting him? You have maybe three pieces in here about him.” His comment is met by silence. Protecting you is not a new thing for me. “And it doesn’t seem finished. It lacks a good ending.”

“Maybe… maybe it lacks a good ending because it’s not really over.” My own words surprise me, strangle me, stab me in the gut.

But Hedge just nods with a small frown, another sympathetic look as if he knew this the entire time and was just waiting for me to realize it.

“You know it’s against the law for me not to report this? I could lose my job, go to jail.” Hearing my gasp of surprise, my eyes expectant of this potential betrayal, he adds, “Not that any of that matters. But I do wish you’d consider going in for some sort of counseling.” My eyes shift to suspicion, so he continues. “If not for your sake, then for the sake of the art. This dealing with the issue and understanding it will make your writing that much better.”

I nod. "I'll see if I can bring it up with my parents. But it's kinda hard when they don't know what's going on."
        "Maybe.. but it's worth trying." He's right of course. It doesn't make it any easier.

“You’re an amazing person, Jess. I care for you so much. You’re very brave.”

And there it is. That love and approval I’ve been so desperate for all along. That love and approval that is meaningless from my parents because I’ve lost most respect for them and they refuse to approve of anything but the fake, pretend side of me. I feel myself getting teary.

“Thank you so much Hedge.” Looking him straight in the eye, trying to convey my complete sincerity.

He smiles, nods, and I make a run for it.

I haven't reached the school gate before the tears explode and I’m forced to just sit on the sidewalk, have a good cry.

It’s not over. It’s not over. The words, the truth, unspoken for so long, now fully realized. I feel dizzy for lack of air. I gasp, a strangled sound. It's not over.