Change of Season
Kate Mears
Block B. English 9
When I fall asleep at night, I dream about what it would be like to live
somewhere else. I don't mean another place, but another time, another
person, with a different life. There are people in my dreams: a little boy
who gets kissed good night by his mother, old friends who meet on the
street, laughing and smiling, a couple walk down a sandy beach on a summer
night, arm in arm. There are so many different people, all living happy
lives. All of them are loved and cared for, and everyone takes it for
granted. At times, when I'm feeling really alone, I wonder if anyone would
notice if I just disappeared from the face of the earth - I don't think so.
It's not like I'm someone important. I'm not a political leader, a
celebrity, or even a handsome sports jockey. I'm just another kid in his
last year of high school - nothing new.
Sometimes, when I hear them yelling and screaming at each other downstairs,
I want to runaway from it all, like Catherine did. To go in the middle of
the night, leaving no trace of ever being there, no note, no goodbyes, just
an empty room and a vacant bed. They looked for her for awhile, posting
pictures of her in gas station windows and on street corners. In the end,
however, they gave up and life returned to normal until even the Missing
Person signs in windows and on telephone poles were either taken down or
washed away with the rain. That was seven years ago. They try not to talk
about her anymore. When Catherine's name mistakenly comes up in
conversation, they look away in uncomfortable silence until someone changes
the topic. I wonder - would it be like that if I left?
I open my eyes and wait for the world to swim into focus. I should get up
soon - school starts in an hour. I don't want to though; I can hear their
angry voices downstairs again. I throw open the closet door and grab some
clothing. The shirt is too small, the black jeans too short, but I don't
really care. I have never been too concerned with my appearance, just
enough to comb my hair in the morning and make sure there's nothing on my
face. A small, framed photograph of Catherine and me stands on my dresser.
We were still little when it was taken, Catherine was six and I was four.
We're sitting in a recliner, I'm in Catherine's arms - both smiling and
giggling, so full of life. Catherine looked quite pretty. Her short,
slightly curly black hair was pulled neatly back to frame round child's
cheeks and almond-shaped bluish silver eyes. People had always said we
looked alike, but I never thought so. Catherine looked more like our
mother, with the same wavy hair, golden-brown complexion, gently curved
face, and finely chiseled French nose with thin lips. I have my father's
features - his angular face, pale skin, straight nose, and straight black
hair.
My name is William Matthew Harper. I'm sixteen years old and I hate my
life. If I had a chance to be any other person on the planet, I would take
it. No one should have to contend with this misery. No person should have
to wake up every morning to the sound of their parents fighting. No person
should have to wonder where their older sister is living, or if she's even
alive. For some reason though, like a sixth sense, I know she's out there
somewhere and I can't help but look for her as I walk through the busy
halls of Laridae Heights Secondary School. I don't have to wait long to be
reminded of why I wish I didn't have to attend school. The word "FAGGOT"
is scratched in bold letters across the front of my locker. "Don't let
them get to you," I calm myself as I run my fingers over the fresh groves,
"it's not worth it". This is not a new occurrence. The words "fag,"
"homo," and "gay" are things I hear everyday from my classmates. The other
students find it entertaining that I wear my hair longer then most boys,
the fact that I write neater than most boys and achieve better grades. At
Laridae High, everything is about following the crowd. If you don't, then
people assume there's something wrong with you. The leading reason behind
these frequent verbal assaults is probably that I rarely date. I don't
have any problem with dating. I would if I found someone I really liked,
but the majority of girls I meet have decided that their breasts are more
important than their brains.
Biology 12, Block C. A class I find fascinating for a reason other then
just the course material. That reason sits two rows in front of me and
three desks to the right. Leslie Thomas, model student, star athlete, and
the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. Her long, golden locks tumble
freely down her back over a royal blue blouse, a piece of jewelry in
itself. I don't think I'd ever have the courage to ask her out, why would
she want me when she could have any other guy in the school?
"Mr. Harper?" The voice breaks through my thoughts.
"Mr. Harper." Professor Sloan's voice is sterner this time.
I turn to face the teacher who's standing behind at my shoulder.
"Is there something you find more interesting then listening to my lecture,
Mr. Harper?" He asks me.
"No. No Professor," I lie.
"Then will you please take the time to listen in my class?" Professor
Sloan asks, waiting for my guilty nod before walking back to the front on
the room to continue his speech.
But my mistake is not so easily forgotten. A boy to my left calls to
Leslie until she turned around. "Hey Leslie," called the boy again, "the
fag was staring at you," he snidely remarks with a smirk on his face.
"Maybe he swings both ways." These words were followed snickering, but
that was nothing compared to the look of revulsion that was present on
Leslie's face as she turned her eyes to me. The bell rang but the injury
had already been done. I ducked down, using the time to gather my books to
hide my burning face.

I skipped my next class. I didn't really need to attend Phys Ed anyway:
it's a useless class, and besides, I didn't want to chance on seeing
Leslie. I decided to go for a walk in the park. The icy fall breeze bit
my cheeks and so I pulled my sweater tighter to my body and looked for
somewhere sheltered to sit. I choose a park bench sheltered by a clump of
trees that overlooked a playing field. I sat down, only wanting to sit in
silence and brood about my latest biology class. I had not sat there long
before I felt a firm tug on my sleeve. A little girl, probably around the
age of five, with black hair and bright bluish, almost silver eyes stared
up at me. I must admit, I jumped. I hadn't been expecting to find anyone
else in the park, especially a young child by herself.
"Whatcha doing here?" She asked boldly.
I was annoyed. What business was it of hers? "What are you doing here?"
I replied, letting my irritation show. "Where's your parents?"
"They're not here." she said, telling me the obvious. She was completely
undaunted by my unwelcoming expression. Without asking, she walked around
me and plopped herself down, with a child's enthusiasm, on the bench beside
me. I stared at her in amazement. What surprised me even more was when
she stared back. She looked startlingly familiar.
"Do I know you from somewhere?" I asked.
She ignored my question. "My name's Katie." She said brightly. "What's
yours?"
"Didn't your parent's ever tell you not to talk to strangers?" I asked,
carefully avoiding her question. Two could play at her game. This child
was more outgoing then anyone I'd ever met, but, I swore I knew her.
She looked into the distance as if trying to recall something. "I can't
remember, it's been so long since." her voice trailed off and she tipped
her head sideways, biting her tongue thoughtfully.
"Why are you here anyway, kid?" I asked her casually. "Shouldn't you be
in school or something?"
The girl laughed. "No, but shouldn't you be?" I thought about this for a
second and laughed too.
"Why?" She asked.
"Huh? Why what?"
"Why aren't you? In school I mean?"
"I don't want to be right now. Private reasons. Besides, I like the
park." I glossed over my answer, not wanting to recall what happened
earlier.
"Private reasons? What are they?" she pried, "Did you do something bad?
Are you in trouble? Are people being mean to you?"
I tried to hold back a laugh but I lost the battle.
"What?" cried Katie, "Are you laughing at me? That's not very nice."
"No, no," I said, struggling to hold down my mirth, "It's just that you're
so out-going and "to the point" about things, it's just strange to hear it
so bluntly. I guess most kids your age are like that though, they just
change when they grow up."
Katie wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Then I wish I didn't have to grow
up. I wish I could stay the same forever."

It's a brilliant summer day. I can hear the water thundering waves as it
washes up on the sand, only to recede seconds later. Mom and Dad had taken
us to the beach that afternoon for a picnic. Catherine and I had just
finished building a small pool up on the beach, complete with sea shells
and even a sea snail. Catherine sat back on her haunches to admire our
work, I followed her example.
"It's really cool, Kate." I told her, "I love the snail. When I grow up,
I want to work at a. what's it called again? A- aqua. What do you want to
do when you grow up?"
Catherine looked at me and smiled. "It's called an aquarium, Will. I
never want to grow up, adults don't have any fun. I want to be five
forever."

"Five years old forever." I murmured without thinking.
Katie giggled. "Your not five silly, you're old. Besides, you can't stay
the same age forever, that's magic, Mom said that only happens if you have
a Fairy Godmother. That's why I wished, then maybe my Fairy Godmother
might hear me and grant me my wish."
"Why don't you want to grow up? You don't know what it's like to be grown
up yet, so why does it bother you?"
"Oh, but I do know." She replied, "It's like watching a movie that you
already know the ending to." Katie rocked back and forth on the bench as
if it were a swing.
"It can't be that bad, can it?" The girl had lost me somewhere because I
had no idea what she meant, but I decided to humor her anyway.
"Everything gets so complicated when you're older," Katie wasn't looking at
me anymore, her eyes had gone misty as if she was trying really hard to
remember something. "People change, you're no longer settled in one place
but are jumping from one to another."
I looked at Katie strangely, no five-year-old child I've ever met spoke as
intelligently as she had just done. Katie did not heed my sideways glance,
instead, she continued to speak..
"Sometime you think it would be easier to run away from it all. But it's
not worth it, Will. Because there's too much your leaving behind, and once
you've gone, there's no coming back."
Katie shook her head and seemed to come back to life. "I have a brother at
home," she said staring me in the eyes. The little girl was making me very
nervous now. "I miss him very much. I miss my parents too, I know they
loved me but they were very busy with their jobs. So much was lost. It
just wasn't worth it."
Her eyes were shinny and very watery, she closed them for a second and
rubbed her face with her sleeve. What the young girl did next probably
surprised me the most. Katie stood up on the bench, still only slightly
taller than my sitting form, and hugged me tightly around the neck. With
that, she climbed off the bench - she had to jump a bit because her feet
couldn't touch the ground yet, and walked away without another word. I sat
there for a minute - too shocked to do anything but wait for everything to
sink in. After a while, I stood up and walked back to the school. It was
only then that I realized that the girl had used my name once when she
addressed me, even though I had not told her what it was.
All the way home that day after school, I thought about what Katie had told
me. For once, I was seeing things from a different light and I wasn't sure
what perspective was correct. Even as I unlocked the door to my house, I
could hear them yelling once again. I sighed, I didn't need this right
now. I decided I could try to creep past the room unnoticed so I could go
upstairs to my room. I eased myself along the wall with my back pressed
hard against it but I stopped stock-still when I heard my name.
"Will wouldn't do anything like that, he's a good boy, Sarah." exclaimed
my father.
"But he seems unhappy, I don't want to lose him like we did Catherine. If
we weren't so occupied with our business, it could have been different."
Sighed my mother, her voice breaking at Catherine's name.
"Sarah, you have to forgive yourself for Kate. It was just as much my
fault: she didn't let us look into her life, but we were to busy with other
thing to press her. Will is a good boy; a smart boy, and we know what
we're up against now. Will would never leave us."
Mom sighed loudly. "But I can't help thinking we've already lost him,
Connor. He's been drifting away from us. It was bad enough having
Catherine runaway, I don't think I could handle it if Will left too."
I don't remember the shaky walk up to my room, when I closed the door, I
sank to the ground, with my head in my hands. They had been fighting
because of Catherine and me. All this time, it had been their guilt about
Catherine and their worry over me that was the salt on their wounds of
worry, and I thought they hadn't cared. If I hadn't been so caught up in
my own misery, I might have noticed theirs. Their argument had sparked a
flame of determination in me. I would try to open to them, to show them my
world, I wouldn't live in isolation any longer. Life suddenly had a
meaning for me when it hadn't before. It was like everything instantly
came into focus, the colours seemed brighter and everything was more
defined. With a hesitant second before I stood, I opened my door once
again and went to talk to my parents.

((((

That day, my life had been totally turned around. That bold little girl
taught me many things I wouldn't have know otherwise. If it had not been
for Katie, I don't know where I'd be today. I think about this as I drive
through the morning traffic. The skin on my neck prickles and I have a
sudden feeling of another's eyes on me. Something catches my eye on the
far side of the street. A woman in her early thirties stands on the street
corner with her black leather handbag clutched with both hands in front of
her, waiting for the light. Her slightly curly black hair is pulled neatly
back in a half ponytail, framing her tanned, gently curved cheek-bones.
Our eyes meet and she smiles at me though thin, reddish lips. Her face is
delicately formed with a fine boned, French nose and an elegant brow that
sets off her striking bluish-silver eyes that seem to shine in the morning
light. I seemed to be frozen there, caught in her gaze. A car flashed by,
blocking her for an instant from my sight. That instant was all it took,
for when the car had passed, the woman with the handbag was gone. But
still, I can not shake the peculiar feeling of being watched.