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Polarization
by Ditey

Author's Note: Must. Stop. Writing. Crap. About. Amy.

[ * ]

She hadn't slept at all, the night she ran away to her grandmother's house. She'd arrived, desperate and soaking wet, at their front door pleading for a room. It was cold, November in Colorado always was, but she wasn't prepared for it. And it was raining in powerful bursts so heavy, she could barely stand up straight without feeling like she was being pulled under.

So when she stood by that door, she felt grateful for small comforts. Like the shelter from the rain, no longer bullets against her back. And the porch light visible from even a distance, drawing her nearer like those lights that attract mosquitos. Except she wasn't zapped on contact, but ushered in without a question. And the warmth inside the house, the feeling of two blankets wrapped snugly around her, taking off the high heels and fitted clothes to something airy and light.

And yet, she couldn't sleep that night.

She knew that she had a roof over her head, but still the rain pounded furiously against it. She felt like it could cave in at any moment, and she would no longer have the protection of wood architecture and would instead be relentlessly tormented by those heavy raindrops. Bursts exploding at her feet, her stomach, her arms and chest and shoulders and splashing finally on her head. She knew she was dry under the covers and the storm was nothing more than a storm, and still she could sense what it felt like, she was aware of the feeling attacking her, and almost writhed at the intangible touch.

She knew what the cold felt like. Sharp, slowly numbing at vulnerable places like her fingers and tip of her nose. Not her toes, they were numb a long time ago, having endured a few hours with those pointed boots. She knew how it was when the cold took over her thoughts, and all she could feel was it, the cold, biting away at her cheeks and draining away her color. Sometimes it was so cold, she couldn't even run faster to try to escape it, she was just standing still letting it wash over her, letting the fact that it was cold register in every way. It's what it was like, and she shivered even through the pile of comforters, knowing the glow from her face was slowly leaving her.

[]

Footsteps on the stairs told her someone was coming up, and so she slowly closed her eyes and feigned sleep. Through closed lids she could tell it was her grandmother, the proud walk with one foot directly in step with the next. The door creaked open and she scrunched her nose at the sound, but then fell back into her stillness.

The sun didn't rise so early anymore, she had noticed in the last few minutes. She felt a silent sort of sadness for it, partly because she couldn't endure staring out the window and meeting pitch blackness hour after hour. She had hoped for a change in scenery, a pink ray to spread over the horizon and cause her to smile. Maybe the sight of a butterfly or the song of lark, or something else so beautifully picturesque, because it was what she needed.

"Amy?" her grandmother called, and it suddenly wasn't the same one that took such heavy steps and stood with her hands on her hips, it was a caring one with a smooth voice with just a hint of worry. The kind she was almost positive could teach her to cook and tell her how beautiful her hair was and spoil her with chocolate.

She tossed slightly in her sleep and fidgeted with the covers as if to better play the part, and pried her eyes open carefully. She smiled. She supposed her grandmother carrying a tray with two cups of tea was the sort of picturesque scene she needed.

[]

The only remnants that it had rained the night before were the small puddles that collected on the side of the road. By ten, these too were gone, and the sun shone with intensity to make up for before.

She spent an hour or two watching television still in her pajamas until she remembered about the family she left behind some place. A small tinge of regret creeped into her mind but was just as easily replaced when a new music video came on and she sang along.

Her grandmother caught her lip syncing into the remote and Amy sheepishly grinned and hoped to bring back the grandmother that liked to crochet, but Edna's face was cold once again. Amy bit her lip and clicked the TV off, alternating glances from the now blank screen, and her grandmother's blank face.

The phone call was painful. She accepted it warily, and brought it to her ear only to recoil from her mother's incoherant voice. She hadn't caught her parents at the point when they were both just relieved to know she wasn't lying in a ditch, and was safe and sound in a house. They were past the idea that Amy was alive and not suffering from pneumonia, and now they just wanted to know what the hell she was thinking.

Amy knew she should have spent all that time last night thinking about something more important than the sound of the rain or the schizophrenic cold, like maybe what to say when her mother asked her what she was thinking, like she knew she would. No, she just stared at a spot in the carpet in silence, trying how to best explain 'because I felt like it' in a way that wouldn't get her sent to foster care.

There were more awkward silences and untimely outbursts on her mother's part and Amy just leaned against the sofa with her hand smoothing through her hair, trying not to lose it. Trying not to start to cry or anything.

Her mother hung up on her. She thought it was funny in an odd sort of way, being the teenager she always thought she'd be the one screaming and making hasty decisions and disconnecting the phone, while her mother sat at her dining table with her hand cradling her head, wondering what she had done to screw things up so badly.

Except for Amy, it wasn't the dining room. It was lying down on the sofa the wrong way, with her head lying on the cushions and her legs hanging precariously over the other side.

[]

Some things are worth everything, Amy thought. For example, running away in the middle of the night.

It was one of those late nights again, and counting to infinity didn't help her fall asleep any more than anything else did. She had a short attention span, anyway, and lost her focus around two hundred and diverted to the fact that school would be starting again in a few days.

She really hated school. She hated having to wake up so early and wear things that matched. She still felt the urge to drive off as she entered the school's parking lot, she fought every instinct in her body when she opened the entrance door. She hated making her way through the too-crowded hallways, of those paired off, of the popular girls admiring their reflections and jocks with maroon and gold jackets.

It seemed like every morning, she was the new girl. Like it was the first time she had ever attended the school, and she wasn't sure where any of her classes were. One day she missed the first twenty minutes of History class walking through the halls aimlessly, ending up in the technology wing instead. She had to be escorted to her classroom by a teacher, and she didn't say a word when she arrived late. She had then sat down for ten minutes when she realized the book she held in her hand weren't for the right subject. With an elaborate sigh, her teacher allowed her to go to her locker. Amy didn't come back, because she had lost her way again, and by the time she regained her sense of direction, the period had ended.

She was sure the news of this was already spreading. The town barely had ten thousand people and in a phenomonon exclusive to Everwood, every one of them could catch onto a piece of good gossip in the matter of moments.

With these thoughts, Amy reached a tumultuous type of sleep.

[]

She missed her father. She would never readily admit it, and she decided even if she did go home, she wouldn't tell him. Mornings were different, though, without his tirades. She wondered how Louise was. Of that prank the two conspired together to come up with, where the switched the office numbers of her father's practice and the gynecologist's. She wished she could see her father's face when a woman asked for a pap smear.

She didn't wonder about what Dr. Brown had done to piss him off, because as amusing as it had been before, now the mere name made her a bit sick.

She missed that wacky cult hat. And seeing him in duckie slippers. And making fun of his plaid sweaters. She had told Irv, and he had suggested putting on a plaid sweater himself for her to make fun of, but somehow it just wasn't the same.

Amy overcame her pride and called him on the third day. Not as a therapy session or for an argument, strictly to ask whether or not he had tucked his tie into his pants before he went to work again. He tried his best to maintain his stolid composure from her mother's orders, she could tell, but she could feel a vague smile on his face. He asked if the skirt she was wearing to school was longer than her fingertips when she put them to her side, and she pulled up her shoulders to make the skirt fit requirements. She then told him she had a glass of orange juice and a slice of toast just to appease the nutritional doctor side of him, and he told her how he craved bread and other carbs but the Atkins diet just wouldn't permit it, and so went the bland conversation.

It was uninteresting and nagging and he lastly made sure that she had done all her homework before she left, but neither voice was raised. She said 'bye, dad' and liked the way it sounded.

[]

Her thoughts began to wander around fifth period. It was science, and so it wasn't very important anyway.

She began to think about the vacation she went on last summer, to Italy, for some reason. There was really no connection at all, the teacher was droning on about negative and positive charges and catalysts, and all she could do was remember. The piazzas and homely town squares, the aging buildings and ancient structures. The Rio Alto and streets and streets of shops exploding from all sides with people. She remembered cathedrals with the ethereal echoes of her whispers, the almost holy nature of the Venetian sunset.

The bell rang and she almost mechanically got out of her seat before she could move on to Florence and of gelato and the work of Leonardo da Vinci.

She met Laynie in the hallway at her locker. Amy half expected her to be mad at her for some reason, but was all too relieved when she was captured in a friendly hug. It was good to know she hadn't completely screwed up. That some people still thought she was worth something. 'How are you?' Laynie asked, not so much in the flippant way where she was supposed to answer, 'good, you?', and Amy honestly answered, 'better.'

The two then smiled and Laynie grabbed on Amy's right arm as they made their way to lunch, and she began to talk excitedly about the new boy in her math class.

[]

Amy spent her last minutes before turning off the lights in her room writing. She was about to go home that day, digging out the keys for the Kia from her puse, when her English teacher stopped her, raving of the essay she had turned in that was apparently excellent. She looked at him confused for a moment, until she realized what he was talking about. She cringed undetectably, almost forgetting all about Ephram and just about everything that had happened before. She searched past her teacher's shoulder, thinking she might catch a glance of him, but then remembering him needing to pick up his sister and go to piano lessons. Her soft smile dropped slowly.

'Oh, thank you,' she said, wanting more than anything to get out of the situation and drive back home. No, not home. Whatever it was she wanted to call her current residence. She turned to leave but he stopped her again, 'no, really, it's very well-written, and the literary magazine is looking for submissions.'

'I don't think I could turn it in,' she said, squirming in her jacket. He cocked his eyebrow and replied, 'well, I hope you keep writing, and not just for school assignments. I think it would be very beneficial for that type of release for someone in your condition...' and his voice trailed off, probably aware he had been talking too much. Amy bit her tongue to keep herself from saying anything impulsively, and said, 'maybe.' She made a more abrupt attempt of escape this time, and thankfully her teacher didn't try to stop her.

She didn't know what it was that caused her hand to reach for a pen and write the most mundane things down in a notebook. Or what it was that caused what started out as mundane things like what she wore today and how much homework she had to other things. Things she didn't even know existed.

She didn't know whether she liked writing or not. It was a hard habit to break, once she had started, however.

[]

She had called home again and her father had answered, and then after a few minutes of shooting the breeze, passed it on to her brother. For a while he pretended like he didn't hate the way she was acting, so self-conscious of herself, mostly because that week as he passed her in the hallways, he saw her laughing for the first time in a while. Amy had a nice laugh, that he always knew, and he had missed it lately. She didn't have nearly as great a scowl.

He was going to get a weekend job at a coffee shop and he'd have to wear that dorky hat and apron but it was the only way he'd get to go to on a road trip during Spring Break. He'd blurted that part out, maybe it was meant to be a surprise.

She was about to say something about Mexico when there was a disruptance in the background, the shuffling of feet and low whispers.

'Hello,' and she recognized the voice distinctly as her mother's. It was one primarily reserved for when she stepped up to a podium for a speech, aloof and with only a facade of compassion. Amy kind of hated it.

'Hi,' she said back, in an almost inaudible whisper.

'Bright tells me you made the Honor Roll. Congratulations.'

'Thanks, I guess.' Her replies were delayed because she kept opening and closing her mouth without making a sound, trying out different ways to say something.

'I haven't heard any complaints from teachers. Yet. You're paying attention in class.'

'For the most part. Yes. I'm like I was before, I'm doing my homework-'

'Yes, well, keep it up. You can't have your grades slip in addition to everything else.'

'I'm telling you, I'm doing fine!' she said, careful not to lose her restraint over the tension. 'I mean. Last night I skipped going to the movies, just to study, and I've got these auditions for the musical coming up and she wants me to play the lead, and I might have something good enough to turn into the lit magazine...'

'You left your calculus notebook in your room,' her mother said. In her voice, she wasn't at the podium anymore, but it was like she had done whatever expectations and duties were meant for her, and was walking away to go sit back with her family in the front row. 'You might want to come get it.'

Amy bit her lips. 'Okay,' she said.

'And get yourself a slice of cheesecake. It's the New York kind and I know you're not getting anything like it over there.'

'Laynie and I just ordered a pizza,' she said, and immediately her mother began to go on about how a growing teenage girl could simply not live on pizza four days out of the week, and if she could get her hands on whatever warped food pyramid Edna was following. And Amy laughed a bit amid the hysteria. And then her mother asked what time Amy was going to sleep now a days, and Amy replied ten o'clock, unless she had a test the next day, in which case as long as it took. And then she inquired if Amy went to that party Bright had told her about with the underage drinking and drag races, and Amy said no, Laynie and her had a girls' night in and watched Grease, and her mother said she loved that movie, and Amy said, I know, we used to watch it all the time, and she was just about to hum the beginning of Summer Nights when her mother cut her off, saying something about dishes needing to be done.

'I'll be there. In a few. We're almost done. And I need to pick up a few other things. I guess.' Amy said the customary goodbyes and ended it with an 'I love you', carefully placing the phone back into its slot.

[]

She didn't see Tommy for a week. She didn't even realize it had been that long, really, until Laynie brought it up with a sly smile. 'You didn't notice, did you?' she said, and placed a piece of popcorn into her mouth. Amy turned to her and asked, 'what are you trying to imply?' with a warm blush rising to her cheeks.

'Oh, nothing,' she said, and again the 'I-know-something-you-don't-know' smile.

'If this is about Ephram...' Amy began, but then quickly stopped herself, knowing what Laynie would reply.

'Who said anything about Ephram?' And Amy cursed herself under her breath.

She had another one of those weird nights. Moments like photographs flashed in front of her. Words appearing and without any attribution, she knew who had said them. Seconds from her perspective she had consciously said, 'Amy, never forget this. Never forget what this feels like, tastes like.'

The seconds added up and lasted the better part of a night. She broke out of her trance at around four, and felt horrible knowing that none of them belonged to Tommy. Knowing who they all belonged to.

As if to alleviate the realization, she called Tommy during her study hall, even if cell phones weren't allowed during school hours. 'Hey, babe,' he said, 'babe' being like a pet name or something. No one really ever likes their pet name, Amy reminded herself quickly, lest bring up another argument about being called 'babe'.

She was waiting for him by the tree in the central courtyard after sixth. Her last two periods, she reasoned, were fine arts and physical education, and she could live without both. She crossed her name off the sign up sheet for Katharine with only a little regret. Only a little.

He was late, anyway, Amy reasoned that maybe he was at a gas station or pulled over by cops and a million other crazy possibilities. She wished she wore a watch, but judging by the fact that the bell had run ten minutes ago, it was already one thirty.

She took a spot on a picnic table, sitting on the top part and resting her feet on the seats. The one on the far end of the courtyard, shaded by trees to keep the sun off her face. Its distance also prevented her from getting caught easily. The last thing she needed was another 'unexcused abscence' on her record.

She thought she heard someone behind her. She began finding reasons to yell at him for being late and started to say 'it's about time' before she swiveled around and found Ephram.

Of course, Ephram. When is it ever not Ephram?

'God, Brown, do you just like *follow* me everywhere?' she said, tucking her arms into her jacket.

'Not everywhere. The girls' locker room, for one.'

'You know what I mean,' she said, and she hit him softly with one end of her long scarf.

'Can I sit here?' he said, sidling up to one end of the table. She shrugged and said, 'I'm actually just about to leave. Someone's picking me up.'

'Tommy.'

'Yes, Tommy,' she said. Annoyance dripped into her voice.

'School's not over yet.'

'I realize that.'

'And I thought- weren't you trying out for...'

'It's nothing.' She tapped the heel of her boot on the seat. 'We're going to get something to eat. Maybe a movie.'

'I know it's none of my business, really-'

'It's not.'

'-but what are you doing?' Amy looked up from her ankles to him. Some time along the conversation, he had moved close enough that his hands were resting by where hers were propping herself up. He leaned over her and she almost thought for a second he had the intention to kiss her, but it wasn't the case.

'What do you want, Ephram?' Except it came out much softer than she anticipated. A moment passed like that, neither one really moving, an agonizingly long pause.

'Nothing,' he finally said, and pulled away from her. She immediately missed his prescence. He walked away, with one hand in his pocket and the other running through his ruffled hair. Somehow it seemed like much more than that was walking away.

'Where are you going?' she asked, and she recieved no answer even the second time. Finally she called his name and he stopped without turning around. She couldn't tell whether it was exasperation or a smile on his face, but she desperately hoped it was the latter.

'Wait,' she said. She got up from her spot and jumped down, making long strides to catch up with him. Her hair flew as she ran, catching beams of sunlight, and the trees panned behind her.

'Can I come with you?' she asked, short of breath from either the sprint or something else. She didn't need an answer to know it was always 'yes'.

[Fin]

[ * ]

I have just proved that I *am* capable of writing something other than depressingly tragically-ending angst. I think.

Dedicated to Alex. I think he knows why.

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