Young Adult / Gifted, Ch. 4 (Analysis)
Charlotte stood on the edge of a grove, a low mist hanging a few inches above the ground. She heard crickets chirping and her own tense breathing. Light suddenly flashed behind her eyes, and a child lay motionless in the damp grass a dozen feet in front of her. She wanted to reach out, but couldn’t move.
She heard a man’s deep voice behind her, but the words were garbled. She turned her head to the right, trying to see who was behind her, but there was nothing but the fuzzy outline of darkness.
Charlotte shot up in bed, drenched in perspiration and barely able to still her pounding heart. She rubbed her eyes and tried to forget the dream, but it felt more intense than any she’d ever had, a haunting merry-go-round dream that made her nauseous.
Every night of the two weeks since she’d returned home, the dream found her. The events and emotions of that afternoon replayed in sickening slow motion. And each morning she woke gasping in a chilly, trembling sweat.
She’d managed to keep some distance from it during the day, distracting herself with other things. She stayed in her room most of the time, barely leaving the house except to attend Tamara’s farewell party. After camp, she’d decided to go to California early. But Charlotte wasn’t lucky enough to have another state to escape to. And every night the memories came to life, keeping Charlotte on a torturous loop.
She took a deep breath to recover from the jolt of leaving the nightmare. The familiar rumble of the garbage truck filtered through her bedroom window.
Her alarm clock was still in her suitcase, along with everything else she’d taken. But she didn’t even need it. Instead, she woke hours earlier than necessary. Knowing what waited for her in her dreams, she simply lay in bed staring at the ceiling in the pre-sunrise darkness, or watching the muted infomercials on television.
When she finally heard Addie’s alarm clock blaring and the faucet running in their bathroom, she untangled the blankets that were wrapped around her legs and put her feet on the soft handhooked rug.
Charlotte looked around her room. Her eyes landed on the suitcase propped on its end at the foot of her bed, in the exact spot her father had placed it. She’d refused her mother’s request to hand over her dirty laundry. And she’d worn the same pair of threadbare flannel pants and gray t-shirt for three days straight.
Charlotte knelt down and sat beside the suitcase. She slowly unzipped it and pulled back the lid. She was met with a wave of camp smells that had been trapped inside; the aromas of the cabin, pine trees, grasses, and her leather glove struck her simultaneously. She’d left in such a daze that everything was thrown in without much thought. Tom had gathered all the staff together the night that MaryAnn died. They decided to shut down the camp, and everyone left the next day. Her shirts were wadded up in crumpled balls, pants rolled up and flattened to make room. The green shirt on top was Tamara’s; she’d grabbed it by mistake.
Her slim digital camera was in one shoe; she stared hard at the silver exterior as she picked it up. For a moment she let a smile fall on her lips; she’d let her campers take the camera the day MaryAnn died. She’d planned to send them all copies of the best ones.
She turned it on, the the last picture taken popped up on the screen. It was her team. MaryAnn was the smallest in the group, but she caught Charlotte’s attention immediately. Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut, making more room on her face for the smile.
Charlotte’s own smile faded. She scrolled through the other pictures briefly, and pressed the button to erase the memory card.
She tossed the camera in a corner, and it landed on a pile of clothes with a soft thud. There were boxes and stacks of things everywhere, since she’d been trying to pack the things for college. But none of her efforts lasted very long; each pile was really an abandoned attempt to distract herself.
She cleared a path to the bathroom. Her hair was greasy, and she needed a shower. She twisted the silver shower knobs to release a strong, hot stream of water. As the water traveled over her body, a torrent of memories overlapped one another, all the sounds and smells and sights flooding her senses. Whatever wall she’d built up was broken, and the visions overwhelmed her. She could see her team making a victory lap around the bases, then MaryAnn running alone, then her lying on the ground, and the empty cabin. The pictures may have been erased from her camera, but she could not clear her mind that easily.
Tears fell in great waves. She tried to catch her breath, but that only brought more tears. She let them flow until they subsided without her intervention.
Three swift raps on the bathroom door made Charlotte jump.
“Charlotte? Are you going to be finished soon?” It was Addie. Her sister was using her don’t-use-all-the-hot-water voice, a command poorly masked as a question.
Addie may have been younger, but she had always taken charge. Even at five she had been the official spokesperson for the sisters, explaining away broken vases, disfigured lipsticks, and missing cookies to parents and babysitters. At fifteen, nothing had changed. Charlotte held her breath and waited. She finally heard footsteps going downstairs, and exhaled.
She turned the water pressure to full power to beat out the aches that pervaded her body. Some of them still pulsed as she stepped out of the shower a few minutes later.
She wrapped herself in an oversized towel and twisted another around her hair. She fell across her bed, still clad in only the towels. Although the tears in the bathroom had accompanied a myriad of emotions, only one remained, one she could neither rationalize nor ignore. She felt guilty. Guilty that she had let MaryAnn stay behind, and guilty that she hadn’t been able to help her.
Over and over, she kept hearing the words in her head. It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault. But if it wasn’t her fault, whose was it? She was MaryAnn’s counselor and coach. She was the one who left her alone. She was the one who had let her die. If blame was to be assigned, it was clearly hers alone.
She found her last clean pair of pajama pants and a tank top, and ran her fingers through her wet hair before going downstairs. It would probably irritate her mother, who expected people to be presentable even at the breakfast table.
Charlotte’s mother had been shifting between coddling her and acting as if Charlotte was just an irrational teenager. But she was not in a coddling mood as she set out dense pancakes and fruit on the breakfast table. Charlotte’s father was situated in his usual spot behind the morning paper. Addie was swinging the refrigerator door back and forth as she searched for the jam.
“Doctor Whiddon recommended someone to us, Charlotte. She says it will help if you talk to him.” Joanna poured herself another cup of tea. “Don’t you agree, Paul?” Her eyes asked for her husband’s support.
He didn’t even lower the paper, only giving it a firm shake to straighten the pages. “Only if she wants to, dear.”
She didn’t want to get into that argument again—the one she wanted to start but always regretted. Her brown eyes rested on her oldest child, the pleading look still in them. She wasn’t completely defeated. “I think it would be good for you to get this whole mess behind you and start the new school year fresh.”
Charlotte could only think of one thing to make her mother drop the subject. She knew it would be a low blow, but that didn’t stop her.
“Did you see anyone when P. J. died?”
Her mother’s grip loosened, and her food was almost soaked with her breakfast blend. Joanna’s older brother had died when he was a toddler. Charlotte hadn’t even known he existed until she discovered his baby book in her grandparents’ attic and figured it out for herself. Except for that one piece of evidence, it was as if he had never existed.
Addie audibly drew a long breath. She meekly excused herself from the table, and for once Joanna didn’t object. Her mother’s normally perfect posture faltered, and her shoulders slouched as she let out a sigh.
“When we lost my brother, things were very different.”
Lost her brother. Not when he died, Charlotte thought, though she stayed silent as her mother continued.
“There was a certain stigma about therapists in those days. Normal people were expected to deal with things without psychiatrists or pills.” She almost spat the words.
Charlotte didn’t want to tell her that she’d never really considered herself normal. “If you think you need help to get over this, that’s fine. You can go see a dozen doctors and tell them all about P. J. and MaryAnn and how your daughter doesn’t need to talk to them.” She looked up from her neglected breakfast. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore, especially with some stranger who’s getting paid to find something wrong with me.” Charlotte felt a dangerous tremor in her throat and swallowed hard. “I just want to forget about it.”
Joanna’s weak smile was a product of too many boring anecdotes at stuffy dinner parties, hiding her true feelings behind the automatic expression. “Perhaps you’ll change your mind later. Just remember that the option is available.”
Charlotte pushed her chair away from the table, the wood-on-wood contact grating on everyone’s ears.
“I’m not going to change my mind.” Charlotte went upstairs, shutting her door more forcefully than necessary.
She found Addie standing at her window, taking measurements. She’d been planning for weeks how she would redecorate when she took over Charlotte’s room.
Charlotte shook off the conversation and focused her attention on the intruder. “Can’t you do that later? Or never?”
“No. Mom’s taking me to pick out fabrics this afternoon.”
“Why don’t you just measure your own room? Ours are the same size.”
“You’d like me to believe that. I know for a fact that your room is two and a half square feet bigger than mine.”
Charlotte was surprised that Addie knew what square feet were. “Does Mom know what you’re planning?”
“My actions have been sanctioned by the parents, yes. Would you like to see my paperwork?” High school was definitely doing something to her sister. She was sarcastic. And she was good at it. If they hadn’t been sisters, they probably would have been friends. She jotted down another number. “By the way, all your stuff has to be out of here before you leave.“
Charlotte grabbed her toothbrush from the bathroom counter. “Don’t worry. I’m just counting down the days until I have to share a bathroom with 40 other girls instead of just you.”
The measuring tape snapped back into its case. Addie looked like she wanted to say something.
“What?” Charlotte asked through foamy toothpaste.
“What are you going to tell your roommate?”
Charlotte rinsed and raised an eyebrow. “What am I going to tell her about what?”
“About your nightly screamfest. Ever since you’ve been back, you’ve been yelling things in your sleep. And unless she’s the world’s heaviest sleeper, she’s probably going to be freaked out.” Addie sat on the corner of Charlotte’s bed. “You don’t want to be labeled as a nutter butter during your first week of college.”
Charlotte’s eyes betrayed the worry in her stomach.
Addie sighed. “Look, you’ve been yelling her name. Every night, around the same time, I come in and find you crying and saying it over and over. And you’re always tangled up in Grammy’s quilt with your earphones stuffed in your ears.”
“I- I didn’t realize I was talking in my sleep,” Charlotte avoided her sister’s gaze.
“You do. When I put my hand on your forehead, you seem to calm down.” Addie continued. “It started the second night you were home. Those must be some intense dreams, huh?”
Charlotte tried not to panic. “Why didn’t you say anything? Did you tell Mom and Dad?”
“If I had, Mom would have dragged you to that therapist no matter what you said.” Addie shook her head. “It’s not my place to tell them. If you don’t want them to help you, I can’t make you change your mind.”
Charlotte dropped her toothbrush in its glass. “I haven’t decided what I’m going to say. I was hoping they would have stopped by now and I wouldn’t have to deal with it. Now I’m not sure if they’ll ever stop.” She didn’t relish the fact that she would have to start college by sharing something so personal. She’d hoped for a roommate that kept to herself so she could do the same.
Addie left, but she was back a few minutes later. “Forgot the other window. How did you manage to get the room with two windows? I thought I was the favorite child.”
“You are. And you can be the favorite child as long as you want.” She pulled her hair back and dabbed concealer on the dark circles under her eyes. She threw on some jeans and a shirt and stuffed her keys and a little cash into her pocket.
“Where are you going?” Addie asked. “You still have packing to do!”
Charlotte ignored the question, slipping down the stairs and out the front door without catching her mother’s attention. She would have to get used to the fact that she couldn’t know where Charlotte was at every moment. She might as well start learning now.
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I like your style of writing alot. It raminds me a lot of Stephen Kings first books. Your descriptions go as far as they need to and the way that you are expressing Charlottes guilt is very engaging. It makes us feel for her. GREAT JOB!
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I enjoyed this piece. There is a couple of grammer issues. I feel that your portrayal of Charlotte is fantastic, very detailed. I would like to read a little more about her inner thoughts about the girl on the softball field.. I think you have done a wonderful job bringing across this character though and I am now looking forward to reading the other chapters as to fill in some of the missing details. As a single chapter though, I was very impressed with the way I could start reading and feel as though I havn’t missed much. It is not confusing and very straight to the point. Thank you for the read
I liked much of this chapter, but found the writing holding it back. Good interaction between the sisters, not so good with the parents. Nice level in Addie’s warning about college, good sense of Charlotte being between two things.
She was met with a wave of camp smells – Careful using this “she was met” construction, which weakens the wave of camp smells.
It was Addie. Her sister was using her don’t-use-all-the-hot-water voice – could be combined to avoid the “sister was using.” Also, you tell us backstory right after this, which would be more appropriate later, when you SHOW how Addie operates (hiding her nightmares).
She turned the water pressure to full power – altering water pressure? Perhaps the shower head?
She wrapped herself in an oversized towel and twisted another around her hair. She fell across her bed, still clad in only the towels. – combine so as not to be redundant.
She was the one who had let her die. If blame was to be assigned, it was clearly hers alone. – misalignment of verbs here: blame assigned to her, or blame was hers alone.
Charlotte’s mother had been shifting between coddling her and acting as if Charlotte was just an irrational teenager. But she was not in a coddling mood – show us C’s expectation of the same coddling and irritation that it’s past, but don’t TELL us this.
She didn’t want to get into that argument again – shifting the POV into Joanna/Charlotte’s Mom jarred my focus.
though she stayed silent as her mother continued. – unnecessary.
Joanna’s weak smile was a product of too many boring anecdotes at stuffy dinner parties, hiding her true feelings behind the automatic expression. – again, the change to J’s POV, and this is almost a footnote, and do we need it?
Addie looked like she wanted to say something. – show us that look. This is where the history of Addie’s “always taking charge” should be.
” a haunting merry-go-round dream that made her nauseous.” should either be taken out or made into a different sentence.
Try to stay away from using and at the beginning of sentences.
I liked this chapter a lot. Even in the fourth chapter you are able to show what each character is like. Such a typical dad isn’t he, not wanting to start any problems? All of your characters are very realistic that they just popped! The only general complaint I have is that you should describe physical things more; you’re good at keeping us posted on the actions and reactions. Good work on making a believable piece! :) Keep it up!
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