Chapter 9

Helen returned to school that following Monday, mainly due to Xander’s insistence. She wished at that moment that she never had to endure all of this. Friends approached at all angles like birds to a breadcrumb, picking and prying at her with well-meaning but painful condolences.

“Helen! I’m so sorry about your parents-“

“Yeah, it’s so awful-“

“That funeral was so sad-“

“Is there anything we can do?”

“Yeah, anything.”

Helen had to force her way out of that flock. “Just let me get to class,” was her only demand, depressingly quiet. The girls were hesitant to move away from her, almost as if they feared she could break without their support, but they eventually did so. One friend tried to give Helen a comforting hug. She was quickly pushed away, as Helen felt no desire for human interaction. She said nothing as she left her friends stunned in that hallway.

She simply couldn’t stand all the pity. Her parents were dead; she knew that well. There was no need for a constant reminder of that agonizing fact. Couldn’t her friends understand that? She’d rather be left alone, and because of this, Helen silently thanked her other classmates for ignoring her.

Someone else didn’t follow that example. Upon entering that classroom Helen was met with posters and brochures for AART – Alcohol abuse Resistance Training. Someone apparently took the news of her parents’ deaths as the perfect opportunity to express their personal oppositions to drinking. Lovely. Helen sighed and took her usual seat at the front, far away from a window. This day, she wished she had some distraction.

One friend returned and took a seat behind Helen. In a good-natured attempt to lift Helen’s spirits, she made ridiculous attempts to tease her. “Soo, was all this your idea?” the girl asked with a smile.

“Let it go, Paige. This is the last thing I need.” Helen didn’t even look back at the girl.

“Hey, are you alright?”

“What do you think?”

“Right.” Paige retreated and pouted. “I’m sorry.”

Helen gave another irritated sigh. Those words were said to her so many times that she was now tired of hearing them. They had long lost their meaning by now and now appeared hollow and artificial. But she said nothing in response, not only because she truly didn’t care to do so, but also because their guest speaker had started his lecture.

She hardly heard most of the lecture, only laid back her head and closed her eyes with a miserable sigh. Bits and pieces of the lecture reached her ears, all with the common theme of alcohol’s dangers.

Only one question floated in Helen’s mind. If alcohol was so lethal and so horrible, why isn’t it shunned by everyone and their mother? It seemed so strange; everyone hears about the evils of drinking. If so many people ignore these warnings, how great is it to get drunk?

“Are there any questions?” the guest speaker finally asked.

Helen sank back in her seat. She didn’t need any more attention drawn to herself. Her classmates apparently had the same idea. If that question was brewing in her mind, now, it could only be imagined what others were thinking. Yet nobody spoke p, and so the lecture ended.

As the guest speaker began to leave, he made a point to stop at Helen’s desk. She should have predicted such. “I heard of your loss from Sister Margaret. My deepest sympathies go to you. I hope this speech was a comfort.” And he left.

Sister Margaret. It made sense. The aging nun knew Helen’s mother when she attended this school and had kept in touch ever since. She was likely a factor in Helen’s acceptance to Wharton Academy. No doubt it would be Sister Margaret taking such action now.

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“Xander, why do people drink?”

Until that moment the siblings were quietly eating their dinners in an awkward silence. For a brief moment after that question the silence returned as Xander looked up at his sister with a surprised expression.

“Why would you want to know about that?”

“I just don’t get it. Everyone says drinking is bad. But everyone drinks anyway.”

“Because they’re selfish, and they’re weak,” Xander told her, stabbing at his food in frustration as he spoke.

“So drinking is fun, and it takes strength to stop.”

Xander stared at his sister in disbelief for another moment. “Let me tell you something,” he finally said. “In high school I had this friend. Really great chick. Her old man was a drunk, and a really violent one. She used whatever she could to cover the bruises.

“We all went to this party once, and there was a lot of beer. S was curious about the booze, like you, so she tried some. I did, too,” he admitted with a bitter sigh, “and so did another group of guys. I didn’t have nearly as much as they did. I was just buzzed and I remember everything. These guys were trashed. They found her, and… let’s just say she got taken advantage of. Several times.”

As that story progressed, Xander’s face grew more flushed with anger. The moral of his story came next. “I never touched another drink after that. Think about it. She went through all that hell because some rotten scumbags like their beer. We lost Mom and Dad for the same reason. That seem fair to you?”

Helen, eyes downcast, shook her head.

“Good. Don’t ever get into that, Helen. I mean it.”

And so the conversation had died, but Helen’s curiosity had not. Why would anyone be willing to risk all that for their own enjoyment? She doubted she’d ever know.