ᴀᴅ ᴍᴇʟɪᴏʀᴀ ~ ᴅᴘꜱ (ꜱᴛᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴍᴇᴇᴋꜱ)

20 - row, row, row your boat

As I began to show more enthusiasm about my weekly calls "home", the school found it less and less important for Mrs. Stacey to monitor them. I was overjoyed the day she told me; I had been running out of excuses to get her out of the room for weeks. You can only say that your dog ran away and magically came back so many times before people get suspicious.

The phone rests comfortably in the crook between my shoulder and my ear as I trace the many carvings on the side of the phone booth. My nail lightly glides across a collection of initials and doodles, each holding their own piece of minuscule history. Many pairs of letters show their age through the condition of the shape surrounding them. Maybe a star. Maybe an oval. Most popular by far, though, is a heart. I pass over one etching, "G+Y", for a second time. The heart surrounding these two lovebirds is faded, entirely wiped away in some places. I ponder whether the heart acted as a sort of prison. Someone has to feel especially enamored to commit their feelings in a way as permanent as vandalism. Nothing, however, escapes the test of time. G and Y, whoever they are, were bound to eachother in some minor way through this symbol. There's not much room to grow within a 1 inch² heart; with faded edges, however, maneuvering is more realistic. Who knows if one, or both of them, still attend this school? Most likely not. Saint Constantine School for Hurls was established in 1863. Obviously, this phone booth was not here in the 19th century, but a lot can still change in the time since its installation.

I continue my historical tour through the drawings. I pass yet another set of initials encased in a heart, this time "C+H". My mind flashes back to Amy's friend Cher and her unfortunate fate at the school. Amy never told me the other girl's name, so I have no reason to make any association (aside from the presence of a "C") but still...

Could this belong to her?

Another thought crosses my mind: how many of these loves were forbidden? How many of these pairs could only express their infatuation through subtle mannerisms and hidden clues, cumulating into a sort-of map leading towards the treasure of their affection? The anonymity of a single letter leaves room for much more self expression than that of a whole name, yet it can still mean so much to those who know.

"Ivy? Are you still there?"

I snap out of my head and readjust the phone. "Oh, yeah. Sorry, Todd. I was just thinking."

A polite chuckle crackles through the phone. "It's fine. I get lost in my head sometimes too."

"So I've heard," I say, leaning against the booth wall. "How are you holding up over there?"

"Better than I expected, honestly. Neil's made a real effort to include me."

I smile. "I may not know him very well, but that sounds about right. He's a kind soul."

"Yeah. I mean... no, yeah. Forget it. He is."

I knit my eyebrows. "No, tell me. Is something wrong?"

A sigh. "I don't know, it-it's just- he's been a bit... a bit off recently. Some days, it's great, and he's the Neil I've known for most of the semester. I-I like those days. They're becoming rarer and rarer, though. I feel like I constantly have to walk on eggshells around him, like, like if I say the wrong thing, he'll blow up."

"I'm sorry. Did something change? Is there a trigger or something you can trace it back to?"

"Not really. It's always been there, I think, but the highs have fallen some and the lows only sink lower. Maybe it has something to do with the play?"

"I thought Neil loved being in his play," I recall, yet again tracing the letters on the wall.

"Oh, he does, but it's still a touchy subject. His dad hates it, and that's eating Neil alive. Keeping the secret, I mean. He couldn't care less about his father's approval at this point."