Call Me Mara… Ruth 1:19
I stand there for a moment after Dr. Grey reluctantly leaves. I knew she wouldn’t tell me what really happened. She probably doesn’t even know how much she’s lying, so she doesn’t have anything to tell. It wasn’t hard to reject her offer to talk, to discuss things in private.
I don’t much care about privacy any more. What have I got to keep private? This whole place knows what I am. It’s been long enough; I’ve put off these conversations, maybe still hoping something will change.
It won’t.
But there can’t be any more of these angry flare-ups, no more letting my temper get the best of me. I know that, and it’s even more important here. I take a deep breath before I knock on Professor Xavier’s door, and then open it and look in. He’s sitting by the sofa in his wheelchair; the table in front of him is set for tea. For an irrational moment some words go through my head: First breads, then meats, then sweets. My grandmother used to still take tea in the afternoon, and she taught me that. He turns his head and sees me standing there.
I step forward and repeat what I just told Dr. Grey. “I decided on a new name. I want to be called Rogue.”
He has the same reaction: surprise. I like that. But he recovers quickly, almost instantaneously. “Certainly. Would you like to sit down? I wasn’t expecting you just yet.”
“I don’t want to work with you today.” I don’t move from the doorway. “I just came by to tell you that. I don’t want to work this way any more, actually. I want to do it myself.” His eyes narrow a bit.
“Mar—Rogue, the blocks I placed in your mind were meant to be temporary. But they shouldn’t be released all at once. The information you absorbed is—”
“The information I absorbed isn’t the problem.” I don’t really want to talk about this, but I have to do this much. “I know that now. It’s like you said—I have to let it be part of me, the same as what I see or hear. That’s all. And I know I need to do that. But I don’t want you to do it.”
He nods, slowly. “I understand. That sounds like a very reasonable decision. Just promise me that you’ll be careful. And please, you must promise that if you have any doubts as to what you’re doing, you will consult me.”
“All right.” I wait for a moment; the Professor still looks worried. “I will, Professor. I’m not going to do anything I can’t control.”
“It isn’t that.” He puts his hands on the wheels of his chair and I have to force myself not to take a step back, but I think he senses my reaction anyway, because he stops. I have to be more careful about that. “Rogue, is there someone you would prefer to speak with? Another counselor, a woman perhaps—”
“No.” It comes out too quickly, too loudly, and again I have to cover my tracks. “I’m all right, Professor. I’m not the first kid whose parents couldn’t handle what they were. It hurts, yeah, but talking about it won’t fix it.”
“That may be true, but there are times when one should give oneself permission to speak of things.” That look on the Professor’s face—he’d better not be poking around in my head, he’d just better not. “And after you left your home, there were other events that were upsetting.”
Oh, hell, no. The thought crosses my mind before I can stop it, surprising me with its intensity, but I don’t miss a beat. “You mean Logan?” I shrug. “So he couldn’t deal either. He never promised me he’d be around forever. He stuck around till I had somewhere safe to go. It’s more than most people would’ve done.” There. That was good. No denial, no explanations.
“I just want to be certain you aren’t blaming yourself for what happened that night. I wish very much that he had waited to speak with you before he left.”
No. No one ever gets to talk to me about that. So I put a stop to it. I feel strangely powerful as I meet Professor Xavier’s eyes. “Believe me, Professor, I know exactly who to blame for that.”
It works. Decisively, absolutely. His eyes change and I know he won’t bring the subject up with me again. I’m almost sorry for having to do that to him. But not quite.
“I am so sorry, Rogue.”
I didn’t really expect that, but it doesn’t matter. This conversation has gone on long enough. I start to turn and leave, then stop. “Professor—I don’t think I’ll ever want to join the team. To be an X-Man. Is it still all right for me to stay here?”
“Of course.” He sounds shocked at the very idea. No wonder. Who would want me? “No one is ever pressured to do that.” The Professor does wheel a little closer to me then. “You’ll finish with your secondary work in a few more months. We can discuss your further education after that.”
“All right,” I repeat. He looks slightly hopeful, and I can give him that much, at least. This time I do leave, and he doesn’t try to stop me. I walk back through the grand hallways, back up the stairs and down the dormitory wing to my room.
My world keeps shifting, but I think now it’s finally settling down. I can stay here. The thought is more of a relief than I’d realized. I can learn to do the one thing I still really want to do. I want to make my life concrete. I want it out in the world on canvas, so that there’s some tangible evidence that a girl named Marie once lived. I think she died a while ago, but I’m not sure when. The night her parents forced her out? The day she realized what she was? The minute I decided what I’d become?
I don’t really know. But she was real, and she deserves to be remembered. I can be Rogue, and give her that.
When I reach the door to my room, I hear people inside, laughing, playing music. Kitty or Jubilee must have friends over. I hesitate, one hand hovering over the doorknob, but finally I step back and keep going down the hallway.
It’s not that they wouldn’t welcome me. They would. One thing about the School—no one ever makes you feel any stranger than anyone else. I’m hardly even the most unusual mutant here—at least on the surface, I can pass for normal. It’s only on the inside that I’m truly different. And I do like my roommates, sweet kind Kitty and bubbly Jubes. They’ve been wonderful, making me feel supported, insisting that my skin doesn’t worry them. I can feel almost normal when I’m with them, and sometimes it’s almost enough to pretend I am.
Not today, though. Even though I’ve told myself every waking moment since that last awful day, when I woke up to find Dr. Grey beside me and my world knocked askew again, that this is the way it has to be from now on, today was the day I truly admitted it, finally let that last hope go. It was so faint I didn’t even realize I was still holding onto it until I told them what I had to say.
Marie had faith, and faith can give you hope. But faith is a two-edged sword; it can cut you as well as strengthen you. Marie didn’t have much talent for picking tenets of faith, it would seem.
I think Rogue can do without them.
By next week, everyone will have heard, and no one will use her name any more. I’ll be Rogue, and Rogue can be strong and new and different. She’ll fit in. Rogue can do the work I’ve got planned. I’m looking forward to that.
But just for today, still in flux, still in transition, she’s still evolving from Marie. I walk down the back stairs and out into the grounds, careful not to cross within sight of the window of the Professor’s study. He might still be there, might still be watching, and I want to be alone. I don’t want to talk to anyone right now, or even know I’m being talked about. It’s none of their business. It’s none of their goddamn business.
It’s a beautiful evening, cool and quiet, and a slight breeze is rising as the sun begins to dip below the trees. I hug my sweater around me and walk until I reach the trees, the woods. I lean against the strong trunk of a maple and watch the sky turn golden-red. The day is ending and so is something else.
I don’t realize what I’m doing until I feel my hand against my own neck, my fingers reaching for something that isn’t there under my scarf. I took my cross off before I left my room, and the act of tracing it with a finger is another habit I’ll have to break. For just one second tears sting my eyes before I swallow them back and drop my hand away from my throat. I can’t let myself feel that, not even here, not even this one time. I won’t cry over someone who took everything when he left. No more mistakes. No more weaknesses. I deliberately put my hand on the trunk of the tree instead; even through the glove I can feel the rough texture of the bark.
I wonder if a tree has enough life for me to suck dry?
It’s getting chilly now, but I don’t move until the sun has finished its slow journey below the horizon, until the colors of the sunset have faded into muted pinks and then into the cool blues of evening. The breeze has increased since I’ve been here and I close my eyes as it rushes against my face for a moment before I open them, clear and dry, to face the future. I’m cold, and reluctantly I step away from the tree and turn to go in. The night air chases me a little as I make my way across the grounds, ruffling my hair around my face, and I welcome its touch.
When I feel the wind on my skin, I almost remember what it was like to feel alive.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
This is kind of the other half of the last chapter. Angst alert, for those interested.