Inside Outside

I dreamt of E. the other night, last year's student who is now struggling with cancer. She was at our house, standing in the kitchen all bent over from the toll her chemo is taking on her body, her bald head exposed and slightly fuzzy. Her hands were on her hips in that typical E. way and she was asking me a question.

E: Do you ever feel confused about your insides and your outsides?

Me: What do you mean?

E: Do your insides ever feel different than your outsides?

Me: I don't understand what you're asking me?

E: Sometimes what's on the inside of me feels so different from the outside of me and people only see the outside of me.

At this point in the dream, I'm only looking at her outside. I see a tired girl. I see an exhausted girl. I see a girl who struggles walking a straight line because her knees all bend at the wrong places. She slides her left foot. She shuffles. I see a girl with big eyes and dark circles around them. I see a girl whose skin is the color of cheap vanilla ice milk -- sallow and grey. I see a girl who has always hunched her shoulders and held her chin to the sky at a 35 degree angle. I see a girl who looks to the ceiling when she's thinking and who interrupts when she doesn't want to hear what's being said. I see a girl who feels angry and giddy, rebellious and contemplative, confused and stubborn.

But perhaps this is the inside. I don't see the line dividing the two.

Me: I'm sorry, I don't see it.

E: (Ignoring my ignorance) I like my insides. I'm at peace with my insides, but people don't see them. They only see my outsides and I don't like them at all. How do I get them to see my insides only?

At this point I wake up from the dream. I lie in bed and watch the windy morning clouds zoom across an indecisive sky. My therapist once told me that I am everything in my dream. I'm the kitchen. I'm the questions. I'm me. And I'm E.

But what I can't figure out is, am I the inside or am I the outside?

As the day wore on, I lost the fogging battle of the dream. I tried to recall it later, to pull up the deeper meaning, but it was gone. At lunch time I saw E., quiet in a corner reading a book. Not eating. Not interacting. Not throwing her arms around me when I walk into the room.

I talk to her teachers as we sit and eat lunch surrounded by the students.

Me: What's with E?

Teacher One: Bad day.

Me: Is she feeling okay? Did she have chemo this morning?

Teacher Two: No chemo, but she's reverting back to the nasty, angry, stubborn E before her illness.

Teacher One: Yeah, she's not doing her work, she's snapping at everyone, even her good friends, and she seems extremely tired.

Me: How are things at home?

Teacher Two: Not good. Her mom's sort of removed herself from the whole illness thing. Working long hours, not spending much time with E, really struggling with the cancer.

At the end of lunch I squat down next to E.

Me: How ya doin?

E: Fine.

Me: Really because to me you look kind of pissed off and tired.

E: Nope, I'm good.

I know by her short answers that she's not telling me the truth.

Me: Are you getting enough sleep?

E: Yep.

Me: Are you eating well?

E: Yep.

Me: Everything okay at home?

E: Jeez, why all the questions?

Me: Well, you didn't give me hug like you usually do, you're not talking to your friends, you've not looked up from your book once, and I have yet to hear you state your opinion. These are not normal E. behaviors.

I'm expecting a bit of a smile. I get nothing.

E: I'm fine.

She goes back to reading her book.

Me: Well, if you need to talk, you know where to find me.

She continues reading and only slightly gives a nod of her head.

Insides. Outsides.

Inside out.

Outsides in. For awhile, outsides will stay in, seated right next to the insides.