A New Life (River Phoenix)

The Final Argument

Iris and I continued our conversation for hours on end.

Most of the time, she was trying to convince me to move back to Hollywood; to move on with my life until River would finally settle his priorities.

Although it wasn't something I wanted to do, I finally agreed to it, hoping that I would be making the right decision for both of us.

-

Iris puts her hand on the door and looks to me, a sincere smile on her face.

"I better go before River comes home." She says. "Thank you for understanding. I'll get everything arranged for you."

I'm about to wave her off before I remember something; the school.

"Wait, wait." I say. "River paid a bunch of money to the school because I thought I'd be going. I just, like, don't want all of that money to be gone if I'm just going to be going back home."

She nods and thinks for a second.

"I can talk to them and get it back, if you'd like." She answers. "There's always some type of string we can pull."

I feel relieved but slightly sick at the same time.

Everything is being established so sudden.

"Thanks." I tell her, and stand in silence as she closes the door behind her.

-

For the next couple of hours, I sit alone in silence.

I don't find the motivation to do anything besides wonder where my life is going from here.

I wasn't sure what to say to River when he got home; debating on acting normal or just spitting it out the second he comes through the door.

Maybe I should just talk to him about the drugs.

No, he'll deny it. And then, he'll probably get mad at me and ask why I was thinking like that.

Maybe I could tell him that Iris came by.

No, he'll get mad and call her, asking why he doesn't get to take advantage of his 21-year-old freedom.

It took me a while to realize that it was hard to talk to River, and nearly impossible to be honest with him and let it get to his head.

Despite his open mind, his head was closed to the idea of accepting his own fault; one of his biggest problems was that he had a hard time accepting any help.

He wanted to be the helper, and not the other way around. It made him uncomfortable.

-

I finally find the courage to get up from the couch and go to my room, glancing past a mirror on the way there.

Yikes.

Do I always look like this? Or is my constant stress starting to stick to my face like a layer of cheap makeup?

The moment I sit on the bed, I hear the door jingling from the living room.

My heart rate picks up and I start to wonder if I should say anything at all.

I debate pretending to be asleep, hoping that it can buy me time to determine what I want to do.