by L. D. Davis
It was very early in the morning. The sun was just beginning to rise when we reached our fishing spot. I was anxious to start. I loved fishing, ever since Fred took me when I was eight. I tried to convince Emmy many times to come with us, but the few times she did, she only scared the fish away and made her brothers mad. It didn’t take me long to stop asking her to go with us.
After a couple of hours of fishing, I had to pee. I’d had too many cans of soda. There weren’t any bathrooms out there in the swampy woods. When I first realized that when I was eight, I was horrified. So were the guys. They didn’t know what to do about a little girl that had to pee in the middle of the woods. I quickly learned that if I wanted to keep going on fishing trips, I had to act like it wasn’t a big deal, find a place away from everyone else and go pee.
“Going to the little girl’s room,” I announced.
“Don’t go too far,” Fred said over his shoulder.
“I know,” I said and marched on.
I walked through the woods for a couple of minutes. Like an animal, I tended to go back to the same spot to do my business. The thought made me snicker as I dropped my pants and squatted with my back to a tree. I hated not wiping, but I thought it would feel weird to walk into the woods carrying a plastic bag and a roll of toilet paper. It was bad enough I was a girl. I didn’t have to keep reminding the guys of that. I always took a shower when I got back to the house, though, which made me think of guys. They didn’t wipe. They just put it back and went on with their day. It made me wonder if they smelled like pee.
“Ew,” I muttered to myself as I zipped up my jeans.
I was grossed out about thinking about a potential pee smell and the thing they peed out of. I knew what it was called. I just didn’t like saying it. Or thinking it.
Nasty.
I kicked dirt and leaves over the area I was just squatting in. That made me snicker again. Just like an animal. Pee and cover it up. Like a cat.
I started back towards the pond, thinking about my mom. I missed her, and my dad, even though we didn’t exactly have a nice family relationship like other families. I hoped that my mom was eating and that my dad wasn’t drinking too much. I was lost in such deep thought about my parents that I wasn’t paying attention to where I was walking.
There was a big root sticking out of the ground. I had tripped over it several times before. I usually knew to step over it, but sometimes I forgot about it. I tripped.
I didn’t put my hands out fast enough to brace myself. I hit my head on a rock that was the size of an adult human head. Why was that rock so big and why was it in the woods? Were there rocks that big all over the woods and I never took note before?
I felt the blood trickling down the side of my head as I lay on my back staring up at the canopy of trees. I didn’t remember rolling over, but I had. I was tired, more sleepy than usual, even after waking up so early in the morning. My head didn’t hurt, but there was a strange pressure where I had hit it.
Oh, my god, I am so tired. I can take a quick nap and they won’t even know I’m gone.
I closed my eyes.
*~*~*
“Donya!”
Someone was shaking me. I moaned and swatted at them. My hand hit a forehead. Someone cursed. Oh, I was so telling on Emmet for saying shit, as soon as I woke up from my nap.
“Leammelone,” I murmured.
“No, you brat,” he growled.
I felt arms slip under me. I heard a soft grunt and then I felt him lift me off of the ground. As Emmet carried me, I tried to tell him to stop and put me down. All of the moving around was making me sick to my stomach, and I couldn’t even open my eyes to throw up.
I tried really hard and after what felt like a very long time, I made my eyes open.
“Emmet,” I mumbled, looking up into his face. He looked scared. Why was he so scared?
“What?” he dared a glance down at me with those green eyes.
“I’m gonna…” I couldn’t finish the sentence. I puked on Emmet’s chest. He was going to be so mad, but I couldn’t help it.
“Great,” he muttered. “Dad! Freddy!” He shouted for the Freds.
The Freds. I tried to laugh, but it came out choked. It was then that I noticed the pain in my head. It hurt. A lot.
Fear slammed into me hard. I was hurt. Emmet was carrying me, and Emmet looked scared. I tried not to cry, but my vision was blurring with tears. Emmet stopped walking and dropped to his knees. Very carefully, he put me on the ground and shouted for his dad again.
“Hey, no crying,” he demanded.
“You’re only thirteen,” I said through my tears. “You can’t tell me what to do.”
“I just did. Now stop it.” He wiped my face with his hand.
I heard running and then shouts of alarm. They left all of the fishing gear and rushed me to the truck. Emmet was being very nice. He had one arm wrapped around me in the back of the truck and kept talking to me and making me answer him. Fred told him to keep me talking and he did an annoyingly good job at it. I just wanted to go back to sleep, but he kept making me talk and if I didn’t answer, he pinched me.
Okay. Maybe he wasn't that nice.
I had a mild concussion. My mom seemed to come out of her depression long enough to freak out over the phone. Sam fussed over me and yelled at Fred and the boys for letting me walk off on my own. Emmy ditched her cousins and curled up with me in my hospital bed.
When I was allowed to leave the hospital, Sam made me stay in bed. I argued with her, but she got her way. I was stuck in a first-floor bedroom while the other kids played outside. Emmy spent a lot of time with me, but I felt bad that she couldn’t be outside and I would make her leave. Others came and went, but the best visit ever was the first night out of the hospital. Emmet came into the room with a bowl of ice-cream.
“I snuck this for you,” he said quietly and threw a glance at the door. “It’s mom’s secret stash of mint chocolate chip.”
“If she knows you found her ice-cream and took some, she’s going to kick your ass,” I said warily.
“Don’t say ass,” he said and then shrugged. “I don’t care if I get in trouble. Here.”
He held out the bowl. I looked at the bowl and then I looked at his face. He was smiling at me again. When he winked, I couldn’t hold back my own smile, and took the bowl.
I dug in and then moaned happily when I tasted a big spoonful.
“Thank you,” I said around a mouthful.
“Sure,” he said, laughing a little. “It’s nothing.”
I ate a little bit more ice-cream and he watched me. It felt a little weird having him watch me eat it, so I offered him some. He took the spoon and ate a little bit before passing it back to me.
Sharing a bowl of ice-cream with Emmet with only one spoon between us made my chest feel all funny again like it did that time when he told me I was special. It’s not like I didn’t share with the Grayne kids. We were always picking at someone else’s treat or taking a taste of something, but this time felt different.
“How did you find me?” I asked Emmet after a few more bites of ice-cream.
He gave me a puzzled look.
“I mean in the woods. How did you find me?”
I had a sneaky suspicion he had spied on me while I peed. The thought made me mad. I would have dumped my whole bowl of ice-cream on his head if he had admitted to doing it.
“When you didn’t come right back, I went looking for you,” he said and took the spoon from me. He ate some and passed it back. “I don’t know how I found you. I just did. I just had a feeling and followed it.”
I didn’t quite understand that at that time. I can’t say I ever really understood it fully later.
“Thank you for finding me,” I said softly as I stared down into the ice-cream.
“You’re welcome, brat.”
“I hope this doesn’t mean I can’t go fishing anymore,” I said a moment later and passed him more ice-cream.
�
��We’ll have to sneak past mom, but I’m sure Dad won’t mind.”
“What if this happens again?” I worried.
Emmet smiled at me and tapped my nose. He took the empty bowl from me and stood up.
“Then I’ll find you again,” he said and slipped out the door.
Chapter Three
I watched my mom shuffle around the kitchen, making herself a cup of hot tea. She wasn’t in a talking mood, but at least she was up and moving around.
“Mom, do you need anything before I go?” I asked her.
She looked at me briefly and shook her head.
Her hair needed a brush, badly. She had lost so much weight that her clothes were hanging off of her body. She didn’t smell too good either, but what was I supposed to do? I used to try to help her with all of those things, but she was so difficult about it. I pushed and pushed and one day she snapped and slapped the shit out of me. Right across my face. The noise had been so loud, that it echoed off of the walls of her bedroom and in my ears for several minutes. I didn’t push her again.
That day she had given me a hand shaped bruise on my cheek that I had to keep covered up with makeup. The only person who knew about it was Emmet, and he found out purely by accident. He just happened to show up at my door one morning to drop off the sweater I had left in his car the day before when he drove Em and me—against his will—to the mall. I hadn’t had time to cover it up.
“You left this,” he grunted and thrust the sweater at me without really looking at me. His gaze fell somewhere over my shoulder.
“Oh. You didn’t have to bring it.”
“I’m picking up the guys,” he grumbled. “I don’t need you and Emmy cluttering up my car.”
I rolled my eyes. Tucking my hair behind my ear, I said, “Whatever. You could have thrown it in your trunk.”
“Then you would have bitched about me throwing your sweater in my dirty trunk.”
Sometimes Emmet was an asshole. Not all of the time. Maybe not even part of the time, but sometimes.
I was just about to tell him that it was one of those times and tell him where he could take his cranky ass, but his eyes finally scanned over my face. His hand shot out and firmly grasped my chin. I gasped softly when he made contact with my skin. It was an embarrassing, yet consistent reaction to his touch.
I started to turn away, but he tilted my head to get a better look at my cheek. His eyes narrowed and then widened and then narrowed again.
“Who hit you?” he asked with a startling amount of vehemence.
“Simmer down, big brother,” I said, pulling away from him. “It’s nothing.”
“You have a big ass bruise shaped like a hand across your face,” he growled, taking my chin again. “I’d say it’s something. Is it that guy you were talking to? Joe what’s-his-face?”
I peeled his fingers off of my face.
“His name is Jorge, and no. He didn’t hit me. I would have kicked his ass myself.”
Emmet looked at me with suspicion.
“Are you sure it wasn’t him? Was it any guy?”
My eyes rolled again, and I sighed impatiently. It was a chilly morning. I wanted to close the door and crawl back into my warm bed.
“No guy hit me, okay? Pick up ‘your boys’ and go do whatever you nerds do on a Sunday morning while the rest of the teenage world is sleeping in or watching boring Sunday morning television.”
Emmet looked away and sighed. I thought he was going to leave, so I started to close the door, but his hand smacked against the door, keeping it open.
“Someone hurt you, Donya.” His voice had softened, and his eyes asked me for truth.
My stupid fourteen-year-old heart fluttered. I had to remind myself that Emmet was not only three years older than me, but he was my brother, more or less.
“She didn’t mean it,” I whispered and then glanced over my shoulder to make sure we were still alone. “I shouldn’t have pushed her.”
His eyes widened again. “Your mom? Your mom did that to you?”
I didn’t like admitting that my mom hit me. People already had a low opinion of her, and I didn’t want to reinforce those low opinions.
“She didn’t mean it,” I said again, my tone pleading.
He made a sound of disgust and turned his back on me for a moment. His hands fisted on his hips.
I looked at the back of his letterman jacket and wondered what lucky girl was going to eventually get to wear it. I was sure by the time the football season ended it would be draped across some giddy girl’s shoulders. Emmet was a good looking guy, a very good looking guy. There was no shortage of hormonal teenage girls that would want to be inside his jacket and his arms.
He turned back around and looked at me very carefully.
“How many times before did she hit you?” he asked, his voice tight with tension.
I looked over my shoulder again. “Nothing like this,” I answered.
“How many times?” he insisted.
“I don’t know,” I said after some hesitation. I leaned in the doorway with my arms crossed defensively.
Emmet stepped towards me and stopped a few inches away. We stared at each other for a long moment. He smelled good. He always smelled good. It was messing with my head while I was trying to not look intimidated by his glare.
“She’s never hit me like this before,” I breathed, giving in. “Ever.”
“But she has hit you,” he said.
“Yeah, and so has your mom. Your mom whooped my ass with a wooden spoon.”
He tried not to laugh, but a smile snuck up on his face. “We all got it that day. It was all your fault.”
“I threw the turkey to you,” I said, smiling. “It’s not my fault you didn’t catch it, Mr. Football star.”
He snickered and ran a hair through his semi-long dark hair, pushing some of it off his forehead.
“Yeah,” he agreed. He looked at me again, and his smile faded. “You would tell me if anyone ever seriously hurt you, right? You would tell me if this happens again?”
“Yes,” I said quicker than I meant to. “Now get out of here.” I waved him away. “I’m cold.”
“Alright,” he said, backing away.
Again, I started to close the door, but he turned around and stopped me again.
“Now what?” I whined.
He looked at me like he wanted to say something but couldn’t get it out. Finally, he blew out an exasperated breath and said, “Nothing. See you at dinner tonight?”
“Of course.”
He smiled at me. My heart fluttered. I closed the door.
It was several weeks later, and though the bruise was gone, I could still feel the sting of her hand connecting with my face. I wasn’t going to keep asking her if she needed anything. I wasn’t going to suggest a shower or brush or a toothbrush or anything. I told her I would be gone for the weekend, and I left.
I pulled my jacket tight around me as I made the quick walk to Emmy’s. It was late October. All of the summery days were gone. Winter was only a couple of months away, shaking its fist at us, and waiting for its turn.
I walked into the Grayne house, my real home, without knocking. I smelled something good cooking in the kitchen, and it made my stomach rumble. I didn’t eat much at lunch in school because Jorge Alta had stopped me in the hallway for a chat. He was a senior, a good looking guy like Emmet, but with a bit of a bad boy flare. He seemed to have his own rules, and it seemed that those around him abided by them. It didn’t hurt that he was charming as all hell when he wanted to be. At lunch, he wanted to charm me of all people. Me, the little freshman girl.
As far as looks went, I thought I was pretty enough. I was a little bit taller than most of the girls in my class and slim, maybe too slim. Every day I felt my boobs to see if they had grown any more, only to be disappointed that they had not. My hair was shoulder length and jet black, and my skin tone was as Emmy dreamily described as “yummy milk chocolate.” My hazel eyes seemed to be
in direct contrast to my darker features.
Did I think I was pretty? No. I thought I was fair. I didn’t think badly about myself, but I didn’t spend hours in front of a mirror obsessing either. I knew there were much better looking girls in the school, but I was inwardly thrilled that Jorge was talking to me. So, I missed most of lunch, and only had time to eat an apple on my way to my next class.
I walked into the kitchen at Emmy’s and grabbed a banana off of the table.
“What’s for dinner?” I asked as a greeting.
Sam was at the stove, stirring something in a pot, wearing one of her famous aprons. I always looked forward to her meals. She could cook the pants off of anyone I knew.
“Meatloaf, mashed potatoes and green beans,” she said, fidgeting with the collar on my jacket.
I batted her hand away. “Where’s Fred?”
She sighed. “You never want to just sit and talk to me, do ya? Always gotta run to him.”
“I sat with you for an hour last night,” I argued, heading toward the back door. “You gave me an hour long lecture on proper moisturizing and told me repeatedly how much you think I need a hairstyle change.”
She gave a little shrug. “Well…I think you need to work on those things.”
I sighed patiently. “I’m fourteen years old, Sam. You should be lucky that I’m not pierced and inked and pregnant.”
I opened the door and went outside.
“Hey, Kiddo,” Fred smiled at me when he saw me come out. He was wearing gloves and carrying around gardening equipment.
“What are you doing?” I asked him, taking a couple of rakes off his hands.
“Just finished raking the yard,” he said. “And doing some other things to get ready for the winter. I have a feeling we’re going to get a lot of snow this year.”
“You said that last year and it rained most of the time,” I pointed out.
He chuckled and said, “Right, and you complained about your hair getting wet.”
“Despite the fact that I am practically your kid, I am still a black kid, and I don’t want my hair wet, Fred.”
He laughed again. “I’ll buy you an umbrella. How’s your mom?”
