“I did.” He smiled. “I’m an artist. Like you.”
“They’re really good.” I studied each drawing. “Especially this one.”
The picture showed a boy running in the woods. Details in his face, very similar to Tommy, showed the anxiety, maybe even the desperation he felt. I wanted to know who he was running from and where he would end up. The drawing pulled me into that moment of time he experienced.
Tommy nodded. “One of my favorites. Thanks, Em.”
“Is this you?” I needed to ask.
He gazed at the picture. “Yes, or at least a part of what I was feeling at the time. You know how your feelings spill into the drawings or writing. Not that I write. But I think the feelings are similar in both writing and drawing.”
“I completely agree.” I surveyed the clubhouse. “First of all, we have to clean up this place if we’re going to hang out here.”
Tommy shrugged. “I guess.”
“I can’t believe you don’t hang here all the time.” I eyed the cobwebs again. “How long has it been since you’ve been here?”
Tommy looked around the room wistfully. “Too long.”
“Nothing some elbow grease can’t fix,” I said. “Tomorrow I’ll bring some old rags and cleaner. This place will be sparkling in no time.”
“Bring some of your drawings, too,” Tommy said. “We’ll hang them up next to mine.”
“It’s a deal.” I held out my hand to him.
He shook it firmly, and I grinned.
“Our own personal art gallery,” I said.
***
Rummaging through the cabinet under the sink, I found some all-purpose cleaner and a sponge. I grabbed some old rags from the adjoining laundry room and stuffed them in a plastic grocery bag.
“What are you doing?” my brother asked. He stood in the kitchen in a pair of faded sweatpants and eating a bowl of cereal. Little droplets of milk hung in his somewhat growing mustache.
“Gross. Wipe your mouth,” I told him.
He did. With his arm. He never ceased to disgust me.
“Why are you digging around under the sink?”
“Just getting some cleaning stuff.”
“For what?”
“For cleaning, dummy. What do you think?”
“Excuse me, Your Highness. I guess my question is why are you taking cleaning stuff and putting it in your backpack? Planning on scrubbing down your locker on Monday?”
“None of your business.” I glanced at the clock hanging on the kitchen wall. It was shaped like a big red strawberry. Mom thought strawberries were cheerful. I just thought they were fruit. “Don’t you have to get to work?”
“Damn it!” Sam quickly slurped down his cereal. “I can’t be late again.”
“You better get moving.”
Sam paused in the doorway and pressed his lips together. “I still think you’re up to something. I will find out eventually what you’re hiding.”
“I’m not hiding anything.” I zipped my backpack. “Just helping out a friend.”
Sam disappeared in search of a clean shirt for work. I slung my backpack over my shoulders and headed outside, the screen door slamming shut behind me. Mom had left about an hour ago to do grocery shopping and whatever other errands she did on Saturday mornings. Sam would be on his bike riding to work in a few minutes. And I would be helping Tommy clean the clubhouse. Our clubhouse, as he now called it.
Usually, I went with Mom on Saturday mornings. I liked to go grocery shopping. And I liked being with her. She worked so much our time together was limited. But the clubhouse fascinated me. I wanted to help clean it up and hang out there. I even put a few of my sketches in my bag, including the one of Mom that Tommy admired. I’d be honored to have it hanging next to his drawings.
My feet, encased in sturdy sneakers today, glided through the woods. Past the scraggly trees, used condoms, and empty beer cans to where the woods grew deeper and wider. The difference between the two areas of woods startled me. I imagined the houses on the other side of these woods were much nicer, too. Probably two stories with perfect white shutters and black paved driveways. Brightly colored hanging plants out front and a big swimming pool in the backyard. I used to live in one of those houses. Minus the swimming pool.
No worries. Houses didn’t matter in these woods. Nothing but trees and lush greenery were visible here. No rooftops, no people yelling, nothing. You couldn’t even see the train tracks this far back.
It was hard to believe I hadn’t found this place. But I never went this far into the woods. I’d just assumed it looked the same as the rest. I was wrong. This was another place entirely. I tramped on the soft, mossy ground. This was the green forest of my imagination. I was getting close to the clubhouse now. The soothing sounds of running water reached my ears, and I relished its melody. I didn’t think another sound existed as calming as water running over smooth rocks. In my mind’s eye I could see it cascading over the rocks’ bumpy surfaces, feel its coldness between my fingers, and taste its wet freshness on my lips.
I cast a quick glance at the clubhouse as I came upon it. The door hung ajar. I peeked inside, but no Tommy. I decided to wait for him. Besides, I wanted to get a closer look at the stream. I ambled down the slight hill to the rocky stream below. Upon inspection, it was more of a creek than a stream. The clear water ran lazily over the rocky bed beneath. I sank down on the emerald moss lining the bank. Untying my sneakers and tossing them to the side, I stretched out my toes, hot-pink nail polished, into the water. Not for long. The sun was warm, but the creek water cold. I snatched my feet back and just stared at its mesmerizing movements. Moving water always interested me. It drew me into its spell in a way. I loved its musical quality, the tone and pitch of cascading ripples moving with no particular destination in mind. In a way, you could say water was the original gypsy. No permanent home, just constant moving from one place to another. Maybe through rivers, lakes, and streams. Or evaporation and condensation. Always progressing.
A stick cracked behind me. I didn’t turn. I knew it was Tommy. I could sense it without looking to be sure. I felt his warmth when he sat next to me on the bank, his arm brushing against my own.
He ran his hand through his messy hair, getting it out of his eyes. His lips curled into a grin when his gaze settled on my feet. “Nice toenails.”
Chapter Six
I shoved him, and he toppled over, laughing. He snatched a clump of green moss and plopped it onto the top of his head.
“Check me out! Lord of the Moss. King of the Forest,” he shouted. He jumped up and grabbed a jagged stick that lay on the ground in front of him. “I am the Moss Master!”
Laughter spilled out of me. He looked ridiculous dancing around with a glob of moss on his head. I glanced down at the hot-pink nail polish on my toenails. Two could play that game.
“And I…” I plucked two graceful ferns from the ground beside me. “I am Queen Pink Toenail. The fairest of all the maidens in the forest.”
I placed the ferns on either side of my ponytail, secured with a silver band. The scratchy stems dug into my scalp, but I didn’t care. I was a queen!
“Oh, nice.” Tommy laughed. “Fern head.”
“Well, that’s better than moss head.”
“I guess so.” Tommy rolled his eyes. He fell onto the soft ground beside me, the moss dropping off his head with a delicate thump. He closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath. His gray T-shirt held remnants of the dark earth lodged beneath the mass of moss. “I love this place,” he said quietly. “I had forgotten how much I love it here.”
I pulled the ferns from my hair. “I love it, too. What do you mean you’ve forgotten how much you love it here? Have you been away?”
Tommy’s eyes flashed open. He winked at me. “In a way I have. But I’m glad I’m here now. I’m glad I could show you this place.”
I nodded and unzipped my backpack. Retrieving the bottle of cleaner and a roll of paper towels from inside,
I glanced at him. “We really need to clean up your clubhouse.”
“Right.”
Once inside, we tackled the cobwebs and scrubbed off the plastic table. We scoured the flowered lawn chair and dusted off the stack of comic books. We tried freshening the pillows, but they still stank.
“You didn’t get these at the dump, did you?” I held up the pillows.
“Yeah.”
“Ugh…gross. You’ve got to get rid of them,” I said. “Too disgusting.”
Tommy held one of them up and gave it a sniff. He wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, they have to go.”
“We have some old pillows at home,” I said. “I’ll bring some tomorrow.”
I touched one of the yellowing drawings on the wood-paneled wall. Kind of an abstract piece of art with disjointed angles and several floating eyes inside different shapes. Squares, rectangles, and triangles lent a confusing and kind of mesmerizing quality to the picture. I felt like I couldn’t take my gaze from its grasp.
“I call that my State of Confusion,” Tommy said. “It’s a perfect example of my life.”
“It’s good,” I said. “Chaotic. Why is your life so confusing? Because you never knew your father?”
“That’s part of it, I guess.” He frowned. “The other part is the piece-of-crap boyfriends my mom keeps bringing home.”
“I can’t even imagine my mom bringing home a boyfriend. That would be so weird.” This was something I’d been thinking about lately. It wasn’t inconceivable that Mom might have a boyfriend at some point. But the thought of some guy trying to replace my father made me sick. Nobody could replace him. I didn’t want anybody to even try.
Tommy looked at me. “It’s not the weird part that bothers me because it’s not strange for me. She’s had a couple of okay boyfriends, like the guy who used to take me to the dump. It’s the assholes who like to beat the shit out of me I have a problem with.”
I stared at him. “They hit you? Doesn’t your mom do anything?”
“Nope. But they eventually leave for one reason or another. Mom’s not very good at maintaining relationships.”
“That’s why you spend most of your nights down here or at the tracks.”
He nodded. “I’d rather be anywhere than at my house. The tracks and this clubhouse are the best home I’ve ever had.”
I didn’t want to be at my house either. But for different reasons than Tommy. The trailer wasn’t my home. Not the place I’d learned to ride a bike, or where I used to crawl into my parents’ bed when thunderstorms came late at night. Not the place we’d decorate gingerbread houses with sugary red and green gumdrops. I’d lick the sugar off every single one until someone noticed and told me to stop. Not the place that Mom was happy, and Dad was alive. The trailer was just someplace I slept and ate.
But to have a house I was scared to go home to was something I couldn’t imagine. One thing I did know was that my parents loved me. My heart ached thinking about Tommy being hurt, not being wanted in his own home.
“So, why haven’t you been down here for so long?”
“I used to come here every day. First building the clubhouse, and then just hanging out. But some things changed, and I haven’t been able to get here.”
“Now you can.” I stared at him. “Why do I think you’re not telling me something?”
Tommy shrugged. “Things change, Emily. Nothing stays the same forever.”
***
Nothing stays the same forever. Tommy’s words rang through my mind as I helped Mom unload groceries from the car that she’d bought earlier in the day. I knew nothing stayed the same. If it did, Dad would be here making jokes like he usually did. Mom would pretend to get mad, and he’d kiss her and laugh, telling her she was so easy to tease. She’d smile, a real smile, one I hadn’t seen on her since he’d died, and say, “Why did I marry you?” He’d say, “Because you love me. And I make the best omelets you’ve ever had.” They’d laugh like a couple of kids. I always thought they acted corny, but now I saw how sweet it all was. I missed it.
Mom looked exhausted today, like she did most days. Her shoulder-length dark hair was pulled back in a plain brown clip. She wore hardly any makeup, maybe just a little face powder and mascara. Lip balm on her lips. She abhorred lipstick, as did I, and cherry Chapstick was our choice of lip color.
She removed the boxes and cans methodically from the white plastic grocery bags. I glanced at the wall. One o’clock. She had three hours until she started her shift at the steakhouse. She’d worked until eleven last night, after working all day in the insurance office. No wonder she was exhausted.
“Mom,” I said. “Let me finish this. Why don’t you take a nap before you have to go to work tonight? You seem really tired.”
A smile formed across her soft face. She touched my cheek as she set a box of macaroni and cheese on the kitchen table. “Thank you, Em. I’d like that a lot, but I’d like to talk to you more. I was surprised you didn’t go shopping with me today.”
“I had some stuff to do,” I said. I opened the refrigerator. I put the gallon of milk and two cartons of eggs inside. “With a friend of mine.”
“Oh, do you have a new friend?”
“Yeah, for the past few weeks.” It was odd that I hadn’t told anybody about Tommy yet. I usually hung out with him when nobody was home at my house, and I didn’t have friends I saw out of school. Everyone was in a clique, and I was the outsider. That stupid sleepover I’d gone to the other week was an incredible bore. I wouldn’t even want to be their friend. Those girls were lucky to have one brain between the three of them. I knew that wasn’t nice. But it was true.
Now that I thought about it, I guessed it was strange I hadn’t told anyone about Tommy. I spent nearly every day with him.
“That’s nice,” Mom said. “I’m glad you’re making friends. Maybe we…” The phone rang. “Hello,” she answered. She glanced at the strawberry-shaped clock. “Yeah, I only start at four. Oh…well, I guess I can. I’ll be there in half an hour.”
“Sorry, Emily,” she said, hanging up. “Anne called off sick, and they’re short waitresses. I have to go in early.”
“That’s okay, Mom.” I smiled at her. “I’ll put the rest of the groceries away. I just wish you could have gotten that nap.”
“Me, too.” She turned to walk back down the hall to her bedroom. “But we could use the extra tip money.”
I nodded and watched her disappear into her bedroom to change clothes. I wished she didn’t have to work so hard all the time. I wished we could hop in the car and go to the mall this afternoon. I wished we could shop for new clothes and get those cinnamon sugar pretzels we both liked so much. I wished she would braid my hair before school like she used to when I was younger. I slammed a can of generic green beans on the table a little harder than I’d intended. I wished she’d buy the brand-name green beans she used to buy instead of these crappy ones.
I wished we had Dad back.
Chapter Seven
The warm summer rain danced on the clubhouse roof. I savored its sound. I had always enjoyed the rain. Not only its sound. But its smell and touch, particularly a warm rain. I liked the whole essence of it. The darkness of it felt like a cozy blanket wrapping itself around me. Almost like a secret world only I could see and feel. Rain held a quality I could not fully explain, but I did know its presence was as real as a person sitting next to me. A tangible quality about it existed that I could never quite grasp. Beyond the obvious qualities of wetness and pattering, it held a sensitivity which surged in my very core.
I looked over at Tommy who sat at the plastic table in the middle of the room. He studied me and then went back to the crisp, white piece of paper he drew on. He wanted to draw my portrait, and I was happy to oblige. As long as I could draw his, as well.
“You fidget a lot,” he commented.
“You’re making me nervous. I’ve never had anyone staring at me for so long.” I squirmed on the pillow I sat on.
Tommy chuckled. “I doubt that. You just didn’t know it.”
I rolled my eyes. “Well, yes, I can see how people would be in awe of my beauty. I wonder when I’ll get my modeling contract.”
Tommy was silent as he furiously worked on his drawing. A stroke here. Some shadowing. He dropped the pencil and stood back. “Finished.”
I stood from the green striped pillow I’d brought from home. Leftovers from our old house. I walked over to him and looked down at my image staring back at me. I almost didn’t recognize the girl with bright eyes and dark hair tumbling down her shoulders. He’d even included the slight, barely noticeable scar on my left cheekbone. A remnant from a fall I’d taken against the coffee table in our living room when I was two. The coffee table had won.
“She’s beautiful,” I whispered. I had trouble believing this was me. How he saw me.
“Well, you are beautiful,” Tommy said. “I draw what I see.”
I smiled. “That’s what my dad always called me. Beautiful girl.”
Tommy nodded, his gaze intent on me. “When did he die?”
I turned away from him, not wanting to discuss my father’s death. I hated talking about it even though I thought about it quite a bit. I didn’t like sharing anything personal that really mattered to me. Talking about things like that only created heartache. I felt so exposed and vulnerable. Like I was giving away a piece of my heart. I tried to avoid that feeling. I didn’t want anybody’s pity, or even concern. I’d always felt this way. To share my innermost feelings with someone else meant giving up my self-control and self-containment I enjoyed.
I’d never had a best friend. Not like most girls did. I had friends at my old school. Good friends I still talked to on the phone or emailed once in a while. But not in the sense of sharing all your thoughts and secrets. Those were for me only. I didn’t know if anyone knew the real me. The one who resided inside the body of a typical thirteen-year-old girl. The one who dreamed about faraway places and drawing those places in my sketchbook. And writing about them in my journal. I had a vision of myself, dressed in a flowing black sweater (as black as what I imagine artists wear) and loose-fitting jeans, grasping a leather-bound journal in one hand and a palette of colors in the other. I would draw and I would write. My two favorite things in life. I saw my dream so vividly; I knew it would happen one day. But to share the thoughts of my soul with someone else still scared me. Even with Tommy.
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