The Flight of Hope

by HJ Bellus

  “Smart woman.” Caleb picks up the Keurig filter from the counter, waving it in front of me.

  I smirk. The man is friendly, easy on the eyes, and oozes charm.

  “Caleb.” An elderly lady pokes her head in the door. “Can you help get that damn bag of dog food in my Razor?”

  “Be right there, Gloria.” He punches in a few more numbers before jogging out from behind the counter.

  “Sorry.” She stares at his ass as he jogs past her.

  I mean, his jeans do hug the globes of his ass to perfection, but my hell she wasn’t even discreet about it. She follows him out of the door that stays propped open. I watch through the small window behind the counter. The bag of dog food is five pounds at most. Caleb was used that’s for sure. I shake my head and hear Caleb holler back to her.

  “Tell Edwin he owes me a few cold ones.” Caleb shuts the door behind him, dragging his hand through his mess of wavy, dark curls. Raven black to be exact. “The women around here.”

  “You know she just…” I point to the door.

  “Used her dog food to check out my ass?”

  I nod.

  “Feel like a piece of meat around here most days.” He smiles at me, staring a bit too long, making me feel uncomfortable.

  I glance down, pulling more items out of my cart. An awkward, thick silence fills the air. We’re saved from suffering from any more of it when the old-style phone rings, making me jump.

  Caleb chuckles before answering the phone. There’s no room to judge Gloria as I check out his ass and thick thighs. The man is ripped. In fact, if he bent over he’d probably rip out of his jeans. My intentions differ from Gloria’s, or at least I assume that. Mine is out of pure curiosity. Does he have a gym in the back of the store or does he chop the shit out of wood to keep a body like that?

  “Banky.” A shrieking voice serenades us.

  A flash of wild black hair sticking up in every direction peeks from behind the counter. I peer over it to see a little boy dancing back and forth on his toes while holding himself. Where in the hell did he come from?

  “Banky, pee now.”

  Caleb uses his shoulder to hold the phone to his ear and tries to bend down to help him.

  “Yes, we ordered two cases.”

  “I’m gonna pee on you,” the little boy declares. “Mergency.”

  Caleb throws his arms up in the air, growing frustrated.

  “Excuse me a second.” He covers the end of his phone with his palm. “Marlee, would you mind helping him? My idiot brother has next week’s delivery all messed up.”

  The little boy launches his black boot back and sends it right into Caleb’s shin. He may be little, but he’s packed a punch with the kick. Caleb winces, bending down, rubbing out the pain.

  “My daddy isn’t an widiot. You is.”

  Caleb’s carefree, happy go lucky charisma vanishes. The boy continues to hop around worried about peeing his pants. I remain frozen. Fear strikes my core watching the innocent boy. It takes me down a path I don’t want to be on. I grow dizzy as sweat begins to trickle down the back of my neck. The edges of my vision blur in and out of focus. Anxiety creeps up my spine.

  “Please, Marlee.” He points over my shoulder. “The bathroom is in the back. He just needs help with getting in the bathroom and his button and zipper.”

  Before I have a chance to respond, a little face peers around the counter at me. He’s hesitant, studying me up and down. He has Caleb’s dark eyes and hair. His cheeks are full and flushed. He has to be his son, but why does he call him Banky?

  “Banky, girls can’t see my ween.”

  “Go.” Caleb’s jaw ticks. “Yes, I’m here. We need that case of produce as well as the meat. I’m not sure how it was screwed up.”

  The little boy steps around the counter and walks up to me. I don’t move. I can’t. It’s all too real. A brutal reminder of everything I lost. He jerks his head to the side and then begins down an aisle, doing his version of a pee-pee dance.

  I clench my hands into fists until my fingernails dig into my palms. My eyes flutter shut, and I fight to pull myself together. Yes, it’s tearing open a very fresh wound. The pain is worse than waking up in the hospital because I can’t escape it with pills. I eye the vodka on the shelf and pull in air.

  “You’s coming?” Rich chocolate brown eyes stare back at me.

  I nod.

  “Here.” He holds up a hand to me while the other one is between his legs. “I show you.”

  I show you. Those three words echo around in my head. His words have more meaning behind them than showing me to the bathroom. It’s like he’s promising so much more with his curious stare and genuine heart. When my hand connects with his little, warm one, I tense for a second before I’m able to relax. We stop in front of door with a “staff only” sign hanging crooked on it. He drops my hand, pulls up his shirt, tucking it under his chin, his tongue darts out to the side as he fumbles with the brass button on his jeans.

  “Here.” I kneel down. “I’ll get this and help you inside.”

  “Okay, I hold my shirt.” He pulls it nearly over his head with his little hands. “Don’t look at my wiener.”

  I bite down on my bottom lip, keeping in the laughter. “I promise.”

  “Or my nuts. I got nuts.”

  “I promise.”

  Once his zipper is down, I make a show of covering my eyes, only peeking out to open the door and flip on the lights. “I’ll wait right out here.”

  He darts into the bathroom. I hear him peeing before I’m able to shut the door. Once the door clicks, my back slams into the wall. My heart beats out of control. The anxiety attack has backed down to a dull roar. That little boy hurts to look at; he scares me, but above all of that, he makes me laugh.

  He resembles everything that’s good, honest, and pure in this world. A blank canvas. The world is at his fingertips. It takes me back to the days I once had that. That train of thought slams right into what I had and lost. Would Hope have been so open and trustworthy as she grew up? Would she have had my eyes or Bentley’s? The lists of questions are endless and will never be answered.

  The door flies open with no warning. A soft humming sound follows it. A blur of wild black hair comes into vision. He has his shirt up around his neck, struggling to zip and button his pants. The harder he concentrates, the louder he hums the tune of “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.”

  I kneel before him once again. “Here, let me help you.”

  “Don’t look at…”

  “I promise.” I zip up his zipper and fasten the button. “There you go.”

  He tilts his head deep in thought. “Are you a mom?”

  I swallow the lump in my throat and shake my head.

  “My mom left us. She didn’t wike me.”

  “Oh.” His response takes me by shock. I place my hands on top of my knees.

  “Maybe you can be my mom.” He grins wide, all of his baby teeth on display and then skips off.

  It takes me a long beat before I’m able to stand up and gather my thoughts. That little boy just flipped my world upside down. His sweet, innocent heart shattered by his mom. A gentle reminder everyone is battling their demons sent straight from hell to cause havoc.

  Caleb hangs up the phone as I reach the counter. I don’t miss the ticking of his jaw and the tension racing through the veins of his neck. He runs both hands through his hair before letting out a long breath.

  “Thank you, Marlee. That’s not typical. My brother is in town, and I’m watching his son. Shit has been crazy since he came back home.”

  “No worries.” I open my wallet. “So, he’s your nephew?”

  “Yeah.” A ghost of a smile appears on his perfectly sculpted lips. “He’s quite the kid.”

  I let out a light laugh. “Yes, and for the record I didn’t look at his ween.”

  Caleb throws his head back, howling in laughter. “He didn’t.”

  “He did,” I answer.

&nbs
p; “I had no idea a barely four-year-old would be obsessed with his wiener and poop.”

  “He is a boy,” I offer.

  “That’s what Mom says, too. Claims my brother and I were just as intrigued.”

  “His dad?” I cringe, prying for more information. I’m colored intrigued.

  “Yeah, my twin brother, Jed. Paternal not identical. I’m the better looking one.” Caleb starts bagging my groceries, spilling their life story. “Jed was on top of the world winning CMA’s and touring the world until he came back home.”

  “Jed?” I ask, the name somewhat familiar.

  “Jed Bryant, country’s hottest singer a year ago.”

  The light bulb goes off. Holy shit. I used to own every single one of his songs on my old phone.

  “Oh.” Is my one word stunned response.

  “Yeah, like I said I’m the better-looking brother.”

  I smile at his response. The door bursts wide open and none other than Jed storms in. He and Caleb are so similar in looks I’m not sure how I didn’t pick up on it. Jed is not quite as big and defined as Caleb, but everything else is spot on.

  “Hey, Sunshine,” Caleb chirps.

  Jed glares at him, slamming the door shut. “Fuck off.”

  My jaw drops as I stare at the angry man.

  “You gotta problem, princess?”

  It takes me long beats before I realize Jed’s addressing me. He doesn’t give me time to answer before he strides off to the back room. The twins may look similar, but from first impressions are now in no way alike.

  “Ignore him. He’s going through some shit and is a dick.”

  I wave off Caleb’s apology, trying to act cool. He places two requested vodka bottles and a Bailey’s in my bags. I settle up with my debit card.

  “Gave you the family discount for being so patient.” Caleb helps me stuff the grocery bags into two oversized bags with sturdy handles.

  “Thanks.”

  Caleb grabs for one of the bags, but I’m quicker than him, plucking up both of them. Before the door shuts, Caleb hollers out. “Don’t be a stranger.”

  I smile back at him. Before I turn my head, I catch something out of the corner of my eye. Jed. He’s leaning on the side of the building toward the back in the shade. His chest is heaving, face up toward the sky, and then he brings a bottle of Jack to his lips, taking a long pull.

  I don’t know what he’s dealing with, but it’s clear it’s something is haunting him. I can relate. I feel for someone else for the first time in what seems like eternity.

  21

  “We are born of love; Love is our mother.” -Rumi

  “Hey, boy.” I climb off the bike, keeping the two bags balanced on the handlebars.

  Guy comes closer, sniffing at the bags. His curiosity is getting the best of him. I pat his head then scratch the back of his ears and unhook him from the homemade leash tied on the camper.

  “Got you some treats. I’ll have to make another trip for your dog food though.” I tear open the bag of dog jerky and give him a few pieces. I smile, remembering the time Bentley and I gorged ourselves on dog jerky, thinking it was a new brand from Costco. Mom was appalled and couldn’t believe we didn’t put two and two together since the bag had a picture of a Golden Retriever on it. We were starving twelve-year-old kids.

  Guy has them down in one inhale. His eyes light up when I pull out the huge rawhide. It makes me smile. It’s rare for both of us to be happy with a smile on our faces. And he’s smiling over the fact he’s about to get his all-time treat.

  He goes to town on the rawhide while I put away all the groceries. He’s on his last bag of dog food, and it’s a little under half full. That trip to town will require a bit of creativity. He’s a big enough dog that a five-pound bag won’t last. We started with four fifty-pound bags when we settled here.

  I make myself sick on fresh cut fruit and vegetables before settling outside in a plastic chair to watch the sun go down. It’s my favorite time of day up here. Once the sun hides behind the mountain ridge, the temperature drops a good ten degrees. A chill so thick you feel it in your bones.

  “Come here, boy.” I pat my lap. Guy ditches his treat and leaps up in my lap.

  He hasn’t slept on the bed with me since the accident. He lies near the closest door with a sad face. The guilt eats me when I think about it. I haven’t been the best partner or owner to him.

  “I’ve missed you, boy.” I run my nose along his soft curly hair. “I’m trying to get better.”

  He turns, licking my face like he understands what I’m saying. I’m greedy keeping Guy on my lap long after the sun disappears. His large body and thick coat of curly hair keeps me warm. As a small child, the dark used to be my biggest fear to the point of developing a phobia. I’d crawl in my momma’s bed even though every single night she tucked me in safe and sound in my own.

  Now the dark skies comfort me. I remain in the same position until it’s too cold and I'm forced to head into the camper. Guy trucks behind, stopping only to pick up his rawhide. I watch as he enters the trailer ahead of me, making bounding up the steps look easy.

  I’m expecting him to run to the couch or settle in by his dog dishes near the door. But he shocks me. He leaps into my bed and burrows around in the blankets like he used to do at our old home. And then grabs the rawhide with his teeth and begins working it over.

  It sounds crazy and very well could be since I’m skirting around being certifiably insane. The sight soothes a patch of ache in my heart. An emotion other than grief, sadness, and despair strikes me. It’s a foreign feeling that has become a stranger to me. It warms me from head to toe. Offering up a glimpse of promise that one day I may choose to live again.

  I reach into the cabinet and pull out a new bottle of vodka and mix it with Diet Mountain Dew. It’s a change for me instead of drinking straight from the bottle. I sit on the bed, leaning my back against the wall, thinking about the events of today. I survived going to town, that’s a plus. I take a long drink of my cocktail. I guess I could say I met a new friend in town. I take another drink. A little boy warmed and broke my heart in the matter of a handful of minutes. I take another long drink.

  Guy grows restless with his rawhide and weasels his way over to me. He cuddles up into a ball as close as he can to me. I don’t wait because I know exactly what he wants. My hands begin roaming through his hair, my fingers dancing through his curly locks.

  My eyelids grow heavy and soon sleep begs to take over. I place my drink on the counter. I drank three-fourths of it, and I’m so tired I can barely keep my eyes open. I strip quickly out of my clothes and climb into Bentley’s t-shirt, I find Hope’s blanket and tuck it to my chest. I watch Guy to see what he’s going to do.

  It dawns on me that I’ve shut him out since the accident. I haven’t neglected him, but I haven’t welcomed him either. I plop on the bed next to him and watch as he tilts his head to the side. So I pat the bed again. He moves slow and with caution as he creeps up to my side and lies down. Hope’s pink blanket lies between us. In this position, it’s as if I’ve created a barrier or a shield between me and the world to protect myself from everyone and anything.

  I fluff the blanket out, so he has a piece to lay on, too. What he does next makes me cry in an instant. He sniffs the blanket over and over and then places his cheek on it. I look into his blue eyes that have always made me happy and smile. We are sharing what we had and are making new memories.

  I’m not able to keep my eyes open for much longer. They’re thick and heavy, and I guess it’s from today’s events. From floating in the river to my near drowning accident, and peddling five miles to and from town has left me exhausted.

  As my eyes flutter shut, I whisper I love you to Bentley and Hope. And then I do something I haven’t done in a very long time. I talk to God. I beg him to allow me one night of a peaceful sleep with no threats of a nightmare. And with that, my eyes flutter shut. Guy’s rhythmic breathing soothes me into slumber wit
hin a matter of seconds.

  The morning sun shines through the windows of the camper. The light’s blinding force makes me bury my head in the pillow.

  “Wait.” I sit up on the bed, the light sending an immediate headache shooting through my skull. I grab my cell phone that has no service or data and check the time. Ten a.m. I blink once then twice and wipe the sleep from my eyes, and indeed I slept in.

  “No way.”

  Guy pries open his sleep laden eyes and peers up at me. I smile at him and his grumpy expression. I haven’t slept that long in months. And I use the word sleep loosely because it generally never comes and when it does, it’s riddled with my living nightmare.

  Last night, I remembered not being able to keep my eyes open after not finishing off my cocktail and then falling asleep. I stretch my arms over my head, craning my neck from side-to-side, stretching out my limbs from my fingertips all the way down to my toes. There’s no massive throbbing headache, dry cottonmouth, or a queasy stomach. I’m not hungover. Sore legs, aching muscles, but not hungover .

  I didn’t finish off a bottle last night. It’s all too confusing for me at the moment. I get up out of bed and try my new Keurig filter, and it works like Caleb said it would. Quite a handy-dandy little contraption. I’ll have to remember to thank him next time I see him. Thoughts of Caleb in the grocery store yesterday makes me grin a shy smile.

  I splash some Bailey's in my coffee to help warm me up. I don’t need vodka, and it feels good. I throw on my flannel, leggings, and grab Hope’s blanket. The crisp mountain air smacks me in the face when I open the door to the trailer. The air is always fresh and crisp in the mornings, waking up every single part of me.

  Guy rushes past me, bounding down the steps, barking. It’s his defensive bark that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. There’s a mini cyclone of dust before everything settles. Caleb stands with his hands over his head, backing away in slow motion. There’s a truck. There’s Caleb. At my trailer. My haven, the place I’m trying to heal.