Pitcher's Baby

by Saylor Bliss

  No.

  You didn't mean shit to her.

  She forgot about you before your taillights faded in the night.

  My monster whispers in my ear, always lurking, waiting for a chance to break me. In a way, I hope she’s right this time. I don't want Meika to miss me the way I miss her. I want her to move on, to be happy. I want her to forget about the skinny white girl who lived next door for three short months. I need to believe she is alright.

  Thirteen years earlier...

  Tap. Tap. Tap. My mind registers the incessant knocking just before Granny T yells through the door. “Charlee, that friend of yours is here.” I jump up from my seat by the window, where I must have drifted off, and run out the back door to meet Meika, my only friend here in Kannapolis, North Carolina, our new home.

  We drove for over ten hours on Christmas morning and arrived here at Frank’s Granny’s house around nine that night. Frank showed up about an hour after us in Mom’s trusty El Camino, loaded down with whatever he could escape with. To say Granny T is a gracious host would be like saying Meika is a tall, beautiful blonde babe. She’s not, but she’s my best friend, my only friend if you wanted to get technical.

  When we first arrived, I was sullen and reclusive. I refused to talk to anyone or to play with any of the neighbors, and after about a week, they all gave up trying. Well, everyone except Meika. She was relentless in her chase. I swear, it was like she just KNEW that I needed her. I was alone. I was scared. I was hurting, and at ten years old, I had no idea what to do with the pain I was feeling. I had no idea how to be more than what I had become.

  My past defines me. It's who I am.

  I am . . .

  Unseen.

  Unheard.

  Unwanted.

  That is what I am . . . if I’m anything at all, and I have no idea how to let someone close enough to me to see beyond that.

  Meika didn’t care.

  She didn't want me to be anyone except whoever I was in that moment. She would come over and just sit next me in silence some days, and then others, when she thought I might need more, she would tell me about her life. I learned a lot about her in those first few weeks, about the kind of life she had, and I realized that even though I didn't have who or what I wanted right that moment, I did at least have someone.

  The back door slams behind me, startling Meika from her perch on our trash can. She bounces down, her rubber boots hitting hard on the snow-covered ground. It’s falling faster now. Almost all of her short black braids are peppered white from the dusty snow. She sticks out her tongue and circles with her arms wide, trying to catch the falling flakes. I laugh out loud at her.

  “Come on, you nut, before we are late.” I grab hold of her coat sleeve and pull her toward the path that leads to our church. Sunday school starts in fewer than twenty minutes, and it’s a good fifteen-minute walk on a pretty day. Chances are, we are going to be late anyway. We take off running through the woods, dashing under branches swollen with winter dusting until finally, the church yard comes into view.

  Meika and I make it back home just after one and go our separate ways. I round the corner of the house and immediately hear Granny T inside yelling.

  “I’m telling you, you better keep a better watch on that girl of yours! Letting her run around with that niglet! It ain't right, Frank. You know it ain't. Don't nothing good ever come from hanging out with that kind!” I stumble to a stop under the kitchen window and listen, waiting to hear what Frank has to say. I am shocked. And angry. I knew Granny T didn't like Meika. She refused to let her come in the house, even to just use the bathroom, but I never would have guessed it was because of the color of her skin. It just doesn’t make any sense to me. She could no more help what color her skin is than I could. It made me wonder if she had any idea that my Granny in Alabama is black or that I am part black. Would she throw me out if she found out? I wait, shivering in my threadbare coat, for someone to take up for Meke, but no reply comes.

  I don't know how long I stay there, refusing to go back in her house, but the sun is setting and my teeth are chattering uncontrollably. I thought about going to Meika’s house, but that is one rule I am too scared to break. Her family didn't let many people come over. Ever. Even though my mom is allowed there, I’m still not. I'm not sure if that is her decision or Garrett, Meika’s uncle’s, decision. The closest I’m allowed is the tall oak that separates our yard from theirs. There is a tire hanging from a thick branch that we like to swing back and forth on. I head there now, too cold to sit still any longer.

  Mom is walking across the back yard when I reach the swing. I watch as she peeks back over her shoulder, and then she notices me and picks up her already hurried pace.

  “What are you doing, Charlee? Come on, let's get inside,” she says as she pulls me along with her. I think about telling her what Granny T and Frank said earlier, but something tells me now is not the best time. She is practically dragging me across the yard, her steps are so quick. I’m having a hard time keeping up. We hurry through the back door, and she locks it tightly before pulling the curtain back and looking over to Meika’s yard again. I want to ask what she is doing, but I don't dare. Instead, I go to the bathroom and run some warm water, excited at the thought of finally warming my bones.

  It's not much later when I crawl from the warm embrace of my bath water, but already my Mom has most of our things packed into large black trash bags. I look around curiously, wondering for a moment if Frank decided we couldn't stay here with someone so hateful anymore. Nothing would make me happier. Mom notices me and tells me to go grab something to eat. “Grab a few granola bars and some sodas to take with us, baby.”

  It's pitch black outside now. Mom won’t let me turn on any lights in the house. She says it needs to look like we are all asleep, so I leave them off and do my best to not run into anything as I take another load out to her El Camino. I'm turning to head back inside when Meika surprises me. She runs up to me, grabbing my hands, and that's when I notice she is shaking uncontrollably.

  “Charlee, y'all have to go. Go right now!” She is whispering, but it’s forceful. I get the impression that if she could talk normally, she would be screaming at me.

  “Why, Meika? What's wrong?” I ask her, confused, and she slaps her hand over my mouth.

  “Shh. Whisper, ok?” I nod yes, that I will whisper, and she removes her hand.

  “My uncle . . . he says your mom took something from him. He's really mad, Charlee. I don't know what it was, but he's called others over and they all have guns and stuff. Charlee, y'all have to go, right now. I'll stall them, but you need to leave. Promise!”

  I'm shaking with fear now, remembering the way my mother was acting earlier when she came from their house. I wrap my arms tightly around Meika’s thin waist and tell her goodbye, and then I run back into the house, no longer caring what I run over.

  I search every room, yelling as quietly as I can for my mother. I can't find her anywhere, then I see a small light coming from under the bathroom door. My heart is beating in my chest, like it is about to pounce straight out. I don't knock. We don't have time. I shove open the door, my eyes finding her immediately.

  I will never forget the way she looked when that door flew open. She sits, straddling the toilet, with her greasy hair sticking to the side of her sweaty face, which is cast downward toward the dirty floor. The brightness in her deep, sunken eyes fades as she slides the needle farther into the vein in her arm. I stand there for a moment, unable to tear my eyes away from her thin, bony hands as she gently pushes the orange plunger down farther and farther until all the murky liquid is gone.

  My mind notices other things too. Things that I didn't even realize it has seen until much later—like the coffee cup on the bathroom counter and the spoon lying haphazardly next to it. How many times had I seen this over the last few months and never questioned it? Is this what she had been doing this entire time? What exactly is she doing?

  I stand there,
unable to break the spell she has forcefully woven over me. I’m not even sure she notices me until she speaks. Her words slur unattractively. “Hey, babyyy. ‘Mere.” She motions for me to come closer. “You wanna try it?” she asks, holding up the needle she just pulled from her arm. “I won't ‘ive you too much. Jus nuff so you know what it'sss like. It makes you feel soooo good.”

  I have often wondered what my face must have looked like in that moment. I just stand there, staring at her with my mouth hanging open, wondering silently who this woman in front of me is. How did I end up here?

  “I can tell you want to. Come on, baby. It’s fun,” she continues.

  Finally, I find my voice and look away from the destruction that is my mother. “Meika just left,” I whisper. “Garrett is coming . . . with guns. We need to go.” She just sits there, staring at me like she doesn't understand a word that is coming out of my mouth. “NOW!” I scream at her. She jumps up then and gathers her stuff from the counter. I turn and walk away, unable to stand the sight of her anymore.

  Frank walks in the door just as I reach it, and he picks me up in his arms and carries me to the car. Mom is not far behind us. I hear her shuffling down the hall, mumbling to herself, and all I can think in that moment is . . . just leave her here. But I don't say it out loud, not that Frank would even listen if I did, but in that moment, I want nothing more than to be as far from the woman who gave birth to me as I can be. I still don't understand what exactly she was doing in the bathroom, but I do know it's not good, and somehow, I know that it is tied directly to the reason that Meika’s uncle is angry. And that thought makes me angry and . . . sad. So sad, because now I am leaving my whole life behind again.

  I feel a tear slide down my cheek, surprising me. I didn't think I had any more tears inside of me. I honestly didn't think I could feel enough to cry anymore. I have worked really hard to shut down every part of myself that feels pain over the last three months, refusing to show any emotion to anyone around me. I welcome the numbness. I welcome the absence of feeling. I want to be fine. I need to be. And so I will be . . . tomorrow.

  I roughly swipe the offending tear off my cheek and swallow the lump of heartache down once again. It’s getting easier, I think, to not care. To not feel anything. Every time I open myself up and try to be happy again, something like this happens. It never fails. The moment I believe that I can be happy again, my world is ripped out from underneath me again. I don't want to exist in this life anymore. I don't want to.

  Let it go,

  the friendly voice in my head tells me. I like her. She protects me. She won't let me feel.

  She cares.

  The snow begins to fall faster, in a hurry to coat every available bare surface. I watch it, transfixed by the beauty of it, and imagine if Aaron were still here, we would be outside throwing balls of snow at each other, but he's not here, because of her. Because she only wanted me. Why? I wish he was here. I wish I wasn’t all alone. I miss him so much, it hurts deep inside my stomach. It aches, and I rub my chest, trying to make it go away, not wanting to feel the pain anymore. If I close my eyes tight, I can almost hear his high-pitched squeals and see his rosy red face, flushed from excitement, just like he was the last time I saw him, but then I open my eyes, and reality sets in again.

  He's not here.

  He's at home with my daddy.

  I wish I was home.

  I want my daddy.

  Let it go, she whispers again.

  I let it go.

  Chapter Nine

  Lucas

  We’ve been on the road for two weeks now. We lost our series in Boston two to one, and then moved on to Chicago. It’s our last game here before we head back to Phoenix. I hate to admit it, but for the first time since I started my professional career, I actually feel homesick, and it has nothing to do with my house.

  I miss Charlee and Everly.

  I can’t wait to walk through the door and pick her up and kiss her swollen, fat cheeks. She turns two months old tomorrow, and I want to be there for it.

  Somehow, the sweet baby girl has managed to do what no one has been able to do in the last five years. She has made me happy again. I didn’t think a day would come that I would ever be able to look at another child and feel anything other than heartache and grief, but with Everly, I can’t help but feel so much more. She is perfect in every single way, just like her mommy.

  It pisses me off to no end when I think about the way her father is acting. I know it’s not my position in either of their lives, but I swear, if his piece of shit ass shows his face around them high or drunk while I’m there, it will be the last thing he does for a while. No one should abandon their children, especially not for addiction. I understand everyone in life has their own problems, but there are plenty of places out there to get help.

  If you want it.

  Sadly, he doesn’t. I know, because I was sitting there when Aaron called him and offered to pay for him to go to an inpatient rehab so he could get cleaned up and be a part of his child’s life. He refused immediately, and Aaron and I made a pact to not tell Charlee. She didn’t need to know. Not right now. Not when she is just rebuilding her own life. It would crush her, and the thought of hurting her crushes me.

  Chapter Ten

  Charlee

  “Hey, you ready?” Ashlin calls back to me.

  “Yeah, grab that pacifier for me.”

  We are taking Everly for her first ever photo shoot. Part of our class assignment includes working together on a project photographing a real life person, and since today is my baby’s two-month birthday, I figured this would be perfect.

  Ashlin passes me the pacifier, and I give it to Everly, letting her suck on it while I set up the last of the lights and my camera stand. I decided to leave her completely nude for the photos, with the exception of a diaper. It just feels more natural.

  Perfect.

  I aim the camera and adjust the settings and then take a few test shots, making sure everything looks good on the playback before I begin. I want these pictures to be perfect. Amazing. And not just because I want to get a good grade on the project, but because this is my baby and this is going to be the memory I capture of this moment in time. A moment that I have to hold and cherish for the rest of my days.

  Taking the pacifier from her, I get a few quick shots of her with her lips poking out from when she was suckling before she opens her mouth, searching for her binky. I take some more of her like that. I love every one of her facial expressions. I could sit here and photograph every minute of the day and never get tired of capturing her ever-changing moments.

  I hear the front door open and shut, and Aaron yells for me. I wave at Ashlin, telling her to go let him know where I am. I was hoping he would stay away and not interrupt.

  He doesn’t.

  “What’s this? A photo shoot without her favorite uncle?” Aaron says, coming in and immediately picking Everly up off the soft downy blanket I have spread beneath her.

  “Oh hush and put her back down. I’m not done taking pictures.”

  “Fine, but only if you get a picture with the best piece of sports equipment known to man.”

  “What’s that? Your mouth or your dick?” I ask as Lucas walks in the room.

  “Ha-ha. No,” he says, grabbing a bat and laying it in front of Everly. He takes her hand and props it up against the cool wood. I snap a few shots, because it really is cute seeing her cuddled up against the bat, and I know if I don’t, he won’t ever leave me alone.

  “No, no, no. This isn’t going to work for me. You can’t have that baby taking baseball pictures without a glove and ball. Its sacrilegious.”

  “There you go with your damn French cuss words again,” Aaron says, picking at Lucas.

  “Shut up. You’re just mad because you know it’s true.” Lucas grabs his glove from his bag and nestles it beneath Everly’s head.

  “Oui, belle.”

  I tap the button on top of the camera and capture my
precious daughter sleeping amongst the baseball items, and my heart swells. She is so loved. Even at the tender age of two months, she has managed to capture the hearts of two of this country’s most eligible bachelors without lifting a single finger.

  Thirteen years earlier . . .

  It's been three weeks now that we have been living out of the motel room in the middle of nowhere. Well, technically we are somewhere. I just don’t know where that somewhere is, and truthfully, I really don’t care. I try my best to become invisible to her and Frank. It seemed to be working for the most part, and then, all of a sudden, it wasn't working at all. Mom made new friends that first week we arrived. I don’t know their names. I don’t care. She’s like a chameleon, able to fit in anywhere we go. I still don’t understand how she does it. I don’t understand how anyone would want to be around her.

  She still goes in the bathroom . . . a lot. She practically lives in there. I notice it more now, probably because we are all stuck in this small motel room together. I wish I didn't know what she was doing in there. I wish I could smile at her and pretend like I was still naive, but I can't hide the disgust on my face when she comes out, not that she even notices the way I feel. Frank goes in with her sometimes too, but not often. He seems to prefer to drink the nasty brown stuff instead. I don't think he knows that I know what they are doing there, because he always makes sure to shut the door and lock it, and then when he comes out, he leaves the room and doesn't come back until he's ready to go back in the bathroom. I think, in a way, he is ashamed to be high in my presence. I don't care. I'd rather see him high than drunk.

  I don't like Frank drunk.

  I see the differences in Mom now. Her cheeks are sunken in, making her look older than her thirty-five years. She has sores all over her body that she picks at constantly, making them puss up and bleed.

  She doesn't notice.

  I do.