by Saylor Bliss
We clean the house that night until six the next morning. There are no more empty cans or ashtrays. All the dishes are done and the toilets scrubbed. My dad passed out on the couch shortly after we started, his loud snores piercing the eerie silence of the house, only waking briefly at six to tell us we’re allowed to go get dressed for school. I have never been so happy to see our school bus than I am on that morning.
At least now I can honestly understand the reason Aaron crawled in bed with me every night. He was terrified of the monster our father had become. A tiny part of me wishes I had never left Mom’s house, and then I am overcome with so much guilt for thinking it that I almost puke. I could never stay there knowing what kind of situation my brother was forced to live in at home. How had this happened? Where was the sweet, loving man who gave us piggyback rides on his shoulders and read stories to us every night before bed? Where had he gone? Is he ever going to come back?
“Ok, I need you to trust me. Can you do that?”
Seriously? How can he ask me that? I barely know him. I met him not long ago, and he wants me to trust him? I can tell he sees the panic on my face, because he tries to explain more.
“Just close your eyes, Charlee. I don't want to ruin the surprise.”
Ok, fine. I shut my eyes tightly and fight the urge to peek. I feel us make several turns, and I try to guess where on earth he is taking me, but I have no idea. He makes one more turn, slowing down a lot before bringing the car to a full stop and cutting off the engine. I wiggle in my seat, waiting for him to tell me to open them. I'm not scared, even though I think technically I should be, considering I have no idea where I am. The butterflies are back, fluttering around wildly in my stomach. They had been somewhat calm during the drive, knowing that he couldn't look at me, but now I feel his stare. My face flushes red hot. Finally, he tells me to look, and I peel my eyelids open. I don't recognize anything. I crane my neck around, searching for something, anything familiar, and spot a sign in the distance.
“The Zoo?” I ask.
“Um. Yeah. I hope that's ok. I haven't been here in a while, even though it's my favorite place, and I really wanted to share it with you.” His voice trails off, unsure now. I can tell my question has made him insecure about his choice, so I hurry to let him know it is great.
“It's great! I've never been to the zoo before.”
“Really? Come on!”
I can't believe he brought me to the zoo. When I got dressed for today, every date I had seen on TV and every movie I had ever watched flashed in my mind. I expected the movies, or dinner, a picnic or even the carnival, but never would I have guessed the zoo. I’m not disappointed. Not even a little bit. Actually, the fact that he wants to share his favorite place with me fills me with so much . . . joy? Happiness? I don't know what the feelings floating around inside of me are, but I like them—a lot.
He buys our tickets, and we enter one of the circular gate things that only one person can fit in at a time. It clicks and clicks until it expels me on the other side, where I wait for him. He grabs me by the arm and practically drags me through the whole place. We see monkeys and birds, enormous lizards called komodo dragons, and an entire habitat of snakes before he takes me to the other end of the zoo that holds the really big animals.
I take my blazer off halfway through the day and wrap it loosely around my waist and then pull my hair up into a low side ponytail. It’s proving to be a blistering day. Emitters are placed along every gazebo, casting a soft fog of cool air on passersby. I make a point to walk under every one we come close to. Dozens of kids surround the small ice cream shack, waiting their turn for some sweet goodness. Lucas offers to get me something—he probably sees the way my eyes are eating it up—but I decline. There are several things you shouldn't attempt to eat on a first date, and I firmly believe ice cream is one of them, right alongside pickles and hamburgers. Seriously. You try to open your mouth wide enough to bite into a burger. Besides, I'm really excited to see the elephants and rhinos.
Thirteen years earlier...
We leave our motel room the next day after Mom’s face had a run-in with Sam’s fist. I would say I felt bad, looking at her now, but I don’t. I’m old enough to understand exactly what she was offering Sam when she told him to take me instead. How a mother could do that to her child is beyond me. I want to go home so bad it hurts.
Mom says it's time to move on, to find someplace more permanent, but I know the truth. I heard Sam when he told her he had better never see her again. I glance at her from my seat in the back of the car. I can see her face in the rearview mirror. It's bruised, her eyes almost completely swollen shut. She still has dried blood crusted on the side of her face near her hairline.
The sun rises across the distant horizon, casting an eerie orange glow around everything its brilliant rays touch. The car is stuffy and smells like a wet ashtray mixed with stinky socks. I wonder silently how much longer we have to ride, but I don't dare ask. It's not worth it. My stomach growls loudly, cutting through the silence. I swallow a few gulps of lukewarm water from a nearly empty bottle and try to hush it. The water tastes sour, and I barely choke it down. It leaves a nasty taste in my mouth as it burns down my throat. I cough into my hand and fight the urge to puke. Frank takes pity on me and pulls off the next exit. A few turns later, we are sitting at a rundown, hole in the wall gas station. I glance around, trying to get my bearings. Behind us, I see a square green sign with the words Huntington 33 miles.
Frank pulls the lever beside his seat and it falls forward, making enough room for me to escape. I climb out and stretch my arms as high and wide as they will go. A tired yawn escapes, even though I’m not actually sleepy. I bend over and touch my toes, loosening the cramped muscles in my thighs. I don't know how long we have been driving, but according to my body, it's been a while, which, depending on certain conditions, could mean anywhere from five hours to five days. I’m leaning more toward five days at the moment, but that could just be a result of the constricting conditions I’m forced to ride in.
Mom didn't have time to pack this time, deciding it was best to leave as soon as possible. Frank had dropped me off at the motel, and after strict instructions to lock the door, he left, returning thirty minutes later with my mother in tow. The first look at her beaten face left me standing there, jaw agape. I felt a small satisfaction and then quickly chastised myself for feeling that way.
She limped into the room, avoiding me altogether, and got busy, grabbing our things from their scattered places all around the room. I stood near the bathroom door, tucked into a small corner, and watched until all of our things were shoved into the car. She had left me a small amount of space in the backseat, and if I wiggled just right, I could almost lie back. It wasn't comfortable in the least, and that probably explained the reason my legs hurt so bad right now.
“Here, kid. Run inside and grab you something to eat. If I have to hear your stomach growl one more minute, I might just shoot myself,” Frank says, tossing me a balled-up five-dollar bill he pulls from his front pocket. I run straight across the dirt parking lot and in through the worn red door. The door jingles as it closes, and an old man with skin the color of leather steps out from behind the counter. I turn down the first aisle, searching for the treasure trove of little Debbie snacks.
“You hungry there, miss?” The old man asks as I set my armload of snacks on the counter. My stomach lets loose with a growl right at that moment. He laughs loudly, shaking his head from side to side. I offer him a small, shy smile and look around the counter while he rings up my breakfast. My hand brushes along several keychains, making them clank together. I pull one of them closer and read West Virginia across the front.
“That'll be three dollars and twenty-three cents,” he says, watching me closely. I pass him the now flattened five-dollar bill and hold out my hand as he counts out my change. Grabbing my sack of food, I head back out the noisy door, but not before stopping to look at the keychains one more time. Just as
I thought, they all say something about West Virginia. Guess I finally know where we are.
Frank smirks at me on his way inside to pay for our gas, but I barely notice. My stomach is starting to feel sick. I feel like bubbles are rising in my throat, and I try to burp to make them go away, but it doesn't work. I crawl back inside the car and open my bag, digging for the honey bun I just bought. If I don't eat something soon, I think I might seriously die.
Fifteen minutes after leaving the gas station, we pull into the driveway of a beautiful Victorian style house. A young lady meets us outside with a warm, welcoming smile. Mom jumps out of the car as fast as her bruised body will allow her and rushes toward the strange woman with arms stretched wide. They embrace. A middle aged gentleman walks out the front door moments later and gently places his hand on the woman's shoulder. She pulls back, releasing my mom, who turns back toward the car and motions with her outstretched hand for me to join her.
Climbing out of the backseat is easier, since I have only been riding in cramped quarters for about fifteen minutes this time. I stare at my feet as I shuffle forward, counting the steps I take. My hands are tucked deep into my pockets, one hand wrapped around my dad’s silver coin. Mom grabs my chin between her thumb and forefinger and squeezes slightly while lifting my face up, forcing me to look at her. The strange man and woman stand there, smiles plastered on their youthful faces. Why are they so happy? Don't they know who these people standing in front of them really are? Don't they know she will just infect their lives too?
I want to warn them.
I want to tell them to turn back, go inside.
Don't trust her.
But I can’t.
“Charlee, I want you to meet a dear friend of mine. This is Wendy and her husband, Mike. We are going to be staying here for a little while until we find a place of our own.” Mom interrupts my inner thoughts.
“It's so nice to finally meet you, Charlee. I've heard so many things about you,” the woman, Wendy, says.
I've always been taught to not lie, no matter what the situation, but somehow, I doubt saying, ‘Well, it's not nice meeting you. I don't know you or like you, and I want to go home,’ would really go over well. A shadow passes over my face as I fight back the memories of what I have lost. Then I force a small smile.
“It's nice to meet you, too.”
“Are you hungry, sweetie, or tired? I've got a room all made up for you. Come on. I’ll show you,” Wendy says. Taking my small hand in hers, she leaves the others standing in the driveway chatting.
Cool air hits me in the face when the front door opens, carrying the smell of warm baked bread. My stomach churns as I take in the warm shades of ivory and oak throughout the home. Wendy kicks off her shoes by the front door and waits for me do the same. My sneaker sticks to my heel as I use the toe of my other foot to hold my sneaker in place while pulling my foot free and then repeat for the other foot. A sour, wet mildew smell fills the air. I tilt my head down, hiding behind a curtain of greasy hair. My cheeks warm with the blush rushing to them. I wait for her to reprimand me for smelling up her beautiful home.
She holds out her hand, waiting patiently for me accept it. I peek at her and see her eyes glistening with fresh tears, a faraway look in her gaze. I take her hand and follow as she leads me up the straight, narrow staircase, turning left when we've reached the top. She pushes open the first door on the left and steps inside. I stop at the threshold and stare into the room, taking in everything. The walls are a pale gray trimmed in bright white. There is one window surrounded by thin yellow curtains that match the large bed in the middle of the room. There has to be over a dozen pillows on it, all different sizes and shapes. All mine, I think to myself. Wendy opens a door next to the large white chest of drawers and shows me the spacious empty closet, and then she walks to the other side of the room and opens another door, gesturing for me to look.
I step into the room, my feet sinking into the fluffy cream colored carpet with each step I take until I reach her side. The other door leads to another room about half the size of the bedroom, just enough room for the small sink and toilet and the shower. My very own bathroom. No more worrying about walking in on Mom or Frank when I have to pee in the middle of the night. Tears fill my eyes. I turn, wrapping my arms tightly around this new strange woman who has been so kind and thoughtful to me. I stand there squeezing her as she gently rubs circles on my back. The tears turn to sobs, soaking her shirt. I can't explain why I am crying now, of all times, but I can't stop it either. The tears just flow uncontrollably, only stopping when I hear voices downstairs. I pull away, wiping my snotty nose on the end of my t-shirt. I want to say something, anything, but no words come.
“Go ahead and run some bath water, sweetie. I’ll grab you a towel and some clean clothes, okay?” She doesn't wait for an answer. Turning on her heel, she walks out of the bathroom, wiping tears from her cheeks as she goes.
There is no trace of her crying when she comes back in carrying a fluffy white towel and wash rag. She changes shirts, and in her arms, I see she has another, along with a pair of black leggings. She sets the towels on the back of the toilet and the clothes on the bathroom sink. The tub is almost full, the hot, steamy water filling the air. She pours some liquid from one of the bottles in the cabinet into the water, and the air fills with sweetness. It reminds me of my Granny’s flower beds.
“Come to the kitchen when you're done and I'll make you some lunch. Take your time, and don't forget to wash behind your ears.”
I nod my head, silently wondering why I need to wash behind my ears.
Chapter Thirteen
Lucas
I haven’t been to this zoo in over six years. It holds so many great memories for me, some that are almost too good to relive, but when I was trying to think of somewhere to take Charlee today, this is the first place that popped in my mind. It just felt right.
Every time I glance at her, I see a beautiful, brilliantly passionate girl who’s hiding deep inside her own sadness. She covers it well, but being as I have spent my fair share of days miserable and hiding from the world, it’s easy for me to spot. I want to grab hold of her and never let go. There is an undeniable urge to protect her from anything in this world that could think to harm her. I want to be her savior, her Prince Charming.
Her face lit up with excitement when she realized where I was taking her, and the amount of pure joy I have witnessed since walking through the gate proves this was the perfect decision. I can’t think of a time I have ever seen someone enjoy the zoo as much as she has today. My only thought when we set out to leave is when I can bring her back. I want to see her smile every day of her life. She deserves that. I want to be the one to make it happen.
Over and over and over again.
I want to be the only person to ever do that again. I want every smile she has to be meant just for me. I know it sounds crazy, considering I literally just met her, but there is something about her that is just right.
Chapter Fourteen
Charlee
I'm not sure exactly when, but sometime over the last three hours, this day has gone from feeling like a first date to something more. We laugh and joke together with such ease, if you didn't know it, you could easily believe we had been together for months, if not longer. He keeps his hand in mine the entire day, only letting go when I run forward, excited to see something new. It feels good. It feels scary as hell. It feels right.
Every time he looks at me, my heart flutters in my chest and I have to remind myself to breathe again. There is just something about his eyes. They hold so much emotion in their stormy gray depths. He looks at me, focusing solely on me, and the entire world melts away. No matter what I try, I can't break contact. He holds me prisoner. I am his willing captive. Truthfully, it scares the living hell out of me, but I refuse to run away from whatever the future holds for us. I deserve this.
“Have you ever ridden a camel?” Lucas asks me, snapping me out of my thoughts.
“Come on. You have to try it! And then we can go and get some dinner.” I am still peering at him speculatively when he pulls me through the gate labeled Camel rides. I can't believe this is a thing. Like, people actually climb up on the backs on the camels and ride them? Seriously? He pulls me forward, tossing two tickets to the attendant at the booth, and then we wait as the camels are brought forward.
“Together or separate? The attendant asks, and Lucas looks at me questioningly. I shrug my shoulders, even though I am about to crawl out of my skin I am so nervous.
“Together,” he states, and I don't know if I am relieved or worried. I guess a little of both, really. I'm relieved that I won’t have to be up on one of these things alone, but I'm really worried because I won't be up on one of these things alone. I'll be with Lucas. Close. Too Close. I don't know if I can handle this.
The attendant carries a ladder in his hands, setting it next to the camel the other attendant is holding the reins to. He gestures for me to come forward, and I do on shaking legs. He explains that I need to climb to the top step and then put my left foot in the stirrup and sling my right leg over. I follow his directions perfectly, and before I know it, I am sitting seven feet off the ground . . . on a camel's back. Moments later, Lucas swings up directly behind me, and all thoughts of the camel disappear, replaced by other much more delicious thoughts. Like how his chest feels pressed against my back and how his arms circle my waist, cocooning me in his embrace from both sides as he holds the reins. I feel his legs brush against mine, and I think I am going to faint. I squeeze Everly closer as the camel shakes beneath us, and for the first time in I don’t how long, I pray. Please, God, don’t let me faint.
