I left the table, my chair slamming against the wall and moved to the living room. The water continued to run and the sound of cabinet doors opening and closing grated against my ears. I fingered the loose thread on the armrest of the couch and sat in silence.
My right fist clenched and I pushed the box of shoes away with my knuckles. I wanted to throw them out the window. Drop them in the toilet. Push them down the garbage disposal.
When the water stopped, I placed my fist on top of my thigh. My eyes stared at the broken skin still healing. Gio walked out first and headed straight to the door.
"You'll talk to her, but you won't talk to me?" The words flew from my mouth and hit Gio between the shoulder blades. Him not talking wasn't about me. I knew that.
Gio let his hand drop from the doorknob and turned around, his eyes focusing on the dingy carpet. He moved forward, his pace slow, but persistent. Kneeling down next to the coffee table, he pulled the box of shoes toward him and removed the lid. Gio reached in and grabbed both shoes. He started lacing one and then moved on to the other.
I was aware of Selah watching from the corner. She stood with her mouth ajar and eyes curious, not wanting to watch, but not wanting to leave.
When Gio was done he took the shoes and scooted across the carpet on his knees. He stopped at my feet and then breathed in—swallowing the air as if it were a large, black, jagged rock. He pulled the tongue of the shoe open and loosened the first laces, and then he grabbed each of my feet and placed them inside the proper shoe.
The moisture in my mouth and down my throat ran away. It took residence in my eyes and on my palms.
What is he trying to tell me?
Gio stopped before lacing the shoes and then turned to Selah. He held her gaze for a moment then returned his eyes to me. His mouth never opened, but his eyes pleaded with me to understand. To accept. To acknowledge what he was asking without saying. I peeled my tongue away from the roof of my mouth, but didn't reply.
He grabbed the tips of the laces with his hand and then let them fall between his fingers. Without another look, he stood, grabbed the empty box and handed it to Selah. He paused for a moment at the door and then left.
The room was silent, but my heart pounded against its walls. I peeked at Selah from the corner of my eye and she stood staring at the empty box. Could she hear it? My heart?
Her hand flinched before moving into her coat pocket and pulling out a folded note. She opened the box and placed the note inside. Lifting her eyes, she looked at me as her lips pulled to the side—half smile, half concern.
I let out a breath, leaned back against the couch and closed my eyes. I didn't know what to say or do. I didn't know who she was or why she was here. What she wanted. What she needed. My eyes flicked open as I felt tugging against my feet.
She stood kneeling in front of me like Gio, tying my laces.
"You said it was your fault?" I asked. Selah paused at my voice, but continued tying.
"It was. You were fine until I touched you."
"You touched me?" I asked.
She stopped tying, pulled extra hard on the final bow and then looked up, her hands resting on her legs.
"There was a piece of the note sticking out of your collar. I removed it." Her eyes moved to the box on the table. "I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault. I don't ... I don't..." I closed my eyes again, feeling her fingers graze the back of my neck as she removed the paper earlier. A tingling sensation void of fear ran along my spine as I saw her hands instead of Nathan's.
"I don't like being touched. It's not you. It wasn't your fault."
Selah let out a long sigh and ended it with a chuckle. "It's funny how unhappy people always want something different."
"I don't understand," I replied. I wasn't unhappy.
"Never mind." She waved her hand in the air, brushing away her words like white-out on a page. "It's getting late. I should go." Selah stood and ran her fingers down the sides of her dress. Her skin was light—pale in comparison to mine and with no visible scars.
She walked away, opened the door and left.
I sat on the couch staring at the box before moving. My feet began to ache as I looked down at the laces. And then finally I whispered two words to an empty room.
"Thank you."
Then I grabbed the box and opened the lid. The letter had been taped together and folded several times. I knew what it was and what it said without reading it.
I wondered how long it would take ... before she started asking questions.
Chapter 18
The Next Day
(Selah)
There were only two cars in the lot when I arrived. I had this idea that if I got to the brick wall before Izzy and Javier, sitting with me would then be a choice. A choice I wanted them to make.
Last night, I repeated my actions over and over again, convincing myself they would both hate me. I sat against the brick wall, pulled out my books and studied.
The birds chirped in the trees—a harsh melody I found more annoying than peaceful. I tapped my toes together and bit the eraser off the edge of my pencil. If they didn't sit next to me I would be okay. Life would be okay. I still had a roof over my head and a place to sleep at night. Friends were a luxury I had learned to live without. I could adjust again.
I just didn't want to.
When I went to bed last night, there was a new letter waiting for me on my pillow. I hadn't read it and sometimes it took me days or even weeks before I could. For now, it would sit in my pocket, pulling at the threads, and weighing me down.
Students trickled in as the sky warmed with light, and I continued to stare at the same page of my history book. I twisted the earring in my right ear and waited. And waited. And waited.
Nathan arrived, surrounded by his posse and walked past without a single thought or breath wasted on my presence. A girl at the tail end of the group—one of the three from that day in the parking lot—glanced in my direction and then stared at the empty space around me. She trailed me from head to toe and then hurried to catch up to her friends.
I stared back at where she disappeared and wondered how it felt. To have lots of friends. To be pretty. To be accepted. Did it feel good? Would it make me whole? Would I smile more?
"You're doing it again." His words were friendly, full of jest and as light as air. I looked up at Izzy and shook off my distress.
"What?"
"Daydreaming. What was it this time?"
"Nothing important." I wiggled up against the brick and moved my bag so he could sit. My books sat on the other side—a barrier of protection to make me feel less alone.
Izzy handed me a coffee along with a greasy bag. "Fresh!" he said with a smile.
I returned the gesture. "Thank you."
Javier turned the corner just as I took my first bite. He grabbed the other coffee and reached into the bag sitting on my lap. I stopped chewing. My nose twitched as I inhaled his scent. Coffee and soap.
I was staring at his eyes, wondering what they would say today. He grabbed the last sticky bun and sat down without acknowledging me. I finished chewing my bite and then swallowed, sipping on the scalding hot coffee to wash it and his scent down my throat.
The three of us sat there chewing and sipping and watching the campus like we did every morning. Izzy threw his empty cup at the trash can, but missed. He picked it up and tossed it away, kicking the soles of Javier's shoes before sitting.
"It's your second pair in a month. Did Maribel flip?" he asked.
Javier continued eating his sticky bun, but glanced at me for a moment before speaking. "I didn't buy them."
"Don't tell me Gio had a pair on hand. He won't be eating for a month."
"No, someone else stopped by ... unannounced."
Izzy cleared his throat and then took his seat between us. I couldn't tell if Javier was angry or just his normal pleasant self. The air tasted heavy with indifference.
"Nice of them to bring you shoes,"
Izzy replied. "How did they know your size?"
Javier frowned. "More importantly, how did she know where I lived?" he asked.
I drained the last bit of my coffee and checked my watch. Grabbing my bag, I packed up my books and left. If they wanted to talk about me I didn't want to stand in their way.
"Sey! Class isn't for another ten minutes. Where are you going?" Izzy's voice carried across the hallway, but I ignored it. His use of Sey snagged the edge of my heart, and my feet stumbled before picking up the pace. I've never had a nickname.
I heard their voices mumble together in frustration as I disappeared. My hand felt for the letter in my pocket once more and I searched for a safe place to read it. Maybe my father, for once, would brighten my day.
There were no students in the science lab, so I headed toward my second class and took a seat outside on the steps. The letter was handwritten on thick paper that said Cape Grace Hotel across the top. The envelope gave off a sickly sweet smell—a heavy mixture of roses and vanilla.
I closed my eyes and breathed through my nose. My heart doubled in speed as I pulled open the pages. I stared at the words before reading them, an effort to absorb the pain before it slapped my face. It never worked.
Sweet pea,
I hope school is going well. If you need help with your college applications I could call a friend of mine that works in admissions over at LMU. Where are you thinking about going? You should have plenty of money for tuition—just ask Frank and Carolyn. They will help you.
Work is going well. Administered a new test vaccine to a village the other day. We are hopeful it will do great things. Your mother would’ve been very excited. It was something she had been a part of.
The weather has been nice this season. Not too hot, not too cold. Nice. I'm out in Cape Town meeting with some of the medical investors for our group.
Write me. And remember I will be there for your eighteenth.
Love,
Dad
I told Izzy they were both dead because that's how it felt. My father needed more than a beating heart to be considered alive. I finished reading as the warning bell echoed off the walls. Classes would begin in sixty seconds. College applications, however, had been submitted months ago and I wasn't going. Frank and Carolyn believed I'd be heading toward an independent study program at a creative institute. It was a lie. I just wanted out and that seemed like the most viable option. It was vague, but intriguing. They didn't question it. I think they wanted me out as much as I wanted out. We finally agreed on something.
The letter revealed nothing new or imperative, except that I had a feeling he was with a woman. Entertaining her, enjoying her, moving on with her. It broke me. He didn't want to come home because he wanted to be near Mom. He didn't want to see me because I reminded him of Mom. He did all of this because of his love and pain for her, but I couldn't see it any other way—he had someone else. The weather is nice? The medical investors are nice? Everything is nice? Yeah, I bet she's real nice.
He shouldn't need someone else when he still had me. But then again he hasn't had me since she died.
My eyes crinkled as I looked at the name he addressed it to. I can't remember when he started that, but it was a while ago. He never called me Sweet pea. My mom did. His attempt at bridging the gap between her and us and the family that no longer existed was pathetic. A name has no meaning, no power, no love unless it comes from a person who means something to you. Someone who is worthy of your love. Worthy of loving you back. My father had become neither of those things.
Anger glazed my eyes and I let a tear fall from my eye. Something for him, something for her. I thought after time my well of missing her would dry up and life would go on, but there always seemed to be room for one more cry.
Students hustled around me to get to class. The atmosphere was loud and energetic, full of morning chatter and the excitement that Friday brings, but I could still hear my heart beating above it all. My ears pushed it away—the happiness of others—while rushing blood, a quick pulse and hatred took its place. I could feel someone staring and I looked up to share a piece of my morning.
Javier stood across the blacktop, his eyebrows jagged and his jaw clenched. He made no attempt to conceal that he had been staring. For how long I didn't know. My face was still wet on the left and my hand slapped away the emotion with my sweater. He would think he made me cry. He would have no reason to wonder otherwise.
The final bell rang, but our eyes never flinched. I returned his stare with one of my own, not wanting to feel weakened by his presence. I couldn't tell if he was playing games with me or I with him, but I did the only thing I could that would allow me to get up and go to class.
I dropped my eyes, looked at his shoes and then walked away.
Chapter 19
Apology
(Javier)
I watched her retreat, but didn't reach out—too many emotions. We both stayed behind, like how it used to be. How it should be. Izzy and me. Our brick wall. Our coffee.
"Why did you tell her where I lived?" I asked.
"I didn't think you'd mind," Izzy replied.
"How so?"
"She brought you shoes. Shouldn't you be grateful?"
I stared down at the bright white laces. "I don't like sharing my home life with others. You know that," I said.
"Did anything happen while she was there? Did she wander into your bathroom and see patched holes in the wall? Did she meet your mom and ask personal questions?" asked Izzy.
"No."
"Then why are you so upset?"
I sat there mulling over why I had reacted the way I did. "I just don't like strangers in my house."
Izzy stuffed the remainder of his sticky bun down his throat and swallowed. "She's just a girl. A tiny, innocent girl who wanted to apologize. Did you at least say thank you?"
"For what?" I asked.
"The shoes!"
"Yes. Of course I did."
"Did she hear you?"
I turned my head and narrowed my eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?" I asked.
"It means I know you whisper things to me that you want to say out loud, but that you don't want to say to my face after I've left."
My jaw fell from my mouth. "How could you possibly know that?"
"I've listened," he replied.
"When?"
Izzy sat back tall against the wall. He wiped his hand over his mouth and then clasped them together as they rested on his knees. "Well, for starters, when I helped you repair the bathroom, you never once acknowledged any appreciation or gratitude over me missing an entire day of work with my family. I know you know how important work is for us on the weekend. When you closed the door behind me after I left, I heard you drop your head against the door and huff."
"So! That's not actual words," I replied.
"No, but then you said, 'I don't know what I'd do without you.' I could hear you from outside the peephole. The walls are thin."
I pushed my legs out straight and clenched my fists. "You don't know anything," I replied.
"You can treat me however you want," Izzy said. "I know what you mean. How to read you. And what you are saying even when nothing comes out."
I folded my arms across my chest. "But?"
Izzy looked out in the distance. "But Selah's different. She doesn't have parents like I do. She has no stability at home. No friends. No nothing. You need to be nicer," he replied.
No. No. No. "I can't be in charge of the happiness of others and you know it," I said. I had already spent too much time trying to make other people happy. It never worked out.
"I'm not asking you to paint her nails and take her to a dance. I'm asking you to be nice."
"Do you like her?" I asked.
"Of course. What's not to like? She's kind, funny and wants to be around us. No one else seems to feel the same way. She’s a good friend."
"I liked it just the two of us. What's wrong with just the two of us?" I hated change. Change
was unpredictable.
Izzy punched me in the shoulder and smiled. "Nothing, Javi, but she's good company. And she has a car. Neither of us has a car," he said.
"What do we need a car for if we never hang out?" I asked.
"Exactly, because we don't have a car and our parents work too much to drag our butts around from house to house."
"So you're using her? And how do you know she has a car?"
"We went to the bakery yesterday after your freak-out. I still can't believe she thought it was her fault."
"Why did you go to the bakery?"
"I saw her watch you as you ran away. She was spooked. I wanted to explain things without explaining them." Izzy stood up and looked down at me. He began pacing back and forth across the brick wall.
"How much does she know?" I asked.
He kept walking. "Nothing. Honestly. That's your story to tell."
I looked up into the sky, the sun building as the minutes passed. "She had to ask questions though, what did she say?"
He stopped pacing, paused and then continued. "Nothing," he replied. "She was more concerned than curious. Kept wondering if you were going to be okay and whatnot."
"What did you tell her?"
He looked down at me and rolled his eyes. "I said you were going to be fine."
"And?" I asked as my knee began to shake up and down.
"And what? You are going to be fine. You're dealing with a lot. That's not a crime."
"She's afraid of me, huh?" I hoped she was. I preferred it when people kept their distance.
Izzy stopped pacing and sat back down. "I don't think so. If she was, she wouldn't have brought you shoes last night. I think she was sorry." He grabbed his bag and held it on his lap. The bell would ring soon.
"She was," I said.
He turned to me and lifted an eyebrow. "And did you make sure she knew it wasn't her fault?"
Seeds of Hate Page 10
