Always, Abby: Freshman Year

by M. Boothe

  I can’t wait to go. Sometimes it’s a little sketchy because a lot of weird people show up. Who can turn down a funnel cake, after all? But I usually get to go with Mason and his family. There’s going to be all kinds of food and little concerts. They also invite people to set up booths to sell homemade stuff like candy, jewelry and clothing. It’s one of my favorite things, just to walk up and down the rows looking at everything, wishing I had more money to buy things I like. I’m not greedy or anything. I’ve just never had a lot.

  I hope I get to see a lot more people from school too. It’s kind of silly, but I really wanted to brag a little bit about being picked to help people. There were only a handful of other freshman picked. I think it’s a big deal even if Mom doesn’t.

  Do you ever feel like, at the end of day, you’re all you have? Mason’s great and I know I can talk to him about anything, but I’m so tired of needing something, anything, and there’s nobody. It sounds so morbid, but my heart feels empty. It feels like nobody has ever tried to fill it. It’s just sitting there, in my chest, collecting dust.

  Sometimes I go to sleep with the thought of, that’s just how it’s supposed to be. What if there’s not a happily ever after for everybody? What if there’s a quota on that and if they run out, you get pushed to the end of the line and you have to wait until your next life?

  What if you’re still waiting when you run out of lives to live?

  Always,

  Abby

  September 6, 2003

  Dear Heart,

  Have you ever met somebody and instantly thought they were going to be important somehow? It doesn’t matter how or why, but you just got this overwhelming feeling that this person was meant to walk into your life? I’ll admit that I don’t make friends easily. It’s hard to talk to people. Even when I do talk to people, sometimes they automatically judge me because I don’t wear the same clothes that they do, or they can smell the cigarette smoke I have to live in at home.

  But today, today was different. Instead of an awkward realization that I’m poor, I got smiles instead. Smiles are a lot better than sneers.

  His name is Dawson.

  Mason came with his parents this afternoon to pick me up. Dad was working and Mom can’t drive. His parents are super nice anyway and always try to help when we want to do things outside of school. I don’t know if Mason realizes it, but even though him and his mom argue sometimes, he really lucked out with his parents.

  We got to the park where they have the carnival, and it was already crowded. The park is next to an old school that they don’t use anymore, so there’s a lot of space for everything. It never feels as big as it looks from the road. I guess there’s a lot of things that end up that way. Like after you’ve left somewhere or maybe visited some place when you were younger, it never seems like you used to fit before.

  All the food smelled so good, and I kept trying to keep track of what I wanted to eat because Dad could only give me twenty dollars. Carnival food is super expensive, but I knew I had to have a funnel cake and a frozen lemonade. They were probably two of the top five reasons I liked going in the first place. You know you’ve had a great time if you finally get home and still see powdered sugar around your lips.

  After a few hours we decided to sit on the football field to listen to one of the performers. Usually, the people they get to perform just sing country songs, but the one they had this time was doing some kind of heavy metal. There were a lot of different people there this year than I remember ever seeing. A lot of guys were dressed up from the eighties and it just seemed a little funny to us. We had so much fun laughing and watching everybody trying to dance to the music.

  Anyway, Mason and I were sitting in the grass listening and talking about classes when somebody walked by and accidentally stepped on my hand. It was the same guy that bumped into me in the hall. He apologized but then he kind of just stuck around talking with us. A few of his friends stopped and joined us, too. I don’t think I’d seen them at school before, but they seemed nice enough and they followed along with our conversation.

  I don’t remember who asked, but obviously my friends and I didn’t know any of them, so they introduced themselves. And Dawson. His name was Dawson. He was a sophomore, and he seemed so smart. He was also pretty funny and had everybody in our little circle laughing a lot.

  I kept trying to sneak looks at him to collect pieces to keep in my memory. His hair was sandy blond and looked really thick. He had these odd colored eyes that were almost such a light blue that they were almost white. He was wearing just ordinary jeans and a black t-shirt, but he looked different somehow. He looked like he was trying to hold all this life inside, and it was bursting and shining out of him. It seemed like he just fit in. He’d fit in anywhere and be welcomed.

  He told me he thought I seemed cool, and I told him the same. He gave me a pen and told me to write my number on his arm. Only, when I was done, he kept my hand.

  The butterflies, Dear Heart. THE. BUTTERFLIES.

  Do you ever wonder if you’ve been given omens for something, and you just never noticed? The pen was bright green, a happy color. But the ink was thick and black.

  Mason thinks I’m crazy. He told me that he has a bad feeling about him, but I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, like horns or fangs. I guess we’ll see what happens. I really need something to happen. Anything. It’s my heart again, so empty and now there’s just the tiniest drop of hope sloshing around by itself in the void.

  I don’t even know. I don’t know much right now because I’m tired and twisted. It seems like such a small thing to completely confuse me, but it has.

  I got home and Mom was already mad. She accused me of being out too late. I think she’s lonely, and whenever something happens to other people, she gets jealous. She was screaming at me so bad, that as soon as I got to my room, I locked the door so she couldn’t get in. I felt like she was almost starting to give up worrying about the bruises she left.

  I changed into my pajamas before I started to talk to you. I think sometimes that the world can look so dark. But after today, there seems to be just the smallest little beam of light in the darkness that I’ve grown used to. A little nightlight action was happening, to help me find my way. I was never afraid of the dark before, but after a while it starts to feel like it’s closing in. When it closes in, it can smother.

  I don’t want that.

  Always,

  Abby

  September 8, 2003

  Dear Heart,

  Do you know that feeling you get in the pit of your stomach that lets you know that something’s about to happen? Something you’re not going to like. I got that feeling this morning before my alarm clock even went off. This heavy feeling of dread was coating me before I could even get my eyes all the way opened. It was thick and cold.

  I was a little disoriented while I searched through the darkness in my room. I saw the paneled walls, the ones that had splintered boards and fist-shaped holes. I saw the brown shag carpet from the seventies that had cigarette burns. I could even make out the water stain on the ceiling from last summer when the roof leaked. Dad had put a tarp over the hole and laid rocks on it to keep it from moving. But the stains would always be there.

  I was still glancing around, trying to figure out what had made me wake up when I heard it, the glass breaking and then absolute silence.

  And I mean, DEAD silence.

  It was like everything just stopped, the animals outside, the hum of the fan in my window, even my own breathing. All I could hear was my heartbeat pounding, maybe trying to tell me something in morse code.

  I stayed in my room for a few more minutes, debating what to do. I knew I couldn’t stay there forever. I opened my door as quietly as I could and followed the stained carpet down the hall towards the living room.

  Mom was sitting in her recliner, staring outside the newly broken window.

  All she said was that Dad left when I asked her what happened. So, I d
on’t know if he broke it and left or if she broke it BECAUSE he left. Her eyes were dead. That’s the only way I can think to describe it. I looked at her face, saw the droopy skin from weight gain and smoking and knew that there weren’t any remnants of a caring person left.

  It’s always a little scary because I never know what’s happening. I went ahead and got ready for school while she cussed at the T.V. the entire time, her voice like a robot. When I was walking through the living room to leave, she threw the remote at me. It’s not the first time she’s thrown things, but it felt different this morning.

  School went okay, even though it was a Monday. It may sound a little embarrassing, but I got homework today and I was excited. I like sitting and doing work. I like learning, even though Mom says I’m not smart enough to follow along with our teachers.

  School felt different today, too. But it was a good different. It felt like I had something that was mine. I wanted to ball that feeling up and keep it in my pocket to feel it when the nothingness came back.

  A big part of that was Dawson. He kept finding me in between classes today. He sat with me at lunch. He even asked if he could call me when he got home from school.

  Mason was still weirded out by him. He got up and left when Dawson sat down at lunch. I tried to get him to stay, but he said he wanted to go to the library.

  I barely ate any of my food today. We had hamburgers, so it wasn’t like I was missing much. I just felt so jittery around him. Do you think that means something, or am I just getting crazy?

  There’s a lot of crazy people in my family. I don’t want to add to the pile of growing neurotics. I just can’t figure out what this feeling is. Like, I’m excited he SEES me, but I can’t shake the scaredness either. That’s a whole other kind of weirdness. What am I scared of?

  Anyway, after school he called, and we talked for a couple of hours before I had to start homework. Mom didn’t even say anything about me eating dinner in my room. Honestly, I was afraid to talk to him in the living room. I’m sure he would have heard something he shouldn’t. Mom never cares who’s around.

  One time we were grocery shopping and I bent down to look at something on the bottom shelf. I guess to her I was taking too long, and she started screaming at me. Most of it didn’t even make sense but she drew every single person’s attention. I remember standing there at the checkout, watching everybody give me such pitying looks. And really, that’s kind of what my life feels like. Just one big ball of tattered pity.

  So, I’m afraid he’ll think my family is embarrassing or something. Which, duh. They are. I’d prefer he not know about them yet. We talked about everything we could think of. He even told me he was sad that I had to go. I wanted to keep talking to him, but it’s also important that I stay on top of my work. He said he understood, and that he’d talk to me tomorrow.

  Mason tried calling while I was on the phone, so I called him after Dawson and I hung up. We talked for a few minutes. I tried to fill him in on the things that were happening at home. I felt like I needed to tell somebody in case anything happened. I left a lot out because I suddenly just felt so embarrassed. I want to be able to have a life that I can talk about, one where I’m not embarrassed about things that happen behind closed doors. I want to be able to call Mason and brag about something for once instead of making something up to change the subject. I want things, Dear Heart, and I don’t think that’s a bad thing.

  Always,

  Abby

  Reaction

  Sometimes I’m scared of myself, the way I have no control of the feelings that take over my body.

  I can’t stop my heart from beating a cadence through my chest when I hear your name.

  It starts and stops just for you.

  The sound vibrating down to my toes, pushing me forward to the day I can see you again.

  October 1, 2003

  Dear Heart,

  I know it’s been a few weeks since I last filled you in. Things have been so crazy. I think I needed a little time to process what’s been happening. It also seems like things get worse every day.

  Mom and Dad filed for some kind of temporary separation. Only, neither one of them have another place to go to. I’m not sure why they even did it to begin with since absolutely nothing changed. I think Dad thought he could cut mom off financially or something. But that didn’t work. Now they just sit on opposite sides of the living room when they’re both in there. Dad started sleeping on the couch, but every night he yells at mom about how she’s the one who deserves it.

  Home is a battlefield made up of landmines hidden under the eggshells I’m already walking on. It’s miserable. I made a bowl of cereal “too loud”, and mom pushed it off the counter. The bowl broke when it hit the floor. While picking up the glass and trying to mop up the milk, Mom gave me a lecture about being respectful. I just felt like if anybody needed to be respectful, it was her.

  Why do parents do that? Why do they expect all this respect to just be given to them because they’re the parents? Being older doesn’t give them any kind of right to overstep boundaries and treat their children like they aren’t even human. They shouldn’t be able abuse or belittle. I made a promise to myself that if I ever had kids, I wouldn’t do that. I hope I’m nothing like my parents when I get older.

  The new abuse isn’t even the worst part. It’s the pitting me against them and them against each other.

  If I talk to Dad in front of Mom, I get smacked when he’s gone. If I talk to Mom in front of Dad, he’ll go days without talking to me, just staring at me from his corner of the couch.

  I can’t tell what I see in his eyes. When I was younger, a lot of people used to say I was the quintessential Daddy’s Girl. I’ll admit that I probably followed him around and did a lot of things with him because, well, he wasn’t Mom.

  Isn’t that sad? I basically had to pick one evil over the other. If I stayed with Mom I’d have to listen to nonstop complaining, lies and verbal abuse. If I followed Dad around, I was just ignored. It isn’t much fun being invisible either, but compared to what Mom puts me through, I’d rather be hidden than beaten down.

  The house is almost choking me with how much hatred lives here now. It’s almost as visible as the cigarette smoke that filters through the house, leaving pungent fumes that get stuck in my lungs. The only good thing I have right now is school and Dawson. School, even though there’s work, is a safe haven. It even has snacks.

  I guess I should go ahead and tell you that Dawson officially asked me to be his girlfriend a couple of weeks ago. It was a funny moment, really. We were talking about sushi, and I said I had never had it but that I was willing to try anything at least once. He said, “Well why don’t you try me being your boyfriend?”

  I laughed before I said sure. I didn’t want to seem too eager, but you know, I really was.

  So now my days consist of going to school, coming home, avoiding all the drama and then finally talking to Dawson on the phone.

  He’s starting to ask me why I’ve never invited him over. I don’t know how to tell him it’s because I’m embarrassed by everything. My parents aren’t the only thing that’s a problem right now.

  I know that if somebody were to call CPS, I’d absolutely be taken away. Our house isn’t the safest to live in. We have whole sections of flooring missing. You have to wear socks to avoid splinters from the plywood Dad laid down a couple of years ago. We have holes in the walls. I mean actual holes where you can see outside. Mom had this weird idea of hanging pictures over them so that you can’t tell. Our bathtub just has a pipe sticking out of the wall where the water comes out. I hit my head on it once when I was trying to wash my hair.

  I know that I should be thankful for the things that I have. I’m obviously not starving, but that doesn’t mean I want anybody to see where I come from.

  I don’t even want to see where I come from.

  I don’t know how much longer I can put off telling him the truth. I know that technically we’ve only
known each other for a month, but I can’t convince my feelings that it’s too soon to feel the way I do. According to him, he feels the same way, too. It’s an all-consuming kind of thing. He told me that he wanted to know every little detail about me and my life and my mind. It feels like it’s almost an obsession.

  We had a date of sorts last week. His family was having a cookout and they invited me. I rode the bus to his house and then his dad drove me home that night.

  Dawson kissed me on my porch steps and all I could think of was that it was technically my first one. I know that in the fifth grade I was kissed by another boy, but I’m not counting that one.

  He kissed me and I swear I was lost. It was a short kiss since his parents were waiting in the driveway, but it was important. That’s the only way I can describe it.

  It felt heavy, and when his lips hit mine, I felt this pressure on my chest. I don’t know, man. It also felt like the end of something, even though I can’t figure out what.

  He asked me today if I could go to his house with him on Friday and that his dad could drive me home again. I asked Mom tonight and she told me I could go as long as I wasn’t a whore. I just feel like that’s not something a mother should say to her daughter.

  Mason has eased up on not liking Dawson. They’ve been talking more during lunch. Mason still keeps telling me that he has a bad feeling, but that he’s trying to figure out what it means.

  Mason has always been cryptic and dramatic.

  I keep going over my clothing options for Friday. I want to be cute. I don’t really have a lot of reasons to dress up. I have this red sweater that Mom told me brings out the auburn in my hair. I think I’ll wear that with jeans. There aren’t a lot of options anyway. I don’t really collect clothes the way other people do. I know that Dad doesn’t make that much money, so I always try to find the cheapest stuff to buy. Blue jeans and t-shirts are my go-to. I only have the sweater because there was a small hole in one of the armpits, so the store lowered the price. I was able to sew it so you can’t even tell.