“I did that for years until I finally got my bookkeeping certification. I found an office that hired me, and with the money I had saved, I was able to rent this small apartment.”
She looked at him, pride evident in her voice, and he smiled gently.
“I said it before, and I’ll say it again. You’re fuckin’ amazing.”
Now it was her time to smile in return. Again, they sat in silence for several minutes, she exhausted from her dissertation, and he seemed to be lost in thought.
He finally asked, “You said that your mother died. Was she killed in the same accident?”
Shaking her head, she said, “My mom died a year before my accident. I had a stepdad, and he was okay, but he used to grumble about being stuck with a kid. We lived in one of the neighborhoods over toward the east side of town, and one day, I was playing with my best friend. I was getting ready to walk home and was on the sidewalk when I was hit by a car. I don’t really remember much else after that until I woke up a week later in the hospital. When I asked about my stepdad, the only thing the social worker would tell me was that he was unable to take care of someone with such injuries. Since he never adopted me, the state was able to take over.”
While giving her explanation, she had not noticed that Asher’s body became rigid, his breath barely leaving his lungs. His voice, strangely croaking, asked, “Do you remember your friend’s name?”
Nodding, she said, “Of course. Back then, I actually went by my nickname but stopped when the other foster children teased me, saying that I wasn’t worth a penny. You see, the nickname that my mom had given me was Penny. That seems silly now because I always liked that name because it was the one my mom used.” She shifted slightly, a slight smile on her face as she added, “Funny, I haven’t thought about this for years. A counselor once told me that we repress memories that are too painful to remember, but I remember my best friend’s name. He was Johnny.”
13
Asher stood in his shower, the hot water pelting his skin, his body propped against the wall with his palms flat against the tile. He had no idea how long he stood there. Hell, he could barely remember how he got there.
Sucking in a ragged breath, he tried to force his mind to still, but it was an impossible task. The woman he held in his arms was Penny. The last he knew of her, she was lying on the sidewalk, blood oozing from underneath her, her leg at an awkward angle, eyes closed, not moving. He thought she was dead. So caught up in the events of the day with the police taking him away and his mom screaming at him for ruining their lives, he had no one to ask what happened to his friend. At the age of six, he did not know where they took dead people, and he was afraid to ask his mom about her.
Within two days, he was whisked away from school and never saw his mom again, nor anyone else who would know about Penny.
He cringed when he thought about having just left her apartment and hoped he had not made too big an ass of himself. He had continued to sit with his arms around her and her head resting on his shoulder as his mind grappled with the information.
She had soon shifted off his lap and taken their empty mugs back to the kitchen. He had stood quickly and made the excuse that he knew she must be tired, and he had some work that had to be done. He had seen the doubt move through her eyes and had assured her that he would see her again soon. Forcing a smile to his lips, he walked out of her apartment and continued walking steadily to his truck parked outside in case she was looking out the window. Once he was out of sight of her apartment building, he pressed heavier on the accelerator, desperate to get home.
How could it be her? How could she have been alive all these years and he not know it? Stumbling into his own apartment, he was wracked with shivers and headed straight to the shower. Now, fifteen minutes later, the water grew cold, and he finally turned off the stream.
Once dressed in sweatpants and a long-sleeved T-shirt, he walked into his kitchen, grabbed a beer, and plopped down on his sofa.
He thought back to everything she had told him. The accident. Her stepdad not wanting her. The fright of waking up in so much pain in the hospital. The surgeries. The painful rehab.
He knew soldiers who had been injured in wartime and faced long rehabs and surgeries. He knew for adults it could be debilitating, and yet somehow, she survived it as a child.
He thought of the multiple foster families she had moved through, probably coming to expect to never unpack her suitcase because it would soon need to be packed again. And then he thought of her last foster family. Not abusive. Not really neglectful. Just not there.
He had been so dumbstruck when she said her nickname was Penny that he had not even processed the reason she told him that. The other foster kids had laughed and said she was not worth a penny.
He took a long swig of his beer before plopping it back on the coffee table. Leaning forward with his forearms propped on his knees, he swiped his hand over his face. His lungs burned from the inability to suck in enough oxygen. His stomach clenched in a way that he had not felt since he first was taken from his mom.
He was unsure that he was able to have another emotion after incredulity, surprise, and anger had all pulled at his heart. But now, a new emotion slid in, it’s heavy weight threatening to pull him down. Guilt.
It was his house that she was at that day. It was his mom’s boyfriend that was driving drunk that day. Afraid of Tim’s anger, Asher was the one who yelled for her to run home that day. And the guilt continued as he thought over the next years.
While she never had any friends to visit her in the hospital, he had been placed with the band of brothers that always had his back. While she had been shuffled from one foster family to another before ending up with ones that were indifferent, he had been placed with a woman who had for all intents and purposes become his true mom. While she had felt a loneliness that permeated everything about her, he had been raised in a loving family. While she had to deal with the cruel taunts of others, his brothers had immediately stepped up and protected him from anyone who called him names and tried to pick on him. As he took another long pull of the beer, emptying the bottle, he knew that she had been given nothing and he had been given everything.
His eyes stung, and he slammed the bottle on the coffee table, propping his elbows on his knees and digging the heel of his palms into his tightly closed eyes. But even that action did not prevail as a sob ripped from his lungs. Dropping his hands to dangle at his knees, he allowed the tears to fall as sob after sob threatened to choke him.
Miss Ethel had always taught the boys that the measure of a man was not in the mistakes they made but what they did to handle those mistakes.
But what if he did not know how to fix the mistakes? What if he had no idea how to right a wrong? What if the situation was too big and too grave?
As night fell and darkness invaded his apartment, he wiped his tears but sat unmoving, waiting for answers that did not come.
* * *
Miss Ethel walked into the living room carrying a tray with two cups and a steaming teapot. She did not speak but continually glanced at Asher as he sat on the sofa, knowing his red-rimmed eyes were indicative of a tearful and sleepless night.
She poured for both of them, dropping some sugar cubes and a dollop of milk into her cup. Handing the cup to him, she said, “I took the liberty of splashing a dash of whiskey into your cup before I poured the tea. I’ve always believed that many things could be made better with a cup of tea and some things made even better with whiskey in the tea.”
He took it gratefully but did not sip until she had settled in her chair. It had only been a few weeks since they sat across from each other in the same room, but the circumstances were so different.
“I want you to tell me anything you desire to talk about, Asher,” she said, her face etched with concern.
Shaking his head sadly, he said, “I don’t even know where to begin.”
She took a sip of her tea, before settling back in her chair. “I
would encourage you to start anywhere. It doesn’t have to be at the beginning, although that can be a good place to start. But please, Asher, begin wherever you would like.”
He sipped the hot brew, appreciating not only the burn of the tea but also the whiskey. His leg bounced nervously, so he set the teacup back on the table so as not to splash any of the liquid onto her sofa.
“Do you remember what we talked about a couple weeks ago when I was here?”
Her voice softened, and she said, “Oh, my dear, I remember all our conversations. I may be getting a little forgetful as I get older, but I remember you talked about the old neighborhood, your mom and Tim, and your little friend, Penny.”
“Penny was in my kindergarten class, and she lived down the road from us.” Shaking his head, he said, “We bonded because the other kids made fun of us. I was scrawny, clothes didn’t fit, ugly…” He looked up and saw Miss Ethel about to speak and quickly added, “You don’t have to disagree, Miss Ethel. I’m just telling you what the other kids said.”
She pursed her lips but remained quiet, allowing him to continue with his story.
“I wasn’t surprised at their taunts, considering my mom and Tim said the same thing all the time. But Penny had a scarred upper lip. Her hair was never brushed. Her clothes didn’t fit right, either. I guess we joined forces because we were both picked on. But while that might have been the start of our friendship, we really did get close. We hung together all during kindergarten and most of the first grade.”
He picked up the teacup and took another large sip, finding that whatever magic Miss Ethel put into her tea, it was definitely soothing. He set the cup down and rubbed his forehead, the ache pressing behind his eyes.
“I met a girl.”
He saw Miss Ethel give a little start, and he looked up, seeing her crinkled brow. Realizing he had completely thrown her by what appeared to be a change in subject, he continued, “I met her at the park where I go running. She was reading a book while sitting on a bench, and we just struck up a conversation. We continued to meet at the park for the past couple of weeks, our conversations grew more in depth, and I found that I looked forward to meeting up with her each day more than just about anything else I was doing.”
Miss Ethel’s face still registered confusion, but she remained attentive, and he said, “It wasn’t until yesterday though that I saw her walking and realized that she has a pronounced limp and has to walk with a cane. She began to talk about herself at my encouragement. She suffered a childhood accident that, from what I gathered, was horrific. For the next two years, she was in surgeries and rehab, and because her mother had died, she was shuffled from one foster family to another.”
“Oh, my dear boy,” Miss Ethel said. She set her teacup to the side and leaned forward so that she could place her thin hand on his leg that was still bouncing up and down. “I am so sorry for her and can see why this would have brought up images of your childhood friend that was killed.”
He held Miss Ethel’s gaze, her blue eyes now more grey as they bore into his. Concern and understanding rolled off of her, and he wondered how easy it was for her to care so much when his own biological mother had no nurturing at all in her.
Sucking in a deep breath, he let it out slowly, before adding, “She continued telling her story, and more and more pieces were beginning to fall into place. Miss Ethel…the woman I’ve been meeting in the park is Penny. I discovered that my friend didn’t die that day. And I’ve now met her again twenty-four years later, but she has no idea that I’m Johnny, the friend she remembered when she was six years old.”
Swallowing deeply, feeling the sting of tears hitting his eyes again, he choked out, “And I’ve got no idea what to do with that information.”
Miss Ethel kept her hand on Asher’s arm, but he heard her exhale quickly. In all the years that he had known her, she appeared unflappable. But right now was the closest he had ever seen her to being completely flustered.
“Are…are you sure?”
Feeling her fingers shake, he now covered her hand with his own, offering her comfort. Nodding, he said, “I got up in the middle the night when I couldn’t sleep and did something I never thought to do. I got on the Internet and looked up Tim’s name. I found the newspaper article where he had been arrested, and from there I re-discovered Penny’s full name. I say re-discover because I now look back and can remember our teacher calling out the name Penny Belcher. She no longer goes by Penny, saying that some of the foster kids used to tell her she wasn’t worth penny, and it made her feel bad. When I met her in the park, we just shared first names, and she goes by Penelope.”
“And the article would have explained the accident.”
“Yep. Back then, with a bunch of six-year-olds, the teacher didn’t mention what happened to Penny at all, and soon I was taken away from that school anyway. I wanted to ask the social worker where they took people who died, but I was afraid to, so I never asked her about Penny. My mom just kept screaming and crying about how it was all my fault that Tim got in trouble, so I never asked her either.”
Miss Ethel looked at him, her worry lines deeper and her grey eyes stormy. “Asher, you said you didn’t know what to do with this information. What do you mean by that, sweetheart? Does she not know who you are?”
Emphatically shaking his head back and forth, he said, “No. I don’t know what to do, Miss Ethel, but I can’t tell her.” Seeing her about to protest, he quickly added, “She was abandoned in the hospital, bounced from one foster home to another before finally ending up in one that was not abusive, but indifferent. She had years of painful surgeries and rehabilitation. She was never shown love and comfort, things that you gave me in abundance. Her life has been nothing but struggle, and mine was not.”
Peering at him from behind her wire-rimmed glasses, she held his gaze and said, “Asher, none of that is your fault.”
His chest squeezed as he admitted, “I’m the one who told her to run back to her house that day because I knew Tim was coming home, and he could be so mean. She was in the way of that other car because of me.”
Gasping, she said, “You can’t take that on, Asher. That guilt is not yours to bear. As horrible as her situation has been, it is not on you.”
“Miss Ethel, you always told us that the measure of a man is how he fixes his mistakes. There’s no way I can fix this—”
“No!” she interrupted. “This is not a mistake that needs to be fixed. This is a situation where you can become involved in her life again in a good way, but this is not your mistake.” He was silent, and she continued, “Her life has had tragedy, but she had you as a childhood friend, and now she has you in her life again. These are things for her to celebrate. Don’t take that away from her.”
He rubbed his forehead again, the ache still pounding. “There are things that I can do for her. I’m filled with the desire to make her life easier.”
Nodding, Miss Ethel agreed. “There are good things that you can do for her, but mostly being her friend again. Whatever you decide, it must come from your heart. But Asher, think through your decision. Remember the words of Gandhi, ‘Silence becomes cowardice when occasion demands speaking out the whole truth and acting accordingly.’ She deserves to know that you are her childhood friend who never willfully abandoned her.”
Miss Ethel’s words sunk into the deepest corners of his being as they always did. Standing, he assisted her to her feet and pulled her in for a hug. She felt a little thinner, although her grip as she hugged him in return was still strong. Pulling away, he said, “I don’t remember the last time I told you this, but you were the glue that held us all together. You were the mother we all needed. Thank you.”
Now it was her turn to wipe the tears from her eyes, as she whispered, “I love you, Asher.” They walked together to the front door, and she stood and waved as he left.
Driving back to his apartment, he thought over her words. He never thought himself as a coward but knew that he was not r
eady at this time to let Penny know who he was. What if she blames me for everything that happened to her? He wanted to do anything he could to make her life better now as they got to know each other as adults. Then, and only then, would he be free to tell her.
14
Sleep had come in fits and starts. Penny could not get the memory of Asher leaving her apartment rather abruptly the day before. He had said all the right words. “It’s getting late." “I have some work that I still need to get done." “I’ll see you later.”
The words had been normal, it was his mannerisms that were off. His hands twitched at his side. His eyes alternated between boring into hers and drifting to look anywhere but at her. He had gone from sitting on the sofa with his arms around her in comfort and ease to appearing as though he were holding onto a porcupine.
She thought of the story she had told him, the one he wanted to hear. As she had tossed and turned in bed, her mind cast back to the day that she had pushed to the deepest recesses of her memories.
She thought of Johnny, his skinny arms and legs, knobby elbows and knees, big ears, and hair that grew in all directions. Mostly, she remembered how she felt when he was around. It was not as though he was big enough or strong enough to keep the bullies from bothering them but having someone on her side…someone to try to stand up for her, made her love him.
Memories of kindergarten and first grade came flooding back. The teachers allowing them to sit next to each other, probably understanding that the two loners were good for each other. She remembered running down the street to his house when her stepfather said it was okay for her to play there since Johnny’s parents would not allow him to go anywhere.
Once she had awoken in the hospital, everything was blurry and surreal, like wondering if the dream had really occurred. As an adult, she understood that she had been heavily sedated and that was why nothing made sense at the time. She also came to understand, with the counseling the social worker made sure that she had, that the mind will often filter through what it feels like it can handle, suppressing memories that are too painful.
Asher: Heroes at Heart Page 10
