by Tina Sears
“Wendy? What are you doing here?”
She handed me a sunflower. “I came to see you.”
“I hope you’re not mad at me,” I said. I took the flower and put it on the bedside table.
She hugged me. “Don’t you know that I look up to you? You’re my best friend.”
I felt my cuts burning. Throbbing. I sat up in bed and hugged her. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for everything.” I should have said something more but couldn’t. I felt guilty.
“Do they hurt?”
I repeated what she had told me about her scar. “It did at first but it doesn’t anymore. It’s just a reminder now.” I smiled weakly.
“You did it to yourself, didn’t you?” Wendy asked.
Her question surprised me. I couldn’t talk for a minute. “How did you know?”
“Because I know why you did it.”
I couldn’t respond. I just sat there not knowing what to say. What exactly did she know?
“I can’t believe he tried to drown Oreo.”
Well, that explained it. I wanted to tell Wendy the truth. Tell her what really happened, but I didn’t want to share that with her just yet. Maybe I would write it all down someday.
“I hate him. I get so mad, I can’t even think. I just feel like I want to break something.” She took a deep breath.
After she left, I crawled out of the cocoon of covers and got out of bed, careful not to put any weight on my heel. I spotted my clothes on the chair. They were washed and neatly folded.
I stood up on rubber band legs and walked over to the mirror. I looked at myself. I was ghost white. Shadows crept over my sunken eyes. There were ugly things reflecting back at me.
After I changed into my clothes, I heard voices downstairs.
I met Mrs. Weaver as she was coming up the steps. “What’s going on?” I asked.
“The police are here, honey. But don’t be afraid. The police officer is questioning witnesses and such about yesterday. He wants to talk to you.”
I heard Reds. “I was running as fast as I could, but boy, can she run. I caught up to her at the path and when I saw the two of them together, I couldn’t control myself. He was hurting her. He had her hands pinned behind her back. I ran straight for him and started punching. I couldn’t stop. When that didn’t work, I picked up a big stick and hit him with it.” There was a brief pause. “I finally figured out what she was trying to tell me,” he said, half to the officer and half to himself.
“Are the police here to arrest my uncle?” I asked.
Mrs. Weaver looked at me curiously. “No, dear. They’re here to arrest the Johnson boy.”
“Why?”
“Your uncle is pressing charges against him for assault.”
“What! That’s crazy. Reds was protecting me from him.” First I pointed to myself, and then I pointed towards my uncle’s cottage. “If anyone should be pressing charges for assault, it should be me. Against my uncle!” Those were brave words. Truth on fire.
“I thought maybe you would have something to say about that. Just go downstairs and tell your side of the story. Set things straight.”
I hesitated. If I told what had happened to me, it would change the way people thought about me. But I knew I was hanging on to an identity that no longer fit me. I had outgrown it like one of Wendy’s summer dresses. “I can’t.”
“Yes, honey child, you can. You need to give the secret away to another to look after it. Give yourself some time to heal. You can’t do it alone.” She nodded toward the stairs. “Go on, now. You can do it. “I’ll be waiting for you on the third floor. Come see me when you’re done.”
I nodded and limped as best as I could downstairs. I reached the bottom, and Wendy, Julie, and Reds were there waiting for me.
Julie walked over and hugged me. I whispered in her ear, smelling her citrus shampoo. “I just wanted to be more like you.”
“Hey, remember that you’re an original. Remember the moments that define you . . . good and bad. That’s what makes you special. Besides, you’re the bravest girl I know. Actually, I wish I was more like you.”
I stepped back to look into her blue eyes. Emotions clogged up my throat and I couldn’t swallow or talk, so I just smiled sadly and nodded at her.
“Just keep your head above water, New Girl, and everything will be okay.” She said my nickname like it was a badge of honor.
I sniffed back tears as I watched her and Wendy walk out the front door.
Reds walked over to me and hugged me.
I hugged back. I inhaled, taking in a deep breath of him. He smelled like pine trees, mud, and fish. He smelled like the river. Our river.
The police officer shuffled and I heard his handcuffs jingle. I let go of Reds, but he didn’t want to let go of me. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the flattened penny my mom had given me. I rubbed it between my finger and thumb one last time, feeling its smoothness. I handed it to him. “Here. Penny for your thoughts.”
His eyes got watery. “I take back what I said before.”
“What?”
“You know, about the penny.” He held it up in front of his face.
I gave him a quizzical look.
“It’s not worthless. It’s worth everything.” He smiled a sad smile, turned, and went to the door.
Our emotions were tangled together and I wanted to cry too. We were like evergreen trees in winter, laden with snow, bent over with the weight of what we knew.
The door closed behind him, and I felt empty. Scared. I was too young to carry around this amount of pain, of guilt and of shame. I needed to let the sparrows fly away.
I limped over to the police officer, gathering my bravery. I cleared my throat. At first, I tried to push the words up, but they tasted like mud. I cleared my throat again, this time I could feel my throat open and the words float up like sparrows. “I have something to tell you.”
It happened. I would forever be something different because of it. But it wouldn’t kill me like I thought it would. As the words spilled effortlessly from me, I knew I would always keep talking. I would tell anyone who would listen to me to TELL SOMEONE if something bad happens. The truth was muddy and dirty and sharp. But it would no longer cut my throat if I spoke.
After the officer wrote down my story, he said he would file the report and let us know what would happen next.
I waited until the officer shut the door behind him before I climbed the three flights of stairs. Mrs. Weaver was sitting in a chair facing the north side of the camp, looking out the window toward the river.
The ceiling was slanted on the right side and on the left were two rocking chairs facing the window, which was the same shape as a stop sign. It was dark and cozy with lots of books. It was a perfect tiny library.
“I thought I might sit with you up here. I need—”
“No explanation needed, girl. This is where I come when things are too much for me.”
I sat in the rocking chair next to her. I knew it was her husband’s chair.
“I was watching last night. I saw what your uncle was doing to you on the path. And you weren’t the first, honey. I remember your uncle years ago when he was in high school. He was skipping school with a girl about his age. I watched them on the path by the river and they just seemed like a young couple canoodling. I didn’t pay too much mind. Then I heard the girl scream. I watched her struggle against his grip, and I knew something was wrong.
Luckily, I ran out and stopped him before he could do anything. I called the police, but they said it was my word against his. Of course he denied everything, and the girl had run off as soon as he let go of her. Since the police couldn’t do anything, I did the next best thing. I called the truant officer and they caught him. He got a suspension from school and all related activities.”
I gasped. I cried. I couldn’t speak.
“I see everything from up here.” She motioned with her hand for me to look out the window.
I got up fro
m my chair and stood in front of the window. It was breathtaking. I could see the entire camp, including the river.
“You can see everything.” She paused. “Or you can see nothing at all.”
I looked long and hard, silently staring out the window. I didn’t have to see anything at all, but I opened my mind’s eye and saw everything.
I saw my mother running toward me. I saw a child become a woman. I saw the sparkling stars on the river and I saw dandelions in the sky. I saw everything.
I stayed on top of the world with Mrs. Weaver for as long as possible, but I knew I couldn’t avoid the inevitable. I was just waiting as long as I could, waiting for my mother to come fly me away home.
After receiving her BA in English from Virginia Commonwealth University, life swept Tina Sears away from writing. She worked as an Evidence Photographer for the FBI, a Medical Photographer for a major teaching hospital and a Ballroom Dance Instructor. But it was during her time as contributing writer for The Fredericksburg Times that led her back to her passion for writing. She received an MFA in Creative Writing from Southern New Hampshire University. She lives with her wife in Virginia.
