Libra Rising

by Stacy M Wray

  I’m in no mood for a party and decide Brent’s right, I’m no fun. But what he doesn’t know is that I’ve kept in touch with Mr. H these last few months. I feel good about keeping my grades up and staying out of trouble, and things have even been a little less tense between my mom and me. He gave me his email address and phone number before I left, telling me he’s there if I ever need him. At first, I just wanted to thank him for everything he did for me, but then, it turned into more of a back and forth kind of thing. He still makes me want to be able to report good things to him. He’s kind of like my checks and balances guy. Brent would never understand. “Nah, I’m going to turn in early. I’ve got to be at work tomorrow morning by seven.” I cringe inside, waiting for his speech to continue regarding my lack of fun.

  Instead, he shrugs his shoulders and says, “It’s cool. Stewart said Paige was asking about me, so it looks like I’m gonna be busy, anyway.” He winks at me as he slips into his jacket. I raise my eyebrow and he continues, “Just a hook-up, bro. Our hips will go their separate ways when I’m all done with her sweet little ass.” I shake my head as he calls out, “Later.”

  In the quiet Brent left behind, my mind drifts to Harper and the last night I spent with her. I’ve been living off that memory for months. Her showing up to my room in nothing but a tank top and little more than her underwear had me in full-blown restraint the whole night. But there was just no way I was about to take advantage of the situation – I’d have never been able to live with myself. And that right there told me just how important she was to me.

  I’d never experienced anything softer on my skin than the touch of Harper’s fingertips. Her whisper touches up and down my chest reminded me of the cashmere scarf my granddad used to wear looped around his neck during the brutal winters in Chicago, a time in my life when everything was normal. He’d scoop me up in his arms and the first thing I would do is plunge my pudgy little hands into the plush fibers of softness, loving the feel against my skin. Harper’s skin felt just like that cashmere scarf – silky, velvety, smooth.

  The vibrations of a door slamming and soft murmurs floating down the hallway snap me out of my thoughts, shifting me into the present. I strain to make out the owner of the voices. The thump of a body hitting the wall, followed by a drunken female giggle, tells me all I need to know. A man’s voice growls, his words muffled, quickly replaced with moans of pleasure.

  And that’s enough! I slide my earbuds quickly into my ears, my eyes shut tight. The guitar riffs of The Killers masks the outside world as I empty my head of all thoughts, concentrating on only the lyrics of my favorite band.

  When I awake the next morning, one ear bud still in and my lights left on, my head jerks to the clock resting on the nightstand, panic settling in. Six-ten. An appreciative sigh releases from my lungs. Thankfully, I’m not late for work.

  Swinging my legs over the side of the mattress, I sit for a minute with my elbows resting on my thighs, last night playing in my head again. Why can’t she be content being alone for a while? Why does she constantly bring those losers into our home?

  After a quick shower, I throw some clothes on and head to the kitchen. The need for caffeine is stronger than breakfast.

  Flipping on the lights causes me to shake my head in disgust. Empty booze bottles, an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts, dishes piled high in the sink, a greasy pan sitting cock-eyed on top of the stove.

  I can’t wait to get the fuck out of here.

  Knowing I have no time to deal with any of it, I start the coffee brewing.

  Scuffling footsteps alert me to movement down the hall. My hand freezes in midair while reaching for a mug. Shit! My mom’s conquest from last night enters the kitchen, his beady eyes pierce me as he reaches inside his boxers, scratching himself unabashedly.

  “Who the fuck are you?” His voice resembles sandpaper, scratchy and harsh.

  Really?

  Ignoring him, I set my mug down beside the coffee pot and open the silverware drawer to retrieve a spoon.

  “I asked you a question, boy.”

  My body tenses as I attempt to rein in my anger. “I guess I should be asking you the same thing, seeing as how I live here.”

  Confusion passes through his empty eyes. The realization that his hand is still shoved down his boxers causes him to yank it free, passing it through his greasy, thin strands of black hair resting on his partially bald head. “You her kid?”

  I nod.

  He studies me for a minute, his expression turning mean. “Fuck. I don’t need no damn kid all up in my business.” He points his nicotine-stained finger at me. “As long as I’m here, you’ll make yourself scarce, you catchin’ my meaning?” I stare at him, not believing the words spewing from his dry, cracked lips. I’m not five.

  Not seeming to care that I don’t respond, he spits out, “Where’s the aspirin? My head hurts like a motherfucker.” His thumb and index finger press on the ridge of his nose between his beady eyes.

  “In the bathroom. Medicine cabinet.” The only reason I answer is because I know it will get him to leave. My tension somewhat disappears as he turns and heads down the hall.

  Slurping down my coffee as quickly as the temperature allows, I grab my coat and walk out the door. My tongue is scorched like a son of a bitch. I wonder if I have any taste buds left.

  Suddenly, summer can’t get here quick enough. I’m going to have to figure out alternate living arrangements.

  Chapter Eleven

  Harper

  February 6-12, 2011

  Aries Horoscope: This is your week to spread your wings and make new friends. Join a group, take on the role of organizer or leader. Your peers will notice your surge in confidence. You will find everything easier to deal with. You’ll have an avid sense of humor and more love for life. Beware of people who try to take over, especially if you’re dealing with Cancers, Scorpios, or Geminis.

  I stare at the newspaper print, the letters laughing at me as I shake my head in disgust. Why have my readings been failing me lately? Everything in my life seems off-kilter. I’ve been running on the proverbial hamster wheel ever since Reed left – and that was months ago. I’ve had a hard time peeling away the funk that has settled around me like some sort of fungus. Being surrounded by inches of icy snow doesn’t help my mood any, either. Everywhere I look, nothing but a blanket of white. I’m quickly becoming sick of the non-color.

  Join a group? I huff out a sarcastic laugh. Not likely.

  I enjoy the quiet that envelops me since my dad is still at work. I’ve never minded being alone with myself; I quite enjoy my own company. But lately, I’ve noticed the loneliness creeping in – it’s the first time I’ve really felt it since the early days of my mom’s departure from this earth. I get it, really. I spent nearly three months in Reed’s company, even Mr. H’s. After summer ended, things went back to normal. Only, my normal wasn’t all that great as I soon found out. It was back to just my dad, me, and my solitude. I never realized how much I enjoyed being around someone my own age, especially someone as wonderful as Reed. When he left, I remained hollow for days, maybe longer. If I’m honest, I still feel the void of his absence. My first real crush – more than a crush – and it’s as if he had never been here. Sometimes, I catch myself staring out my window, eyes glued to the bunkhouse that Reed lived in for weeks. I can still picture his tousled hair, his strong hands, and the way his eyes would follow me around the room. Our last night together spins through my head daily. His audacious kisses, his calloused hands trailing up my arms, his deep laughter. I don’t think I could dream up a more perfect night if I tried. He said he would miss me. Does he? Does he think about our night together as much as I do? Or has he moved on without giving our summer another thought?

  I stand and rise from the kitchen table, frustrated by the thought of him forgetting me. I hate the way we left things, knowing that we probably will never see each other again. Why did I let that happen? I kick the side of the trash can as
I toss the newspaper inside, my mood souring quickly. Deep down, I know it was futile to pretend we could be something more than we were. There are just too many obstacles in our way. We’re both still in high school, over a hundred miles between us. It may as well be a thousand. Sometimes I feel like I’m merely clinging to an intangible hope – one that may or may not be reciprocated. It seems I may never know.

  I fill the sink with hot water, adding the soap directly into the stream after deciding to wash our breakfast dishes from this morning. A draft of frigid air seeps through the window in front of me, causing a shiver to jolt through me as I observe my winter wonderland of a back yard. Just when I’ve had enough of the blinding light that bounces off the surface of the snow, I notice a group of five deer gingerly walking along the edge of our property – no, wait – make that nine deer. Their heads remain bent, searching for food under the slushy powder. I remind myself to ask my dad to pick up some corn for them the next time he stops at the Rural King. I hate thinking of them being hungry.

  I guess I’m not the only one praying for an early spring.

  After I rinse the dishes, I begin to tidy up the family room when I hear Mr. H’s pickup pull into his driveway. I don’t see him out much in the winter and just the sight of him lifts my spirits. A thought hits me as I run back into the kitchen and yank a paper plate from the basket on our countertop. I begin filling the plate with the chocolate chip cookies I baked after school, joy filling me as I prepare myself for some much-needed social interaction. I’m tired of feeling sorry for myself and the blasé doldrums that the gray winter has ensconced upon me. Mr. H is just the ticket to lifting my rotten disposition.

  After sliding the plate into a large baggie and sealing it, I slip into my coat and shove a beanie over my head. My boots sit by the back door and I stuff my feet into them, the warmth spreading to my limbs immediately. I brace myself for the artic air as I walk through the door – not even the biting chill can dampen the thought of spending some time with my beloved neighbor.

  I think about Reed and what his Chicago winters must be like. Does he like winter? Or does he hate it as much as I do? And then I realize there are so many things that I still don’t know about him.

  When I’m standing at Mr. H’s back door, I rap my knuckles against the weathered wood, wishing I would have put on a pair of gloves. In no time, I hear the shuffling of his boots. As the door swings open, his face lights up when his eyes land on me. “Well, ain’t you a sight for sore eyes. Get on in here, girl. It’s freezin’ out there.”

  My face feels stiff from the short walk over, so I don’t argue with him. I extend my arm and hand him the plate. “I come bearing gifts.”

  His eyes twinkle as he notices the baked treats. “I will never turn down your bakin’, Harper.” He helps me with my coat as I attempt to discard my boots without falling onto the floor. We both laugh when I lean into him for assistance. Suddenly, it hits me how much I’ve missed him.

  “Come on. I’ll make us some coffee.” I follow him into the kitchen, half expecting to see Reed sitting at the table – a sight so familiar from the summer. A slight pang twists inside my chest when my eyes fall on the empty chair. I attempt to ignore the sudden despair that sweeps through me. Don’t be stupid, Harper.

  I pull out a chair and sit while Mr. H gets to work on the coffee, replaying the numerous conversations the three of us had here at this table. I sigh happily, feeling restored just by being in this house.

  “How’s your dad?”

  I turn in my chair, facing Mr. H while he scoops the grounds into the filter. “He’s dealing.” He shoots me a look, both of us aware of what I mean. I shrug. “Some days are still better than others.” He nods, understanding. After turning the power on, Mr. H picks up the baggie of cookies, placing them between us as he takes his seat.

  “How’s school? You doin’ well?” The aroma of fresh coffee fills the air, and I find myself inhaling its richness. Mr. H catches me and grins.

  “Yeah, school’s fine. My classes aren’t too bad.”

  He shakes his head. “Man, I never did like bein’ in school. I was always itchin’ to get outside. Don’t like bein’ cooped up.” This surprises me, for some reason, always thinking of Mr. H as a rule-follower, therefore, liking school.

  “Are you telling me you didn’t excel in your studies, Mr. H?” I can’t help but laugh when I attempt to picture an ornery, young version of the man sitting in front of me.

  He shakes his head. “No…no, I did fine. I knew how important how my education was. It’s somethin’ I never took for granted.” His lips turn up at the edges. “Probably just like you.”

  I return his smile, loving how he gets me. We drink our coffee and munch on cookies as we spend the next hour talking about topics from our neighbors to the new Greek restaurant opening downtown next week. But we don’t talk about Reed. I wonder if it’s on purpose, knowing he never missed a thing. Perhaps he thinks it might cause me heartache. I’m not sure. But it’s okay. Because sitting here with Mr. H fills me with warmth on this frosty winter day, something I didn’t think was possible just a couple of hours ago.

  When I finally make the short trip home, I’m filled with a renewed outlook on my life. Mr. H has a way of doing that. I decide it’s time to stop being such a loner and try and make some new friends.

  Just as my horoscope suggested.

  Chapter Twelve

  Reed

  June 2011

  Freedom! That’s the first word that pops in my head as I leave Chicago behind. Each mile shrinks the huge city in my rearview mirror, the massive buildings are dwarfed by mere distance.

  My left-hand hangs casually at the top of the steering wheel, while my right one desperately attempts to find a radio station in this crappy hunk of metal. I’m praying like hell it makes it to Mr. H’s farm. After a few months of misery with my mom’s new boyfriend, Mr. Beady Eyes, I called Mr. H to see if I could work for him again this summer. Not being able to take one more day of his snide remarks and evil glares, my mom turning into a drunken disaster, and no food in the house (unless you count vodka and tequila), I got in touch with him to save me from losing my shit. Brent says I’m running away, that I should just kick his ass, but that’s not how I want this handled. My plan is for him to be gone by the time I return – my mom can’t hold onto any guy longer than six months. If I’m lucky. Which, I’m not.

  So, yeah, I’m two hours away from a life that’s comparable to another world.

  And I’m two hours closer to Harper. One hundred and twenty minutes closer to her image becoming a reality.

  I asked Mr. H not to tell her I’m coming. I want it to be a surprise. But I need to rein in my excitement. I know I’m in the same boat as last year. Mr. H has been my lifeline these past few months, and there’s no way I’m about to ruin that by crossing the line with Harper. After spending that night with her, it won’t be easy attempting to take the step back to being just friends. That night happened because I thought I’d never see her again. Even though nothing was explored below the waist, knowing what her breasts look like, feel like, taste like…shit! I adjust myself before I drive off the road. My eyes slide to the clock on the dash. I’ve got one hour and fifty minutes left to get my shit together so I don’t embarrass myself when I finally lay eyes on her.

  The time passes quickly, and I veer off the familiar exit. My heart thumps in my chest a little more rapidly now, glancing at my hand-written directions that Mr. H rattled off to me yesterday. In no time, I recognize landmarks and make the correct turn onto the worn blacktop road that leads to my summer salvation. It’s not lost on me how completely opposite my feelings are compared to this time last summer.

  My heart accelerates as Harper’s house comes into view and peace wraps around me as I pull my beat-up Toyota into Mr. H’s driveway. It’s still morning, so I’m sure he’s out in the fields somewhere. I climb out of my car, happy to finally be stretching my legs. I take the familiar steps to the screen
door attached to the mud room, noticing a hint of a squeak has returned since I last fixed it.

  Crossing the mudroom to the kitchen, I see the back of Harper. Her sweet ass is the first thing I notice, in a pair of khaki shorts. She’s bent over mopping the linoleum floor, unable to hear me, thin, white cords hang from her ears. I chuckle to myself, listening to her sing along with the music, mumbling over the lyrics she doesn’t quite know. I’m not sure how to get her attention without scaring the living shit out of her, so I lean against the doorjamb, enjoying the show. I’m not sure how much time passes when she finally turns, screaming at the sight of me.

  Yanking her earbuds out, her face flushes as her hand flies to her chest, her mouth falling open. Her eyes fill with fear then soften quickly, followed by recognition. “Reed!”

  I instantly notice the subtle changes the past year brought on: her fuller chest, a little more curve to her hips – even, her face looks more mature. “What…what are you doing here?” she breathes out.

  I grin at her, knowing it’s consuming my face. But I don’t care. I’m so damn happy to see her. She’s a vision, the same vision I’ve materialized almost every day for the past year. Except this is so much better. Damn, she’s beautiful. Even with her hair pulled haphazardly on top of her head.

  “Hey, Harper.” I walk towards her as her hand sweeps away the hair that’s fallen in her face. I stop when I’m standing directly in front of her. I want to kiss her so bad, but I force my hands to stay by my sides, fists clenching. Damn, this is going to be torture.

  Her silence fills the air, so I add, “I’m helping Mr. H again this summer.”

  Her eyes are still wide when she finally says, “He didn’t say anything about you coming…”

  Trying to keep it from meaning anything, I tell her, “Just wanted to freak you out. Looks like it worked.”