by Jolene Perry
The bell rings and my heart leaps up my throat. Crap! I’m never late. I forget for a moment which class I’m supposed to be in, and the second it hits me, I spin around and smash into someone, scattering my books, notebook, and pens across the floor.
“Dammit!” A guy yells.
I drop to my knees and stop, one hand on my books and the other on my chest where my heart is sprinting.
“Watch where you’re going!”
I stay frozen on the floor until his footsteps fade. I’m so stupid. I need to be more careful. I gather my stuff with trembling fingers, and, pulling in a slow breath, I try to slow my heart
When lunch comes, I hide to make sure I’m out of the way. I keep my eyes down and leave the school the second the final bell rings to avoid walking home with Justin or Tara. I’m just too tired for people today. Sucks how quickly I’m back to feeling so small.
FOURTEEN
Is this what we call a breakthrough?
I’m standing in Lydia’s very beige waiting room with Uncle Rob. We both stare at the fish tank in silence because there’s really nothing else to look at, and after a few minutes of questions in the car, I think he gave up trying to talk to me.
My day, which started with Justin and talking and sore legs and pride, ended with me hiding even more than I did two weeks ago. Only now I know how good it feels to take in my surroundings. I talked to Justin and watched people interact in the hallways instead of staring my shoes. Now I want to disappear. The familiar weight in my chest is something I thought I’d gotten rid of.
Lydia steps out of her office. Her eyes go from Uncle Rob to me. “Oh, good. Uncle Rob can come in with us today.”
Of course she’d do this to me. Uncle Rob was proud of me last night, but what will happen when he sits in and realizes I slid right back to where I was before? He’ll probably think kung fu was a waste.
“So you two are talking,” Lydia says. She crosses her legs and rests her notebook on her lap.
“He let me come to kung fu,” I say quietly because that’s the only thing I want to talk about today.
“How was that?” she asks, a tinge of uncertainty in her voice.
“She did amazing.” Uncle Rob’s eyes catch Lydia’s first and then mine.
My chest swells at the compliment.
We talk about inconsequential things for a few minutes. Most of our back and forth has to do with Uncle Rob saying how different I am, how much more relaxed I seem in the house.
His observations cut both ways for me. Part of me is proud I’ve come so far and part of me hates that we have to be here having this conversation. Walking around in a house shouldn’t be praiseworthy.
“Do you have anything to say?” Lydia focuses on me.
The clock ticks. No one speaks. I used to take pride in the silence I created with Lydia, but now it seems like … It seems pointless.
“I used to be afraid of him. Of Uncle Rob, but …”
“Why don’t you tell him?” Lydia asks.
Right. Uncle Rob and I are good now. This is okay. I angle my body to see him better. “I’m sorry I was afraid of you.”
“No, Joy …” he starts.
“Let her finish.” Lydia’s voice is quiet.
I need to get this out. I’m desperate for Uncle Rob to still be proud of me. For him to know I think he’s nice. “I wasn’t afraid of you, not really. It’s like … like my body’s trying to protect me, so when you’d talk or were around me, my body wanted to get away, even though logically, I knew you wouldn’t hurt me. At least I did after a while.” I wonder if I’m making any sense because it feels like I had to push out every word, and I’m not sure I could do it again.
Uncle Rob shifts in his seat, but his eyes remain on me. “You’re a very brave girl.”
I laugh, but it’s not really a laugh. It’s hard and forced. “I’m not brave. It took me four months to talk to you. I’m still afraid of everything, all the time. I felt so strong this morning, and then when I went to school … I had a hard time. I hide in my room, I …” The list is so long.
“I still think you’re very brave.”
My eyes go to my lap. “Thanks,” I mumble. Uncle Rob being proud of me feels impossible because of what I mess I am, so his words don’t feel genuine.
“How are we doing with family meals and that kind of thing?” Lydia asks.
I shrug.
“Better,” he says.
“Joy, maybe this week … just keep going what you’re doing, okay? Spend time with your new family.” Her eyes are on me. “And you forgot to waste time today. Our time’s up.”
Already? Time here usually drags.
“Let’s meet once a week. See how you do with that. And you know you can call anytime. Okay?”
“Once a week?” That feels way less like I’m an insane person than coming in twice a week.
“Maybe you could do kung fu on the other night, huh?”
“Yes.” Uncle Rob stands. “We can definitely do that.”
And that’s it. Maybe my afternoon was just a little slip. Maybe I can keep doing better.
“How can you be sixteen and never played Yahtzee?” Trent’s eyes are wide, and there’s even a hint of annoyance in his voice.
“My mom had cards. I’ve never played anything but cards.”
The Mooresons still seem pretty unusual to me. A couple times a month, they all sit together and play board games or card games. Tonight’s the first night I’m joining in. It’s part of my assignment from Lydia, and one I’m determined to do.
“That’s insane.” Trent leans over the table toward me.
I shrug.
“Trent.” Uncle Rob gives him a stern look.
I notice all these little things now because I’m not staring at my lap with the family anymore.
“Here’s a breakdown of how the scores work.” Aunt Nicole slides the sheet over to me.
I read the rules while Trent writes names on the scorecard because apparently he doesn’t trust us to be honest or add correctly. I don’t really trust him, but I’m not going to argue when we’re getting along.
After an hour, I’m only a few points behind Trent, but he still wins in the end. I’m okay with that. I now know how to play a game. And I survived sitting with the whole family.
Tara stands. She hugs her mom and then her dad, just like every night. Trent does the same, only he’s too cool for a real hug. He does a half hug. He doesn’t know what it’s like to have a parent who doesn’t hug.
“Thanks.” I put my arms cautiously around Aunt Nicole first.
Uncle Rob gives me a smile and a nod like every night. Even on the nights I don’t look directly at him. But Uncle Rob isn’t scary anymore. I watch my feet as I step toward him. Does he want me to hug him? Does he want to hug me? “Thanks, that was fun.”
“I’m really glad you joined us.” His voice is soft and warm. He’s a dad. It’s all he wants. He’s not going to try for more than that, he’s not going to ask for more than that, and he definitely won’t force more than that.
My heart’s beating hard, but I lean into him anyway. I wrap my arms around him and squeeze. My face is pressed into his chest. I never thought it would feel good to be close to a man like this. Ever. But his chest is warm and comforting, not suffocating.
His arms are careful but relaxed around me. “I love you, Joy.” He kisses the top of my head. Part of me never wants to move. But that’s just weird, isn’t it? To just stand with someone like that.
“Night.” I drop my arms and walk away. I glance back quickly. Just long enough to see him wiping tears from his face again.
For as hard as I worked to make my mom love me, I wonder a lot if she ever did. I’ve done nothing here but cause disruption, but I’m told I’m loved. I’m once again overwhelmed by the feeling in this hous
e.
FIFTEEN
Some things hurt worse than others
Aunt Nicole stands in the kitchen with an envelope in her hands. “I feel weird about giving this to you, but I also feel weird not giving it to you.”
“What is it?”
“One of the cases was resolved without a trial.” Her voice is low, quiet. She’s looking at me with so much worry. I’m still baffled by the idea of her feeling so much for me.
Shaking, I stare at the envelope, afraid to touch the letter. “Oh.” Only two people are in jail because of me. I was asked for names of others, but I didn’t want to relive anything that far in my past, so I never said. “Mom?”
She shakes her head.
Richard. The force of his name leaves me exhausted. His face hits my memory and I have to push it away. Hard. I can’t go there. I stumble back and lean against the wall. Better. Safer.
Only I’m staring at what’s just paper. All the actions they’ve wrapped up in the notifications inside that envelope are gone. Done. Over.
I wonder if I was supposed to be notified before the case was resolved. I wonder if Uncle Rob and Aunt Nicole knew but were just protecting me.
“The DA faxed this over, and we spoke on the phone earlier today. The defendant will be in jail for fifteen years.” Aunt Nicole’s voice is quiet, but her words split into me as if she’d screamed them.
Fifteen years for what he did to me. That’s it. But in a way it doesn’t even matter. I’m gone from there. I’m here. In other ways the sentence or lack thereof is sort of everything. How can being stuck in a prison for fifteen years make up for anything? What does it change? He can’t take his actions back. And he probably wouldn’t if he could.
I take the envelope from Aunt Nicole and walk into Uncle Rob’s den. I flip the switch for the fire and sit, no longer able to keep Richard’s face away. His mouth against mine, always stubbly, leaving red marks on my skin. The smell of beer and cigarette smoke hits my nose as if he’s standing in the room. I swallow down bile as my stomach tightens. He was so big, so tall and broad, and I tried to fight, I tried so hard. But my hands were tiny, and he just laughed. Then he started bringing a knife. It only made things worse, trying to fight him. When he pushed back it hurt. Richard always found creative ways to punish me.
Aunt Nicole’s next to me, her arm around me. The paper is crumpled in my fist. I have no idea when either of these happened, but I’m grateful for both. I bury my face in her shoulder and let the sobs shake my body.
“You’re growing up so pretty, Joy.” His voice is gruff and sends a wave of chills through me. He stands in the doorway of my room. The dim light almost makes the situation worse. His face is shaped in shadows, not light.
I hate Richard.
My breathing is coming in tight, shallow breaths. What does he want? Richard has stared at me in ways that make me hide in my room, but he’s never come in here.
“Mom?” My voice wobbles.
He chuckles. “Your mom is out for the night, leaving me a little wanting.”
Wanting what? I pull my blankets more tightly around me as he steps into my room. Do I scream? Do I run? Do I need to?
When his heavy body crushes my thin mattress to the floor I begin to shake.
“Relax, Joy.” His gravelly voice brings a whimper up my throat.
His hand is over my mouth so hard my jaw aches and my head is pressed into my pillow. I squeeze my eyes tight. I don’t know what he wants, but I hope it doesn’t last long.
His cigarette breath and beer stench hit my nose as his scratchy face presses against mine. “Make a noise, and I’ll kill you.”
I nod so he knows I believe him. My breath comes hard and fast out my nose, his hand still firmly over my mouth.
He slides off my shirt, and I close my eyes wishing to be anywhere else. I whimper as a small slice of pain flashes across my chest. I open my eyes to see a small knife. “I’ll use this. Deeper next time if I have to. Remember to be good.”
I shut my eyes, wishing it to be over.
His hand comes off my mouth and I want to scream so badly, but I know how to stay silent. I’ve been practicing for years.
I sit up in bed and scream. It feels so good to let it out. How many times had I clenched my teeth together to stop from making a sound? My heart beats hard, my breath comes fast, just as if I were there. Just like it wasn’t another nightmare.
Aunt Nicole flies into my room. I ache to be wrapped up in her arms, but I can’t say what I want. Can’t ask her to do anything else for me.
“I’ll flip my own pillow.” I keep my eyes away from hers, roll my pillow over, and lie back down. I don’t smell my sheets. I smell the trailer, beer, and cheap aftershave.
I’m here. I’m not there. I’m here. I’m not there.
“Night,” she whispers.
My first tears hit the pillow as she leaves the room.
SIXTEEN
I have decided I now love the park
I’m at the park near our house, and I’m alone, sitting crisscross applesauce on the grass. I love it. If I need something or feel a panic attack coming on or anything, I have my phone. It makes me feel so much more independent than I ever have. And the open space isn’t as uncomfortable as it used to be either, which is sort of perfect because I haven’t seen the sun in over a month.
After several nights of horrible dreams and very little sleep, the park and the warmth should help settle my mind.
Flashes of Richard have been haunting me since the letter, making me wish again that I could erase memories. I pull in a deep breath wanting to soak up the warm day instead of reliving my past.
“Hey, neighbor.”
Justin. I can so do this. I mean, we rode in a car together and talked over coffee and hot chocolate and we walk together … sometimes. “Hey, neighbor,” I say back. Maybe he’ll distract me from things I don’t want to think about.
“Is the grass wet?”
“Yep, but my coat is long.” I pat my hands on my hips to show the coat covers pretty well. It’s Aunt Nicole’s raincoat, so it’s a little big, but at least I’m warm and dry.
“Oh well.” He shrugs and pats his thighs. His coat is not long. “Can I sit?”
I tap my chin as if trying to decide.
“Oh, come on.” He laughs.
“Yes, you can sit.” I’m smiling and I didn’t even have to think about smiling. It’s like when Justin’s around, there isn’t room for thoughts outside of what we’re doing together.
“Thank you.” He’s next to me, almost too close, but there are no walls out here, and I can stand up and walk away if I want to.
“You have a blond stripe in your hair,” I say. Someone did the bleaching low, so the stripe only shows sometimes.
“Always had it.”
I narrow my eyes. “It looks bleached.”
“I swear it’s always been there. The longer my hair is, the more you can see the blond.” He bends his head down so I can look more closely.
“I like your hair long.” Without thinking I touch the lighter strands. I wouldn’t cut it any other way.
“Thanks.” His eyes meet mine.
I jerk my hand back. I can’t believe I just touched his hair like that.
“So, what are you up to?” he asks.
“Enjoying the sun.”
“Me too.”
“I got a phone.” I slide it out of my pocket to show him. “Like more than a week ago. I keep forgetting I have it.”
“Cool, give me your number and I can call you sometime. Or send you a text or something.” He pulls out his cell.
Oh no. “I don’t remember my number.” How do I not know this?
“Can I see?” He reaches his hand toward me and I give the phone to him.
He pushes a few buttons on my phone a
nd then a few buttons on his phone. “There. You can scroll down and hit the Call button when you get to my name. Have you never had a phone before?”
I try to play cool. “Why do you ask?”
“Because you’re looking at this thing like it’ll bite you.” He chuckles as he shoves his phone back into his jeans pocket. I like how he dresses outside of school. Snug jeans, drawn-on shoes, white T-shirt, and hoodie coat. Everything looks soft. I’m probably staring.
Oh. We were talking. “I’ve never had a phone. I”—partial truth, I can do it—“I didn’t get out much when I lived with my mom. Now I’m with my aunt and uncle and …” What do I say?
“And things are different,” he finishes for me.
“Yeah.” Like opposite. I wait for him to ask more about my mom, but he doesn’t.
“So, my sister is about to have a baby and she likes to sing. I play for her when she does. Anyway, we’re at the Hole next Friday night. You should come.”
The Hole is a bakery and venue for a lot of great local music. And it’s just up the street. I’m conflicted because going could be cool or disastrous. I’m not sure if it would be worth the risk.
“What do you play?”
“The guitar.” He cocks a brow, throwing me a playful smile. “I thought everyone knew that.”
“I didn’t.” I don’t know anybody, so I don’t know anything about anybody.
“That’s crazy.” He laughs. “That’s like my power play, you know. The thing girls like about me.”
I almost laugh. “I didn’t know. So I guess that’s not what I like about you.”
“Hmm.” His eyes are so intense, but I can’t bring myself to look away. “So, what do you like about me?”
That’s easy. “That you let me be quiet. I like the way you talk all relaxed and how you don’t mind the weird things I do.” Once the words are out I realize how personal it might all be. “I’m sorry, I …” I don’t know how to talk to people. I don’t know what I should say and when I should keep quiet. Maybe I’ve just crossed a line or something.
