Another New Life

by Sydney Aaliyah Michelle

  "I didn't tell them."

  Confusion pulled at his face. "Then why did you guys move?"

  "I don't know."

  Brandon tilted his head and sighed. I didn't mean to frustrate him, but I honestly didn't understand why we moved. "We never talked about it."

  Brandon dropped his pen, stood up, and walked over to the window. A brick fence surrounded most of the building. I didn't think he could see anything, but he stared.

  "I'm having a problem with the sequence of events. Can you tell me what happened before you moved? Was there an incident with this guy you remember?"

  "I remember everything."

  Brandon looked at his watch and left his office. He came back a minute later.

  "Okay, we have all the time in the world. Tell me what happened."

  ***

  My mother needed to run to the store and didn't want to take me with her. I was being unmanageable. That's what she called it, anyway. She found Scott outside riding his bike. He would have been sixteen at the time.

  "Hey, Scotty, can you watch Miranda for about two hours while I run some errands?"

  "Sure, Mrs. Preston."

  He had ignored me since he arrived a couple of weeks ago. I thought now he would have to talk to me, but when he walked in the house, he barely acknowledged me. He sat on the couch and started flipping through the TV channels and ignored me.

  I sat next to him. After a few minutes, he put his arm around my shoulder. I nuzzled up to him, and he put his arm around my waist.

  "You want to play a game?" he asked.

  "Yes." He wasn't mad at me anymore.

  "Okay, let's pretend I'm the husband and you're my wife."

  "Okay."

  "I'll come home from work, and you have to kiss me hello."

  I leaned in to kiss him, but he stopped me. "No, I have to come home first."

  Jeez, I'm messing it up already. I wanted to play the game right so he wouldn't be mad at me.

  He stood up and walked over to the garage and then turned around. "Honey, I'm home." I laughed because I had heard them say that on TV.

  "You have to be serious to play this game, okay?"

  "I'm sorry."

  "That's okay. Let's start over.” He went back to the garage door, and this time he stepped into the garage before turning around to come back in. He delivered his line, and I ran over to him, hugged, and kissed him. That's what the women on TV did.

  He picked me up and carried me over to the sofa.

  "Ask me how my day was," he whispered.

  "How was your day, dear?"

  "It was long." He pulled off his t-shirt and started fanning himself. "Man, is it hot out there."

  He took my hand and kissed it, and then placed it on his chest. Then he leaned in and kissed me on the lips. He stuck his tongue in my mouth right away, and I pulled back.

  "See, you're too young to play." He started to put his shirt back on and stood up. I grabbed him and pulled him back down. I tackled him like when we wrestled, and kissed him back.

  "Woo, slow down," he said.

  When he pushed me away this time, I didn’t give him a chance to be mad, I ran upstairs and fell on my bed.

  Scott followed me upstairs a few minutes later. He sat down next to me.

  "We can play up here."

  I was so happy; he still wanted to play with me.

  "You stay here and I will come home, and we will be like real married people."

  "Okay, what do I do?" I wanted to play the game right.

  "First, you have to take those off." He touched my red tights.

  I pushed my tights down, and he helped me pull them off. He had a funny grin on his face and said, "Wow."

  "What?"

  He cleared his throat. "Okay, get under the covers and wait for me to get home."

  "Okay." I lay back with my hands behind my head.

  I waited for what seemed like an eternity. I thought he had left, but a few minutes later, he came in my room.

  "Hello, honey, I'm home."

  "Hi, dear," I said, suppressing a giggle.

  He sat on the bed and rubbed my leg through the blanket.

  "Are you glad I'm home?" he asked.

  I shook my head, yes.

  "Let me see how glad." He took the covers and threw them to the floor. The sudden movement made me gasp. It was like a magician concluding his trick. We both laughed.

  "Now you kiss me and use your tongue."

  So I did.

  "Do you know how to tell if a guy likes you?"

  I shook my head no.

  He took my hand and put it on the front of his shorts.

  "Now squeeze, but not too hard." I squeezed the spongy rock in his shorts.

  "If it's hard, that means I like you." I touched him again without assistance, and it appeared to grow harder the more I touched him. He moaned, and I pulled my hand back. "No, do that again, it's good."

  So I did.

  He lay down beside me and put his hand between my legs. I couldn't see what he was doing, and his kiss made it hard for me to breathe. I pushed him away, but he kept his hand under my dress. I didn't think anything on me was supposed to get hard, but I moaned, mimicking the sound he made, and he smiled.

  He pushed down his shorts and crawled on top of me. Where he had his fingers, he replaced with something else. Something bigger than a finger touched me between my legs. He had his hand around it, and he tried to push it in me. When he did this, he kissed me with his tongue at the same time. I remember feeling overwhelmed and dizzy; too much was going on at the same time. I didn't know what to do.

  Whatever he was trying to do didn't work. He held his breath as he tried to push himself into me. After a few seconds, he would let go of his breath out of frustration. His sweaty skin grossed me out, but I didn't move. Something wasn't working, but I didn't want to add to his frustration.

  He tried one last time, and I said, "Ouch."

  It didn't hurt, but it surprised me. Scott groaned, and something hit me down there, like when someone shoots you with a water gun up close.

  He gave up and collapsed on his side. While he tried to catch his breath, I was careful to remain still and quiet.

  "You're too small," he said. I reached out to touch him like before. He pushed my hand away, got up and put his shorts on, and walked out of my room.

  I heard Mom come home soon after Scott left.

  I jumped off the bed, grabbed my tights off the floor, and ran to the bathroom. I was about to put my tights back on when I noticed something white on my thigh. I wiped it off with my tights. I used the bathroom and made sure there was nothing else on me. My dress had a sweat stain on the front from Scott laying on me. I pulled it off and put it in the hamper along with my tights. I ran back in my room and put on a t-shirt and shorts and walked downstairs.

  I found my mom in the kitchen, and she looked stunned.

  "Mom." I startled her.

  "You changed?"

  "I'm going over to Troy's house."

  "Did something happen while I was gone?"

  "No," I said, running to the refrigerator to grab some juice. I could taste Scott in my mouth. I thought about going back upstairs and brushing my teeth.

  "Miranda."

  "What?"

  "I don't want you going over to Troy's."

  "We have a galactic battle at 4:00 p.m. I have to go."

  "No," she yelled, and I turned around and dropped my juice. Tears spring up in my eyes. She ran over and gave me a hug. "I'm sorry. I want you to go play in my room until I call you."

  Over the next couple of days, Dad came home early every day, and he and Mom talked and argued, and Mom cried late into the night. One day, Mom and Dad had Ms. Peterson, our next-door neighbor, take Troy and I out for pizza and a movie.

  When I got home that night, my parents told me we were moving to my Grandma's house in California, and Dad would join us later.

  I thought they were kidding at first, but I went up to
my room, and Mom had already packed a suitcase with most of clothes. I ran out of the house without anyone seeing me and found Troy sitting by the fence on his side of the yards, crying.

  "Why are you crying?"

  "Dad's taking Scott back to his mother; Mom doesn't want him around anymore."

  I started crying, not because Scott left, but because I was being shipped away, too.

  ***

  Brandon wanted to see me once a week until further notice.

  Our first session took two hours, and when I left his office, I found Darcy sitting in the same seat.

  "I'm sorry it took so long. You didn't have to wait."

  "I know. I figured a long session could be good or bad, and I wanted to be here when you got out."

  "It was good and bad, but I'm exhausted."

  "Let's go home."

  As we walked back across campus, I told Darcy about the session with Brandon. He was curious as to why when I talked about the abuse; I used terminology a child would use. His conclusion, I needed to tell my parents. She of course agreed with Brandon, but I wasn't sure. I always figured they dealt with it as best as they could, and I gave them plenty of heartache and aggravation as a teenager to get back at them.

  I didn't see what good it would do bring it all up again. If it was all supposed to be about me, well, that was what I wanted. Brandon was going to have to think of another way for me to deal with it that didn’t include my parents.

  I put it out of my head. Eating, sleeping, practicing, and studying were all I was willing to deal with at the time.

  I should have added "avoid lunch with relatives" to the list.

  The end of the semester couldn't have gotten here any sooner. Darcy bought me a plane ticket to come home with her to Arkansas for winter break as a Christmas present.

  We were leaving after my last exam. I took my final exam in the morning and headed over to Alaina's for lunch. I had plenty of time. I wanted to catch Alaina up on what happened after she dropped me off, and I needed to pack; our flight left at 7:30 that night.

  As soon as I entered Alaina's house, my heart sank and the weight returned to the pit of my stomach at the sound of my mother's voice. I wasn't going to make that plane.

  They hadn't seen me yet. I stood in the foyer of my aunt's house, door handle in hand. I could have backed out of the house and took off running back to campus, but my dad's voice stopped me.

  "If this has to do with Denver, Marianne Preston, I swear I'm not going to be able to forgive you this time."

  I walked into the kitchen and found mom and Alaina sitting at the kitchen table. My dad stood with his arms crossed, glaring at my mother. I stared, barely recognizing him. At six-foot-four, my dad's size intimidated people, but they quickly realized his true nature by his nervous speech pattern and fidgety manner. The man standing in front of me looked authoritative and pissed off. Alaina looked angry, too. I couldn't see my mother's face, and by her posture, she had no intention of turning to face me. Her shoulders cinched up to her ears made me rub my neck.

  "Hey, there's my girl." Dad's face softened, but his anger lingered in the air. He hugged me and kissed me on top of my head, a bit more enthusiastic then was necessary. "Look at you; you look great."

  "Hi, Dad." My arms remained at my side.

  "Hi, Mom," I said.

  "Hi," she said.

  "What are you guys doing here?" I asked.

  Mom turned to look at me, her gaze scanning me up and down as if trying to find something to criticize. I half expected her to say something about my clothes and well-worn high tops. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

  "I called them and told them to come down," Alaina said. "I thought they would like to know what's going on with their daughter."

  "I know my daughter, Alaina," Mom said. "No flaky hippy who’s known my daughter for four months is going to tell me I don't know my own daughter."

  "Jesus, Marianne, how can you be so oblivious all these years?" Dad said.

  "Alaina, just because you can't get over your issues," Mom said.

  "My issues? I don't make someone else's issues my issues, and I certainly would have noticed if my daughter needed me."

  "I did the best I could for her."

  "No you didn't; you moved away and wanted her to forget about it. Well—"

  "Stop it. You two, stop," I said. I can't believe this is happening.

  "Miranda," Dad said, "we know we haven't been the best parents, and we are sorry. We want to help you, if we can. If you want us to?"

  I looked at Mom, and she had tears running down her face. I couldn't tell if she shared my father's opinion of their parenting skills.

  Part of me wanted to tell them I was fine. I was an adult. I could deal with my problems by myself. The other part of me was curious to hear why they did what they did.

  "I'll be right back." I walked back to the guest room and shut the door. I called Darcy first.

  "Hey, sweetie, how's lunch?"

  "Not good. My parents are here," I said.

  "Where?"

  "My aunt's house, standing in the kitchen. Like, 'Hello. We came for a friendly visit.'"

  "Talk about ambushed."

  "I know, right?"

  "Are you okay?"

  "Yeah, but I don't think I'm going to make the flight tonight. I'm so sorry, but I need to do this now, or I'm going to lose my nerve."

  "No, that's okay. Do what you need to do," she said. "You need me to stay?"

  "No, I don't want to ruin your vacation, and your family would never forgive me."

  "Okay."

  "But, you know, keep your phone on you, okay?"

  "You got it."

  I could feel her smiling through the phone, and it made me smile.

  "Have a safe flight, and call me when you get home."

  "Okay."

  I hung up and dialed Brandon's number.

  "Hello, Miranda Preston, you on your way out-“

  "My parents are here."

  "In Austin."

  "Yes," I said, "my aunt called them and told them to come down."

  "Are you ready for that conversation?"

  "Yes. No. I have no idea." I took a deep breath. "Do you think I'm ready for this conversation?"

  "You want the simple answer or the complex answer?"

  "Does the complex answer lead to me figuring it out for myself in the end?

  "Yes."

  "The simple answer."

  "You're ready."

  I relaxed a bit.

  "Are you still in your office?"

  "I'll meet you in an hour."

  "Thanks.

  "You're welcome."

  I walked back into the kitchen, and interrupted whatever argument they were in the middle of.

  "Miranda, I just want to say—" Mom began, but I interrupted her.

  "Brandon, my therapist, he’s going to meet us at his office in about an hour. Anyone want to grab lunch before we go?"

  ***

  "Hi Miranda," the receptionist said.

  "Hi, Jamie."

  "Brandon's in his office, go on back."

  "Thanks." I looked back at my parents and motioned for them to follow me. My mom was trying way too hard to appear calm and collected, with her head held a little too straight to be comfortable.

  I knocked.

  "Come in."

  Brandon had rearranged the furniture by the couch to accommodate everyone. He had turned around the two chairs in front of his desk.

  I gave Brandon a hug, grateful to have his support hosting my bizarre family reunion.

  My mom's eyes raised when he hugged me back. I have no clue what she was thinking. She probably thought we were sleeping together.

  "Brandon, this is my mom and dad."

  "Mr. and Mrs. Preston, nice to meet you." He shook their hands.

  "This is Aunt Alaina."

  "Hi, Aunt Alaina." Brandon smiled.

  "Hi."

  "Miranda, why don't you and
Alaina sit on the couch?"

  After our marathon first session, I’d claimed the couch in subsequent sessions. I took my usual seat.

  "Mr. and Mrs. Preston, please sit down." He motioned to the chairs. Brandon sat in a chair next to my spot on the couch.

  "Okay, I have a few ground rules before we begin. We are all here because we care about Miranda, and she feels she needed to share a few things with you in an effort to understand why she deals with things the way she does. This is not about how you feel about how she deals with things."

  I thought of Troy when he said that. I'd done a good job not thinking about him, but I wanted him here so badly right now.

  "If at anytime Miranda feels uncomfortable or wants to end this session, then she gives me the word and we end it. Okay?" He waited until everyone said okay before he continued. "Okay, Miranda, why don't you start?"

  "I don't know where to begin."

  "Well, a couple of weeks ago, I asked you what you wanted to know that would help you forgive yourself. That's a good place to start."

  Leave it to Brandon to get right into it. I turned to my mom and my dad. Well, here I go.

  "When you found out what Scott had done to me, why did you think it was my fault?"

  "Miranda," my parents said in unison, but in different tones. My dad's whimper contrasted with my mom's angry tone.

  "We didn't think it was your fault," Mom said.

  "Then why was I the one who had to be sent away?"

  "Miranda, we didn't know what to do," Dad said.

  "And you said nothing happened," Mom said.

  "You asked me one time." I leaned forward. "You'd think something like this might have warranted a few follow-up questions."

  "Mrs. Preston, what made you ask Miranda if anything happened in the first place?" Brandon asked.

  "Why is that important?" My mom wouldn't look at him or me. She stared at the arm of the chair.

  "Mrs. Preston, I think it's necessary for Miranda to hear your side."

  "Please, Mom." The scared look on her face stopped my heart.

  "I'd asked Scott to stay with you while I ran a few errands. When I came home, his shirt was in the den, and he was sitting on the steps putting his shoes on. I asked him what he was doing. He said you were playing in the sprinklers in the yard and came in to change. Then I asked, 'Are you sure nothing else happened?' I was thinking you wore your good dress outside, and he was covering for you, but he stood up and walked over to me, and he had a weird look in his eye and he said, 'What else do you think happened? She's just a kid.'"