Erased

by Margaret Chatwin

  I don’t know what that means, but I can probably guess.

  She’s close to my height, a little shorter, and when she rises up onto the balls of her feet I know she’s going to kiss me. It feels foreign when her lips make contact with mine, I guess because I know little more about her than her name. But there’s no way I can deny what it does to me. Makes me hungry.

  I lean into her and place my hands on her hips. I close my eyes and then I see her again in my mind. Her head thrown back, perky breasts bare. I see the smallest part of her waist where her hips begin to flare. Then I see her abdomen. It’s tone and her skin is smooth, soft and beautifully tan. I see her navel, next, and the piercing she has there.

  I open my eyes, pull out of the kiss and the vision is gone. Tasha is looking at me in confusion, but I don’t care. I take a step back and lift up the bottom of her shirt to expose her flesh.

  The small metal ball sits just above her belly button. There’s a diamond right inside the navel and a scattering of little silver stars dangle down. Exactly the same.

  It is a memory! When I see her in my mind, it’s an honest to God memory.

  “I remember this,” I say and push at the stars with the tip of my finger.

  “You should, you gave it to me.”

  “I did?”

  “Remember? I saw it and fell in love with it and you said if I ever got my belly button pierced you’d buy it for me. So I had them do it on the spot.”

  I just stare at her. I don’t remember that part.

  “And my dad was pissed off when he found out?”

  Still don’t remember.

  “Anyway, it’s my favorite. I wear it most of the time.” No longer have these words fallen from her mouth than her smile turns wicked and she reaches out and tugs at the bottom of my shirt. “If you get to see mine, I get to see yours.”

  “I don’t have a navel ring.” I hold her hands at bay. I don’t want her to see me without clothing. My body is not like it was in the photos in my mom’s albums. I’m a lot skinnier, I’ve lost muscle mass, and I have scars. And with her, I feel embarrassed of all that.

  “I know you don’t have one, Ryan.” She’s still flirting, trying to get past my hands to lift my shirt. “I want to see you.”

  “Nah,” I push at her again, but she thinks I’m playing and she gets more aggressive.

  I could try to hurt her – squeeze her hands and make her stop. But I’m not sure it’s come down to that, yet. Besides, I might not even be strong enough. How utterly humiliating that would be. Can’t even fight off a girl. It’s better not to even try, than to try and fail at something like that.

  She wins. Sort of. I step in closer to her so that she can’t see much of my flesh and she ends up sliding her hands up my shirt and rubbing the skin of my back.

  “Mumm,” she groans with pleasure. “Feels so good to touch you.”

  I’m self-conscious and have to fake a smile. She doesn’t seem to care, or even catch that fact, though. She’s too busy sliding her finger tips down the back of my waist band.

  “Tasha, I . . .”

  She doesn’t let me finish. She kisses me and her tongue parts my lips.

  Damn, she tastes good. I kiss her back, vaguely realizing that my hands are under her shirt and working their way up her sides.

  Then, my weight shifts a little, a sharp pain shoots through my leg and I wince and step away from her.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks.

  “My leg hurts.”

  “Why?”

  Why? Because there’s more rod in it than there is bone. Because my muscles were torn, ripped and cut apart. Because I’ve had four surgeries on the damn thing.

  “It just does,” I tell her.

  “Well, that’s too bad, because I want more of you.” She says with a sassy smile. She pulls me in and kisses at the side of my neck, below my ear.

  “Tasha, I need to sit down.”

  “No way,” she giggles.

  “Really.” I push at her several times before she finally backs off.

  “So, you coming over tonight, then?”

  I don’t answer. Someone is coming. Tasha hears it too and ditches down the closest row of books. It’s her teacher and she rounds the corner and gives me a sharp eye. “Where is she?” she demands to know.

  “Where’s who?”

  “You know exactly who I’m talking about, Ryan.”

  Is there anyone in this place that doesn’t know me by my first name?

  Lunch. I sit on one of the cement blocks that hold the pole that holds the bleachers up. Everyone else stands around talking and smoking pot. Tasha is there with Chloe again, but she hardly looks at me.

  “You guys have got to come to my house tonight,” she tells Scott and Zane. “My dad will be gone so we can party.”

  I have no idea why I thought I was the only one invited.

  I push up off of the block and head for the gate.

  “Where ya going?” Zane asks.

  “I don’t know,” I say and keep walking.

  “He’s so damn weird,” I hear one of them whisper and I’m sure they continue to talk behind my back after I’m gone.

  I text Paige. Where R U?

  Bench by the pine tree, eating.

  Any food left?

  Lol. Yes.

  After school I walk with Paige to her house. Cynthia invites me to stay for dinner and I’m forced to say yes, because she cooked for me once before while I was there and it was so good that it’s impossible to resist.

  Paige takes me home, around six, and I invite her in to see what I’ve drawn lately. She says okay, and we enter the house through the patio door.

  Lucas is the first to see her. He’s leaving the kitchen, glances at me, glances at her, then does a double take. Pleasant recognition flashes in his eyes for her, but shock and an accusation of insanity, for me.

  “Hi, Luc,” Paige greets him cheerfully.

  He begins to respond. His lips part to let out words, but then he hesitates and his eyes shoot back to me. He seems to be asking for some kind of permission, and I don’t understand why he’d do this. I flash him a, hurry up before she thinks your rude look, and his eyes move back to her.

  “How’s it going?” He adds a smile that I honestly believe is genuine.

  “Good. You?”

  “Alright.”

  “Did you finish today?” she asks.

  “No. I still have to drill my holes. Brent was taking his sweet time on the press, again.”

  “He wants everything perfect.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s not like he’s drilling into the human brain. It’s just wood. Punch the holes and step aside so the rest of us can have a turn.”

  I don’t know, exactly, what they’re talking about, but they do, and they both laugh about it.

  Hearing voices, Mom comes out of the kitchen. She seems confused that Paige is with me but she smiles politely when Paige says, “Hi, Mrs. Farnsworth.”

  “Umm, Parker? No . . .”

  “Paige Parker,” Paige reintroduces herself.

  “Oh, yes. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s alright.” Paige smiles then swings her eyes around the area. “Wow, your house is incredible. So spacious and beautiful.”

  “Thank you.”

  “We’ll be in my room,” I tell everyone, then give Paige a start by placing my hand on her lower back. I don’t keep it there long, just for a couple seconds, but it’s long enough to make my mother’s eyes widen.

  We enter my room and when I lock the door, Paige gives me a look that makes me explain my action. “My dad still hasn’t given my art stuff back and I don’t want him to know I have more.”

  “Oh, okay.” She looks around my room and then wanders over to the cardboard box piled high with trophies. She picks one up from off the top and blows the dust off of it. “So well maintained,” she grins.

  “Yeah. Not exactly the most important thing in my life anymore.”

  “And
what is?”

  “I don’t know. Survival, I guess.”

  She notices my blue hospital bag, next, and maybe just because it looks so out of place on my dresser, she moves to it. She doesn’t say anything about it, but she does pick up my ID bracelet from in front of it and turns to look at me. “How long were you there?”

  “Hundred and three days.”

  “Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry, Ryan.” She says this like she knows. Like she was there and saw all my struggles and felt all my pain. Like she really gets it, and somehow I believe she does.

  It churns emotions, but I turn my back and say, “I’ll show you my art,” as I dig it out from its hiding place behind the night stand.

  She’s sitting on my bed when I have it all in order. I hand her the book she gave me and watch her eyes dance as she examines each page.

  “I can’t believe you just started doing this,” she smiles. “It’s amazing.”

  “Not like yours, but . . .”

  “I’ve been drawing since the day I could hold a crayon. It took me years and a lot of classes to get where I am. But you – it’s natural.”

  “I guess. All I know is it gives me something to do when I can’t do anything else. It relaxes me and has a way of taking my mind off other things. I can sit in here and draw for hours, and sometimes forget all about my leg.”

  She knows what I’m talking about and her soft smile proves it. She’s watching me like she never has before. Really taking note of all there is about me. It feels good to be seen the way I can tell she’s seeing me now.

  We hang out in my room talking for about twenty more minutes and then she says she’d better get her mom’s car back to her.

  I don’t want her to go, but I nod and lead the way to my bedroom door anyway. I unlock it and pull it open to find my dad coming out of the office across the hall, at the same time.

  His eyes land directly on Paige and he looks her over top to bottom. No smile. No greeting. His gaze moves to me. “Hope you’re behaving yourself in there, Ryan.”

  Really – he just said that? In front of her? I feel a flash of heat and I glance at Paige to see if it’s embarrassed her as well.

  “He was a perfect gentleman,” she assures him.

  “Good.” He says, but still doesn’t smile. “Ry, I just found out you transferred out of PE. I’d like to know why and what it is you traded it for.”

  I have a feeling he knows exactly what I traded it for. “Can we talk about this in a minute? I want to walk Paige out.”

  “Yeah. Have an answer for why you’ve been skipping out on football practice as well.”

  “I’m not even on the team, Dad.”

  “Coach Stone wants you there. Said he asked you personally.”

  “Well, he did, but . . . Just give me a minute, huh?”

  “Sure,” he says, and holds out his hand to let us go first. We do, and he falls in line right behind us. “Let me catch the door for you, Paige,” he says once we reach the great room. He veers to the left and pulls open the front door. I can’t go down the stairs to walk her to her car and I think that’s why he chose to let her out that particular door. He doesn’t want me out there with her.

  I stand at the threshold, say an uncomfortable goodbye, because Dad is still standing there, and Paige leaves.

  No longer is the door shut than he says, “PE for Art?”

  “My leg never stops hurting, Dad. It hurts when I wake up in the morning. It hurts when I shower. It hurts when I eat. It hurts when I sleep, but it hurts a lot more when I’m trying to run laps in PE.”

  His eyes soften. “Yeah, alright. When I asked them to add PE to your class schedule, I was just thinking it would be good for you to be back with the guys and to get moving a little. Thought it might help you get back out on the field faster.”

  So PE was his idea, huh? I don’t know why this irritates me, but it does.

  “Mom has dinner ready. Come eat,” he points toward the kitchen.

  “I’m not hungry, I ate at Paige’s.”

  “You . . .” he almost chokes. “You skipped practice to . . . Ryan, we need to talk. Hungry or not, come sit down.”

  He waits until everyone has their food. And even though I repeat that I’m not hungry, my mom fills a plate and places it in front of me in my spot across the table from Lucas.

  Dad starts the conversation by asking, “So what’s going on with Tasha?”

  “You tell me.” I can’t figure that girl out.

  “Did you break up with her?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean you don’t know?”

  I want to ask him where he’s been for the last three months – if he’s the one with the memory issue instead of me – but then he clarifies.

  “Since you’ve been back to school have you two called it quits?”

  “No.”

  “Then she’s your girlfriend, Ryan, and she has been for the last three years. So, what are you doing with this other girl?” His last question is spoken with the accent of disapproval.

  I glance at my mom who seems eager to hear my response. She’s holding her fork mid-air and staring at me. I shift to Lucas, who makes brief eye contact with me, but then continues eating.

  I draw in air, hold it, and as it releases, I say, “She’s just a friend,”

  “You don’t have enough of those already?” Dad asks.

  I find myself looking at Lucas again, and as I do, it dawns on me that I’m silently asking him how I’m supposed to react to this man we both call Dad. Luc has fifteen years of memory of him; I only have a few months. I’m trying to draw from his experience, but all he’s telling me is that he knows better than to get involved.

  I’m just going to be honest. “I didn’t know a guy could have too many friends, Dad.”

  “Ryan.” He only says my name, but it’s implied that I stop being a wise-ass and get down to business. So I do.

  “Alright. Well, I know it’s hard for you to understand because you know who your friends are, but I don’t. I don’t remember any of those people. I don’t remember hanging out with them or having conversations. I don’t know anything about them other than they’re suddenly in my face claiming to be my best friends. Paige, though, she’s . . . well she’s the first friend I remember meeting. And she’s new, here, like I am, so I feel like we connect.” This seems to make sense to Mom and although she still appears concerned, she’s able to start eating again.

  Not Dad. “You’re not new here, Ryan. And do you understand that this connection you feel for Paige is going to be noticed by Tasha and is guaranteed to cause issues in your relationship with her?”

  I stare at him.

  “Do you?”

  “Look,” I push my plate out of my way and lean my elbows on the table. This doesn’t sit so well with Mom, but I don’t care. “I think it’s cool that you’re basically telling me not to cheat on my girlfriend, but I don’t even feel like she’s my girlfriend.”

  “Feel like it or not, she is,” Dad says this in such a factual manner that it sounds like his temper has come out to play.

  “Oh yeah?” I find myself saying. “Then how come I never knew anything about her until she’s suddenly kissing me in the hall at school?”

  I swear this question nearly makes my dad smile. I can see the relief in his eyes and almost hear his thoughts, Thank God there’s physical contact.

  I continue, “You’d think if she were my girlfriend of three years that she’d have been at the hospital. Why didn’t she ever come to see me?”

  “She did,” Mom jumps to her defense. “She came with her dad and step mom and was one of the first people allowed to see you after the accident. But Ryan, you have to understand what you looked like. You were in a coma and on life support! You had machines and wires of all sizes connected to you and a breathing tube down your throat. Your whole body, including your face was so swollen and cut that you were unrecognizable.” Tears are filling her eyes. “It
frightened Tasha. It was simply too hard on her to see you that way. It was hard on all of us, but she’s young and impressionable and wasn’t able to cope with it like an adult can. She didn’t feel comfortable coming back until you looked better, and by the time you did, your doctor had banned guests.”

  “Then what about a phone call from her? A text? A hand written note, even? Why nothing? Why don’t I even hear her name mentioned until the night of my welcome home party?” And after I’ve met Paige, no less.

  My parents glance at one another, but neither of them is saying whatever it is they’re thinking. I wait, giving them plenty of time, but they just leave me hanging, so I sum this crap up for myself.

  “Tasha, she’s drop dead gorgeous, and believe me, every part of me notices that. But Paige is . . .” I smile thinking about her. “We have things in common and I choose to be friends with her.”

  I feel Luc looking at me, but when I move my eyes to him, he isn’t anymore.

  “Ryan,” Dad has lost his appetite. He, too, pushes his plate out of the way and props his arms on the table. “Girls can be friends with a guy. But guys cannot be friends with girls. Sooner or later sexual thoughts and feelings enter into it for the guy and everything changes.”

  I cannot – for the life of me – figure out why this is being discussed at the dinner table and in front of my little brother. If Dad is going to have “the talk” with me, which I hope he’s done long before now, I’d prefer it to be in private.

  I don’t understand this, until Dad says, “You boys have been given a rather rare opportunity in life.” Then it all becomes clear. Dad is directing this at me, but Lucas is expected to be paying attention as well.

  “There aren’t many guys in this world that can have any girl they want,” he goes on. “A lot of them have a hard time even getting a date. And in the end, they’re forced to settle for the girl that no one else picked. To make themselves feel better about having a leftover, they claim they chose her. Say they wanted her.

  “If you take a look at nature, you’ll see that only the strongest, best equipped males get the breeding rights. There’s a reason for this. It’s to ensure that those dominant genes get passed on to their offspring, giving them the best chance of survival. Because let’s face it, it’s a dog eat dog world out there, and only the strong will make it.