by Lindy Zart
With a satisfied look on her face, Roxanne skipped back to the car.
Lola watched him go, surprised when Sebastian turned back around and stopped beside Lola, his face forward. She stiffened, heart racing.
“How long have you been walking home at night?”
Lola looked straight ahead as well, focusing on a dark building across the street. It was a gas station. “As long as I’ve worked here, Sebastian,” she answered tiredly.
“How long have you worked here?”
“Eight months.”
“That’s…” He broke off. “That’s not safe.”
Her skin heated up. Why did he suddenly care? “Don’t worry about it. It’s none of your concern. Besides, nothing bad ever happens in a small town like Morgan Creek, right?” she said bitterly. Nothing anyone wants to know about anyway.
“Se-bast-ian!”
He let out a sigh. “She is driving me crazy,” he muttered.
Lola fought an impulse to smile. “You better go.”
Out of the corner of her eye she caught his nod.
Lola tried to squash the empty feeling that reared up as soon as the Pontiac’s taillights disappeared around the corner of the building. He’d acted like he actually cared about her, about what happened to her. Lola shook her head. He didn’t. A year of silence had proven that. Actions always spoke louder than words. She’d learned that the hard way. Many times.
It was hard to believe they were the way they were now; barely speaking and uncomfortable in each other’s company. They used to be so close. Lola was at his house all the time; his mother and father had been like her surrogate parents; she like a daughter to them.
A lot had been better just a short time ago. All of it before Bob had entered her life and snuffed out all the joy like a dark cloud of doom.
When Lola reached her house, cold and beyond tired, she unconsciously turned to the buttercup yellow two-story house across the street. She always did that, no matter how many times she told herself not to. Expecting to find the yard empty, she stumbled when her eyes made out the tall figure of a man standing in the grass.
Her heart squeezed. Lola quickly turned away and hurried to the door. She looked back one last time as she reached it. Sebastian’s hand lifted and dropped as he walked toward his house. Lola leaned her hot forehead against the cold door. A spark of hope fought to bloom within her and she wouldn’t allow it to.
***
Breakfast dishes washed and put away, Lola went about sweeping the kitchen floor. She’d made pancakes she and her mother both had picked at and Bob had complained were too chewy, though he’d eaten six of them. She’d gotten the wrong kind of orange juice too; the kind she always got, but today it had been the wrong kind.
The kitchen was painted a cheery yellow and accented in red checkered curtains and apples galore. It used to be her favorite place to be. She and her mother would bake cookies together and talk about silly things, giggling and happy.
Lola and Sebastian would do their homework at the table. She and Rachel, another friend she’d lost touch with, used to gossip about boys and girls over PB and J’s and milk.
Things had been pretty wonderful just a year ago. Such a short amount of time, really, and yet it seemed the year since Bob showed up had been never-ending.
Now there was a gash in the cherry wood table from Bob’s steak knife from the time Lola had overcooked his steak and burned the potatoes. It had been a small rebellion on her part that had led to food being splattered across the wall, the gash in the table, a broken plate, and her mother’s tears.
“What are you doing?” Bob demanded from the doorway.
Lola jumped, dropping the broom. She quickly picked it up and faced him. “Sweeping.”
He moved into the room and grabbed the broom from her. “You can’t even sweep right. This is how you sweep.”
Lola watched him push the broom back and forth across the floor. How could there be a wrong way to sweep?
He wore a blue flannel shirt with holes in it, only partially buttoned, and gray sweat pants. Bob had never been a handsome man, but for a time he’d been groomed and clean; now he was just disgusting in smell and looks. Her skin crawled. How could her mother stand his touch?
“See?”
She nodded, though his way of sweeping and her way of sweeping looked quite similar. And she’d swept that floor a million times since he’d been married to her mother and he’d never once complained about the way she swept. But of course she couldn’t say any of that.
Lola used to. She used to say things.
He shoved the broom at her and Lola fumbled to grasp it. “I’m taking your mother grocery shopping. Did you make a list like I told you? With the right kind of orange juice written down?”
She nodded.
Bob put a hand to his ear and cocked his head. “I can’t hear you.”
“Yes.”
“Where is it?”
“On the counter.”
His eyes drilled into hers and Lola shifted, wanting to run from the room. “Get. It.” She didn’t move fast enough and he pinched her arm. “Now.”
Lola darted to the counter and plucked the small sheet of paper from it, outstretching her hand with her head down. Bob snatched it from her fingers and she quickly pulled her hand away.
Bob feinted toward her with his fist raised and Lola jerked back, her face heating as he laughed. “Not so tough, are ya?”
Lola stared at the back of his head as he walked from the room, anger and hate burning through her. She could see herself grab a large pot and bash him over the head with it. She could hear the satisfying thud as metal met flesh. She could see him fall to the floor, unconscious and maybe dead. And she was happy.
She shook the upsetting thought away and swept the floor with renewed vigor.
2
Lola zipped her jacket and quietly left the house, clutching a purple folder to her chest. A cool breeze blew her hair over her eyes and Lola pushed it away. The sun was bright, warming her where it touched her. The air was cleansing and Lola inhaled deeply.
Her eyes strayed to the house across the street, not surprised to find it silent and still. It was early Saturday morning, not even eight yet. Lola had to work at noon and wanted to take advantage of the hours before then.
She turned in the direction of the park. It was a short walk. The park had full green grass, lots of shady trees, and play equipment she and Sebastian used to play on as kids. There was a shelter mainly used for family get-togethers and a basketball court high school boys liked to monopolize.
It seemed almost every memory she had of her childhood involved Sebastian.
Lola found a bench and sat down. She set down her pen and opened the folder. Inside were pages and pages of words, some flowing, others erratic, some that didn’t even make sense to her once she went back and read them.
Lola found one she’d written over six months ago. Her hand paused, and then pulled it from the folder. Her eyes blurred as she read.
The Truth
Try to convince yourself you’re sane, try to overcome the pain
You may feel like dying, but you can’t stop trying
If you look hard enough, you’ll find a friend
If you pray long enough, you’ll learn to trust again
True, you have been hurt
Yes, you are confused
But you have to face the fact:
You didn’t deserve to be abused.
A sob escaped her and Lola put a hand over her mouth, eyes searching for possible witnesses. She didn’t want anyone to see her weep. It was bad enough she had a tendency to do so on a whim these days; it would be worse if someone saw it.
Don’t cry. Stop crying. Don’t cry.
Her eyes burned with the need to release her pain. Reading those words was like reliving the pain and fear and sense of helplessness of every cruel action or word Bob had ever inflicted on her. Lola took a deep breath and shoved the paper back into the fold
er.
Blank sheet of paper before her, pen in hand, Lola chewed her lower lip as she tried to put her current emotions into words.
Acceptance
She’s dead, I thought. How can she be dead?
Then I remembered all the pain she’d endured through her life and I understood.
Physically she was not dead, but her soul was.
She just sat there with a lifeless look in her eyes and lived in her own world.
In her safe haven, there was no emotion, only acceptance.
She glanced up in sorrow and…
I gazed at myself through a dusty window.
Lola stared at the words. It was funny how almost every poem she wrote started out about her or her mother and somewhere during the process turned out being about the opposite one. Or maybe they all were about them both.
Their life hadn’t been perfect. There had been clashes of will and temper tantrums and whatever else was normal between a parent and their child. But there hadn’t been abuse. Her mother hadn’t locked herself in her room all the time and slept.
Or had she?
She tried to think back. Maybe occasionally her mother had had days like that, but not every day. There had forever been a sadness to her mother’s eyes because of the husband she’d lost, but she’d still managed to function, to be a mother to Lola. Now she wasn’t anything.
Sneakers thudded against the pavement and Lola jerked her head toward the basketball court, dismayed to see Sebastian. He had on black athletic shorts and a matching jacket, his hair a darker shade of brown with wetness. His eyes were on her, studying and searching, his hand dribbling a basketball with the ease of a natural athlete.
“Hey.”
Lola turned her head away and slammed the folder full of her writing shut, getting to her feet.
“Lola, wait.”
She spun around and glared at him. “Are we suddenly on speaking terms again? I guess I didn’t get the memo.”
Sebastian was close, too close, and she took a step back. Even with the added distance between them, she could smell him. He smelled like toothpaste and deodorant and soap. He smelled familiar, good. Her chest ached and she fought the urge to cry. She missed her friend; she missed him so much.
He looked down at the ball in his large hands. When had his hands gotten so big? And his shoulders bulked out? His cheekbones were more hollowed out, his chin squarer than she remembered. He was a young man now, no longer a boy. Sebastian would be eighteen in less than a month. How had a year physically changed him so much?
Lola thought of how much she had visually metamorphosed in the last year and knew it wasn’t so unimaginable, not really.
“Yeah.” He looked to the side. When he turned back, his gray eyes were intense and fixated on her. “About that.” Sebastian blew out a noisy breath. “What the hell happened?”
Lola flinched at the feeling in his tone, suddenly wary. And confused.
“I mean…I don’t understand.” Even his voice was deeper. She didn’t know this Sebastian.
Lola took another step back. “There’s nothing to understand. You stopped talking to me last year. And now this year, for some reason, your guilty conscience has you sporadically trying to talk to me. And it’s annoying.”
The surprise on his face was palpable. “I stopped?” His voice rose. “You stopped talking to me, not the other way around.” Anger laced his words and Sebastian stepped closer. “You stopped returning my phone calls, you were always busy when I stopped over, you avoided me. You, not me.”
Fear reared up inside Lola, her breath left her in little panicked bursts. He was mad. Sebastian was upset and she didn’t know him, didn’t know this young man who used to be her friend. He could hurt her. He could hit her.
Lola tripped over a limb and stumbled back, bumping into a tree. Sebastian advanced. Lola crouched down and covered her head, a whimper leaving her. She waited for the blow to come. Nothing happened. Lola lowered her arm and looked up.
Sebastian stood there, brows furrowed. “What are you doing?”
Lola put a hand against the rough bark of the tree and got to her feet, feeling dumb. “Nothing. I fell.”
Sebastian looked at the ground and then at her. “On what, a blade of grass?”
With a burning face, Lola said, “Yes. That’s it.”
It was past time for her to go. Lola started to walk away, wanting nothing more than to put large amounts of distance between her and Sebastian before she did something even more humiliating. Like cry. She was more than capable of doing that at that precise moment.
“So that’s it, huh? You’re just going to walk away?” he called after her.
Lola ignored him and picked up her pace.
“I never would have pegged you for a coward, Lola Murphy, but this last year has shown me the error of my ways,” was his parting shot, and it stung.
All the way home his words ran through her head, overlapping, turning into a mantra until just one single word rang out, clear and true: coward.
It wasn’t true. None of it was true. He was a liar.
He’d stopped talking to her. For no reason. And then Sebastian had the nerve to turn it around and act like it had been the other way around. Probably to make himself feel better. What had she possibly missed about him? Sebastian was overbearing, stubborn, and pushy.
And she was not a coward. Why did he even care if she was anyway? He had Roxanne. Lola shouldn’t even enter his thoughts. Ever. She was sure she hardly ever did anyway. So it really shouldn’t matter if she was a coward, not that she was. But if she was, why did he care?
***
Every night for the past two weeks when Lola got home from work, there he stood. This night was no different. He’d either somehow managed to find out her work schedule or he simply liked to stand outside in the cold and dark for whatever reason.
Lola had a sneaky suspicion he had a hero complex and felt it was his duty to make sure she made it home from work okay every night. The irony of that did not escape her.
She wasn’t in the mood for his charity, for his guilty conscience trying to make up for past snubs by looking out for her now.
With the pale glow of streetlamps directing her to him, Lola strode across the street and toward Sebastian. The grass was stiff and crunched under her shoes. Even in the dark she could see his eyebrows lift as she approached him. Sebastian’s hands were shoved in the pockets of his jacket, his breath left him in short spurts of frosty air.
Lola’s nose and hands were cold, but the pull of her warm bed wasn’t enough to keep her from confronting him.
She stopped a few feet from him and looked up at him. His gray eyes met hers as he silently waited for her to speak.
“Stop it.”
Sebastian cocked his head. “Stop what?”
“Stop…this.” Lola waved a hand at him and her.
“Stop standing in my yard?”
“I don’t need you looking out for me. I don’t want you to. I’m fine. Always have been, always will be.” Her throat tightened at the lie.
“I happen to like standing outside and it’s my yard, so I can.”
She remembered that look. He’d worn it when they’d argue, when he wouldn’t admit to being wrong, when he made her do something she didn’t want to do, but knew would be best for her.
“In the dark?”
“In the dark. And cold. And snow. And heat. Even in the rain.” He leaned close and said, “Whenever I like.”
Lola didn’t know whether to laugh or get mad. Instead she made a sound of exasperation. “Fine. Whatever. Freeze. See if I care.” Lola spun on her heel.
“Is everything okay, Lola?” he called after her.
She paused, but kept walking. “Yep. Everything’s okay. Perfect. Wonderful. Super. Couldn’t be better.”
“I think you’re lying.”
That stopped her. No one had called her out before.
“At the park, you’d acted scared. Like you thought�
��like you thought I was going to hit you or something.” His tone was incredulous, disbelieving.
Lola took a deep breath and clenched her hands into fists. She felt him move behind her, knew he stood close.
“What’s going on with you, Lola? Whatever it is, you can talk to me. You know that.”
If she leaned back, her back might even touch him. The heat of his breath fanned her hair and she shivered. She would give just about anything to feel his arms wrap around her, to feel safe, to have someone hug her, hold her. Lola sniffed and straightened her back.
“I want to help you. Let me help you.”
Lola spun around and bumped into him. Sebastian’s hands steadied her, where their skin touched on fire. He quickly dropped his hands and stepped back.
She swallowed and went on the offensive. “Why do you suddenly care?”
Sebastian blinked, opened his mouth. She didn’t give him a chance to respond. Lola raced from him, away from her confusing thoughts and feelings. She didn’t want to know what he had to say, what excuse or lie he would come up with.
The fact was he hadn’t been there for her. He just couldn’t suddenly start acting like he cared. Everything couldn’t be okay with them. They couldn’t go back. She couldn’t forgive him.
***
Last night she’d heard his footsteps pause outside her bedroom door. It made her sick just thinking about it. She’d known it was him because of the heavier tread. He’d never bothered her during the night or while she was in her room before. Why hadn’t he been at work?
Lola hadn’t been able to sleep the rest of the night. She’d been terrified he would open the door and—
“Lola.”
She sat up and looked around the classroom. Twenty-one pairs of eyes were on her, including the teacher’s. Students snickered and Lola’s face heated up.
Lola caught the eye of Roxanne and noted the smug look on her face. She was enjoying Lola’s embarrassment. Nothing new there.
The walls had maps on them and a globe sat atop a bookshelf. It smelled of chalk in the room and someone’s body odor. Lola was hot, but that had to be from nerves because it couldn’t be over sixty-five in the room.
