Twisted in You

by Fabiola Francisco

  “Perfect. ‘Most everyone here is a beginner, as well. I’ll explain the basics to you before I begin and will direct you all throughout the class.”

  “Thanks.”

  Marcy takes a few minutes to describe the tools I’ll be using and what each one is for. She explains that the clay needs to remain humid at all times in order to work with it and mold it how we want.

  I sit back in the chair when she finishes and look around at the other faces in the class. I wasn’t expecting such a mismatched group of people. Some faces are older and wrinkled, others are younger, like me. You have men and women coming together for a class that would not normally draw a big crowd. Ceramics isn’t something I’d call popular nowadays, but I bet these people need a place to go to for a distraction as much as I do.

  I grab a chunk of clay from the bag in the center of the table when Marcy tells us to and roll it out with one of the rolling pins placed throughout the table. Instead of using a wheel like I imagined, we use our hands and the basic tools to create pieces. I cut out a circle with a shape cutter for the foundation of my vase. I roll out a coil of clay and place it at the edge of the round slab like a ring, pinching the edge into the foundation to smooth it out and blend together. I repeat the step on the inside of the coil, making sure it is smooth. I spray some water on my finger and run it along the seam. I grab another piece of clay, following the same strategy.

  “That looks great, Mikayla.” I smile at Marcy.

  “Thank you.”

  “It’s important that the clay doesn’t have any air bubbles or it will crack once it’s placed in the oven.”

  “Okay.”

  “It helps, right?”

  I nod my head and bite the inside of my cheek. Marcy pats my hand gently and moves to another student. I keep my head down, focusing of rolling out coils of clay and merging them together.

  Two hours fly by. I’m only half done with my vase, but I spray it with water and wrap it in a plastic bag so it holds in the humidity.

  “I’ll see you on Tuesday, Mikayla,” Marcy says. I observed how she treated everyone in the class. She’s simply a kind person.

  “I’ll be here.” I grin and walk out towards the front desk.

  “Can I have a list of your other activities?” I ask the woman at the desk.

  “Of course.” She turns to grab a pamphlet and opens it up on the desk. “We have different types of activities and services. You can read them here.” She circles a heading on the pamphlet.

  “Thank you.”

  “Did you like the class?”

  “I did.”

  “It’s very healing. It’s our most popular class, because, even though it’s guided, people feel in control of what they’re doing because they are allowing their creativity to flow.”

  I nod and thank her. I look towards the car and the setting sun, rushing to the door and unlocking it quickly. I lock the door once I’m inside the car and turn it on. Thankfully Tyler has a garage I can drive straight into.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, can you talk a second?” I tell Sam when she answers the phone. I put the car in park and watch the garage door close before I jump out.

  “Of course.”

  “I finished my first ceramics class.” I open the door that leads into the house, turning on the light switch to the right. I lock the garage door and turn on more lights throughout the house.

  “How did you like it?”

  “It was great. I was able to focus solely on what I was doing.”

  “I’m glad. Little things like this will help you. It’s finding things you enjoy to occupy your time and provide healing at the same time. Anything related to art will do that.”

  “Yeah.” I place my purse on the kitchen counter and open the fridge.

  “So you’re good? Home already?”

  “Yup, doors locked and alarm set.”

  “Great. I’ll be there tomorrow morning for our session.”

  “Thank you, Sam.”

  “You’re welcome. I’ll tell Tyler you say hi.”

  I smile and hang up. Day by day. I climb up the stairs and into the bathroom in my room. I stare into my eyes in the reflection of the mirror and observe quietly. No words, no thinking. Searching for something deeper than my battles.

  I swing the strap of my small duffle bag over my shoulder and grab my guitar case. Without looking back, I walk towards the lobby and meet Grace and Sam there.

  “You ready to go?” Sam asks.

  “Yup.” I sign the release forms Grace hands me.

  “Here.” She hands me a few sheets of paper. “You have a list of local groups and some online forums you can join while you’re on the road. You’ve come a long way, but you still have a long way to go.”

  “Thanks.” I nod once. I take the keys to my motorcycle and my cell phone from Sam. “Sam.” I nod my head to the left so she can follow me. “Would you mind taking my stuff since it won’t fit on my bike? I want to visit my mom, also, before I head home.”

  “Of course. It may have to be tomorrow.”

  “That’s okay. Thanks.” I tuck my phone into my pocket and find my motorcycle in the parking lot. Joe had brought my bike by yesterday and took advantage to tell me that we have a meeting on Monday morning. I can’t wait.

  I drive south, cruising on my bike after months of not riding her. My most loyal girl. She’s been with me through thick and thin, through singing at clubs and getting signed at Nashville Records. I drive past the exit to my house. I need to do this today.

  The two-hour drive on my bike will give me the clarity I need. Driving in the open air does something to me. My fists tighten around the handlebars of my motorcycle as I accelerate down the highway. It is freeing to be in control and yet so vulnerable. It’s the edge of danger I live for.

  I clench my jaw when I cross the Alabama state line. I love my mom, but I know this is going to be a difficult encounter.

  I take the exit that leads to her house. I’ve only been here a few times, since she usually drives to Nashville. I stop my bike in the driveway of a brick house. My eyes linger on it for a few seconds, knowing that this home is the exact opposite of the one I grew up in. This one is filled with love and laughter. I was surprised when my mom told me she was getting married to Ben four years ago, but he makes her happy.

  I kick down the side stand and lean the bike on it before swinging my leg over and walking towards the door. A wreath. I shake my head and chuckle. My mom loves all kinds of home decorations. This one is for Memorial Day. I ring the doorbell and wait.

  “Tyler!” My mom’s eyes widen and a slow smile spreads across her face.

  “Hey, Ma.” I lean down and hug her. I relax when she wraps her arms around me. Then, I flinch.

  “You’ve had me worried to death!” I rub the side my mom slapped and shrug sheepishly.

  “Sorry, Momma.”

  “Come in and we’ll talk about it. Ben is grilling tonight if you want to stay.”

  “Thanks, but I actually gotta head back.”

  “You drive all the way over here to hurry out?”

  “It’s a two-hour drive.” I roll my eyes. My mom swears since we’re in different states that we’re thousands of miles apart. I’m closer to her than other parts of Tennessee.

  “I had to hear you were in rehab from the news.” She looks down sadly and sits on the sofa.

  “Sorry.” I have a feeling I’m going to be doing a lot of apologizing today.

  “What’s going on, Tyler?”

  “I’m good now, Ma. I promise.” She tilts her head and squints her eyes.

  “I’ve asked you many times to stop drinking.”

  “I know,” I whisper.

  “You going to listen to me once and for all?”

  “I think so.”

  “No thinking, son. I want you doing. I didn’t raise you to be that way.”

  “I know.” I bite down hard and my nostrils flare.

  “I want what’s
best for you.” She reaches over and holds my hand.

  “I’m trying. I promise. I’ll move on to doing instead of trying from now on. I needed to come here and talk. I did a lot of work while I was at chasing Freedom. It’s amazing what you can discover when you actually search.” I pause and stare at her green eyes.

  “What’d you find?”

  “I’m angry. I’m angry with Dad and with myself. I’m angry with you.” I give her an apologetic shrug, but she doesn’t say anything. “I should’ve been more protective of you. I should’ve done something more. We both should have, instead of letting him act the way he did.”

  “You were a child, and I was scared. You did what you could when you were able to, and for that I’ll always be grateful. A son should never have to be in that position with a parent. It’s time to stop being angry, Tyler. We’ve overcome so much since then.”

  “You have. I have not. I’ve digressed since those days. I became him.”

  “No,” she exclaims firmly. “I will not allow you to do that to yourself. You may have taken a liking to the bottle, but you are a far better man than he was.

  “But I—”

  “Stop! Look me in the eye. I love you, and I always will. I want what’s best for you. Music was your outlet, so I entertained it. Look at you, a world renown artist, making a difference through music. Make a difference. I am so proud of you. I always have been, when you were an unknown, struggling musician and now. I am proud to call you my son for more reasons than your success with music. You’re twice the man your father was, and thanks to you we’re sitting here having this conversation. Who knows . . .” her voice trails off.

  “Mom.”

  She shakes her head to quiet me. “Let me say this. Who knows where I’d be if it weren’t for the night you stood up to him.”

  “But you had to suffer so much before that. For years. I’d watch him beat you and I did nothing,” I yell. “I did nothing.” My voice cracks. Before I know it, my mom is right next to me on the loveseat, and she’s holding me as I cry like a baby. “I’m so sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry,” I repeat over and over again.

  “Shhh . . . Let it out, baby.” She cradles my body, and I release every emotion I have tied to this situation in my life.

  My body wracks with emotion and sobs. I grip my hands around my mom’s arm and visions of her sobbing after a beating hit me straight in the chest. Visions of her reading to me before bed follow. The stomping of feet as my dad would cross the front door, and we’d both wait to see what mood he was in.

  “I’m so sorry . . .” I murmur.

  I finally look up at her and see tear stained cheeks. I kiss her cheek and hug her.

  “You’re not to blame for our past. You’re a strong man, who hasn’t made the wisest of choices, but who I know will get back on track. I don’t blame you for anything. Forgive yourself.” Her green eyes twinkle with hope and I sigh.

  “Love you, Mom.” I wipe my eyes with the heels of my hands and lean back.

  “I love you, too.”

  I catch my mom up on my life, my music, and Mikayla. She’s intrigued about her, but I don’t tell her Mikayla’s story. It’s not mine to tell, and I understand how private our pasts can be.

  “Hey.” Ben walks into the house and smiles when he sees me. He gives my mom a chaste kiss and shakes my hand. “This is a nice surprise. You want to stay for dinner? We can watch a ball game.” Ben is a huge baseball fan, but I honestly don’t care for the game. I watch some games with him out of solidarity when I spend time with them. “The Braves play tonight and they have that new pitching coach, Parker Wilde. He’s got the pitchers well-trained.”

  “Thanks, but I actually gotta go in a bit. Maybe another time.” I watch as he drapes an arm over my mom’s shoulder, and she smiles at him. She’s so happy, despite all she’s gone through. She’s let it go. I need to do the same.

  “Thanks for taking care of my mom,” I tell Ben. He raises his eyebrows and then smiles.

  “Can’t live without her.” He squeezes her shoulder affectionately.

  I smile at the two of them and spend some time catching up with Ben and talking to my mom. I’m glad I came here today. My mom is the only person that knows all of me, and we lived through the damage together—her as the victim and me the helpless witness. She smiles over at me secretively and winks.

  I check the time and tell them I have to get back to Nashville. Ben pats my back in a half hug and goes into the kitchen to marinate the steaks he’s grilling.

  “Thanks, Ma. I’m happy you have Ben. He cares a lot about you.” For obvious reasons, I was hesitant about Ben when my mom first told me about him. I didn’t want her to fall into the same cycle, and I wasn’t living with her anymore.

  “You care about that girl.” She points her finger at me.

  “She’s not ready.”

  “Be what she needs. You deserve happiness, also, Tyler. No more punishing yourself.” I smile and kiss her cheek.

  “Bye, Mom.”

  “Drive safely. You know I hate that thing.”

  “Don’t hate on my girl.” I pat the top of my motorcycle, and she laughs.

  I can’t get back to Nashville fast enough. I race down the highway, knowing I’ll see Red soon.

  I get home and take some deep breaths. I don’t remember the last night I was here. I park my bike outside of the garage and grab the keys. I unlock the door slowly and step in. I look around as if seeing my house for the first time. I know part of it has to do with Mikayla being here. It looks the same, but it feels differently.

  I walk throughout the house, following the scent into the kitchen. Mikayla’s back is to me as she chops some vegetables. The smells make my mouth water. My body leans against the wall, crossing my arms over my chest, and watch her a second. Her shoulders tremble and a second later she turns to me wide-eyed with the knife up in the air.

  “Whoa!” I take a step back with my hands up in surrender. The knife shakes in her hand. “Sorry, Red. I should’ve called out and told you I was here. Took me a second to take you in.”

  She closes her eyes a second and reopens them, placing the knife down on the counter. Next thing I know, her body crashes into mine forcefully with her arms wrapped around my neck. My body envelops her in a tight hug.

  She pulls back quickly, apologizing. I hook my hand around her neck and pull her in for another hug. I need more than a quick hug after not seeing her for two weeks. Her hands grip the back of my tee shirt, and she leans further into me.

  “Never apologize for hugging me.”

  “I was making dinner. I wasn’t sure when you’d be home, but thought you’d be hungry.” She pulls away and walks back towards the counter.

  “I’m starving, actually. Thanks.”

  “It’s the least I can do for letting me stay here.” She turns and looks at me. “Your house is huge.” Her eyes widen.

  I chuckle and sit on a stool. “Thanks. Ostentatious of me, but I had to have it.” I look around my kitchen. “Not sure why right now.” I shrug and fold my hands.

  “It’s a beautiful home.” Mikayla smiles and places a flat pan in the oven. “I’m making roasted vegetables, ribs, and baked potatoes.”

  “That’s great, Red. Thank you. I’m going to go up and shower.”

  “Okay.”

  I rub the back of my neck and tug my hair there. I need to stop myself from grabbing a beer while I wait for dinner. It’s such a natural thing to do, but one drink will lead to another, which will lead to Jack betraying me and Mikayla running from me.

  I strip out of my clothes and allow the hot water to wash away the day. I am happy to see my mom doing so well. I’m grateful Ben has been the support she needed. I gotta make more time to spend with them and be more of a family. My momma’s proud of me, and that’s the strength I need to drink some water with dinner and catch up with Red. She’s more important than a drink.

  “Right on time,” Mikayla says when I head back downstairs.
<
br />   She serves two plates and sets them on the island counter.

  “Smells good. You always knew how to cook?”

  “Yeah,” she shrugs. “Had to feed myself.” She looks down at her plate and I bump my shoulder into hers.

  “Thanks.” Her responding smile accelerates my heart.

  Mikayla looks so different than the girl I first met a few months ago. She almost looks like if she’s completely healed. When I look into her eyes I still see her pain, but it’s nice to see some of the strain lifted from her.

  “I started a ceramics class on Thursday.”

  “Ceramics?”

  “Yeah, it’s the art class that’s being offered at Healing Hearts.” She shrugs.

  “I think that’s great, Red, but you’re still painting, right?”

  “Of course. I can’t let the supplies you got go to waste. I have a few new paintings up in the room. I can show you later. If you want to see them.”

  “I’d love to. You can tell me all about ceramics after dinner also. You been good?”

  “Yeah.” She nods. “Working on staying busy.”

  “Good.”

  We eat in silence like we did so many times in Chasing Freedom, except here we’re free and the possibility of that frightens me. My mom’s advice to be what Mikayla needs rings in my head. Right now she needs a friend, someone she can trust. I’ll never do wrong by her. And I’ll show her what she’s worth.

  A smile is plastered on my face as I watch her eat. I’m going to be what that woman needs. I’m on my way there.

  “Stop staring at me.”

  “Can’t help it. I missed having you around. You look happy.”

  “I’ve had Sam help me. I’m getting the hang of being out here, actually living, you know?”

  I nod. I know what she means. I hadn’t realized how much I wasn’t living until recently.

  “Now I need to find a job.”

  “I can . . .” She interrupts me by shaking her head.

  “I know. Thank you, but I think I need to do this on my own. If no one takes an inexperienced, high school graduate with no college in sight and a rehab center stay seriously, then I’ll ask you for help.”