by S.E. Akers
Knowing I would be hitting the shower before too much longer anyway, I steered a course straight for the bathroom instead of catching any additional winks. Like I’d done countless times before, I blindly reached behind the shower curtain and gave the chunky cross knob a full twist. Then I started robotically undressing, only this time I wished all of my troubles could be shed just as easily as my clothes.
While waiting for the water to heat up, I wandered over to the mirror above the old pedestal sink. My almond-shaped blue eyes commenced with a slow sweep, scrutinizing every inch of the face staring back at me. I definitely wouldn’t call myself “high-maintenance”, but wouldn’t say I was a Plain Jane either. I just honestly didn’t see what all the fuss was about — not like Chloe did. All the drama-fueled tactics waged in hopes of hooking a guy and keeping him interested was borderline-insanity in my book. Though I seemed to be in the minority, especially around my school. Most of the girls there felt their self-worth was defined by their “relationship status”. Confidence, high morals, and convictions were replaced with warped values, backstabbing, and putting out. They seemed to do anything and everything in their relationship endeavors with the exception of being true to themselves. Just so they could claim some random guy as their boyfriend? Like a daggone trophy? Simply watching their crazy charades was nothing less than exhausting (though sometimes humorous). Realistically, why waste the time? Did they honestly think fate had dropped all their destine soul-mates conveniently within the confines of one small-town high school? There was about a one in a million chance of that happening. Maybe more? Like most teenage-flings, the pairings would eventually come to grave ends, some sooner than others — resulting in swollen teary eyes, Facebook drama, and a prolonged period of agonizing heartbreak. After witnessing enough of the melodrama in Middle School, I made myself a conscious vow — that would NEVER be me!
Though the mirror was well past misty, I continued to stare at my reflection, despite my disappearing face. For the past several years, I’d had more important things on my mind and boy-chasing wasn’t one of them. My goal was simple really. I planned on graduating from Welch High School, Summa Cum Laude (preferably), so I could coast into a great college and get the heck out of Welch, West Virginia. The opportunities around here were extremely limited, especially for women — with the obvious exception of working for minimum wage and/or getting pregnant every other year until my uterus fell out. I’d been focusing on my escape plan for so long that I hadn’t really given the opposite-sex much of a thought. But it wasn’t like boys never popped into my head. Of course they would from time to time. But I was being rational. I made school my number one priority and felt there would be plenty of time for the opposite-sex — later. Plus, the guy I’d had a crush on since First Grade had been dating the school’s most loveable mean-girl for well over a year, which certainly helped sway the direction of my romantic pendulum. My fingers brushed over my naturally strawberry-hued lips. That unfortunate pairing, along with my convictions, was why I was almost eighteen years old and had never been kissed.
Though if I were being totally honest, there may be a small part of me that envied girls like that — just a little. And, there could have possibly been a few times in the past when I would have preferred to look a little more appealing. I would be the first to admit that my attire leaned more on the conservative-side, and I hardly wore any make-up. Perfume was even a rarity. The only scent my skin emitted came from whatever bath soap I’d grabbed that morning. Girly-luxuries simply weren’t an option in my household — at least not for me. I had acquired my father’s work ethic over the years: you kept yourself busy from sunup to sundown. And just like him, I always tried to save my money. Currently I was attempting to bank most of it for college — a necessity. But even though Daddy made a good living, it seemed our household was constantly strapped for cash (what with having a materialistic mother and a spoiled rotten, gets-anything-her-heart-desires younger sister). Without fail, I ended up caving to their demands, shelling out whatever I could in an attempt to keep a reasonable amount of peace around the house, but mostly to take the pressure off Daddy — another necessity. After all, he worked too hard, and I never wanted to add to his financial-frustration the way my mother and sister would without batting a freakin’ eye. I was just grateful knowing I would be getting a much-needed reprieve come next fall — that is, if I would ever hear from any of the colleges I’d sent applications. Now that was something else that had been bothering me, even in spite of the fact that I’d mailed them kind of early. Motivated and eager. That was me.
Yep… Just add that one to the list, I grumbled quietly.
I knew I shouldn’t be overly worried about it, but I was. I mean, my SAT score came back a 2290. Granted it wasn’t a perfect 2400, but it was still pretty damn good. It wasn’t like I’d applied to a bunch of Ivy League schools anyway. I was being practical — financially practical. A state school was the most logical choice. My short list was WVU, Virginia Tech, and the University of Tennessee. I hoped Daddy had planned on touring those. They weren’t too costly and still close enough for my old clunker to take me there and back for visits. I figured I could swing it between getting a job close to campus and a student loan. I planned on majoring in a science, but I wasn’t sure which one to pursue. There was always the possibility of going on to medical school after I received my undergraduate degree. For some unknown reason, I’d always been drawn to the idea of healing people.
I wonder if Charlotte would be proud of me then? Maybe if I became a plastic surgeon… But would my mother really want me hovering over her with a scalpel in my hand? Pumped full of anesthetic and lying there knocked out at the mercy of all those “good times” we’d shared throughout the years? A grin stretched across my face. Probably not.
Well, there won’t be any chance of that happening if I don’t get my butt ready for school. I threw back the shower curtain. Thank goodness Chloe’s toiletries weren’t landmines. I would be toast! She kept so much crap strung out all over the bathroom we shared there was hardly any room for my stuff, let alone me. Surely this would prepare me for dorm-life, which was bound to include a messy roommate. A good practice run, I thought.
Ten refreshing minutes later, I was out of the shower and throwing on my fuzzy terrycloth bathrobe. I heard a “thump” when I stepped into the hall, which made me realize I’d woken up Chloe. She must have hurled something at her bedroom door.
“Keep it down out there! It’s not even six! UGH!” Chloe bellowed in her grouchy morning-voice.
“Sorry, Princess,” I hollered as I strolled to my bedroom.
I quickly threw on my clothes and pulled my damp dark-blonde mane into a ponytail, knowing it would have plenty of time to dry before school. I had to get down to the kitchen to start on breakfast.
French toast sounds like a nice treat, I thought as I trotted down the stairs. Mmmm…and maybe some apple crisp.
As I walked down the hall, I caught the whiff of a familiar and irritating smell. There was no need to flip on the lights. Charlotte was already up and sitting at the kitchen table, smoking a cigarette.
I coughed as I waved my hand through the hazy air. “Why aren’t you outside on the back porch?” I questioned innocently.
“It’s too damn cold out there,” Charlotte growled like a rabid dog, “and don’t you concern yourself with what I do in my house!”
My mother didn’t smoke often. It’d been months since I’d actually seen her puffing on one. However it did clue me in on her morning “activities”. A few years back, I’d overheard her telling one of her friends that the only time she craved a cigarette was after sex. Morning sex from the ice-queen was a card Charlotte only played when she wanted something.
She must have pounced on Daddy as soon as he hit the bedroom door. I wasn’t naïve to think my parents didn’t have sex anymore. That was one of my mother’s favorite bargaining ch
ips.
Charlotte took a long draw off her cigarette and then blew it towards me with a smile.
My eyelids shot into a flutter when the stream of smoke struck my face. She must have just finished off her bowl of BITCH for breakfast… No french toast for her!
I ignored her warm little gesture, turned on the oven, and went straight to cooking. Prepping the green apples was first on my list. Once all of their curly peels had been tossed into the trash, I retrieved a larger knife from the cutlery drawer, cocked my head, raised my brow, and then graciously returned Mommie Dearest’s affectionate little smile.
I knew the sticky-sweet Charlotte Wallace from last night wouldn’t last long, but I’d kind of hoped she could’ve at least held off on her crappy attitude until I’d come home from the dance… Though my eyes stayed carefully locked on the apples I was slicing & dicing on the thick slab of butcher-block, you could rest assured that every single one of my chops mirrored my frustration in regards to my dear, sweet mother.
Charlotte sat there rubbing her head, undeniably hung-over. “What’s for breakfast?” she groaned.
“French toast and baked apple crisp,” I replied as I ran around the kitchen gathering up the rest of the items I needed from the fridge and cabinets. Maybe she’ll shut up and leave if she sees I’m busy.
“I’m not hungry,” Charlotte snapped as she scooted out her chair, “but make sure you fix enough for your sister.”
“I always do,” I replied. After all, I wasn’t the selfish one in this household — regardless of what SHE thought!
My mother wobbled over to our junk drawer and jerked it open with a coarse huff. After several frustrated seconds of rifling, she pulled out a fresh glue-trap, ripped open its seal, and slid it behind the fridge. I hated those things. They were so cruel, and my mother was well aware of my feelings about them too.
“Don’t you dare throw that thing away!” Charlotte warned with a fierce glare. “I saw a mouse running around in here, and I want it gone. I MEAN IT!”
“Sure,” I grinned. “I won’t touch it.” My mother let out a foul grunt and then stormed out of the kitchen, unconvinced. Though to be fair, my history for pitching them in the trash was rather damning. But I fully intended on keeping my word — this time.
I’ll just make sure I get to Mr. Mouse, first, I affirmed with a sneaky mental nod. When I was younger, I’d discovered I had a natural, uncanny knack for tracking things with my eyes and ears…and I loved the challenge of catching little critters too. It was like a game. Flies, mice, and even the occasional frog were no match for me. Truthfully, all of my senses were abnormally heightened, right down to my quick reflexes. No one could ever sneak up on me either. It was an odd talent that I put to good use around the house — mainly to keep the kill-rate to a minimum. The way I saw it, they had every right to buzz in the air and scamper across the earth the same as I did.
HOWEVER, I made a cold hard exception for snakes. Hey — even a humane girl has a line drawn in the sand somewhere. You couldn’t throw a garden hoe in my hands fast enough when it came to those slithery critters!
Within minutes, I had the nine slices of bread dipped and laid on the griddle. Once all the apples had been bathed in the oatmeal mixture, I topped them off with some flour, sugar, and cinnamon. Nothing beats the smell of warm cinnamon in the morning, I beamed and placed the casserole dish in the oven.
I’d just finished setting the timer when a warm musky scent came floating into the room. It would have been hard for anyone else to pick up on, what with the kitchen air filled with the sweet aroma of french toast sizzling on the stove, but I could. My father’s cologne…
Not a second later, I heard Daddy’s voice calling out, “What smells so good?”
“Your favorite breakfast,” I announced proudly, “as if you have to ask.”
My father staggered into the bright kitchen, scratching his thick head of hair, which was almost as black as the coal he mined, and rubbing his light blue-green eyes. They had to be my favorite feature of his. I always looked forward to them greeting me in the morning and today was no exception. They were my morning cup of coffee — guaranteed to wake me up and put a smile on my face.
Daddy was freshly showered and dressed in his blue flannel pajamas. The rugged, yet gentle miner looked ready for a hot meal before heading off to bed. Even after working a long and grueling shift at the mine, Daddy always had a cheery air beaming around him, wearing it like a second skin. His crew revered and respected him for it too. You would be hard pressed to find someone in Welch who didn’t like him — especially since he was one of our town’s star basketball players when he attended Welch High School. The tall and somewhat-toned, former athlete still had folks around Welch coming up to him who wanted to talk about the “big game” against the South Charleston Black Eagles from years ago. He’d shot a 3-pointer from mid-court with less than a second to go in the fourth quarter to win the State Championship game, 77-76. I knew how they felt. He’d once made our community proud, and they admired him. I idolized him for my own special reason. It was a simple one really — because he was my loving daddy.
“Good Morning, Shi.” Daddy planted a warm peck on my cheek. “It’s a tad bright in here.”
I flipped the toast. “Did you have a rough shift last night?”
“Not exactly. I mean, everyone at the mine is on edge, and my crew can’t concentrate on their work worth a lick, not when they’re all afraid of losing their jobs. So I had to pick up a lot of the slack last night. Then your mom wanted me to umm . . . help her with something. I just haven’t gotten a chance to unwind yet. That’s all.”
Daddy phrased Mom’s request as best he could, though his face did appear a bit flushed. Sort of like when Chloe and I were little and asked him why their bedroom door was closed and suspiciously locked at two o’clock in the afternoon on a Saturday.
“Do you really think Mr. Riverside will shut down the mine if he can’t sell it?” I blurted, half-panicked. “What will half the town do for jobs?”
“Honey, there’s no sense in worrying right now. No one knows anything definite. We’ll find out soon enough,” Daddy insisted. “So put a smile on that pretty face. That’s an order, young lady.” He lifted my chin and flashed one of his trusty everything-will-be-okay smiles, but even it couldn’t ease the knots in my stomach — not this time.
In the midst of my concern for my father’s employment status, it dawned on me that I was about to burn the french toast. Quickly, I grabbed a spatula and transferred each of the slices onto the three breakfast plates I’d laid beside the stove.
“Order up,” I announced like I was pulling a shift at the Drive-In and then set the plate down on the table in front of him, professionally.
“Thank you. What do I owe you?” Daddy teased.
“We’ll put it on Mom’s tab,” I insisted.
“Oh, I think she already owes you more than what she could ever pay back,” Daddy replied as he cut into his toast and shook his head.
I slid into my chair. “What are you talking about?”
Daddy forced down his first gulp and clanged his fork against his plate. “Are you really going to the dance with Mike Riverside?” he probed, arching his brow skeptically. “I don’t like Chloe dating him. But Shi, your feelings towards him aren’t really a secret. I ’bout cut my neck shaving when she dropped that bomb on me this mornin’. WHY did you agree to it?”
I couldn’t tell him I knew about the surprise birthday dinner at Twin Falls on Sunday or about the college-touring trip he’d planned. Daddy l-o-v-e-d surprises, both giving and receiving them. He would be so disappointed if he found out I already knew. And though I could never outright lie to Daddy, this particular situation forced me to omit a few details.
“I felt sorry for her,” I admitted. “She was sitting there crying and all upset because she couldn’t trust any of her friends. It meant a lot that she needed he
r big sister to help her with something. I really don’t mind doing it.” That was partly true. Some is better than none.
“All right,” Daddy grumped and then sharpened his stare. “Just as long as this is something you’re absolutely comfortable doing.”
I nodded, hoping to soften the stern crease that had set deep in his brow. Then after knocking out an eye-roll that could jack-up the rear bed of a truck, he shook his head and went straight back to eating his breakfast.
I guess he bought it… That’s a relief!
“Your mom said she was going with Chloe this afternoon to pick you up a dress.” Daddy hadn’t seen me wear a fancy dress in years, not since I was a flower girl in our cousin Winona’s wedding when I was ten.
“Yeah,” I mumbled. I just prayed she didn’t come home with something that made me look like I should be swinging from a daggone pole. But after considering the run-of-the-mill choices at our limited boutiques downtown, how bad could it honestly be?
“That’ll be a sight to see,” Daddy replied. A cheeky grin stretched across his face as he nudged my shoulder. “You, dressed up and goin’ to a dance.”
I threw my napkin at him. “I kind of like the idea,” I insisted as I raised my head in the air and grinned. I really did — the getting ready part, that is. “It’s not that I don’t like dances or all the frou-frou things that come with it. We both know Mom prefers to shower Chloe with that stuff. She always has.”
Daddy smiled and shook his head. “You know, I think too much of that at an early age isn’t good for a little girl. It makes them grow-up too quick. Young girls nowadays miss out on a lot of things ’cause they wanna play ‘grown-up’ too soon — in my opinion. Most of the girls your age have their priorities way outta whack, but I can’t say that about you, Shi. There hasn’t been one day when you’ve not been responsible or even came close to disappointing me.”
Daddy leaned across the table and placed one of his hands over mine. I couldn’t tell if his eyes were glassy from the bright lights of the kitchen or if he was actually getting a little emotional.
“And you’re going to be eighteen on Sunday,” Daddy said with a slight sniffle.
Now I was floored. I’d never seen Daddy like this before. His eyes really were misty. Maybe he’s a lot more stressed than he’s letting on? I didn’t know what had him feeling so bent out of shape more — my upcoming birthday, the mine possibly closing, or the realization that he would soon be left all alone to deal with Charlotte and Chloe when I headed off to college in less than a year? Good thing he wasn’t going anywhere. The thought of being cooped up in a house with only those two would bring me to tears for sure.
My head fell into a suspect tilt. “Daddy, what’s wrong?”
He sat straight up in his chair and composed himself purposely. “I was just going to say that I knew you would grow up to be a fine young lady who would make me and the world proud. I knew it from the moment I laid eyes on you, almost eighteen years ago,” Daddy declared with the utmost love and admiration.
“Look who’s being dramatic now . . . The WORLD? Proud? The school hasn’t even selected their valedictorian yet. Let me make Welch High School proud first, then I’ll work on ‘the world’,” I teased.
The timer I’d set rattled off a series of “beeps” in the midst of my amusement. I jumped up from the table and dashed over to the oven, shaking my head and still laughing. I peeled back the aluminum foil and took a whiff of the piping hot apple crisp. Perfect… Absolutely perfect. I scooped out a generous helping for Daddy and placed it beside his plate.
“Your mother vows you’re trying to make me fat,” Daddy laughed.
“Well, it’s already November. You need to start putting on your winter-weight,” I joked and gave his belly a playful shake. I threw some in a bowl for myself and plopped back down in the chair across from his.
We ate in silence for a few minutes, but Daddy kept looking at me suspiciously. He could tell I wanted to ask him something and of course, he was right.
“What’s on your mind, Shi? You’re never this quiet.”
“Well,” I started, “I was thinking that I might stop by the mine to see you today . . . before your shift starts.”
“I’m off tonight, but I have to go in for a couple hours this afternoon.” He looked at me with a curious grin. “Your ‘wanting to stop by to see me’ wouldn’t have anything to do with the meeting at 3 o’clock, now would it?”
I aimed for cool and casual. “Maybe a little.”
Daddy’s brow arched higher than a cat’s back.
“Well yeah, a lot,” I confirmed as I crossed my arms. “I’m just worried, Daddy.”
“It sounds more like impatience to me, but I don’t mind,” Daddy grinned. “Heck, I bet half the town shows up. I’ll tell Bea you’ll be stoppin’ by.”
“Thanks, Daddy. I’ll bring a book to read while I wait. Tell Ms. Sutherland that I promise not to bother her,” I insisted.
“You know, Bea Sutherland thinks the world of you,” Daddy remarked. “She asks about you all the time.”
“Really? I hate I haven’t seen her in a while. She’s such a sweet lady.”
Daddy nodded in agreement, unable to talk through his heaping scoop of apple crisp.
“Daddy . . . ” I began hesitantly, “do you know how she lost her eyesight?” The details about Ms. Beatrix Sutherland’s blindness had always been a complete mystery to me. I’d never asked her myself because I didn’t want to seem rude, but I was still curious.
“I’m not really sure when or how it happened,” Daddy replied. “She hasn’t had the use of her eyes for as long as I’ve known her . . . but it’s never stopped her one bit. She’s the best secretary anyone could ever want.”
“It’ll be nice to see her,” I said. “You know, she sure has a lot of pretty rings on her fingers. I’ve always thought it was a shame she couldn’t see them.” In fact, the best I could remember, she had at least one on every finger. It would have looked kind of tacky on most people, but somehow it worked for her. My favorite was a round, golden topaz set in a dainty band of gold that she wore on the ring finger of her left hand. The stone was rather small compared to her other rings, but there was always something about it that dazzled me. Probably because it was my birthstone, and I’d always secretly wanted one of my very own. The only jewelry my fingers claimed was an 18k gold, standard-issued Welch High School class ring. I’d planned on going the traditional route and having my birthstone set in it, but at the last minute, I opted for a diamond — well, a faux one. A lot of my decision stemmed from how much I loved Katie’s real diamond pendant, which I’d seen dangling around her neck ever since she got it for her birthday when she turned thirteen. And after all, both gemstones were essentially fakes. As long as it was clear and shiny like a real diamond, I could live with that.
The rest of breakfast was relatively quiet. A faint “thump” on the front porch announced the arrival of the morning paper.
“Don’t get up,” I instructed Daddy. “I’ll get it.”
I glanced at the antique grandfather clock as I hurried to the front porch. It’s already a quarter to seven. After unlocking all three deadbolts, I opened the creaky door and grabbed the Bluefield Daily Telegraph. A blast of chilly morning air prompted me to shut it immediately. I slipped the paper out of its orange plastic bag and whipped it open as I walked slowly back to the kitchen. The headline on the front page said it all.
