Chapter 5
Five
My arms, legs, and shoulders popped into place as I expanded them and released them from the warped position they’d been in all night. I smoothed the sheets around me and sighed in contemplation. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to rest a little longer or get my day started. Though this bed wasn’t as cozy as mine, it was more comfortable because of the setting. It almost felt like home. A home, for sure, even if it wasn’t mine.
The smell of eggs and bacon made the decision easy enough. My stomach growled almost instantly, politicking for its emptiness. Instead of laying back down underneath the white duvet covers, I stood and stretched a little more.
“Ahhhhh,” a massive yawn caused the inside of my mouth to tingle and saliva to hydrate the dryness the night had caused.
Before taking the first step, I grabbed my cell to check the time. It was going on eleven. I’d certainly slept much longer than anticipated, and obviously, the family who lived upstairs must’ve too. It was pretty late to be starting breakfast, but I wouldn’t complain. We all must have needed the rest.
Two hours. That’s all the time I had to clean myself up, eat, and get to work. Though it seemed like plenty of time, I was certain that I’d want more. Two hours felt like ten minutes when it was all you had left to get on the clock. A clock that you dreaded being on and a kitchen that you hated entering. I was hoping to get a call from someone soon. I’d filled out millions of applications, or at least it felt like it.
However, everyone wanted a nineteen-year-old to have at least five years of experience, which was just impossible. Five years ago, I was being cut off by my mother at fourteen. Not in the professional workforce, racking up years of experience. The thought alone was exhausting.
I pushed myself forward, despite the disappointment in the lack of time that I had available. The roaring of my stomach wouldn't allow me to stay put for long even if I wanted. Mrs. Frank was a woman of many talents, but cooking wasn’t one of them. Mr. Frank on the other hand was phenomenal in the kitchen.
The overnight bag that I’d packed sat near the bath entry. The shower downstairs wasn’t only as partially beautiful as the three upstairs but I loved it just as much. Underneath the sink were a few of my personals. Toothbrush. Toothpaste. Sanitary napkins. Body wash. Hair ties. Simple, small items that didn’t feel as intrusive as leaving clothes or shoes lying around. Overstaying my welcome was far from my intentions.
The water bead down on my neck as I scrubbed the previous day’s gunk from my skin. With closed eyes and a humbled heart, I didn’t resent the salty liquid that ran from my face and into the water that streamed down it. This thing called life had been so hard for me the last five years that I simply wondered if there was really a God. One that cared for me, at least.
Because since I could remember, I’d been in turmoil, starting with the woman who was supposed to love me unconditionally. She didn’t. Her love came with conditions and those conditions had destroyed me inside out, forcing me into womanhood far beyond my years and into the streets that didn’t deserve me.
Though I loved my camper to pieces, I’d love a home even more. One like the Frank’s home. One full of love and honesty and love. One that was inviting and warm and filled to the brim with everything a child needed to become a thriving adult in society. That’s what I wanted. What I needed. What I craved.
God, where are you? I whimpered silently. Can you hear me?
For so long I’d struggled with my faith. My grandmother - whom I missed dearly - had imbedded Christianity in my brain and for so many years, it was my greatest escape. Bible study. Vacation bible school. Sunday morning worship. Every time the church doors opened, I was there. My grandmother made sure of it.
But, after a head injury from a slip and fall, she lost the function of the left frontal lobe of her brain. Her health decreased rapidly, leaving her in a facility to be cared for. One that I rarely had the time, energy, or emotional capacity to visit. I hated watching her decline with the years that passed us by. She didn’t even recognize me anymore.
Mascara burned the inside of my lids, forcing me to grab the nearest piece of dry cloth. The stinging was unbearable. Blotting, I cleared my face of the dark stubbornness before placing the cloth at my lips and opening wide.
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” Muffled, I screamed into the thickness of the dry cloth to relieve the pressure of it all.
“Brisk?” I heard from the other side of the door.
Silence.
“Brisk?”
Silence.
With shaky cords, I responded after a while, “Yes?”
“Are you okay, babe?” Melonie asked, concern dripping from her words.
“I… I will be,” I assured her, “Just having a moment.”
“We’re having brunch upstairs, but I completely understand if you’re not up for it. I’ll tell mom and dad you had to run.”
“It… It’s fine. I’m starving and I could really use some community right now. I’ll be up in a second.” I didn’t want Melonie to worry about me. In fact, I didn’t want anyone to worry about me.
“Okay, babe. We will be upstairs waiting when you’re ready.”
“Okay. And, Melonie?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it, B. I love you and everything is going to be okay. Always.”
“I know,” I cracked. “I know.”
“See you upstairs… or not if you’re really not feeling well.”
“I’ll make it up. I just need a few minutes, okay?” I admitted.
“Sure thing.”
Melonie’s departure should’ve been the end of my fiasco, but it wasn’t. I was still trying to find the courage to admit how jealous I was of her life without sounding like a complete hater because I loved it for her. I really did. She deserved the love she’d been given and was still surrounded by. But, I couldn’t help but want the same for me. Not from a family that I wasn’t birthed into, but by those who had played a part in the creation of my life.
While Mr. Frank cooked Melonie and her mom breakfast each and every day, I had never even seen my father. While Mrs. Frank instilled honor, respect, confidence, and femininity in Melonie, my mother barely looked my way after my fourteenth birthday. I couldn’t remember the last time she’d celebrated me or any accomplishment I’d made - though there were plenty of opportunities. She never taught me to ride a bike, put on a bra correctly, or the right way to put on a menstrual pad.
All she taught me how to do was survive and I was sick of it. I wanted to rest for once without looking over my shoulder, wondering where my next shower would come from, or sleeping in the wilderness with compromised safety. I was tired and there was no other way to put it. Exhaustion was in the way that I walked, talked, dressed, and behaved. I wore it like a tattoo on my heavily creamed coffee complexion.
I just wanted a break.
My climb up the stairs and walk into the kitchen were far from glorious. Hadn’t I been aware that this was probably my only home-cooked meal for the remainder of the week, I would’ve continued burying my sorrows in the basement. But, I couldn’t. It would only worry Melonie much more than necessary and leave me with an empty stomach before work.
“Good morning,” Mr. Frank was the first to acknowledge me.
With everyone sitting at the table, chatting amongst each other but stopping once I walked in, I felt as if I’d walked into an intervention. One by one, I placed a foot in front of the other. My anxiety was in overdrive and I was overthinking every single thing along the way.
“Morning, everyone,” I responded, lowly. My energy was nonexistent.
“Brisk,” Melonie warmed me right up, “I saved you a seat.”
Her cheerfulness was contagious, causing my stride to quicken and negative thoughts to subside. Looking up, I attempted to gauge the distance between me and the seat she’d saved for me. Bad decision.
One.
Two.
Three.
I counted, inhaling and exhaling with each breath. My palms perspired as the room began to cave to my existence. With my nerve endings splitting by the dozens, I wanted nothing more than to run in the opposite direction. But, I couldn’t. So, I continued.
Four.
Five.
Six.
Finally reaching the chair that had been reserved for me, I extended an arm to grab it. Only to be halted in the process. The musk and woodsiness that I recalled from the previous night snaked my nostrils, plummeted down my throat, and tickled my beet red vessel.
“Work early in the morning?” He questioned in a hushed tone as he neared me and pulled out my chair.
The lie. I remembered it as vividly as I did the effect this man had over me. They were both too much to consider. Too much to even think about. So, I didn’t.
“You made my plate,” I smiled thankfully at Melonie.
“I did. I even put a fruit bowl together and made you something to go for work later,” she revealed, pointing her fork in the direction of the fridge where I imagined my second helping was.
“Thanks, but you really didn’t have to.”
“Yes, I did,” she affirmed with a wink as I slid into my seat.
“Thanks, Mr. Frank. I’m sure everything tastes as good as it looks. I smelled it all the way downstairs.”
“And, I think I must’ve had a little too much to drink last night because I can’t put none of it on my stomach,” Mrs. Frank announced, pushing her plate forward.
“Again, happy birthday,” I chuckled, “You were so beautiful last night.”
“Thanks, baby. So were you girls.”
“Speaking of birthdays,” Melonie teased, “Someone has a birthday coming up, right?”
“Melonie,” I sighed. She knew how I felt about my birthday and why I refused to acknowledge it. “It’s just another day.”
“Not in my book!”
“Mine, either,” her mom followed.
“How old will you be, Brisk?” Mr. Frank asked.
“Twenty,” I nearly mumbled, eyes finding Bello’s.
The orange juice - that was obviously spiked according to the shot glass beside it - that he held to his lips nearly spilled as the word exited my mouth. My heart ached at the thought of discontent that must’ve crossed his mind by me revealing my age. I had searched for his eyes, waiting to discover his approval but I’d failed. Miserably, so.
“I remember when I hit my twenties.”
“Oh, do you? That was over thirty-nine years ago. I’m surprised you remember anything,” Mrs. Frank joked. I did the math in my head, narrowing their age difference to nine years apart. The two had met while Mrs. Frank was in college, which was around Melonie and I’s current ages.
“Oh, I remember!”
“Ummmm. Hmmm,” she challenged. “Anyway, is there anything you want for your birthday that we can make happen?”
“It’s no big deal, really,” I tried, “It’s just another day.”
“Bullshit,” Mrs. Frank countered. “Name it and we will try our best to make it happen.”
“You really don’t have to.”
“Name it.”
Everyone at the table quieted. The silence was so loud that I wanted to carve my ears out the side of my head and toss them in the trash. But, through the silence, my wildly beating heart didn’t falter. It sped. Thumping harder and harder… louder and louder.
He’s talking to me . I confirmed.
Swallowing the displaced pride I thought I owned, I responded with, “I haven’t given it any thought, but maybe a hotel with a view of the hills and a pool. A weekend getaway, but still in the city.”
My eyes never faltered, though my pride had as I stared into his dark rounds. Had there been a choice, they would’ve been in my lap as I spoke but his demeanor commanded my attention. He commanded my attention. Too afraid to miss a blink, bat, smile, or displeased glare of his eyes, mine remained focused.
“That sounds like a plan,” Melonie responded with the save, knocking me from the trance her beloved uncle held me in.
“Yeah?” I asked, wondering if it was too much for the family to handle.
“Of course,” Mrs. Frank agreed.
“A weekend getaway in the city is definitely doable,” Mr. Frank confirmed. “But, I’m going to have that camper looked at for you. I’ve been meaning to ask if it was alright.”
“Maybe soon,” I nodded, not wanting to become the charity case. It was my greatest fear.
“I’m working on a few things inside. Still getting it ready for my world tour,” I chuckled.
The Frank’s were aware that I planned to travel once I had enough money in my pocket. I could use the break, but not until my finances permitted. Hopefully, one of the applications I’d filled out in the last few months would pan out and I’d begin seeing a bit more income.
Brunch continued without flaw. Happy that I was no longer the topic of discussion, I remained quiet as the Frank’s carried on. There were so many moments that I felt pain in my abdomen from the belly-curling laughter that the family brought out of me.
Every so often, I stole glances in Bello’s direction, but to my dismay, they were all empty attempts. Deep in thought, he kept his eyes trained on his chiming cell or in the direction of his niece and sister. I didn’t allow his cold shoulder to occupy too much space in my head, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that it stung a bit. Before I knew it, it was going on twelve-thirty and my time at the Frank’s had come to an end.
“Work is calling my name,” I sighed in Melonie’s direction.
“I knoooooooow. I hate that you even have to go,” she frowned.
“I’ll call you when I get off, okay?”
“Yeah. Let me walk you out.”
“Okay, I need to clean my plate, first.”
“Leave it! I’ll clean when everyone leaves the table,” Melonie insisted.
“You sure?” I didn’t want to leave a mess behind.
“Positive.”