chapter thirty-one
kira
Jared leaves for college today. I want to be excited for him, and I am, but the amalgamation of guilt, sadness, and anxiety completely overpowers any enthusiasm I have. What if he never fully accepts his dad and me? I wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t, but I miss how things used to be between us. We were close, and losing that feels like losing a part of myself.
“Can you pass me that sweater, please?” Jared asks, pointing to a black and gray hoodie he’s had since freshman year.
It’s weird to see his room like this, devoid of his usual mess. An ache grows deep in my chest. I don’t want him to leave with this huge rift between us, but I don’t know how to fix it.
He stuffs his remaining clothes into the last box, and I open the door for him, following him out to his car. I want to say something, anything, but I can’t get myself to.
“Listen, I wanted to talk to you,” Jared says, his eyes not meeting mine.
My heart drops. Here it comes. He’s going to tell me we can’t be friends anymore. He is the closest thing I have to family, and he’s going to tell me he wants nothing to do with me.
“I wanted to apologize for how I reacted when Zach showed up that night. I shouldn’t have just let him go like that. Hell, I’m sorry I didn’t realize something was up sooner. I wish I could have been there for you when it first happened.”
“Jared, you don’t need to apologize,” I try to reassure him.
“No, you deserve an apology. I’m sorry I didn’t kick his teeth in when I had the chance. I’m sorry I let that happen to you when we were younger. I should have been there.”
I want to go to him, to hug him, but I’m not sure that’s what he wants from me right now.
“It wasn’t your fault. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I was scared, and I know it sounds stupid, but I felt embarrassed,” the words leave my lips before I realize what I’ m confessing.
I felt ashamed, as if I had done something to deserve it. I know now that I didn’t, but that feeling still lingers. I have to remind myself that it’s no one’s fault but Zach’ s.
“I’m sorry too,” I continue. “I should have told you about Noah and me right when it happened. I hate that I hurt you, and I hate the fact that I drove a wedge between you two.”
“ Kira, ” he stops me, his fingers wrapping around my wrist. “I’m not upset with you. Do I wish you would have told me sooner? Of course, but I see how much you love him. I can’t hold that against you.”
“Talk to him then,” I beg. “Please.” That has been the most challenging part of this. Jared still won’t respond to any of Noah’s calls or texts. He specifically picked a time to stop by when his dad wouldn’t be home, and now he’s leaving for college and—
“I just need some time, okay?” He explains, his voice soft.
I take a deep breath and nod. I need to be patient. He’ll come around. He has to.
As Jared ’s car disappears down the road, I focus on the hope blooming inside me. He said he needs time, so I’ll give it to him.
I step into the studio around noon. Darla sits behind the counter and greets me with a warm smile, gray hair sporting its usual purple streak.
“Hey Kira, I hate to ask, but do you think you could take over the register for a minute? I have to run some errands.”
“I would love to,” I tell her, setting my bag behind the desk. “Just show me what to do,” I laugh.
I haven’t run the checkout here yet, and it’s a bit different from the grocery store. She’s patient with me as she explains how to enter the products. We sell pieces from a couple of other artists, so we have to make sure they get credit for their sales. She’s showing me how to take the payment when a younger couple comes into the studio.
“Good afternoon. Let me know if you have any questions or need help with anything,” I say as they begin to look around.
It’s not long before they’re heading up to the register. The woman looks at the mug she’s holding, and her eyes light up with excitement. “We were here about a month ago for the Cherry Festival, and I saw this mug. I talked myself out of it but regretted it right after we left, so I told him we had to come back up here,” she says, gesturing toward the man.
I return her smile, noticing it’s one of my pieces. It’s a wide mug glazed with a blend of oranges and pinks. It reminds me of how the sun looks as it sets over the lake at the house.
“I’m glad you love it,” I say as I enter the product into the register and select my name as the vendor.
“Your total will be $42.40,” I tell her. She hands me the cash, and I wrap the mug and pack it into a paper bag. “Have a great rest of your day,” I tell them as they leave.
“Okay, you’re hired,” Darla says. “When can you quit at the grocery store?” I expect humor in her eyes, but there’ s none. She ’s serious.
“I thought you couldn’t afford an employee,” I say.
“Well, I can now. Plus, you need to know how to run the store if you’re going to be part owner.”
My eyes widen, and my brows shoot up. What is she talking about? Noticing my bewilderment, she continues.
“Kira, you are the only person who cares about this place as much as I do. It’s been growing, so much so that I can’t do it all by myself anymore,” she tells me, her eyes soft. “Now, when can you start? I know school is coming up, and I don’t want to take you away from that, but you can work as many hours as you’d like. You can also do school work here during your downtime.”
I probably look like an idiot, my mouth opening and closing like a fish. This is my dream. To be able to co-own a pottery studio in Traverse City, it’s everything I’ve ever wanted.
“Um, I just have to give Rob a two-week notice, but I can see if he’ll let me leave sooner,” I tell her, still uncertain.
“Perfect, now I have to go. I wasn’t lying about those errands. Are you good to handle the store for a little bit?”
I nod, unable to keep the grin off my face.
Darla is gone for a little over an hour and a half, and in that time, we get four more customers. I’m pretty confident in the checkout process now, and all I can think about is how this is my new reality. Darla takes over again for me, and I wander to the back of the studio.
It’s still on the shelf where I left it. I take the piece down and set it on the cool metal table in front of me, removing the plastic bag I used to keep the sculpture moist. The hand grips the tiny bird, holding it in place. I stare at it, feeling the same sense of wrongness wash over me. The bird looks powerless, the fingers pinning its body down. It’s trapped.
Images of that night flood my mind: his arms lifting my body as I try to scream, his weight on top of me, the way he caged me in. He took my power from me, and I let him, even after that night. I let myself believe it was my fault, that I did something to deserve what happened to me. I listened to my mom and the detective, and who could blame me? I was fifteen, and they were people that were supposed to keep me safe.
I read somewhere that one in five women report having been sexually assaulted. That’s tens of millions of women in the United States alone. Tens of millions of women that had their power taken from them. A familiar anger burns deep within me. It’s a distinctly feminine rage, and I let it consume me. I didn’t deserve what happened to me, and neither did any of those other women.
I’m taking my power back.
I look at the sculpture, the bird looking up at me as if asking for help. I oblige. My fingers dig into the soft clay, a renewed purpose guiding my hands.
It still needs to be fired and then glazed, but I’m content with my progress as I place the piece back on the shelf, sans bag this time. I say goodbye to Darla before leaving the studio, and the air is cool as I step outside. My car is parked only about a block down, so I take my time breathing in the city as I walk. This is one of my favorite times of year here. Summer is still hanging on, but there are hints of fall in the cooler nights and shorter days.
I look at all the shops, passing the bookstore that Noah and I went to together.
It’s surprisingly quiet for the city tonight, with only the sounds of cars passing by as I walk. There’s a gallery nestled right next to it, and I study the paintings through the windows. They’re beautiful, and I admire the talent it takes to create masterpieces like that. I’ve tried painting, and it is not for me. Something about a blank, flat surface causes my brain to short-circuit.
I’m so enchanted by the artwork that I almost miss the small paper taped to the window.
NOW ACCEPTING NEW ARTISTS
We have two open spots and are now accepting new submissions of two-dimensional and three-dimensional pieces.
The new artists will be featured at our fall gala the first weekend of October!
There’s no way they would pick me, but something is telling me I need to do this. Opening up my mail app on my phone, I type in the email provided on the flyer.
Here goes nothing.