22. Asher
TWENTY-TWO
ASHER
February 12, 2015
Three dollars and thirty-six cents.
I finish counting the change the clerk handed me after buying my mother a pack of cigarettes and stuff the money into my pocket. I haven’t been to Charleigh’s since she handed me her box of paper hearts and told me about her father’s ultimatum. I stuffed the box into my closet, hoping it’s safer there than at Charleigh’s.
But I can’t stop staring at her most recent text, begging me to come over tonight after her parents go to sleep. Part of me is afraid of the risks, but the other part of me wants to see her. By the time I make it to my street and my trailer comes into view, I decide the benefits far outweigh the risks. They always do when it comes to Charleigh.
I slowly open the metal screen door, unsure whether my mom is still awake or if she’s passed out somewhere in our trailer.
I walk through the living room carefully. After turning down the hallway, I peek through the bathroom door. My mother isn’t in there, either. There’s no sign of her anywhere. Perhaps she left while I was out. At least that’s what I think until I make it to my bedroom door, which is swung wide open. A deep, intense smell of cigarette smoke hits me.
My mother is standing in the middle of my room, a cigarette hanging from her dry lips. Smoke circles in front of her face. Her hair is tangled and teased. It looks like she hasn’t brushed it in days.
“Mom.” I instinctively search my room, wondering why she is in here. She’s never in my room. Most of her days are spent either on the couch or sitting at our small kitchen table. The only rational reasoning I can think of is that she was looking for money. “What are you doing in my room?”
“What the fuck is this?” Her words come out muffled as her lips try to work around her cigarette. Ash falls to the carpet, dissolving into the gray fabric. A wrinkled, white paper envelope is crumpled in the firm grip of her clenched fingers.
It’s my NYU acceptance letter.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and try to remain calm, hoping to say the right thing not to send her over the edge. “Mom, it’s not what you think.”
When I look at my mother, her eyes are spread wide open. Black makeup is smudged around her bloodshot eyes.
“What the fuck is this?” she screams, repeating her same question. My breath catches in my throat, and I lean back when she charges toward me, slamming her fists against my chest. Her breath reeks of alcohol.
I scrunch my nose and press my lips together. The stench is enough to make me want to vomit. I’m shocked she’s reacting this way. My mother may be an alcoholic, but she’s never laid a hand on me.
“Mom,” I grunt, her fists pounding against my chest. She’s pushing me backward down the hall. The floor is littered with empty beer bottles, clothes, and trash. I try not to trip as she forces me out of my room. I grip her wrists when she continues to push me until we’re in the middle of the kitchen. “What are you doing?”
“You ungrateful son of a bitch.” She’s screaming in my face. Her cigarette has fallen out her mouth, and now she’s spitting all over my face. Beer-scented saliva flies from her mouth as she continues to yell. I’m finally able to push her off me, and she stumbles backward, clearly drunk.
It takes her a second before she’s able to correct her footing. She grips the edge of the kitchen table, her body swaying as she straightens her back. My acceptance letter is still clenched in the palm of her other hand. The tips of her fingers are white with how much pressure she’s applying.
“Was this your plan all along? To leave me?” She stands up, rolling her head back. Her chin is tipped up, her top lip curling in anger. She charges toward me again, grabbing a half-empty bottle of vodka from the kitchen counter. She wraps her free hand around the neck of the bottle, using all her strength to throw it in my direction. The bottle flies from her hand, rocketing straight at me. I quickly duck, the bottle narrowly missing me before it crashes behind me and shatters against the old wooden cabinets, causing the liquor to splash to the floor. A puddle of clear liquid pools around us, with shards of glass scattered across the linoleum.
“What the fuck, Mom? Are you crazy?” Blood rushes from my body as I stand, looking at a version of my mother I’ve never seen before. I knew she had issues, but I’ve never seen her like this. “You don’t understand. I’m doing this for us.”
Maybe we’re past the point of reason, but I don’t want to give up trying to reach the better part of her if it is still inside her, buried beneath all the hurt and pain she’s feeling.
She laughs hysterically, grabbing another open bottle of liquor from the counter. This time, she doesn’t throw it at me. She lifts it to her mouth, taking a giant gulp. She keeps her eyes pinned on me, a flurry of anger building inside her. The mouth of the bottle suctions to her lips, making a loud pop before she drops it at her feet. The glass doesn’t break, but the liquid pours out of the bottle slowly, flowing like a river. The entire kitchen floor is covered, and the heavy scent of alcohol fills our trailer.
She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “Right. For us.” The corner of her mouth draws up into a slant, and she continues to laugh sarcastically. “That’s what your father said. And Trevor.”
“Trevor?” I jerk my head back, shocked. My jaw drops.
“Trevor fucking Keeler.” She sneers.
“You mean Charleigh’s dad?”
She laughs again, revealing more of her yellow-stained teeth. “They’re all the fucking same. It’s always the ones who have all the money. They treat you like trash, ready to toss you out like a whore whenever it suits them. They treat you like you’re nothing.” She steps closer to me, her feet tripping along the way, and points a lazy finger, leaning slightly forward. “ Nothing. ”
I place both of my hands against my head, tugging on the ends of my hair as I digest my mother’s confession. The need to vomit rises in my throat.
Did my mom have an affair with Trevor Keeler?
“What does this have to do with Trevor?” I stare at my mom, scared of her answer. I’m not sure I can handle her admitting to me she’s had an affair with Charleigh’s dad.
“Trevor Keeler is nothing but a liar. Your father lied to me, too. When I told him I was pregnant with you, he said he wasn’t cut out to be a father. Said it wasn’t what he wanted for himself.” Her red eyes line with tears as her chin quivers over her clenched teeth. “He took everything from me. The apartment down by Wall Street, the money—everything he promised me, he took.”
My eyes follow my mother’s theatrical hands. She’s waving them around as if she’s reliving the time she was with him. Each movement she makes is dramatic, and what she’s saying isn’t making sense. I have no idea the kind of man my father is. She’s never given me the chance to know him, and as far as I knew, he didn’t desire to know me. This is the most she’s ever spoken of him.
“My dad worked and lived on Wall Street?” I ask. My throat burns at the thought of my mother keeping this a secret from me. How could I have a father who worked on Wall Street, yet my mother and I live in a trailer that is nearly falling apart?
“Doesn’t matter, anyway,” she seethes. “You’re leaving me, and you’ll end up just like him—cold and heartless, with nothing to show for it but a fucking packed wallet. You’ll be alone, Asher.” She lifts the letter, holding it between us. “I mean, shit, you’ve already started.”
“Mom, I told you, I’m doing this for us. I can give us a better life.” The burning sensation in my throat grows, working its way into the pit of my stomach.
Tears stream down her face. Trails of black makeup are drawn along her skin. “You aren’t doing this for me. You’re doing this because of that fucking Keeler girl. I warned you about her, Asher. She’s going to ruin you. This is proof enough.” She lifts the letter again. All I want to do is rip it from her grasp, but I’m afraid of what she might do if she catches me trying to take it from her.
“Mom,” I beg. “You aren’t listening to me. If I go, I can create my own business. I can take us out of here.”
“You know what I should do with this?” She holds the paper up, shaking it in my face. “I should fucking burn it. That’s what dreams are, anyway, Asher: nothing but piles of ash. ”
“You’re losing it, Mom.” I swallow, unsure of her next move. Does she really intend to burn the letter to prove a point? “You need help.”
“I want you to get out,” she says, closing her hands into fists. The paper crumples in her fingers. “Leave.”
“We can just?—”
“Get the fuck out, Asher!” she screams, squeezing her eyes shut. Three lines crease the corners of her eyes as a tear slips from under her lashes. Her small frame shakes with anger. Her eyes are narrowed, fuming with hatred for me.
I’ve always known my mother is troubled, deep down. There are issues lying under the surface of her alcoholism, driving her to keep going back to bottle after bottle.
“Fine,” I tell her. I’ve already had enough. I need to leave this trailer before my head explodes, and I hope by the time I come back, she’ll be passed out on the couch again. Maybe by tomorrow she will have forgotten finding the letter and arguing with me.
“That’s right!” she yells after me. “You keep going back to her. You’ll burn for this, Asher.”
I keep my pace steady, ready to leave my mother behind. There is only so much I can take from her. I don’t need to stay and beg her for reason. There is no reason left inside her. Hasn’t been for a long time.
I walk until I reach Charleigh’s house. I stay focused on my feet hitting the pavement. Every step is a step farther away from my mother and another closer to Charleigh. I don’t bother checking Charleigh’s house as I usually do before climbing the trellis. I don’t even warn her that I’m coming up. But she meets me as soon as I make it to the top and tap on her glass.
“Asher,” she whispers, pulling me tightly against her.
I wrap my hands around her face, pulling her to me. “I love you,” I muse against her mouth, immediately feeling relieved. It’s like I’ve taken a big breath, and Charleigh’s my oxygen.
“I love you, too,” she whispers back.
“We’re still going to NYU, right? Me and you?”
Her eyes dance between mine, concern etched into every line of her gorgeous face. “Of course. Me and you. Promise.”
“Okay, Little Flower.” I nod, relief settling in my bones. I pull her in for a kiss and walk us toward her bed.
Charleigh takes the hint and grips onto my coat as she walks backward. When her legs hit the edge of the bed, she unzips and slips it down my arms. My hands are quick to her face again. I pull her in, pressing my lips to hers as if it’s a matter of life and death.
She sits on the bed and crawls back on her elbows until her head meets her pillow. I crawl to her on my hands and knees, slipping one between her legs. I rest both hands beside her head and look down at her.
“I want you,” she says to me, looking me in the eye.
“Are you sure?” The moonlight streams across her face, and I want to bottle up this moment and stay here forever.
“Yes.” She grins before it fades. She lifts her hand and traces my bottom lip. “I don’t think I’ve been more certain of anything in my entire life.”
“Even more than your love for flowers?” I muse, leaning down until my mouth is hovering above hers.
She tilts her chin to meet me. “Infinitely more.”
A jolt of electricity shoots to my heart. Knowing she loves me more than her flowers speaks volumes, and I know I love her too. I grind my erection against her thigh, unable to hold myself back.
Charleigh giggles before having me move aside for us both to climb under the sheets. I’ve never been with anyone else, and neither has Charleigh. We don’t know what we’re doing, but there’s something beautiful in knowing we’re each other’s first and equally inexperienced. I feel better knowing she won’t judge me for not knowing exactly what to do.
I pull out the condom I’ve kept in my wallet for the past few weeks and hold it between us. Charleigh’s doe eyes stare at it before swinging to mine.
“I don’t really know what I’m doing,” she confesses.
“It’s okay,” I tell her, giving her a kiss. “We can go slow.”
She nods and bites down on her bottom lip. Nervously, we both get undressed under the covers without talking. Once we’re both naked, I slip on the condom and climb over Charleigh.
“Are you ready?” I ask her on a shaky breath.
She nervously inhales and keeps her hands to her chest. I lean down to kiss her, hoping to wipe away any nerves.
“I’m ready,” she assures me when I pull away.
“Okay.” I center myself in front of her. “Tell me if it hurts too much, and I’ll stop.”
“You could never hurt me, Asher,” she says and fuck, I fall in love with her even more.
When I push myself inside Charleigh, I’ve never felt anything like it. I keep my focus on her, and for a few moments, she squeezes her eyes shut. But the more I move, the more she starts to relax, and it isn’t long before I can tell she’s enjoying it as much as I am.
After a few more movements, her body tenses around me, and I quickly cover her mouth with my hand to muffle her moans.
When the heat reaches my belly and I reach my orgasm, I stare into Charleigh’s eyes. They soften with an emotion I’ve never seen on her before. It’s as if she’s never felt anything like this in her life. Neither have I.
How is it possible to fall even further in love with someone ?
When we’re both finished, I remove my hand and quickly replace it with my mouth.
“Are you okay?” I’m nervous. Why am I nervous? “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“No.” She sweeps her tongue across her lips and shakes her head. “Not at all. In the beginning, it hurt a little, but it didn’t last long. I liked it.” She bites down on her lip again. “Was it good for you?”
I giggle. “Is that even a real question? Of course, it was.”
I give Charleigh one more kiss before I crawl off her and sneak into her bathroom to wrap the condom up with toilet paper before tossing it into the bin. I get dressed, then crawl back under the sheets of Charleigh’s bed. She’s still lying in just her bra.
We lie together in silence, and I trace her collarbone, my finger ghosting her skin, hypnotized by this feeling. A giggle erupts from her, but it abruptly stops when the light in her room turns on. The sound of the switch flicking causes my stomach to flip. I barely have a chance to look over my shoulder before I’m ripped from Charleigh’s bed.
Large hands grip my shoulders, and a sharp pain shoots down the length of my spine when I’m knocked to the floor. I’ve barely opened my eyes to see what the fuck is happening when I see Trevor Keeler hovering above me. One fist is clutching onto my hole-ridden shirt while the other fist is reared back. A sickening face fueled by rage stares at me, wide-eyed, filled with a fury I’ve never seen before.
“No, Dad!” Charleigh shouts. “Stop it!”
When his fist connects with my face, my ears fill with a piercing ring. Bones crunch, and I can’t figure out which part of my face he’s broken. My nose? My jaw? Radiating pain echoes everywhere. I don’t have the energy to fight back, too caught up in trying to understand what is happening. Blood must be spilling down my nose because my upper lip is warm and wet, and a metallic taste fills my mouth.
I turn my head on Charleigh’s carpet and crack open my eyes long enough to see Charleigh kneeled at the edge of her bed. She’s clutching onto the sheets, screaming and begging her dad to stop. Tears stream down her face, and all I can think about is how I want to wipe them away.
“Please, Dad!” she cries. “Get off him!”
I roll my head back to face Trevor above me. “You fucking piece of trash. How dare you touch my daughter.”
The sounds of Charleigh’s shrill scream and Trevor’s rage mix into his fist driving into my face again. Another round of pain radiates across my body, and when I don’t fight back, I’m surprised to realize Trevor suddenly stops.
“Trevor!” I turn my head to my right, seeing Charleigh’s mom standing in the doorway. She runs toward him, throwing him off me.
He falls back, his breathing savage and ragged. His rage and anger toward me hasn’t faded. I roll to my side, covering my face with my hand to try and figure out where the bleeding is coming from. I feel lightheaded and sick, but I manage to sit up. I consider speaking up, fighting back, but I know anything I say will only make the situation worse. I don’t care that Trevor has beaten me; my concern lies with Charleigh. After I leave, I don’t know what will happen to her, and I don’t want to add more fuel to the fire. As much as it fucking pains me and I know I’m going to regret it, I don’t fight back.
“Get the fuck out of my house,” Trevor barks. The veins in his neck pop, and his muscles tense. He isn’t paying attention to his daughter or his wife. He stands and stalks over to me, and I wince when he grabs another fistful of my now-bloodstained shirt, ready for another blow. Instead, he points an angry finger in my direction.
“You’ll never see my daughter again. Do you understand, you worthless piece of shit? If I ever see you or hear from you again, I’ll call the police and tell them you raped her.”
“Dad,” Charleigh sobs. She’s still on the edge of the bed, her shoulders racking uncontrollably. “I love him. Don’t do this.”
He ignores her, and my heart breaks. Fear creeps in, and I know there’s no turning this around. Charleigh’s future is lost with me in it.
“Get out now! ” he screams in my face. Spit lands on my bloodied face, but I don’t say a word when I pull myself to a stand. Charleigh’s mom is kneeling on the floor behind Trevor, her hands covering her mouth. Charleigh’s leaning forward, and I can see it in her body, the way she wants to leap forward and follow me. But I just look at her with a blank stare, silently begging her not to.
“No, Asher,” she whispers, tears streaming down her beautiful face, pleading. “Please.”
Holding my hand to my jaw, I silently turn around and walk out of Charleigh’s room. It’s the first time I’ve ever left her bedroom through the door, and it takes me a moment to find the stairs. My heart shatters with every step, and I don’t breathe until I can no longer hear Charleigh’s cries coming from her bedroom.
I hold my hand against my face the whole walk home, wondering how many bones are left broken. But the closer I get to my trailer park, the deeper a chill sets in my bones. At first, I think I’m losing it. Maybe it’s the blood loss. Maybe it’s my broken heart. But a bright orange and red glow comes from the top of the fifth trailer into the park, and I know it isn’t either of those things. Clouds of dark gray smoke pour out, flames flickering toward the front.
I immediately sprint home, running as fast as my injured body will allow. My feet slide and kick along the dirt when I reach my driveway. I don’t regain my footing until I land on the first of three steps leading to the door.
“Mom!” I scream.
Blood drains from my body, prickles making their way down my spine. I’m standing in front of the door, trying to turn the lock, but it doesn’t budge. Heat surrounds me when it shouldn’t. It’s fucking winter.
“Mom!” I shout again, pounding on the door.
She doesn’t answer. The flames have grown. The door is warm, not quite hot to the touch. I step back, then use every ounce of strength I have, slamming against it with my shoulder. It flies open, and I stumble forward.
Smoke slams in to my face, clouding my vision. My eyes sting, and a sharp pain hits the same shoulder I used to open the door. I struggle to get back to my feet, the pain reverberating down the top of my arm. I look down to see some of the fire has caught on the sleeve of my shirt. The acrid scent of burnt fabric and singed skin fills my nostrils. I slap my hand against my arm, trying to put it out. Luckily, the flames are relatively small. It doesn’t get past my shoulder.
I hold my hand against my arm, pinning it as close to my side as possible. It feels like pins and needles shooting up my arm with any attempt to move it.
“Mom!” I roar.
Smoke shoots to the back of my throat. I start coughing, covering my face with the back of my arm. It’s nearly impossible to see through the smoke, but I continue making my way back toward the kitchen.
My mother isn’t on the couch. The only other place she could be is in the kitchen. A brief sense of relief washes over me when my feet finally land on the linoleum floor. I’m headed in the right direction. There are flames lining parts of the floor, snaking their way up the curtains. It quickly eats away at the fabric, drawing closer to the ceiling. I rub my eyes, clearing the smoke a little. When I open them, I finally find my mother passed out. She’s lying in the middle of the floor. There’s blood pouring out from the side of her forehead, mixing with the pool of liquor around her. It shines, reflecting the flames surrounding her. Her eyes are closed and she’s lying on her side, her arms relaxed beside her. The flames are inching closer to her feet, the flickering edges dancing closer to her toes.
I frantically search for a way to break through the fire. The flames are circling her, creating a barrier between us.
“Mom! Wake up!” I cough again; the back of my throat engulfed in searing pain. I squint, trying to find a clear path that will lead to her. There’s none. “Mom!” I lunge forward, hoping to grab her. There’s a large group of flames blocking me from getting to her, but I don’t care. I need to grab her and pull her out.
“Get him out of here.”
Firm arms wrap around my waist, stopping me from getting to my mother.
“Stop it!” I yell, fighting against him. “I need to help her.”
He pulls me, ignoring my plea. “Don’t worry. We’ve got her.” His heavy, deep voice rumbles against my back, and he ushers me out, passing me off to the next firefighter. “Get him out of here. Make sure he gets checked by a medic,” he tells the other man.
After he hands me off, the man wraps his arm around my waist. The doorway is cleared more than when I entered my trailer. He helps me walk down the stairs and takes me straight to one of the ambulances. They ease me onto a stretcher, laying me back. I’m struggling to sit up, wondering if they’ve pulled my mom out yet. The paramedic pushes against me, holding me back .
“Stay still. We need to examine you,” the paramedic says, but I don’t care about me.
“Is my mom…?” I ask, choking on the words, forcing them out. I’m going to vomit all over this fucking stretcher.
“Their pulling her out now,” the paramedic says, examining the injuries to my face and head. They aren’t even from the fire. His eyes meet mine. “I’m sorry, but we don’t think she made it.”
With heavy-lidded eyes, I stare up at the raging flames quickly covering every surface of my trailer. My arm burns, and my skin stings, the pain spreading into my chest. My head pounds, and I know it isn’t from the fire. It’s from when Trevor’s fist connected with my face. It feels as if I’m getting stabbed by a million pins and needles. The pain expands across my skin, but I ignore it. I’m more worried about my mother, hoping to hell the paramedic is wrong.
I think about our last conversation. She blamed Charleigh for the reason I was leaving her. My mother was trapped, helpless, and unconscious in our burning trailer. I didn’t believe her when she said it, but my mother threatened to burn my acceptance letter. I wonder if she followed through on her threat and that was the cause of the fire. Guilt consumes me.
If it’s true—true that my mother spiraled after I left—I’m not sure how I’ll be able to handle it.
Being with Charleigh has come with repercussions. We’ve been fighting an uphill battle, defending our relationship to anyone who stands against it—my mother, her father—but at what cost?
I roll my head to the side, looking at my trailer engulfed in flames. A tall, billowing cloud of smoke continues to rise from the top of the frail roof and windows. The only life I’ve ever known is burning to the ground and I will forever spend the rest of it knowing it was my fault.
The death of my love for Charleigh… and now my mother.