Chapter 39 #2
Beck’s absence has been stark. I’ve felt it in every aspect of my life.
The silence in my renovated apartment, the lack of cheesy texts and selfies in my phone, and the chill on my skin where his arms used to keep me warm.
I never expected him to become so ingrained in my life. Now, I can’t even sleep without him.
Ruthie was right.
I’ve spent so long hating my past and being ashamed of the hardships I’ve faced that I’ve let those struggles carry into my present and damage my future. I’m never going to be able to move forward if I don’t look back one last time.
Thunder rumbles in the thick, dark clouds above me. Moisture clings to the hot air, making every breath taste dewy. If it rains, I’ll get soaked. Maybe that could be a good thing. Let nature cleanse this place.
Cleanse me.
My brows jump when I stop in front of the trailer and bump into a mailbox. It’s straight, sturdy, with rainbows and hearts painted on each side. It doesn’t even slant. No chips in the wood or a missing handle. It’s . . . nice.
Following the edge of the sidewalk with a curious gaze, I realize the cracks have been filled. The dandelions that used to sprout in the crushed concrete are gone, and the weeds along the edges have been clipped away. Shocked awe drives me forward. I inhale shakily.
The shutters are gone. Instead of the left one hanging off and dangling on a rusted bolt, the windows have been replaced.
I clear my throat with a choked cough. Blinking frantically, I clear my vision enough to make out the sunflower stickers on the glass and the words written in colourful window markers. Happy Birthday Love Bug!
My ankles wobble. A Barbie-pink bike is on the freshly mowed grass.
I almost reach for the water gun beside it just to confirm it’s real.
There’s no sign of water, and as I look up at the angry sky, I wonder how any of this is here, real.
The bike should have been traded for cigarettes, and the writing on the window should have been smeared and spat on.
I don’t remember how many times Mom kicked my bike when I tucked it against the side of the trailer.
Before Callie’s accident, we shared the same one, even though it was hard for her to reach the pedals.
I remember when we thought Mom had brought it to a shop to be repaired, only to learn she had given it to one of her friends in exchange for—
“Hi.”
The tiny voice scares me. I take a quick step back and lift my gaze to the small porch with a fresh set of wood steps. Sawdust is still floating on the breeze near the blonde girl watching me.
She’s wearing a white bike helmet with a pink flower on the side. Both her knees and elbows are covered with Spider-Man pads that look a size too big. I strangle a sob in my throat.
“Do you like my bike?”
“Yes.”
Her smile lights up her entire face. She’s covered in these tiny brown freckles all the way from her hair down to her fingertips. They remind me of Callie in the summer.
“Thanks. It’s new. For my birthday. I turned seven.”
“Happy birthday.” I force the words out of my mouth.
“Do you want some cake? My mom made it.”
I’ve already started backing up, away from this place and the happy little girl with pure eyes and an unburdened heart.
Even when I turn to the playground, it’s not the same as it was.
The grasshoppers are still there, but the grass has been cut.
I cut open my knee on a tall metal slide with the dent in the middle, and it’s no longer there.
In its place, I see a safe, bright yellow plastic one with a small puddle of clear water at the bottom. None of it makes sense.
Nothing is the same as it was the last time I was here. Besides the smells and the voices that have . . . quieted now, it doesn’t send that foreboding shiver up my spine. There’s happiness here. More than there ever was before.
I drop my eyes to the sidewalk one last time, searching for the two words I scored into the concrete.
Eighteen and finally without the chains of this place, I used my Swiss Army knife to say one last goodbye not only to this trailer, but to my mother.
It was the last time I saw her, though she didn’t dare step outside to speak to me.
She watched through the dirty front window, shaking her head as I carved fuck you into her broken sidewalk and flipped her off with both hands.
Then, I hauled Callie into the back seat of my beater car and filled the trunk with whatever belongings had any value and got her the hell out of there. Even as a kid, she didn’t question me.
Not once.
How can things have changed so much while I’ve been stuck in a constant sense of brokenness? I’m still that angry, untrusting girl who looked at the world with a point to prove and a head screwed on crooked.
My fingers shake when I head back the way I came and fumble with my phone, trying to free it from my pocket. Instinct guides me to choose his contact. The line rings twice before I bring it up to my ear, waiting.
It keeps ringing before cutting off entirely.
“You’ve reached Beck. I’m unable to answer your call, but you know what to do. If you need me, text me.”
I reach my car and dive inside as the tears begin to fall. The phone falls into the console, screen still bright with his name and the picture he made us take that first morning in bed. Hurt flames in my chest, and I make no move to ease the pain.
He didn’t answer, and I shouldn’t have expected him to.
Not yet.