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Effortless With You Lizzy Charles 10 page

The game ends quickly. I clearly have the advantage because no one has ever seen me play. In the end, we win twenty-one to thirteen. I score fifteen from drives alone.

Justin only scores eight.

Jake sinks our winning shot. It's the first time that Troy and Jake have won. Troy runs toward me, with his arms open. He suddenly scoops me up and throws me over his shoulder. He runs with me around the court, circling Justin, Alex and Luke while yelling, “She’s ours. Look who’s the star now Justin.” I can’t help but smile. Troy says everything I want to say. After a few circles of the court, I get dizzy. I pound on his shoulders. He finally swings me down as he continues to swagger.

I walk off the court without a word.

My work is done.


 

 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

 

 

 

I arrive home in time for dinner. The smell in the kitchen is intoxicating. Roasted rosemary chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, and green beans—Dad, always the culinary genius. I can’t resist. I grab a glass of water and sit down in my spot at the table. I love this place in the corner, on an old wooden bench near the window where I can watch the pond. My pond. It is the only thing I initially liked about our new house. When we moved here, I imagined it was whispering life’s secrets to me but I just couldn’t hear them yet. So I’d sit and wait patiently, hoping the ripples would reveal something magical about my future. This was before I started my horrendous freshman year. I look out onto the water, shamefully surprised that that same gullible hope remains. The sun bounces crystals off the ripples on the surface. I listen but don’t hear any secrets. No surprise there.

It takes me a moment to escape my nostalgia. I blink and really look at the actual scene. The pond has changed a lot. Our neighbors have landscaped a waterfall into it. How did I miss that? Has it really been that long since I have sat in this corner, waiting and listening?

The kitchen door swings open and the air in the room becomes thicker. Mom has joined us. For a brief second her eyes pass over where I sit and then she doubles back. She blinks as if I am a dream and then settles her face into a blank expression.

“Lucinda.” Her tone is low and her speech slow. I take a deep breath, bracing myself for impact. Mom stands in silence, a rarity. I take a second to look at her. Like the pond, she has also changed. Her eyes are deeper, making her crow’s feet more pronounced. Her favorite pink shirt hangs more loosely off her shoulders. She takes a breath as if to speak, but no words follow.

She is exhausted.

All of the adrenaline from the game quickly drains from my body into the floor. My heart follows, sinking below, where it belongs. I look into her eyes, looking for some sparkle of life. I see her blue eyes, the same as mine, except they are empty. It’s gone, like before she got well.

I don’t know how long we look at one another. Dad coughs so I look away, refocusing on the water. I don’t know how to begin a real conversation so it is easier not to. Our silence remains, only interrupted with a few bumps of glasses and plates while Mom prepares the table. The kitchen door flies open as Eric plows through it with his new truck. The moment he sees me in my spot his lips part into his huge, toothy smile.



“Lucy.” Eric’s speech whistles through a hole in his smile. He claps his little hands together. “You’re eating tonight?” Not waiting for a response, he pulls Dad toward the table. “I want to sit here. Please?” He points to Dad’s spot, which is right next to mine.

“Sure, kid. I’m sure Lucy would love to sit with you.”

“Lucy, I can sit here.” He runs to my side, using his hands to try to hoist himself up. I grab the back of his jeans, helping him up with a quick tug. He’s a little guy.

Dad walks up behind Mom at the kitchen island, giving her a kiss on the cheek. Mom continues mashing the potatoes. Her eyes swollen. She seems close to broken, stress written in the lines on her face. I cringe, knowing exactly who the stress is from. Dad stands behind her, his hands hugging her tiny waist, holding her together. I struggle to keep composed.

How have I missed so much?

Eric finally settles himself next to me. His small legs touch mine. He looks up at me with the goofiest grin. “Hey, buddy,” I say as I give him a side hug. His mouth opens up into an even larger smile. My heart tweaks in pain—obviously I have neglected him too.

Eric starts swinging his legs. I copy him. It seems like the only appropriate thing to do.

“Lucy.” He grabs my face between his hands, pulling my head toward his seriously.

I laugh. “Yes?”

He pauses a moment, as if searching for the right words. “What did you do at work today, Lucy?” Perfect sentence. He looks back toward Mom and smiles. Clearly, they have worked on this today.

“Well, Eric, I painted.”

“And?” He grabs my hand, studying the bandages.

I sigh; he is never satisfied with one answer. “I got to stand on a big front patio.” I pretend it is much more exciting than it was. His eyes widen like I have discovered a dinosaur or something. My heart melts for him. I want to give him more. “And, Eric. Guess what else I did today?”

“What?” he whispers in amazement. He puts his pudgy hands back on my face in anticipation.

I can’t turn back now.

I exhale, looking down into his eyes and say, “I played basketball.”

Crack. A plate hits the floor. I don’t need to look to know who’d dropped it. Eric’s body startles, though he doesn’t seem to be aware of it. He doesn’t miss a beat.

“Did you make a basket? Did you win?”

I nod in the exaggerated way you say “yes” to a five-year-old. He squeals with delight. He loves watching me play basketball, cheering from the sidelines louder than anyone I know. He went to every game he could. Until I quit.

He misses it.

I hate myself for taking that away from him. I rub my eyes. I am a crappy sister.

Before Eric can ask more questions, Dad puts the food out onto the table and Mom slides into her chair next to me. Eric spreads both his hands wide, waiting for us to grasp them so we can say grace. I grab his hand. Out of the corner of my eye I can tell Mom is about to crumble. I’m sure she is overwhelmed. I can’t blame her. I was talking about playing basketball, I’m eating dinner with the family, and I’m not being overly sensitive.

Even I’m shocked.

I contemplate Mom’s hand. This would be the perfect opportunity to blow her off again, refusing to take it. But I can’t do it. Not this time. How can I drive in the knife when I know I am in control? She’s too broken to deal with it.

I extend my hand, laying my palm open on the table. She grabs it quickly as if she is worried I will change my mind. Her quickness startles me. She chokes back a sound. I study the birds etched on the white plate.

“Mom, why are you crying?” The ever-observant five-year-old. Mom’s attempt to stifle the noise in her throat is fading.

Dad intervenes. “Lord, thank you for this opportunity to dine as a family. Please bless this food to our bodies and bless our conversation. Amen.”

“Amen,” Eric chimes in loudly.

I look up at Dad, thanking him with a soft smile for his quick prayer. He nods back ever so slightly then he claps his hands together and begins telling us all about his day. He over-describes every detail to safely monopolize the conversation. I concentrate on eating. The food is delicious. I’d eaten too many processed meals from under my bed. When the meal ends, I sit awkwardly not knowing if I should ask to be excused. Suddenly, Mom’s hand rests on my arm.

Dad stands up and takes Eric to help him fix the lawn mower’s engine. Before Eric leaves he asks me if I would play basketball with him sometime soon. I say yes. When the squeak of the kitchen door stops after their exit, I turn back toward Mom. I tense as I wait for her to begin.

“So, you played basketball today?”

“Yup.” I poke at the extra chicken fat I’ve chosen not to eat.

“I’m glad.” She opens her mouth, as if to say more about the subject but doesn’t. “Have you made friends at your new job?”

I pause, wondering this myself. “Sort of,” is the most honest answer I can give.

“Well, that’s good.”

I nod some more. I’ve become really good at nodding.

“Lucy, I just want you to know,” I clutch the side of the table, bracing myself. She notices and stops speaking.

We sit in silence for a bit more, trying to cope with everything unsaid between us. I focus on the second hand of the clock, thinking of Pride and Prejudice. “Well, I have some homework to do.”

Mom nods, not remembering it’s summer and homework shouldn’t be on my radar. I get up from the table, crossing the room to leave. As I reach out my hand to push the swinging door open, Mom says, “Lucy. Please remember what you just promised.”

I swing around. I can taste that this is going to sting. “What are you talking about?” I can’t believe she is going to force a fight now. It’s like she wants us to be miserable.

“You promised Eric you would play basketball with him.”

I nod, and my eyes widen. This is no news to me.

Mom stands up and walks toward me. Her face is serious. “Lucy. I intend on you keeping this promise. I do not want to have to explain to him all over again why you won’t play with him anymore. Not to mention teaching him what promises mean despite your example.”

There it is.

I glare back at Mom with the deadliest look I can muster. I lock my target and go in for the kill. “Thanks Mom,” I begin sarcastically. “I was totally excited to play with Eric until now. Way to turn it into an order.”

“If you make a commitment, you do it, Lucy!”

My blood pressure doubles while she continues to speak, her voice becoming more shrill.

“You can’t treat Eric like you do school, basketball, or me. When you don’t follow through, I’m the one explaining why he can’t follow your examples.”

My examples? I feel like she has punched me in the face. Spiteful energy surges through my system.

“Fine. I’ll save you the trouble.” I walk toward the garage door, pulling it open and shouting out, “Sorry Eric. I was lying. I will NEVER play basketball with you because I’m a witch.” Dad looks back, stunned. Eric’s lower lip quivers before he starts to wail.

My heart breaks into a million pieces.

“There, Mom. Now you won’t have to.”

I swing open the kitchen door and storm out. Eric continues to wail in the garage while Mom follows me with heavy footsteps. I grab my purse, slam the front door in Mom’s face, and climb into Dad’s car in the driveway. I am surprised the front door didn’t fly open and Mom didn't run out and throw herself on the car. I can’t believe her. I actually was myself and she ruined it, forcing me to become a horrible person. Of course I wanted to play with Eric. I remembered how happy it made him. I wanted to make him happy again.

I turn the dial of the radio, fumbling in my purse for my keys. I can’t get out of there quick enough. I throw the car into reverse, ready to peal out of the driveway. But Eric’s intense sobs pouring from behind the garage door stop me. Did I really just hurt my five-year-old brother in a backwards attempt to hurt Mom? I stare at the garage; he sobs so uncontrollably he starts choking.

I bite my tongue. Who have I become?

I have a choice. I can get out of the car and do the hard thing, go back inside and apologize to Eric or I can drive away and leave a huge knife in Mom’s back and give Eric reason to hate me forever. I take deep breaths, trying to force myself to reason. Mom was trying to protect Eric. I’d have done the same thing had Eric needed protecting from me. My heart sinks. Wait, he did need protection from me.

I turn off the ignition and, before I can change my mind, I click the garage door opener. I step out of the car as it retracts up. My parents glare back at me, daggers of disappointment thrown my way. Eric stops crying, turning toward the noise of the garage door. He takes a moment to look at me before reburying his head in Mom’s lap with further sobs.

They hate me and I can’t blame them.

I take a step toward them. “Can I speak with Eric?” Eric, ever trusting, turns around. He nods.

Mom stands up, red-faced. “No. Absolutely not. You’re done.”

Dad cuts her off. He puts his hand on her shoulder and squeezes. “Sarah, let me have a word with her and then she can speak with Eric.” He looks in my direction, his eyes piercing mine, “And then Lucy will speak with us.”

Mom relents, taking Eric by the hand into the house. Dad motions for me to join him next to the lawn mower. He busily bends over it, moving parts and playing with wires. I stand next to him watching and waiting. He usually plays mediator not direct discipliner. I wonder how many weeks of grounding this conversation will send my way.

“Lucy.” Dad continues to tinker with the motor as he talks. “Do you have any idea how cruel your choices and words are to this family?” His bluntness feels like ice cold water.

I can’t answer. Of course I knew how cruel I’d been. That’s why I came back. Apparently, I’d become an expert in cruelty. I hated it. I hated myself for it. Tears well in my eyes. I wipe them away—I don’t deserve to cry. Thankfully, Dad keeps on tinkering with the motor, not noticing.

“You’ve come to a point in your life where you’re old enough to make choices that define yourself and your future. If you continue down this path, do you think you will have a relationship with your brother when you are away at college? Or how about a mother to call and talk to when your heart breaks? Or even farther than that, dear—what about your children? Do you want them to be able to have a relationship with their grandparents? A relationship with you?” He pauses, looking up from the mower.

I stand there, finally allowing my tears to spill down my cheeks. Of course I want all of that.

No. I need it.

Have I already jeopardized this? How did I get this way? How could I intentionally hurt Mom, over and over, when I know how fragile she really is? Why am I so evil?

I swallow.

That is the truth.

I am evil.

My chest is hit with a sudden pressure, like I’m roped to cement blocks.

My throat thickens. It's hard to breathe. The usual tense air that hangs between my parents and me has solidified. Too thick to inhale. What I can get in, exits in quick sobs.

My hands shake and my heart races out of control. What is happening? The room spins. I watch Dad stand up from the motor, extending a hand which I grab. He lowers me to the ground.

I hug my knees, sobbing, trying to take in a deep breath. I rock back and forth. My ears are ringing.

I am evil.

It is the saddest thing I’ve ever known.

“Sarah, come quick.” Dad’s voice echoes behind the loud ringing.

My crying turns into a wail. I rock back and forth.

I am evil.

About to break Mom for the second time.

Evil.

The room spins.

No wonder Mom was depressed after I was born.

Somehow, she had always known I was evil.

I feel a hand on my shoulder.

A warm body sitting behind me, arms wrapped around me.

Rocking with me.

Was I seriously born to be so cruel?

The body rocks me back and forth, changing my rhythm.

I take deeper breaths. The ringing stops.

My sobs turns into normal breaths and tears.

I rock.

We rock.

Back and forth, in the corner on the sweaty, concrete floor of the garage.

Rocking.

I don’t know how long we rock. I feel her arms around me.

Mom.

When I turn around to look at her, her face is red, tears running down them.

I take a deep breath, “I’m so sorry, Mom.”

I start sobbing again, falling into her arms. She holds me. She sobs too.

We rock and sob.

“I love you,” she whispers in my ear.

I try to say “I love you” back but it’s incoherent.

I don’t deserve her love when I am so evil.

But she really does love me and that just makes me sob more.

She holds me tighter, rocking me back and forth and whispering her love for me.

It hurts to be loved so much.

Finally, my sobs get under control. Mom holds out her hand, helping me up to my feet. She keeps her hand on my back as she leads me into the house. We pass through the kitchen, where Dad sits, waiting. Mom whispers, “It’s okay, Dan.” When I see Dad’s pale, concerned face, I start sobbing again. Mom leads me to my room. I crawl in bed. She sits next to me. We never speak, the tears falling from my eyes and an occasional sob escaping my chest seems to be enough.

I am pure evil.

I don’t remember falling asleep. I do remember her stroking my hair.


 

 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

 

 

 

I wake up to the early morning light, when the air is fresh and slightly tinged blue. Five thirty-five a.m. It feels like I have been sleeping forever but I have a horrible headache behind my eyes. Why?

Crying. Last night’s events resurface. I freeze, holding my breath. Did that all really happen? And to think Mom looked like she was about to crumble. Ironic. Apparently I'm the person one crack away from shattering.

And I cracked.

Evil.

I let out my breath. I need to get away. The house is quiet except for the occasional snore from Dad down the hall. I tiptoe around my room, digging through my drawers and closet for an old running tank and pair of running shoes. I throw my hair into a ponytail, creep down the stairs and out the front door.

My feet hit the driveway and I transition into a jog. I turn onto the running path that links a chain of parks, winding around a chain of ponds. The running-way is empty this morning, the pavement mine. My feet fall into a rhythm along with my breaths, four seconds in and four seconds out. Each breath of the morning air seems to launch my body into further hypnosis with its jogging rhythm. My body is in sync, now it's time to address my mind.

Evil. Wow. Did I really try to hurt my mom by hurting Eric? And why was I trying to hurt Mom?

The dark corner of my mind answers: Because she wants to control you.

I rebuke: But isn’t she my mother? Doesn’t that give her the responsibility to parent me?

I run faster. That answer is clear.

But I’m still evil. What about when I hid in the bathroom stall and listened to Marissa degrade Sally? When did I become the type of person who would stand by when someone hurts another?

Mom has reason for her need to control. Even if I don’t like how she delivers it.

I sprint.

I used to be the one telling off my teammates the moment they started talking smack about a player on the other team. Now, I'm too weak to stand up for anyone, even myself. Why couldn’t I see Marissa for what she really is? A selfish and manipulative person.

She is everything I have become.

I've adopted her way of life, using cruelty to control others. I intentionally hurt Mom, while Mom has never intentionally hurt me. Eric, another victim of my assault. Mom looks like she is going to break again. Do I really want to watch Mom suffer through more depression? My gut twists. No. I need her.

My feet fly beneath me. I need to run away from my guilt. I can’t be cruel anymore.

I am different from Marissa. I have to be. I'm done following. And I'm not going to be afraid of her. It is time to face her. Matt’s party provides the perfect opportunity. I have to show myself how she is the weak one.

That I am different.

Mom’s constant reminder echoes in my mind, “You always have a choice, Lucy.” I can choose to be strong again. I can choose to have values and stand for them. I can choose to be kind and loving.

I can choose to be different.

I stop running, panting alone on the path. I am going to try, for real this time. I can’t be perfect but at least I can be me, the real me.

I hear the patter of feet behind me. I move off the path into a bordering garden as a group of women jog past. The smell of the daisies and sunflowers are overwhelmingly sweet. I inhale the smell over and over, hoping it'll help me remember this moment. I need its strength.

I feel lighter as I jog home. The heat from the rising sun beats down on my back. My favorite clouds, small white wisps, seem delicately placed in patches in the bright blue sky. I run past a man cutting his grass, the smell fresh to my senses. The neighborhood has come alive. People walking their dogs around the block, loading their cars for a day trip to the lake, or just laying out on their lawn and enjoying the sun before the heat index soars.

I arrive home filled with a strange combination of remorseful yet positive energy. I sit down on the front step, slowly taking off my shoes, hesitating to enter. I don’t know where to begin. Should I pretend that nothing happened? Should I apologize? Say thank you?

Do I even acknowledge that I still need Mom to put me back together again?

I pull off my sweaty socks. No. I'm not going to allow pride to stand in the way of having a good relationship with Mom. I don’t want any more fake relationships in my life. I rise to my feet and turn around to enter the house.

The door flings open, startling me. Mom stands behind it, wet streaks down her cheeks. We look at one another for a brief second. I decide to leap, without hesitation.

I rush into her arms.

Mom trembles as she hugs me, “Lucy,” she begins. “I thought, I thought …”

I pull away from her gently and look her in the eye, “What? It’s okay.”

She nods, more tears. “When I woke up and you were gone, I thought that you were really gone. I thought I had lost you forever.” I don’t know if she’s talking about me literally leaving or just our relationship but it doesn’t matter. It is true. She nearly lost me forever. In fact, I nearly lost myself forever.

“Well, you didn’t. Don’t worry.”

“I’m so sorry, baby. I know I have been horrid. I just don’t know what I’m doing. No one prepares you for the day everything changes, and you don’t know your daughter anymore.”

“Mom, don’t worry about it. I don’t even know me anymore.”

“That’s the worst part. I let you lose yourself. If I would have paid more attention …”

“No, Mom. There was nothing you could have done. This was all me. And, trust me, more attention would have made it worse.” I take a seat on the bench on our front porch.

“All the books say to fight to know what’s happening. I’m fighting, I’m trying.” She sits down next to me, her words so honest and full of exhaustion.

“Please know that I appreciate that you try. I know it’s a good thing.” I take a deep breath. I need to be honest. If this is going to be real, if this is going to be me, I need to tell the truth. “But, sometimes, you do overreact. Or you react in the wrong place, at the wrong time.”

“Like the party …” She folds my hand into hers.

I nod.

“I’m sorry. I just lost it. I snapped. You weren’t in your room. You left, snuck out. Not only was it disobedient, it was dangerous! What if something happened to you? We wouldn’t have known you were gone until morning. I called everyone I knew to find you. My brain felt like it exploded. In that moment, I feared everything horrible had happened to you. When I found you had snuck out to go to a party, I lost it. And then, I got angry. More angry then I’ve ever felt before. You snuck out. You disobeyed your father and I. It was a punishment you deserved. I know you knew it, I could tell when we grounded you that night. But then you still left? All I could think was ‘What’s become of my girl?’”

Tears stream down my cheeks now. I never thought about how terrifying it must have been to find my room empty. It’s not like I left a note. I wonder how long she looked for me.

“And then when I realized Marissa was involved, I was ashamed. Ashamed that I let you lose yourself to such a weak bully.”

“Don’t worry. I’m done being a Marissa clone. Trust me. It’s way too much work. Much easier to be me, once I figure out who that is. I’m sorry I disappointed you, Mom.” I reach, offering her a hug.

“I’m sorry I disappointed you too. Let’s communicate more, and hopefully I can be a more reasonable parent. Deal?”

“Deal.” She wipes a tear off my cheek. Her eyes are so blue and beautiful. She could have been a model. How have I never noticed her beauty before?

“You look pretty, Mom.”

Mom’s face breaks into a large smile. “Stop, please. You aren’t grounded for yesterday.” Ah, a joke. My heart relaxes, thankful for the transition. “No compliments needed.”

“No, really, Mom. You’re beautiful.”

“Eh.” She drops my hand. “You’re crazy.” I watch her face drop. She really doesn’t believe me. I’ve been such a neglectful daughter. I swear to tell her she is beautiful more often.

“Oh, Justin’s inside waiting for you,” she says. I bite my lip as she studies my reaction.

What is he doing here? It's seven thirty in the morning. And during our breakdown? Crap.

“Uh, isn’t it kind of early for visitors?”

“I don’t think that can keep him away.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s not like that. Trust me. With Justin, there’s always a business agenda. Don’t even go there.” I sit down on the front porch. “Can you just send him out here? I don’t really want to deal with him inside. Not after last night.” My home is for once cleansed of emotional confusion. I want to keep it that way.

The door squeaks. I don’t turn around. Justin can do the talking, if he finally wants to.

“Hey, Lady.”

“Isn’t it a bit early for this?”

“For what?”

“I don’t know, whatever you’re here for.” Of course, after days of shutting me out, he chooses now to talk. Puffy red eyes, no makeup, emotionally drained, and my sweaty running glow. Awesome. He sits down next to me. I pray that the tears I’ve just cried are the healthy, non-blotching sort. “Well?” I want to get this over with.

“Well?” His knee bumps mine. I can feel his crooked smile but I refuse to look. What is he doing?

“What do you want?”

“Come play ball with me.”

“Now?” My heart does back flips.

“Yup.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t believe it.”

“It?”

“You.”

“Well, you already saw it. Believe it.”

Was I just some game to him?

He grabs my hand. “Come on.”

I didn’t know basketball could be so frustrating. We move in sync and everything feels so electrified. Justin’s hand on my shoulder or the small of my back, my skin tingling out of control. My heart freaking out when he smiles at me. Swish, each time I shoot. My game is on. I couldn’t miss a shot if I tried. Justin, on the other hand, is not trying at all.

It pisses me off.

“Why did you drag me out here if you aren’t gonna play?” I ask after I reject a lazy lay-up. I sink a three pointer. “This isn’t even a game.”

He chuckles and my butterflies zoom.

“I’m just getting an idea of what you’re made of.”

“Oh?” I toss him the ball. He squares up, waiting for me to reject him. I do. “And what have you discovered?”

He steps closer to me.

Perfect jaw. Perfect shoulders. Perfect collarbone. Perfect everything.

“A lot,” he says with another step. We stand together then under the hoop, the ball bouncing away. I know I should look away but I can’t. I shiver. I can get lost in his green eyes forever.

Time stands still. My heart does not.

He leans in toward me.

Is he going to kiss me?

My whole world turns over.

Yes.

No, wait.

No.

Jennifer.

I eye Justin, he smiles playfully, brushing my side-swept bangs out of my eye.

No. I'm not evil. I won’t be a Marissa. He’s with Jennifer. I can’t let this happen.

He leans in closer.

I lean away.

“Your cross-over,” he says. Picking up the ball and showing me a cross-over dribble, low to the ground.

“What?”

“It’s sloppy.” He shrugs, tossing me the ball. “That’s what I learned.”

I stand frozen, ball in hand. What just happened? My face heats. He was only taunting me. I’d totally imagined that whole moment. Of course he wasn’t going to kiss me.

I fake confidence, “Shut up. My cross-over is solid.”

“Suit yourself.” He grabs the ball. “Well, I’ve got to run. Thanks for the game.”

“You call that a game?”

“Okay, insight then.” He waves, climbing into his truck.

Yes, wonderful insight into my heart.

A kiss? How stupid can I be?

I try to avoid myself all morning. I’m too embarrassed to live. Thankfully, no one else knows. I don’t even think Justin knew that I, for just a second, thought he was going to kiss me. The moment will go with me to my grave. He is so out of my league.


Date: 2015-02-16; view: 411


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