Kellen smiled. “So much for homework,” he said, putting down the book in his hands. “I was seventeen. It was right after I got out of rehab.”
“Oh,” I said because I wasn’t really sure what to say. What exactly was the customary response for when someone told you they got inked up after a stint in the junkie joint.
I couldn’t tell if I’d gotten too personal, but then Kellen was pulling down the collar of his shirt, revealing a patch of skin with black ink running across it.
“The future isn’t written by the past,” he said. “That was my first tattoo. It was something one of my therapists said to me in rehab. I got it to remind myself that it’s never too late to change. The person I am today and tomorrow is based on the decisions I make now, not the decisions I made two years ago.”
I nodded. “It’s cool.”
Kellen laughed and let go of his shirt, covering the tattoo up. “But?”
“Nothing, I just… I don’t know that I believe in that,” I said.
Kellen was quiet, and I could tell he wanted me to keep going.
“Life has a beginning, middle, and end,” I said. “You don’t get restarts or do-overs, people make sure of that. You can never get rid of your past. Even if you want to change it’s always right there with you. And even if you do change there’s always someone there to remind you of who you were before. So there really is no such thing as starting over.”
Kellen didn’t say anything and for a moment I thought I might have offended him.
Question: How many days did it take Carson to alienate the first person that’s really talked to her in years?
Answer: Not many.
The silence was so loud I felt like I might scream just to drown it out. Finally, Kellen cleared his throat.
“Yeah, people are always going to try to dictate your life. They’re always going to try to tell you who you are and who you should be,” he said. “It sucks, but the way I see it I’m not living my life for those people. I’m living my life for me and if I want a restart, then I’ll take a restart. If I want to begin again tomorrow, then I will. And if I decide that’s not for me and I want to begin again the next day then I’ll do that too. I’ll begin again every single day if I want to until I find what works for me.”
“People want you to think it’s all so clear-cut, but it’s not,” he continued. “Even books don’t have a definite beginning, middle and end, not really. I mean, the characters had a life before you started reading and they’ll have a life even after you turn the last page. Life is a series of beginnings and endings and the great thing is you get to choose when they happen. You get to choose when and if you begin again. That’s what I believe, it’s what I have to believe.”
“But doesn’t it bother you how some people look at you?” I asked. “Like the people from your past? What’s the point in trying to change if people are going to freeze you in time anyways?”
“The point is that you’re the one that has to look at yourself in the mirror every day,” Kellen said. “If someone wants to hold me back at where I was two years ago or even one year ago then that’s their problem. The other great thing about beginning again is getting to choose who stays and who gets cut out of your life. You cut the toxic people. Life is too short to drown yourself in their poison.”
I nodded, still trying to take all of that in. “What about the rest?” I asked. “Of your tattoos, I mean?”
“The rest I got every once in a while after that – some as reminders, some as motivation, and some as memorials,” he said. “They’re all stories – I’ll tell you about them sometime. Of course, that means you’ll have to keep me around.”
Kellen was smiling that lopsided smile that I was so used to by now.
I looked down at his arms, at the ink that ran along the length of them. I was fascinated by it, the words and the images – the way each tattoo told a story. Even more, I realized I was fascinated by Kellen and how he wore them. We all carried our stories with us wherever we went, but Kellen put his on display for the world to see. I didn’t think I could ever do that. When you show the world your pain you’re just loading the gun for the world to blast you away. Kellen was brave though. He’d been through so much and he literally wore all of it – the pain, the heartache, the hope – on his sleeves. He knew he’d loaded the gun – he must’ve known that – but after all he’d been through he still had hope that no one would shoot. The world hadn’t hardened him like it did me.
Each of Kellen’s tattoos told a story. I didn’t know what those stories were, but I decided that I wanted to know. I wanted to know the story behind each drop of ink. I wanted to know them all.
I reached over and pulled down the collar of Kellen’s shirt. I’d done this so many times before with so many different guys, each of them faceless and nameless. This time was different. All those faceless guys had been temporary distractions. I’d known that they would leave and I was okay with that. Was Kellen the kind of guy to leave? Would I be okay with it if he did? I wasn’t sure about either of those things, but maybe it was better to stay on the safe side and not go much further. I ran my finger along the tattoo on his collarbone and felt Kellen shiver a little.
I smiled. “You know,” I said, “It’s kind of hard to believe that all of these deep thoughts are coming from the same guy that laughed at a cartoon troll making farting noises.”
“Ogre,” he said. “Shrek is an ogre. Did you even watch the movie?”
“I tried my best not to.”
Kellen was laughing and I was smiling and I still had my hand on his exposed collarbone when the front door opened.
Chapter 18
Freckles
Flecked cheeks
Dotted nose
Sprinkled skin
Like constellations across my face, my body
Beacons that single me out
I try to cover them up
Hide them under a layer of dust
But constellations are made of stars
And stars were made to shine
Maybe one day I’ll see
“Carson, what is going on here?”
I jumped and almost fell off the couch. When I turned I saw my mother standing in the doorway.
“Mom. I didn’t think you’d be home for a while,” I said. My face felt hot and I knew it was turning red. It felt like my mom had walked in on an intimate moment.
“That’s obvious,” she practically spit out. She had that sour lemon face on, the one she got when I’d disappointed her so much that all of her features – eyes, nose, and mouth – just sort of scrunched together in the middle of her face.
I instantly went from feeling embarrassed to feeling annoyed. Kellen was just showing me his tattoo. It wasn’t that intimate. I had nothing to apologize for or be nervous about here. I let go of Kellen and crossed my arms over my chest, glaring at my mother. I’d been in a good mood until she showed up here with a stick up her butt.
I could feel Kellen get off the couch and I watched as he walked over to my mom, holding out his hand. “Hello, Mrs. Reynolds. My name is Kellen Jordan.”
My mom glared at Kellen, but I could also see a spark of recognition in her eyes. I wondered if she remembered seeing him at Dr. M’s office.
I was honestly appalled by my mother’s lack of manners, and that was saying something considering I was the queen of nasty looks. Clearly she should’ve chosen to be a Superficial Christian and gone to church this morning. Maybe Jesus would’ve been able to knock some sense into her.
My mom didn’t even look at Kellen’s hand as she coldly said, “It’s Ms. Norton.”
Oops. Guess I forgot to tell Kellen that I was the only remaining Reynolds in this household.
Kellen’s arm was still outstretched and I wanted to tell him in the kindest way possible that it would’ve taken three layers of gloves and an act of God for my mother to shake his hand, but I couldn’t think of how to do this.
“Oh, um, I’m sorry. I didn’
t – ” Kellen began, but my mom ignored him and turned to me.
“Carson, I’d like to speak with you in the kitchen,” she said as she walked out of the room.
I could tell by her voice that the request was non-negotiable.
I walked past Kellen and gently put his arm down before meeting my mom in the kitchen. When I got there, she was shooting daggers out of her eyes and I was kind of concerned that she might be planning to chop me up and bake me in one of her cakes.
“What,” she hissed, “did I just walk in on?”
“Nothing, Mom,” I said, trying to keep my cool. “Nothing happened.”
“Nothing happened?!” she shrieked in a whisper. I hadn’t even known it was possible to shriek in a whisper. “Carson, there is a boy in the house and you are in your underwear.”
I looked down at my bare legs. I’d forgotten I’d boycotted pants today.
“You stay out until all hours of the night, last week I found condoms in your dresser drawer, and now this. I wasn’t born yesterday, Carson.”
I wanted to say that her wrinkles agreed. I refrained.
Instead I stayed quiet because first of all, I hadn’t left the house all weekend. Second of all, I’d specifically put the condoms there because I’d known she was snooping through my drawers.
Part of me wanted to mess with my mom and make her uncomfortable – a little payback for all of those therapy sessions I didn’t want to go to. Kellen was the perfect guy for the job – he was good looking, had tattoos, and my mother had already decided he was a lowlife. Last week I would’ve done this – made some comment about how next time Kellen was over I’d ditch the protection and hope I didn’t get knocked up. It just seemed like a lot of effort to make this look like something it wasn’t. I thought about that girl in the mirror. Maybe I was changing a little. It was amazing what a weekend of hanging out with a total weirdo could do to you.
“God, Mom, relax,” I said as I rolled my eyes. “Did you fail to notice that the boy is fully clothed and there is a game of Scrabble sitting on the table?”
My mom narrowed her eyes even more. “And why was your hand down his shirt?”
“He was showing me his tattoos.”
My mom huffed and mumbled something about seeing the tattoos from a mile away.
I grinned, knowing that the mumbles meant she had no argument left. She wasn’t happy at all, but at least she’d back off.
“Wipe that grin off your face,” she snapped. “Tell that boy to leave and make yourself comfortable because you’re not leaving the house for the rest of the night.”
I turned to leave the room thinking that, in terms of punishments, it wasn’t too bad. I didn’t really feel like leaving the house anyways and I was already quite comfortable. I mean, I wasn’t wearing any pants. It didn’t get comfier than that.
“And put some pants on,” I heard my mom hiss as she walked past me. She stormed into her room and slammed the door behind her.
“Well, looks like the party’s over,” I said as I walked back over to where Kellen was standing by the couch. “The dictator says you gotta go.”
Kellen shook his head. “I made a horrible first impression with your mom.”
“Actually, you made a horrible second impression,” I said. “My mom saw you sleeping in the therapist’s office that one day and I’m pretty sure she remembers.”
Kellen put his hands in his pockets. “This is not good. Parents usually love me.”
“Well, my mom only barely tolerates me. So you really didn’t have a chance. Plus you have tattoos. She hates tattoos.”
“I almost feel like you set me up,” he said.
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, you didn’t tell me your mom had a different last name, you failed to mention that she has a burning hatred for tattoos, and you insisted on not wearing pants with a boy in the house.”
For some reason, this made me laugh because this was absolutely something I would do. Well, it was absolutely something I would’ve done. Before.
“I actually didn’t mean to set you up,” I said, still laughing. “But it worked out kind of beautifully, don’t you think? I got to have fun and annoy my mother all in one day.”
“So you admit you had fun with me,” Kellen said, a grin spreading across his face.
“You caught me on a good day.”
Kellen laughed. “You know, I should probably be a little upset that you unintentionally used me to make your mom mad.”
“You probably should be.”
“But I’m not.”
Kellen was still smiling, but his eyes were locked on mine and for a moment I almost felt like they saw straight through my outer shell, resting on my soul – a soul I’d almost forgotten I had, one that I’d buried under layers and layers of cynicism, not to mention black clothes and face goop. My bare legs suddenly felt like jelly.
I cleared my throat. “I had a feeling you might not be.”
Kellen ran his hand through his hair. I wished he wouldn’t do that.
“Well I hate to spoil all your fun,” he said, “but I will get your mom to like me. I’ll start by wearing long sleeve shirts when I come over here.”
“Don’t get your hopes up.”
“That is an impossible request.” Kellen smiled and started backing towards the door. “Well, I guess I should go.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
Even I could hear the disappointment in my voice. There was no doubt that Kellen could too.
What had I become?
“Don’t let the door hit you on the way out,” I added, hoping maybe that would compensate for the fact that I’d apparently turned into a lap dog.
Kellen grinned. Yeah, it didn’t compensate for shit.
I followed him to the door and held it as he stepped outside.
“By the way,” he said, turning back around to face me, “I like the freckles on your face. Why do you cover them up?”
I absentmindedly touched my cheek. I’d forgotten I wasn’t wearing powder or any makeup for that matter.
“They just remind me of someone I’d rather forget,” I said, sure I was turning red again.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry or anything,” he said. “And I’m also sorry for saying that because I know you hate ‘I’m sorrys.’”
I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Don’t laugh at me, I’m trying to be sorry but not sorry,” Kellen said,.He was grinning too though. “I just want you to know that you’re beautiful either way – with or without the makeup.”
I wasn’t the only one turning red now.
“Bye, Kellen,” I said, hoping I didn’t look as self-conscious as I felt.
Kellen smiled and waved. I was watching him walk towards his bike when he turned back around.
“Carson, can I ask you for a favor?”
“What?”
Kellen jogged back up to the door. “Next time we hang out do you think you could be in the mood to wear pants?” he asked. “My mom raised me to be a gentleman and all but I am a guy and you being in your underwear is kind of distracting.”
I smiled. I guess I wasn’t totally unappealing after all.
Chapter 19
Wouldn’t You
You told me
I should tell you
How I’m feeling
You told me
You’d listen
But I don’t think you meant it
If you had meant it
You would have listened
If you had listened
You would have heard me
Screaming in pain
Crying out for help
You would have seen the broken glass
I am made of
If you had seen the broken glass
You would have understood
The pain I feel
If you understood the pain
You would have tried to lessen it
Or at least not add to it
Mu
ltiply it
Wouldn’t you?
I got the call from Bree on Sunday night.
“I’m not going to let you jeopardize my reputation as a tutor. I’ll be at your house on Tuesday at four o’clock for our first session. I’d come on Monday, but I have a basketball team meeting.”
Bree hung up before I got a chance to tell her just how much her pristine tutoring reputation mattered to me, or how I’d like nothing more than to throw a basketball at her face.
Basketball had always been my thing. That is until Bree Rewins stole it from me, which is something I could never forgive.
I grew up watching all of the games with my father. My father loved basketball and for some strange reason, I loved him. So I learned to love basketball too. I’d watch the games, memorize all the stats. It was the one thing we could bond over.
My father wasn’t ever completely sober, but he was never completely drunk either, not during basketball games. I’d see glimpses of a man I wanted to know. There’d be a smile or a crinkle in the forehead and I’d think that maybe someday I’d get to meet that man. At the time it was enough for me, believing that there was a man, my father, buried deep within a booze-covered shell and I settled for those little glimpses I saw during basketball games.
Sometimes my father would actually play with me outside. We’d play Horse or Around the World. It never really lasted long. I always knew we were only playing until he needed another beer, but it was something. It was something he was willing to give and I learned that I needed to take whatever was offered and not complain. So we’d play a few rounds, my father would go back to his drinks, and I’d stay outside shooting hoops.
For a midget, I wasn’t bad. I could’ve played on the middle school team. I even went to the first day of tryouts and made the first cut. I got so excited thinking about how my father could come to my games and cheer me on and how he’d be so proud of me. When I saw the game schedule though I dropped out. The times conflicted with games and sports report shows on TV. I didn’t want my father to have to choose. I told myself that he would have chosen me over the pros, but I still quit. I think deep down I knew he wouldn’t have chosen me. As he watched the pros run across the screen dribbling the ball, he probably wouldn’t have even noticed that I wasn’t there by his side, screaming at the refs and telling the players to get their heads in the game. He probably wouldn’t have missed me at all. I think deep down I knew this.
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