TWENTY-NINE
The sunrise is the only peaceful thing in my life at this point.
I’ve been out here waiting on it since five o’clock this morning. I couldn’t sleep. How am I expected to sleep after the last week I’ve had?
Every time I close my eyes, I see Samson walking away from me without looking back. I want to remember all the times he looked at me with hope and enthusiasm and intensity. But all I see is that last moment where he left me crying and alone.
I’m afraid that’s how I’m going to remember him, and that’s not how I want our goodbye to be. I’m confident I can change his mind. I’m confident I can help him.
I have a job interview at the only donut shop on the peninsula today. I’m going to save up every penny I can to help him. I know he doesn’t want that, but it’s the least I can do for everything he brought into my life this summer.
It’s certainly going to remain a point of contention between my father and me while I stay in this house with him. He thinks I’m being ridiculous for not moving to Pennsylvania. I think he’s being ridiculous for expecting me to walk away from someone who has absolutely no one else. Not many people know loneliness like Samson and I do.
I also don’t know how my father expects me to just start over again in a new state for the second time this summer. I don’t have the energy to start over again. I feel completely drained.
I don’t have the energy to move across the country, and I especially don’t have the energy to play volleyball in order to qualify for my scholarship.
I’m not even sure I’ll have the energy to get up and make donuts every day if I get the job, but knowing every cent will go to help Samson will likely make it worth it.
My attention is pulled to my bedroom door, just as the sun begins to peek over the horizon. My father pokes his head out of my bedroom and my whole body sighs due to his presence.
It was too late to argue with him last night and it’s too early to argue with him this morning.
He looks relieved to see me sitting out here. He probably thought I ran away in the middle of the night when he saw I wasn’t in my bed just now.
I’ve wanted to run away so many times, but where would I go? I feel like I no longer belong anywhere. Samson was the first place I felt I belonged and that was ripped from me.
My father sits down next to me. I don’t ease into his comfort like I eased into Samson’s. I’m stiff and unyielding.
He watches the sunrise with me, but his presence ruins it. It’s hard to find the beauty in it when I have so much anger directed at the man sitting next to me.
“Remember the first time we went to the beach?” he asks.
I shake my head. “I’ve never been to the beach before this summer.”
“Yes, you have. You were young, though. Maybe you don’t remember it, but I took you to Santa Monica when you were about four or five.”
I finally make eye contact with him. “I’ve been to California?”
“Yeah. You don’t remember?”
“No.”
His expression is regretful for a moment, but then he removes his arm from the back of the chair and stands up. “I’ll be right back. I have pictures here somewhere. I grabbed the album from our house in Houston when I found out you were coming.”
He has pictures of my childhood? Supposedly on a beach?
I’ll believe it when I see it.
A few minutes later, my father comes back with a photo album. He takes his seat in the chair again and opens it up, sliding it over to me.
I flip through the photos and feel like I’m looking at someone else’s life. There are so many pictures of me that I don’t even remember being taken. Days I have absolutely no recollection of.
I get to a section of pictures of me running in the sand, and I can’t connect them to a memory. I probably didn’t even realize the meaning behind a road trip at that age.
“When was this?” I ask, pointing to a picture with me sitting at a table in front of a birthday cake, but there’s a small Christmas tree in the background. My birthday is months after Christmas, and I normally only visited my father in the summer. “I don’t remember having Christmas with you.”
“Technically, you didn’t. Since you only came in the summer, I’d roll all the holidays into one big celebration.”
I vaguely remember that now that he mentions it. I have faded memories of being painfully full while opening presents. But that was so long ago, and those memories didn’t carry with me through the years. Neither did the traditions, apparently.
“Why did you stop?” I ask him.
“I don’t know, honestly. You started to grow up, and every year when you would come visit, you seemed less interested in the silly things. Or maybe I just assumed you were. You were such a quiet child; it was hard to get anything out of you.”
I blame my mother for that.
I flip through the album and pause on a picture of me sitting in my father’s lap. We’re both smiling at the camera. He has his arm around me, and I’m snuggled against him.
All these years, I didn’t think he was ever affectionate with me. There were so many years of him not being affectionate with me, those are the things I remember the most.
I run my finger over the picture, saddened by whatever happened between us to change our relationship.
“When did you stop treating me like your daughter?”
My father sighs, and his sigh is full of so many things. “I was twenty-one when you were born. I never knew what I was doing with you. It was easier to fake when you were little, but as you grew up, I just…I felt guilty. That guilt started working its way into our time together. I felt like your visits with me were an inconvenience for you.”
I shake my head. “It was the only thing I ever looked forward to.”
“I wish I’d known that,” he says quietly.
I’m starting to wish I’d told him.
If there’s one thing I learned from Samson this summer, it’s that holding everything in accomplishes nothing. It just causes the truth to hurt even worse in the end.
“I had no idea what kind of mother she was, Beyah. Sara told me some things last night that you told her and I just...” His voice sounds shaky, like he’s working to hold back tears. “I did so many things wrong. I have no excuse. You have every right to be resentful because you’re right. I should have fought harder to get to know you. I should have fought harder to spend more time with you.”
My father takes the photo album from me and sets it on the chair next to him. He faces me with an expression full of unease. “I feel like what you’re doing—allowing this guy’s fate to dictate your own future—it’s my fault, because I never set an example for you. But despite that, you turned out to be the amazing person that you are, and that is not because of me. It’s because of you. You’re a fighter, so naturally you want to stay and fight for Samson. Maybe it’s because you see so much of yourself in him. But what if he’s not who you think he is, and you make the wrong decision?”
“But what if he’s exactly who I think he is?”
My father takes my right hand and holds it between both of his. He looks so sincere, staring at me with such raw honesty. “If Samson is the person you think he is, what do you think he would want for you? Do you think he would want you to give up everything you’ve worked for?” I look away from my father, toward the sunrise. I’m holding all my feelings in my throat.
“I love you, Beyah. Enough to admit that you’ve been let down by too many people in your life. Me being one of them. The only person who has ever been completely loyal to you is you. You’re doing yourself a disservice by not putting yourself first right now.”
I lean forward and hold my head in my hands. I squeeze my eyes shut. I know that’s what Samson wants—for me to put myself before him. I just don’t want him to want that for me.
My father rubs his hand over my back, and the feeling is so soothing, I lean into him, wrapping my arms aroun
d him. He hugs me back, running a gentle hand over my head.
“I know it hurts,” he whispers. “I wish I could take that pain away from you.”
It does hurt. It’s fucking brutal. It isn’t fair. I finally have something good in my life and now I’m being forced to leave it behind.
They’re right, though. Everyone is right but me. I need to put myself first. It’s what I’ve always done and it’s worked for me so far.
I think about the letter Samson wrote to me, and that last line that got caught up in my heart. Go flood the whole goddamn world, Beyah.
I inhale a gulp of the salty morning air, knowing I won’t get very many more of them before I leave for Pennsylvania. “Will you take care of Pepper Jack Cheese while I’m gone?”
My father sighs with relief. “Of course I will.” He presses a soft kiss into my hair. “I love you, Beyah.”
There’s so much truth in his words, and for the first time, I allow myself to believe him.
This is the moment I release it all. Every single thing from my childhood that’s made my heart so heavy.
I release my anger toward my father.
I even release my anger toward my mother.
The only thing I’m going to hold on to from this point forward are the good things.
I may not be ending the summer with Samson by my side, but I’m ending it with something I didn’t have when I showed up here.
A family.
THIRTY
My roommate is a girl from Los Angeles. Her name is Cierra with a C.
We get along okay, but I’m trying to stay focused on school and volleyball, so I haven’t hung out with her outside of our dorm room. Other than when we’re both in here doing homework or sleeping, I don’t see her much. It’s weird how I lived across the hall from Sara for a summer and saw her more than I see the person living in the same room with me now.
I miss Sara, even though we text every day. So do my father and I.
None of us discuss Samson, though. Not since that morning I decided to come to Pennsylvania. I need everyone to believe that I’ve moved on, but I’m not sure how to. I think about him all the time. I’ll see something or hear something and feel an intense need to tell him about it. But I can’t because he’s made sure to cut off any form of communication I could have with him.
I wrote him one letter and it was returned to me. I cried that entire afternoon, but decided not to write him after that.
His court hearing was this morning. Based on all the charges, he’s looking at several years of potential prison time. I’ve been waiting by my phone all day for a phone call from Kevin.
That’s all I’ve been doing. Staring at my phone. Waiting. I finally get tired of it and dial Kevin’s number. I know he said he’d call me after Samson’s sentencing, but maybe he got held up. I look behind me to make sure Cierra is still in the shower and then sit up straight on my bed when Kevin answers.
“I was about to call you.”
“What happened?”
Kevin sighs, and I feel all the weight of Samson’s sentence in that sigh. “Good news and bad news. We were able to get the breaking and entering charges downgraded to trespassing. But they wouldn’t budge on the arson charge because of the security footage.”
My arm is wrapped tightly around my stomach. “How long, Kevin?”
“Six years. But he’ll likely get out in four.”
I press my hand to my forehead and drop my head between my shoulders. “Why so long? That’s so long.”
“It could have been much worse. He was facing ten years for the arson alone. Had he not already violated parole in the past, he probably would have been slapped on the wrist. But this isn’t his first offense, Beyah.”
“But did you explain to the judge why he violated parole? He had no money. How can they expect people to pay parole fees when they have no money?”
“I know it’s not the news you wanted, but it’s better than it could have been.”
I’m so upset. I honestly didn’t think he would be sentenced to that much time. “Rapists get less time than he did. What is wrong with our judicial system?”
“Everything. You’re in college. Maybe you should become a lawyer and do something about it.”
Maybe I will. I haven’t declared a major yet and nothing pisses me off more than thinking of all the people who fell through the cracks. “What prison are they sending him to?”
“Huntsville, Texas.”
“Do you have a mailing address for him?”
I can hear Kevin’s hesitation over the phone. “He doesn’t want visitors. Or mail. My name is the only one on his list besides my mother’s.”
I figured as much. Samson is going to be stubborn about this until the day he’s out. “I’m calling you every month until he’s released. But please call me first if there are any changes, or if he gets out early on parole. Anything at all. Even if he’s moved to a different location.”
“Can I give you a piece of advice, Beyah?”
I roll my eyes, waiting for another lecture from someone else who doesn’t know Samson at all.
“If you were my daughter, I’d tell you to move on. You’re putting too much effort into this guy, and no one knows him well enough to know if he’s worth that kind of energy.”
“What if Samson was your son?” I ask him. “Would you want everyone to just give up on him?”
Kevin sighs heavily before saying, “Point taken. Guess I’ll talk to you next month.”
He ends the call. I set my phone down on the dresser, completely disappointed. Helpless.
“You have a boyfriend in jail?”
I spin around at the sound of Cierra’s voice. My first instinct is to lie to her because that’s what I’ve always done. Hide my truth from everyone around me. I don’t think that’s who I want to be anymore, though.
“No, he’s not my boyfriend. Just someone I care about.”
Cierra faces the mirror and holds a shirt up to her chest. “Good. Because there’s a party tonight and I want you to come. There will be so many guys there.” She tosses the shirt aside and holds up another one. “And girls too, if that’s what you prefer.”
I stare at Cierra as she watches herself in the mirror. There’s anticipation in her eyes and very little damage. She’s who I wish I could be right now. Someone excited for the fun parts of college life and not at all weighed down by the things she might have had to overcome to get here.
It hasn’t felt fair of me to have fun when Samson is stuck behind bars, so all I’ve done since I arrived on campus is study and play volleyball and research ways to break people out of prison.
No amount of moping is going to change Samson’s fate. And even though he’s cut off communication with me, I know exactly why he’s done it. He knows I’ll be too focused and worried about him if I stay in constant contact with him. I can’t be angry at him for that.
And when I can’t stay angry at him, how am I supposed to forget him?
No one will change Samson’s mind, though. I know that for a fact, because if the roles were reversed, I’d want the exact same things he wants for me.
I understand his intentions in every part of me. How would he react if he found out I spent my entire time in college as depressed and alone as I was in high school?
He would be so disappointed if I wasted these years.
I can either choose to stick to a lonely road of hope that may never be met, or I can figure out who I am while I’m in this setting.
What version of myself can I be while I’m here?
I run my index fingers under my eyes. I’m emotional for a lot of reasons, but mostly because I feel like I have to truly release myself of Samson in this moment or he’ll weigh me down for the next several years of my life. I don’t want that. And neither does he.
“Whoa,” Cierra says, spinning around to look at me. “I didn’t mean to upset you. You don’t have to go.”
I smile at her. “No, I want to. I want to go
to a party with you. I think I might be a fun person.”
Cierra pushes her bottom lip out like my words just made her sad. “Of course you’re fun, Beyah. Here.” She tosses me the shirt she was holding. “This color will look better on you.”
I stand up and hold the shirt up to myself. I look at my reflection in the mirror. I can feel the sadness inside of me, but I don’t see it on my face. I’ve always been good at hiding what I’m feeling.
“Want me to do your makeup?” she asks.
I nod. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
Cierra walks back to the bathroom. I glance next to the bathroom door, at the picture of Mother Teresa I hung on the wall the day I arrived.
I wonder what version of herself my mother could have been if it weren’t for her addictions? I wish I could have known that version.
For her sake, that’s the version of her I’m going to choose to miss. The person she never had the chance to be.
I kiss my fingers and then press them against the picture as I walk past it and into the bathroom.
Cierra is sorting her makeup. I promised myself when I first met her that I wasn’t going to prejudge her by labeling her a locker room girl like I almost did with Sara. No matter who Cierra was in high school, or who I was, we’re all made up of more than our past behaviors, good or bad.
I no longer want to be the version of myself who judged people before accepting them. I was projecting all the behaviors I resented.
Cierra looks at my reflection in the mirror and smiles like she’s just as excited as Sara would be to glam me up.
I smile back at her and pretend to be excited, too.
If I have to pretend my way through this entire year, it’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to smile so much that my fake smile eventually becomes real.
THIRTY-ONE
Fall 2019
Today has the makings of being a perfect day. It’s October and the sun is out, but it’s cool enough that I’ve been sitting on the hood of my car for the last two hours and haven’t even broken a sweat.
Heart Bones Page 23