by Yessi Smith
She spit at me, blood mixed with saliva landing by my boot. I grabbed her by the hair and violently jolted her head back. Her eyes, still wild with determination, met mine, and I spit in her face. Joy, real joy, drummed in my chest as I watched my saliva slowly make its way down her cheek while she struggled with the chains holding her hands to the wall.
“There’s no leaving here,” I reminded her. “This is where you’ll live until I decide otherwise.”
“And then what?” Her voice dared me to speak the truth. To utter the words and confirm her fate.
So, I did. “Then, you die.”
I smile at the memory. That was just the beginning. Her time is coming again. The thought grows inside me, growing, seeping into my body like a festering sore. She’ll have a new beginning, far worse than the one she left behind.
Just as I did before, I’m watching her, getting her routine down, so I won’t miss the opportunity to finish what I started. This is for Erica, my Erica, who was taken from me because of this girl’s father whose incompetence behind the wheel of a car took my heart away from me. Her parents own punishment doesn’t bring me comfort, not when they deserved so much worse.
Their death was too quick. They didn’t get the opportunity to feel the anguish I live with.
They still need to pay. So, she’ll pay for them.
That night, I go back home and find Erica sleeping peacefully with the help of her sleep medication. After a quick shower, I lie down beside her and gently kiss her on her cheek. With my arms wrapped around her, she inches closer to me. I breathe in her scent and drift to sleep with my favorite girl forever by my side.
The morning of the party, I find Poppa in the kitchen, eating homemade biscuits and gravy that Heather made for us. Sniffing, I let the smell of freshly baked bread hit me. I sit down next to him, a nervous smile playing on my face as I spread the gravy over my biscuit and then stare, my fingers toying with the flakes of the biscuit.
“Spill it, girl,” Poppa demands with a wink of his eye.
Stalling, I clear my throat and take a sip of my coffee.
“If ya don’t wanna go to that party, don’t go. It’s your choice.”
“I know.” I tap my fingers on the table. “It’s just…I want to go. I want to pretend none of this happened and just go about being who you, Amber, and Stephanie want me to be.”
“I’m sorry, Holl. I don’t mean to put that kind of pressure on you.”
“It’s not your fault.” I take his unoccupied hand in mine and squeeze. “It’s just me right now,” I stop midsentence to steady myself so that I can let him know where my thoughts lie. I take in a deep breath, and on an exhale say, “I want to go away.”
Poppa’s mouth hangs open, a tortured groan fills the air, shock permeating into the kitchen walls. Confused eyes meet mine, and his biscuit falls back onto his plate with a loud clamor.
“Go away?” he asks. “Where?”
Unable to me his gaze any longer, my eyes dart past Poppa. I don’t know. I don’t know where to go. “Just away.”
Poppa’s eyes redden, welling up with tears he’s fighting hard not to shed. “I just got you back.”
“I know, Poppa.” I slide over on the bench until my shoulder is touching his, and I lean my head against him. “I wanna go where people don’t know me, and I don’t feel like I’m constantly letting people down for not remembering things.”
“I make you feel that way?” Poppa asks me, his voice thick with grief.
Guilt skirts into my chest, filling my lungs.
“I make you sad,” I whisper, not wanting to look at him.
We sit in silence for a while, and the tension in my neck and shoulders expand to the back of my head. I want to say something else, something to ease Poppa’s mind, but still I stay quiet, hoping he’ll be the first to break the silence.
With my head bowed, I try to convince myself to eat, to just stick the food in my mouth, chew, and then swallow. But my compressed throat makes such a simple task impossible.
“Okay,” Poppa bends over to kiss the top of my head.
My eyes narrow as I stare at him in confusion.
“Okay,” he repeats. “I have a place where you can go.”
A quiet sigh of relief leaves me, the tension easing when he winks at me before picking up his biscuit. We don’t talk about where that place is. I just put my trust in the man I inherently know loves me more than anyone else in this world.
Derrick arrives early enough to keep my mind off the upcoming party, and he somehow manages to be useful in helping me pick out my clothes. By helpful, I actually mean he’s a big ball of waste lying on my bed, grunting and flipping me off every so often. But at least I don’t have to worry about crying on the floor because I don’t have anything to wear.
I go through the bags I brought home but didn’t put away after shopping with Amber and Stephanie. After rummaging through them, I go to the bathroom and slip on a black-and-white striped shirt with a high-waist red skirt. Staring into the mirror, I finish my ensemble with black eyeliner and red lipstick. I part my hair to the side and practice my smile in the mirror.
I’ve got this, I remind myself and turn away from the mirror, not wanting to see the unease behind my brown eyes, and don’t inspect myself further.
Crowded. Too crowded. My stomach tightens, nausea rolling over me.
Amber’s parents’ lake house is big but not big enough for all the people in attendance, so when we arrive, I see them spilled over onto the front yard. When Amber said she’d invited everyone, I didn’t think she actually meant she had invited everyone. I clutch my hands together as Derrick guides me through the house with his hand on my back, and I lean closer into him.
My eyes scan the room, not really taking any of it in, as I look for Amber or Stephanie. Someone hands me a drink, which I obediently take and then give to Derrick. I’m sure I drank before, but since I don’t remember it, I don’t want my first experience with alcohol being with a houseful of strangers.
Amber rushes to us when she spots us, and as I expected, she gives me a warm hug that’s becoming less foreign and more welcoming.
“Glad you and Derrick could make it,” Stephanie says, sending Derrick a shy smile.
Shy, my ass.
“Wonder if she’ll make it last more than a month with him,” I whisper to Amber and she throws her head back in laughter while Stephanie narrows her eyes at me, so I stick my tongue out at her.
“I wanna show you something,” Amber says, taking my hand.
Without looking at anyone but Amber, I walk with her, and Derrick and Stephanie follow close behind us. The worry pumping through my blood eases as we walk away from the house, and the noise lessens. Once we reach the lake, we follow a small paved path through a lightly wooded area. The winding tall oaks cast shadows from the moon above, and there’s a cool chill in the air. I breathe in the sharp freshness lingering in the air, and my lips turn into a small smile.
I’ve been here before. Just ahead, we’ll find a small sandy area with a fire pit.
I take the lead, eager to see if I’m right. The wind plays with my hair, sending wisps of it in my face, and my eyes dance when we reach the clearing. Five plastic lawn chairs are situated next to one another, forming a tight circle around what I know is the fire pit.
“I’ve been here.” My eyes flicker in recognition and I brush the hair out of my face. “Right?” I look back at the girls for confirmation. “We’ve been here.” I wave a shaky hand in front of me.
I walk absentmindedly to the pit, kicking a small stone in the process. Staring at the pit, I can imagine my friends seated next to me, around a warm fire, with beer and pizza in our hands while we laugh and share stories. Amber comes up behind me and wraps an arm around my waist while she rests her chin on my shoulder.
“Yeah, we’ve been here,” she whispers.
My heart races at her words.
“My parents and your parents…” I point at Amber and S
tephanie. “We’d all get together to watch football and stay in the lake house.”
“They used to throw massive Super Bowl parties,” Stephanie agrees. “And we’d come out here, light the pit, and just hang out.”
The vision of us is so clear, my eyes mist over with tears. This is real. So vivid that it’s almost tangible.
“No Super Bowl party for you?” Derrick asks us.
I roll my eyes at him in answer, and although I’m not sure he can see me, he laughs and pulls me to him for a warm hug.
“Should I get the fire going?” he asks.
The three of us nod our heads.
“I’m sorry I invited all those other people tonight,” Amber begins.
I shake my head at her. I understand now. She wants me to be happy and is looking out for me in the same way the three of us have looked out for each other.
“We don’t have to go back, not until everyone leaves,” Amber suggests.
“I don’t want to go back,” Stephanie admits. “It’s always been better when it’s just us.”
“We’re starting fresh.” Amber wipes the tears falling from her eyes. “Whatever you remember or don’t doesn’t matter. This is us.” She takes Stephanie’s and my hands. “And we’re making new memories.”
This is us. I know that to be as true as I know that I’m breathing.
Even when I leave, I’ll still have them.
I hold the restraints I used to tie the girl’s hands and bring them to my face, so I can smell her, be close to her. She’s been gone for so long, leaving me dissatisfied with the six months I had with her.
If I hadn’t been so comfortable with her fear, she wouldn’t have gotten away at all. But I wanted to give her hands a rest when the swelling on her wrists had tripled in size, so I loosened her restraints. And when she brought up Erica, saying her name as if she had a right to, I lost it. I threw things, kicked her, and eventually stormed out of the shed like a pubescent teenager.
She paid me back by escaping.
I won’t make the same mistake.
No, next time, I’ll make sure she doesn’t leave until she expels her last breath of life.
The time is nearing. I need to ready her room again. The sky stretches out before me with only the oaks to distract from its endlessness. I need to make it so that she won’t escape but not with physical pain. Physical pain can be ignored and defeated.
But emotional pain?
Erica is my proof that one cannot escape emotional pain.
Ed, her sweet grandpa, will render her hopeless.
On a small twelve seater airplane, I sleep during most of the flight to Eleuthera Island. Only, I wind up waking up sweaty and breathing heavily from a nightmare.
With the tendrils of my nightmare haunting me, I stare at my hands that are still marred with the wounds he inflicted on me. He had a fascination with my blood, with watching me bleed. His lips would curl into a menacing smile whenever I bled. I shake my head, not wanting the memory and look out the small window to the sea of fluffy clouds.
“We’re almost there,” Poppa says, touching my shoulder.
I grab his hand, allowing the comfort of him to ground me, thankful he’s with me, my constant anchoring me when life pulls me away into an abysm of darkness.
But I’m also glad he’ll only be with me for a couple of days. Together, we’ll take a ferry to Harbour Island where he will show me around after going to his house on the top of what many tourists call Oh Shit Hill. I laughed at the name, but he reassured me that I’d understand the reference when I saw it.
After he leaves in a couple of days, I’ll be alone—no, not alone, but on the brim of independence. The idea overfills my heart with pleasure and fear, but I prefer to focus on the pleasure.
It wasn’t easy to convince Ann that I could or should go, but she’s only my psychologist and not my keeper. So, despite her worries, Poppa and I left. Because, really, what does she know about me or how to stabilize my mental state? She has a few diplomas and a few years of experience, but in the end, I’m the only one who can make me better and set myself right again. She’s set a foundation of sorts for me, but it’s up to me now to build on it.
My lips twitch and then spread into a big grin as we make our descent. Even from our height, I can see just how clear the water below us is. Like crystals. Waves crash and foam, the reflection of the sun setting the sea on fire.
My nerves are so scattered that I’m practically bouncing off my chair, but I refrain from doing so because I’m afraid the tiny coffin-sized plane we’re in might destabilize and plummet us to our sudden deaths. See what a positive thinker I can be?
After deplaning, I mentally kiss the ground, and I follow Poppa onto our ferry that will take us on a short trip across the bay to Harbour Island. I eagerly get on the ferry, my feet stamping out a fast tempo, and sit on the side of the boat, so I can get a better view of the water. Unclouded. Translucent. Beautiful. I bend over the side of the boat to touch the cool water, and I laugh when I nearly tumble over.
Poppa grabs my waist, grunting a warning, so I sit still next to him and watch as the island takes form when we get closer to it. It’s bigger than I imagined, not so big that I could get lost on it, but it’s not so small that I’d feel imprisoned.
Once we dock, I take the captain’s hand, get off the boat, and step onto the dock. A sense of calm washes over me, and I soak it in.
I’m here.
I’m alive.
I can breathe.
Poppa guides me through the marina to the narrow streets where he points out our golf cart. A golf cart on what I’m pretending is a deserted island. My imagination takes flight, and I twirl around happy. Just happy.
“Can I drive it, Poppa? Please,” I beg, knowing he’ll agree even though he doesn’t want to. I’ve come to learn there isn’t an awful lot this man wouldn’t do for me.
“Better let me drive, princess,” a voice says from behind me.
It startles me to the point that Derrick’s training comes into effect, and I have literally swept this man off his feet, forcing him to land on his hands and knees, before I even knew what I was doing.
I glare at this stranger, ready to defend my actions, when I see his light-brown eyes laughing at me. He brushes the gravel off of himself before he extends his well-toned and thoroughly tattooed arm toward me. With my inner defenses still in place, I shake his offered hand but do not speak.
“I’m Travis Keillar,” he says, smiling a crooked smile I don’t trust. “Your neighbor. I take care of your grandpa’s house and also happen to have the keys to your golf cart.” He holds the keys out but doesn’t give them to me.
Without looking back at me, he places Poppa’s and my bags onto the golf cart and leaves me standing there, annoyed with his arrogance—and his perfectly shaped ass. The one he nearly fell on, thanks to me. I grin. He might have more than a foot advantage on my height, but I could take the cocky bastard down, if I had to. Pleased, I get on the golf cart, giving Poppa the front seat so that I don’t have to sit next to Travis.
But I still find myself staring at him—or rather, his hands. I think having an attraction to hands is common to artists since we work with ours—or at least, it should be. And his hands are beautiful with slender long fingers and strong veins that stick out and expand into his muscled arms. My eyes follow his tattoos up his arms, and I’m tempted to lift the sleeves of his shirt to see what other artistic treasures are hiding underneath.
Sensing my eyes watching him, Travis looks back at me and smiles the same irritating crooked smile he gave me just a few moments ago. So, I return a similar smile, and he shakes his head, laughing at me.
With my hands twitching and my nerves bouncing inside me, I ignore him for the remainder of our ride and get better acquainted with my new home. The roads are small and overtaken by trees so large that I’m surprised they don’t push the island under the water. The houses are small but well maintained with the pride of their owner
s. Horses graze on the side of the road, able to roam without the constraints of a fence. I’m a bit jealous of their freedom, but I remind myself that I, too, will find my freedom and independence on this island.
Without warning, Travis turns left onto an even narrower dirt road that we can’t possibly fit through, and he slams his foot on the gas pedal. I begin to protest until I see it—Oh Shit Hill. It lives up to its namesake with a narrow and steep climb that I don’t think our small golf cart can manage.
Poppa looks back at me and winks. “Oh shit.”
I start to laugh as our golf cart struggles its way up the hill. Chugging. Stalling. Pushing forward. Never giving up.
Once we get to the top, only one thought creeps into my mind. I want to take the golf cart down the hill with the gas pedal fully engaged. How’s that for some oh shit?
Our house sits at the very top of the hill, off to the left, where we have the view of both the bay and the ocean. Already, I can imagine myself listening to music on my iPod or reading a book or both, because who says I can’t do both?
I make my way toward the house and am met by a wet black beast of a dog carrying a large rock in its mouth. The dog drops the rock by my foot and leans its butt against my leg until I pet it.
“Her name’s Leeloo,” Travis says, making Leeloo look up at him at the sound of her name.
I bend over to pick up the rock Leeloo dropped by my feet and toss it for her to fetch. She watches the rock sail away but doesn’t chase it.
“She’s not much into playing fetch,” Travis informs me. “But she will save the rocks from drowning in the ocean.”
Rocks drowning in the ocean? Not understanding him, I choose to ignore him.
In the midst of petting her, Leeloo leaves me and runs toward the beach. She crashes into the oncoming waves with a sense of abandon and swims circles by the shore. I immediately like her and hope she’ll abandon her owner, so we can spend some time together.