The Tower

by Lynn Moon

“Called what? What are you talking about?” I wanted to hit him, rip his eyes out. How dare he talk to me like that?

  “Your encounters,” he replied. “Was Joe your first boyfriend, or have you had many before?”

  “Are you crazy? Boyfriends? I’m only eleven.”

  “Right, okay, we’ll play it your way then.”

  “My way? Someone uploaded those fake pictures on the Internet, and it wasn’t me. Aren’t you going to do something about that?” It would feel so good to hit him, smack dab in the middle of his face. I didn’t do anything wrong except go to school and get tortured.

  “I don’t know anything about the Internet. I am, however, aware of your school’s website. That really wasn’t a smart thing to do, Miss Crocker. Do you always have this need to brag?” The man took several steps closer to me. He gently pulled my hair from my eyes, and said, “You really are a pretty little thing. But you already know that, don’t you? You also know how to use it, too.”

  As he sucked on his mustache, the gushing sound of his spit rubbed sourly against my jaws. I gagged. I had to look away before I puked all over the place.

  “Brag?” I repeated, stepping toward the door. I had to escape from this dangerous man. “I didn’t post anything, you stupid bald man. Grandmother!” I screamed as loud as I could. “Uncle Ted?” I had to get out of that room and away from this nasty creature before he did something to me.

  The man walked back to the fireplace and stared down at the silent logs. My grandmother peered around the door.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked.

  “Yes,” the man replied. “The child is refusing to cooperate.”

  “I am NOT refusing to cooperate. He’s saying that Joe’s my boyfriend, and that I’m pretty, and that I have other boyfriends. Tell him I don’t have, what did you call it? Oh yeah, sexual relations with anybody.” Tears ran down my face. For once, I was proud of them. I didn’t even try to wipe them away. “Grandmother, I wish to go to my room now.”

  “Obviously, she’s trying to cover things up, Mrs. Crocker. Most girls her age are protective of their older lovers. Since Miss Crocker is refusing to talk, I have no other option but to submit my report without her statement. This will not look good for her or for her boyfriend.”

  “I GAVE you my statement, you old codger. I told you, Joe is my riding instructor, and for horses. I’ve never had a boyfriend.”

  My grandmother folded her arms, and puffed out her chest. Frowning, she said, “I’m not comfortable with this line of questioning. I’m not sure what is going on in here, but I’d prefer that her father be present for any more questions.”

  Wow, was my grandmother finally standing up for me?

  “We are allowed to question the children alone, Mrs. Crocker. Petunia does not require a lawyer. After all, I must get to the bottom of things in order to protect her from her sexual perpetrator.”

  “Protect me?” My body and soul was being ripped apart by some evil kids, and this man wanted to protect me against Joe? Joe, the only person around here that treated me like a person.

  I couldn’t take any more, so I ran. I ran down the hallway and out the back of the house. I ran past the stables and down the long dark road. I didn’t know for how long. I just ran. Ahead of me, I saw the tops of my towers. My beautiful blue towers. It didn’t matter whether or not Christina was there. I had to get to the top.

  It felt good to climb, although with every step my knees screamed out in pain. But with each step came a little release as my anger faded. Exhausted, I paused at the top to catch my breath. As the trees along the ridge swayed in the wind, I could just make out the slight aroma of honeysuckle and jasmine. Light, puffy clouds floated above me, making me believe I could fly away anywhere. With another deep breath, I let it out slowly. My mind was clearing, and I could almost think straight again.

  My eyes drifted along the skyline of Atlanta. The sun would soon sink behind the trees, and the stars would come out. As a small twin-engine soared just overhead, I wished I was up there with them.

  Sitting down on the metal grating, I rested my head against the huge water tower. It seemed that sometimes I could almost feel the water held back by the thin layer of steel. Closing my eyes, I concentrated. A slapping sound echoed around me. Was that the water inside the tank?

  The wind caressing my face made me smile. Was the wind letting me know that everything would be all right? The face of the nasty social worker flashed through my mind, breaking the spell. As my skin started crawling again, I cringed. I felt dirty inside.

  As I tried to relax, a strange noise, like something flapping in the wind, broke my concentration. What could possibly be flapping way up here? Then it dawned on me—paper.

  Anger rushed through me as I thought of the reasons. Jumping up, I grabbed hold of the railing. At the far side of the tower, something flickered in the dimming light. Fear seemed to be weighing me down. My feet refused to budge. Using my need-to-know as a shield, I pulled myself along the railing. With each step, my heart pounded, demanding to be set free.

  There they were, too many to count. Taped firmly to my uncle’s new paint was my face. A face that begged me for help. I couldn’t help. What was I to do? The flapping grew louder until it filled the small valley, bouncing from tree to tree, as if flowing along the strands of the wind. Now they were clapping. No, the pictures were not clapping, the people were clapping. They were clapping because they were happy. Their happiness derived from my personal torture. Staring back at me was a naked woman, not an eleven-year-old girl. She spread her legs to show off everything she owned, leaving nothing for the imagination. What I couldn’t wrap my mind around was the simple fact that all the photos were of me. I never posed for those pictures.

  Each photo I yanked from that tower became thick, nasty goo that stunk, goo that would forever rot deep inside me. My stomach squeezed and turned just by me touching them. Aiming for the railing, everything I’d eaten that day fell to the ground far below. My body probably wanted to clean out the filth, if that was even possible.

  A deep pounding echoed through the small canyon reminding me of Saddlebag. His beautiful eyes flashed before me. I wanted to be on my horse right now and ride away, far away, and never stop.

  “Pete,” Uncle Ted yelled out from the back of his grey horse. Tapping the ground next to him with his front hooves stood Saddlebag. “Pete, come down.”

  Pulling the last few pictures from the tower, I felt dirtier inside than a stinking sewer pit. I held the photos tightly to my chest. Climbing down using only my right arm wasn’t easy. However, losing even one photo was not an option.

  Walking up to him, my uncle’s eyes widened. Shaking his head, he gently pulled the photos from my firm grip. Without a smile or frown, he held out a lighter. For the first time ever, I did not see a twinkle in his eyes. Instead, I saw one lone tear that refused to fall.

  Each photo we burned, one-by-one. Not once did a sound escape our lips. When the last of the embers floated into the night’s sky, we rode away together from the towers. To my dismay, I could not ride away from my pain. So, I embraced it.

  My dinner sat alone and cold on the table. I wasn’t hungry anyway. I doubted if I’d ever be hungry again. Needing fresh air, I found myself in front of the huge fountain. My eyes followed every contour, every muscle, of the horses that stood proud against the backdrop of stars.

  “I built this house for your mother.” My father’s voice fell through me as if sand was falling through a sifter. I didn’t move. “I wanted to prove to her parents I was more than just a handsome man in uniform. I worked hard, Pete. I worked real hard. You know what it got me? Plenty of alone time.”

  “Then why didn’t you sell this house?”

  “I guess I kept the hope that someday she’d come back,” he replied. “This statue was designed just for her. There’s not another like it in the world. Your mother loved horses. She was a good rider.”

  “I never saw her on a horse.”
<
br />   “We used to ride all the time. I told her I would buy her acres of land and she could ride whenever she wanted. Your grandmother said I was crazy to keep so much hope.”

  “It’s not crazy to have hope,” I said, feeling stupid. Because I had lost all hope in my school. “So, why didn’t you marry someone else? Mom did.”

  “I couldn’t, Pete. Your mother was the only woman I ever loved. I refused to love another, closed up my heart until you came home. Mother had packed away all our old photos. After your mother died, I pulled a couple out.”

  “I saw them in your study.”

  “I hope they don’t upset you too much.”

  “No, they don’t. I have one in my room. By the way who’s Trish?”

  “My legal aid. She’s young, still in law school. Hopes to join my practice someday. Bright girl. Thought I’d give her a chance to prove herself. The day you flew in, I was in Utah. I don’t trust your grandmother or Charles to drive at night. So, I asked Trish. I had hoped you wouldn’t mind.”

  “I didn’t.” I decided not to tell him about the luggage. What difference would it make anyway?

  “I guess all of this is my fault,” he said, pulling my hair from my eyes.

  “How could this be your fault?”

  “If I had lighter skin, maybe your grandparents wouldn’t have hated me so much. Just a few shades lighter.”

  “Dad, I love your skin. It’s so dark, reminds me of nighttime. So pure, so soft. Look at mine.” I held out my arm. “Little brown and black freckles all over the place. Not yours. I can’t see any marks at all.”

  “Speaking of marks.” He sighed, staring into the sky. “How’re your legs, the scars?”

  “Not good.”

  “I’ll find the best plastic surgeons, Pete. I promise.”

  “I know you will.”

  My phone beeped. I had another text. No phone number listed, just the word private.

  “Your friends from New York?” he asked.

  I kept my secret from everyone about Wendy and Kendra not being my friends anymore. I just couldn’t admit that it happened, not even to myself.

  “Yes,” I lied. I didn’t want to have to explain things right now. So, I left him alone as I walked away. I needed time to think, time to be alone.

  Saddlebag’s ears perked up as I entered the stables. I didn’t want my father to see the texts. Another unlisted number, this wasn’t good. Shoving the phone into my back pocket, I turned to my horse.

  “Hi, big boy,” I said, patting the side of his huge face. His eyes turned to stare at me. I wondered if he could read my thoughts, feel my pain.

  Leaning against a stall, I pulled my phone from my pocket. Each word I read burned a hole right through me.

  Why don’t you do the world a favor and jump from that water tower of yours.

  Closing my eyes didn’t make the harsh words go away. In fact, it drove them deeper into my soul. It took all my courage as I typed in a reply.

  Who is this?

  No response. The phone remained silent.

  All through my shower, the words repeated in my mind over, and over again. Why don’t you kill yourself … do the world a favor … kill yourself … water tower of yours … kill yourself.

  Maybe they were right.

  CHAPTER 21

  SOMETHING GOOD

  FINALLY, SOMETHING GOOD HAPPENED—my birthday. I was leaving the single double digits behind. Officially twelve, my father decided I was old enough for the newest smart phone. My uncle gave me a gift card for some apps. My grandmother wrapped up several new sweatshirts. Charles handed me a birthday card with a crisp fifty-dollar bill inside. Grandmother said I must be special because Charles never gave anybody anything. And, I was surprised to receive a small box in the mail from Joe. He had sent me a new comb and brush set for Saddlebag. There was nothing overly special about them, but I loved them. It meant that Joe had liked me enough to remember my birthday.

  The next good thing that happened was that the company my father hired to research the fake pictures finally came through. Well, they sort of came through. They certified that the pictures were indeed fake. Therefore, Social Services had to drop their case against Joe. I wondered how that nasty bald man felt about that. The real faces were revealed, and they were definitely not mine or Joe’s. Only one bad thing happened. The social media sites refused to close the fake accounts.

  “Does this mean Joe gets his job back at school?” I asked my dad when he gave me the semi-good news.

  “You’d think so. However, Dr. Wiltshire is concerned about his returning to the school. I’m afraid she let him go.”

  “You mean, she fired him? Because of me?”

  “No, not because of you.” My father tilted his head as if studying me. “I’m sure she’s just trying to stop any issues before they start.”

  “Issues? What Issues? Ah man, Joe lost his job because of me?”

  “No, not because of you,” he said, again. “Don’t you ever think that way.”

  “Then what way do I think? Can’t he teach me here?”

  “I asked if he would consider it. He’s too afraid to come anywhere near us right now. I’m sorry, Pete.”

  My heart broke. Joe was the only one who treated me like a real person. Now he too had left me. One-by-one the people I cared about were leaving. What did I do that was so wrong?

  “I’ve enrolled you in another school,” he said. “You start on Monday. It’s miles from Davis Academy. We shouldn’t have any problems.”

  A new school with new faces. I hated strangers.

  The rest of the week truly sucked. I missed Joe something terrible. Therefore, I still rode Saddlebag every day, even for just a short time.

  Monday arrived, and I as dressed in my new school’s uniform, I laughed at the girl in the mirror. DA didn’t require uniforms. Adam’s Academy did.

  As usual, my father dropped me off. The school, much smaller than DA, only had one building, no gym and no equestrian classes. After everything that happened recently, I refused to look anyone in the eyes, especially strangers. My first class, western geography, seemed okay. A young instructor, Miss Barton, wanted me to introduce myself. My frayed nerves only allowed me to say my name.

  During lunch, a boy kept staring at me. I sat alone at the end of a table, easy out in case of an emergency. Several times when I glanced over at him, he’d smile and nod his head. Not wanting any trouble, I’d glance away.

  After school, Charles waved at me as I headed for his car. It felt good to be going home for the day. For some reason, I was exhausted. After physical therapy, the tutor arrived to help me with my homework. With my father out of town on business, I pretty much could do what I wanted to do. I tried texting Wendy and Kendra. They refused to text back.

  With tears threatening to fall, I rested my head on my pillow. My phone chirped. Finally, they answered me. As I read the text, I knew it wasn’t from them.

  Changing schools won’t help. Just kill yourself already.

  Deleting that text, another popped in to take its place.

  The world would be a nicer place if people like you were not in it. Petunia Crocker, go kill yourself.

  Then another.

  Everybody hates you. You don’t have any friends. Doesn’t that tell you something? Even your own father hates you!

  Then another.

  Nobody wants you. End it all. Save us. Kill yourself.

  The texts just kept coming. I deleted each one as soon as they popped in. However, more replaced those that I deleted. I couldn’t delete them fast enough. Only my family and friends from New York knew my number, so who was typing all this stuff? I almost dropped my phone when it vibrated and jingled at the same time … phew … my father.

  “Hi, Dad.” I tried to sound as if nothing was wrong.

  “Hi, sweetheart. I wanted to know about your first day.”

  “It was okay. No problems.” I wasn’t really lying. After all, the texts happened after school
.

  “Good, good. You must be tired. Have a good night sleep. I fly back late tomorrow.”

  As I talked to my father, my cell kept beeping with new texts. Didn’t this person ever sleep? Saying our goodbyes, I turned off my phone and tossed it onto my nightstand. Something good happened this week … my birthday … also something bad. Unfortunately, the bad had become the norm.

  CHAPTER 22

  A NEW FRIEND

  WAVING GOODBYE TO CHARLES the next morning, I silently wished the day would hurry up and end. The cloudy skies that doused us all morning with large raindrops didn’t look like they were about to clear up any time soon. The dreariness of the day, along with my heavy heart, didn’t give me any indication that the day would be a good one.

  “May I walk you to class?”

  Over the last several months, I conditioned myself to be wary of anyone suddenly wanting to be friendly. These days, friendly and school just didn’t go together. Too afraid to see who was talking, and too afraid not to look, gave me a moment to pause. Glancing over my shoulder, I half expected to be pushed or jumped. Instead, I was surprised by a huge smile from a very black boy. The boy who stared at me at lunch was struggling with several extra-large books. Not bad looking; dark hair with a dark completion, and beautiful dark blue eyes.

  “I’m Mike, by the way. You’re new here, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.” Not wanting any trouble, my feet aimed for the school lobby.

  “I think we have history together,” he said, jogging to stay up with me.

  “I don’t know.” Not knowing what he wanted, or wanted to do to me, I was close to panicking when he grabbed my arm, forcing me to drop my books.

  “I’m so sorry.” Mike dropped to his knees to gather up my books. “You always stay to yourself. Why?”

  “Better that way,” I replied, kneeling down to take my books from him.

  Mike stood up, but refused to give me my books. “I’ve got ‘em. Where to now?”

  As his eyes followed mine, I wondered if he could possibly care. In some ways, his manners reminded me a little of Kendra. Her eyes would follow me until I answered her. It was her way of showing concern. This boy was acting much the same way.