Skipping Stones

by J. B. McGee

  “You just met me. This is pity.”

  He rolls his eyes as he picks up a stone and gracefully skips it across the water. “I don’t pity you.”

  “Oh, you do. You feel so sorry for me you can barely stand it. You want to fix me. Teach me everything you know.”

  He flashes a grin as he looks at me out of the corner of his eyes. “Yeah, that teaching you everything I know wasn’t a completely innocent statement.”

  I feel heat envelop my body. My heart that is so raw and vulnerable is pounding in my chest. “What not-so-innocent things did you want to teach me exactly?”

  He looks down. “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “I’m not good at verbalizing them.”

  “How were you going to teach me then?”

  He inches closer. “One day I’ll show you.”

  “But not today?”

  He closes his eyes for a moment. “No. Not today.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’re not ready for the things I want to teach you.”

  “You just met me. How could you possibly know what I’m ready for and what I’m not?”

  He picks up another stone and lets it glide across the top of the water. “You’re right. I’m not ready.” He turns and suddenly his legs are on the outside of mine. We’re facing each other and he has me trapped with his body, once again. He leans in, our lips nearly touching. My breath hitches. I wonder if my face is as red as I think it is. My body is so hot. Partially the summer heat, and partially his close proximity. I watch as he comes closer. His lips brush mine. “You’re going to regret this if we do it right now.”

  “No, I won’t.” I clench the rock that I’m sitting on. “You make me forget. I want to forget. I want to be lost with you. Please take me to another place, a happy place.”

  “Alex.”

  We both turn towards the road, and I jump when I see him. “Papa.”

  “It’s time to come home. It’s gettin’ late.”

  My brows furrow as I look back to Drew. I whisper, “Gotta go.”

  He nods, “Bye, Alex.”

  “See you tomorrow?”

  He smiles. “I hope so.”

  I glance back over my shoulder and give Drew a weak smile. I feel like I was caught doing something far worse than what we were. By all practical purposes, we weren’t doing anything wrong. Although, I was wishing we were. All I wanted was for him to kiss me, for him to take my mind to a place where coherent thoughts were no longer able to be formed.

  “Who’s the boy?” Papa grumbles as we start to walk back to the house.

  “His name is Drew.”

  “Drew who?”

  Oh, I know what this is. This is the fatherly inquisition. Except, he’s not my father. My father is dead. He’s my grandfather, who now must feel obliged to play the fatherly role. I swallow back the tears as moments of lost father/daughter dances move before my eyes. I hesitate to answer as I think about the lonely walk down the aisle one day to a husband, maybe it will be Drew.

  “Alex. Drew who?” Papa reminds me of his impeding question.

  “Drew Foster.”

  “I don’t know any Fosters from ‘round here.” It’s not so much a statement. It’s more of him thinking out loud. “Did he just move here?”

  “Yeah. He said a couple of months ago.”

  “Well, just be careful. This neighborhood isn’t what it once was. A bunch of riff-raff these days. I don’t want you gettin’ mixed up with trouble.”

  I draw out my ‘okay’ for dramatic effect. He knows nothing about Drew. While I don’t know much, I do know that he’s been the only person able to get me to feel like I’m not connected to a lead ball that is sinking into the ocean, thousands of miles beneath the surface. He’s been the air my lungs can’t seem to find in any other way or place.

  “He seems nice. When I’m with him, I can kind of forget.”

  “Forget what?”

  My chin starts to quiver again, squeezing my throat in the process. “Forget everything I’ve lost.”

  “Everything we’ve all lost, Alex.”

  “I know, Papa. I know.”

  “Your family’s here for you. You just have to let us in. Anything you need.”

  I shake my head, but then it occurs to me that I do need something. It’s what Drew is providing for me. “Just a friend.”

  “You have friends.”

  “Not here.”

  “There are a lot of people who love and care about you. There’s Joshua and Jason from church. You know they’ve always liked you, right?”

  I giggle, “Yeah. I don’t like them the way they like me, Pop.”

  “Then there’s Kayleigh and Malia from church.”

  I glare at him. “Pop, they don’t like me.”

  “Awe, who could not like my Ali Lou?”

  Rolling my eyes, I answer, “Mean girls who smile and act fake for the adults.”

  “Whatever you say. I just think there are people here who care about you.”

  I nod. “Okay.” It’s not worth the argument, even a playful argument. I don’t have the energy for that. “What about my friends back home? Like Charlie?”

  We’re nearing the house. It took longer than usual because we’ve walked at a snail’s pace. Papa can’t seem to get around quite like he used to. I can see the cars have all left. I hook my arm in his as I look up into his teary brown eyes right before he looks away. “I’m not sure, Alex. I’m not sure how to do any of this.”

  “Me neither. What about my stuff, our house?”

  “Can’t we get through these next few days before we worry about your stuff and your friends?”

  I’m not a materialistic person. I feel bad for even mentioning it now, and it seeming that way. “I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”

  “I know you didn’t.”

  A tear manages to escape. “I’m just scared.”

  “Me, too.” He takes my hand that is looped through his arm into his other hand, brushing it with the pad of his thumb. “What do you say we have a slice of that delicious Red Velvet cake that Miss Shirley brought for us, and then watch the stories.”

  The mention of the stories makes me smile. The stories are soap operas. My grandparents record them on cassette tapes. Then they watch them in the evenings before bed so they can fast forward through the commercials.

  “I have missed that cake. I usually only get it on special occasions.” I clinch my eyes closed as I realize this is a special occasion. It’s just an unwanted, unwelcome special occasion. “What have I missed on...” I do my fingers as little quotation marks. “The stories?”

  The rest of the short stroll is spent with Papa telling me about the plot twists as if the people involved are our neighbors or best friends. It’s funny how invested people become in fictional characters.

  “Alex.” I feel someone shaking my shoulders.

  “Hmm.” I can barely open my eyes because I’m so tired.

  “C’mon, sweet girl. Come on to bed,” Papa whispers as I groan putting the pillow over my head. “This ‘ole couch’ll break your neck if you sleep here.”

  I must have fallen asleep watching the soaps. He nudges me again. “Alex. Won’t you go on to bed?”

  I can feel his presence. I just want to go back to sleep, but I feel guilty for worrying him. “I’d carry you if I wasn’t an old man. I don’t want your neck to hurt tomorrow.”

  I love my Papa. He’s always more concerned with other people than himself. He’d do anything, I believe, for the people he loves. There’s actually no doubt in my mind. I swing my legs around and sit up for a minute to let the dizziness subside. “Okay,” I grumble.

  “Thank you. And you’ll thank me in the morning when you’re able to move your neck,” he chuckles.

  “Mhmm.” When I stand, I can see the fatigue on his face. Hooded, tired eyes that are bloodshot with bags under them. His face is splotchy. “Papa?”

  “Yes’
um?”

  “I love you.”

  He cocks his head to the side. “Well I love you, too. Where did that come from?”

  I put my hand over my chest. “My heart.” I can feel my voice quivering. I’m not sure if it’s from being half asleep, or from impending tears.

  He does something I’ve been yearning for. He smiles the biggest, toothiest grin ever. It’s a smile that can light up any room. It used to be rare to not see it. I used to think his mouth wasn’t capable of closing or frowning. Lately, his smile has become rare. But not now. He’s smiling now, which makes me do the same. “Alex, you know you are Memaw and Papa’s heart. You’re our reason for living. You make all of this a little bearable. Without you...”

  The smile fades and he chokes as he shakes his head. “Ahem. Well. Let’s not think about that. I love you, too.” He places his hand over his heart. “It’s all yours. Now, let me tuck you in snug as a bug in a rug in a comfy bed instead of that old couch.”

  Snug as a bug in a rug. He’s been saying that to me for as long as I can remember. My dad always said it, too. I can still hear him saying it. In fact, it’s like I can hear him whispering it in my ear. I close my eyes and nod. “Okay.”

  Then I wonder at what point will I not be able to hear my parents’ voices in my head? Will I always hear them? Or will I eventually forget what they sounded like? Will I forget what they looked like without the aid of a picture? My chest starts to get heavy. It’s the bricks. They’re coming back.

  There are only two things that help the bricks go away. The first is the medicine. It’s not time for another dose. The other is Drew. And I don’t think my grandparents would appreciate me sneaking out in the middle of the night to go toss our stones at windows trying to find him.

  I turn to Papa. “I’m awake now. I can’t go back to sleep.”

  “Why don’t you at least try to lie down and get some rest,” he insists.

  I haven’t told them about the nightmares. “Everytime I close my eyes...” I cringe. “I...I –”

  “Me, too,” he whispers as he brushes away one of my tears. “I hate that I can’t fix it for you. I wish I could take away the pain.”

  I shake my head. “It’s not your fault. I don’t know how to fix me, how could you?”

  He walks to his recliner and pats his leg after he sits. I follow and curl up in his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck like I’m still five instead of fifteen. “They say I’m older and wiser. I should.”

  I’m unsure of what to say. I feel so guilty that he feels responsible for my reactions, or not being able to make this all better for me. What he doesn’t know is that he is making it better. “When you hold me like this...”

  “Uh huh?”

  “It makes it a little better. I love sitting on your lap. It makes me feel like I’m still five. Like nothing else in this world matters. Like I’m safe.”

  He wraps his arms around me and squeezes. “I’ll do everything in my power to make you feel that way for as long as I’m living, Alex.”

  “I know.”

  “Tickle?” I call it tickling. It’s not really fast tickling. It’s more like a very specific way to rub my back. My mom’s mom knows how to do it, too. For as long as I can remember, they’ve always done it when they wanted to get me to go to sleep.

  “Sure.”

  He starts to lightly strum his fingers across my back. I get goosebumps. Some people have comfort food for times like these. I have comfort tickling. It’s as soothing as any lullaby. I feel my eyes starting to get heavier. I fight it. The time between blinks gets longer and longer until my lids are finally too heavy to lift again.

  I feel movement beneath me, and I hear a grunt. I pry my eyes open, not sure of where I am or who I am with. “Hmph, we slept all night like this?” I ask as I look to the windows where the early morning sun is starting to peek through.

  “Would appear so.”

  “That was the best sleep I’ve had since...” I can’t say it. Nightmare has been the word of choice.

  He nods. “I’m glad. I felt bad for waking you up the first time. I refused to do it again.”

  “I’m surprised you could even breathe.” I giggle.

  “It was fine.”

  I stretch, and then get up to head to the bathroom. “You want some Corn Flakes?” he asks.

  “Yuck. Corn Flakes.”

  “They’re good for ya.”

  “Let me guess...they’ll make me pretty?”

  “No, that’s just vegetables. These make ya smart.” He chuckles. “I’ll even slice up a banana for you. What do you say?”

  “No thanks.”

  He raises his voice a little as my distance grows and I enter the bathroom. “Alright. Well, you need to eat something this morning.”

  Eating. I haven’t really had much of anything since this accident. I don’t have an appetite. It’s killing my grandparents to see me not eat. I can’t help it. That’s what people in the south do: they feed you. My grandparents take immense pleasure in being able to cook great meals. I think it’s partially because they are on the poorer side of the middle class. Their budget is really tight. It’s not like they have a bunch of money to go out to eat or buy lavish gifts. Instead they love to give their gift of cooking. It kills two birds with one stone.

  After I’ve finished my business in the bathroom I hear, “Alex is –”

  I open the door to find my grandmother. We nearly bump into each other. “Morning. How’d you sleep?”

  I smile. “How? Surprisingly well. Where? On Papa’s lap.”

  “I saw. I took a picture. I wasn’t going to wake either of you. I’m surprised you could sleep through those logs he cuts.”

  We laugh. “Me, too!”

  Papa chimes in, “I don’t snore.”

  “Oh Lee. You most certainly do.” She looks back to me. “Let me go to the bathroom and then I’ll fix you some breakfast. What do you want?”

  “Not hungry.”

  “Oh Alex. You have to eat.”

  I don’t have it in me to fight with her about it right now. It hurts me so badly to hurt them. Maybe I’ll try this morning. Maybe that will help with the nagging. Maybe it will help with the overwhelming guilt I have for being stubborn. “What about biscuits and sausage gravy?”

  “I’ll even make the biscuits from scratch if you’ll promise you’ll eat two.”

  I raise my eyebrows. That makes my stomach start to rumble. The hunger slowly creeping into the pit of my empty stomach. “I love your homemade biscuits, and when you make homemade dumplings.”

  “I’ll make you both if you’ll just eat.”

  I nod. “I’ll try.”

  “That’s a good girl.” We switch spots in the area. This bathroom faces the back door that leads to the carport. The foyer is especially tight. “You should probably go get dressed. I’m sure it’s going to be a long day.”

  I frown as I’m reminded of what the day will entail. It’s activities I’m becoming far too familiar with. It consists of obituary writing, shopping for last outfits, gathering photos for the memory board, way too many visitors...and it all adds up to a ton of bricks.

  I was able to eat two of those made-from-scratch biscuits with homemade sausage and milk gravy. I don’t think I knew just how hungry I was. Most meals since the accident have been spent with me using utensils to play with my food. Instead, this time I was using my fork to scrape up every last drop of that gravy.

  “Alex, you can have more than two. You don’t have to scrape the plate.”

  “I don’t want to make myself sick.”

  “You haven’t eaten in days. I must say it’s a sight for sore eyes.”

  I smile as I turn my fork backwards and lick. “That was delicious. Just what I needed.” I get up from my chair and head to put my stuff in the sink. Papa spends a lot of his day slaving over the dishes Memaw dirties while she cooks. They have an old green dishwasher, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen them use it. They hate ha
ving the house out of order, and they were raised to do everything by hand.

  “Here, Pop. Want me to rinse while you wash?”

  “No, sweetheart. I got this,” he says as he looks out the window. You can see the hill that I love to run down. Some summers when we were little, my cousin and I would make a homemade slip and slide out of these industrial strength long trash bags Papa would bring home from work. Then one year at Christmas it actually snowed. We rarely get ‘White Christmases’ here in South Carolina. We used the tops to those Rubbermaid containers to sled down the hill. Mom and Dad were out video taping us. I wonder where that video is?

  I feel the blood starting to boil. I’m so angry that I don’t get anymore memories with my parents. I feel robbed. I don’t get to go wedding dress shopping with my mother. My father will never walk me down the aisle. They missed getting to watch me go to the prom. They won’t see me graduate. Most of all, I’m angry that every single thought seems to lead back to them. I can’t escape the pain. I need a way to escape the pain.

  “Papa?”

  “Yes’um,” he replies, glancing over to me.

  “Can I go for a walk?”

  “Are you going to see that boy...what was his name?”

  “Drew. I don’t know.” I don’t know if I’ll see him, but I know I’m going to go look for him.

  “I told you. We don’t know nothing ‘bout that boy. You need to be careful.” He’s stern. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever heard him be so stern with me before.

  “I will.” I lean over and give him a kiss on his round cheek. “Is there a time I need to be back by?”

  “We’ll holler for you. Be listening.”

  “Okay,” I cheerfully reply. Cheerful. That’s a new emotion these days. I know it’s only cheerful at the thought of Drew. I skip to my back bedroom where I usually stay in the summer. I guess it’s my new room. I swallow. So many changes happening so fast. It’s so overwhelming.

  I slip on my flip flops and head back through the house to the back door. Memaw stops me right as I am about to make my escape. “Alex.”