Emerge

by Lila Felix

  Chapter 2

  After the bus stopped at my stop, I got off and walked the four blocks to my house. By the time I got there I was drenched with sweat and regretting not wearing shorts. I stood on those concrete steps again, silently begging God for Mrs. Cleaver. I twisted the door knob and repeated my ritual of “Guess who’s in the house”. There were empty grocery bags lying lonely on the counter and the dishes were done. My heart took a step back down to its resting place at the very sight. I walked through the house, braver, but not really bravely, skeptically scoping the place out. I walked through all of the rooms, the sun porch, and even the back garage/office, but there was no one there. They were gone somewhere. I just hoped they didn’t lose May or forget to feed her.

  I took a quick shower and got ready for my job down at the music store. It wasn’t a typical music store; it was a sheet music store. It was the only sheet music store left in this city. I grabbed my messenger bag and a black sweater as it got pretty cold in that old store. I popped my earbuds in and let Better Than Ezra sing me the12 blocks to my destination. My real Dad had bought me an iPod for Christmas last year complete with an iTunes gift card. Little did he know that it helped me keep my sanity.

  My job there was simple. Vacuum the carpets then dust the furniture, clean out the practice room and re-shelve the sheet music discarded by patrons who found something bigger and better to buy. It was easy and I didn’t have to talk to anyone…Which meant that no one was asking me about my life.

  As the vacuum made its passes along the brown and gold shag carpet, I thought about him. You know…one of those cheesy day dreams where the guy sweeps in and breaks the vacuum in half over his knee and takes me away to a tropical beach where he professes his carnal and undying love for me. Oh man…I’m a moron. He was probably smiling at me because I had a booger hanging out of my nose or he’d never seen someone who was such a dork. He’s probably sitting around his rebel hangout, leaning coolly against a motorcycle with his friends not even giving me a second thought. Who am I kidding? He never gave me a first thought.

  Then I hear a snapping. What the heck is with the snapping while I’m daydreaming? Oh, it’s the boss. Apparently there’s a dusting emergency that needs my attention…stifled eye-roll. My boss is Mr. Cannon. He looks like a banjo playing, Skoal spitting, moonshine maker from Kentucky. He wears flannel all the time and calls me Little Lady.

  “Well, Little Lady, it’s payday, did you forget?”

  Seriously, like I could forget.

  “No Sir, I didn’t. Do you have mine?”

  “Of course I do…whatdyathink? Here it is.”

  He ran his words together notoriously. He did that thing where you take something back when they grab for it…Soooooooo funny. I acted very cool and casual putting it into my back pocket and resuming my job. As soon as the door hit my butt two hours later, I would be ripping it open like it was a Publisher’s Clearing House check. I didn’t make much, but when you don’t have anything, a little is a lot and I made it stretch.

  On my way home from work I was really excited. Somehow I managed to get a raise and it bumped my check up 5 bucks. 5 bucks is 5 bucks. It had gotten dark and a little cold and my thin black sweater with the hole in the elbow is not doing the job. Good thing it’s only a 12 block walk. Yeah…

  I walked home and let myself in…The car is still not there. Where did they go? I shrugged it off as there was nothing I could do about it. We didn’t have cell phones. You had to have credit and money for that and there was no way I could get in touch with them. So I went about my business…homework and laundry. When I finished, the night had descended fully and the moon reminded me that they still weren’t home. The phone had rung several times but the caller ID told me “Unknown”…That unknown lady was trouble and she loved our phone number. She was a bill collector or the IRS or somebody that didn’t like us very much…I didn’t blame her. Hell, I didn’t like us very much. I got my book and sat on my bed by the window, curled up in my floral sheets which were pretty much worn to paper thin and waited…and waited…then fell asleep.

  Six a.m. was there before I knew it and I woke with a horrendous crick in my neck from sleeping with my head perched on the windowsill. I groaned at the pain and then quieted myself for fear of waking the beasts. Wait….did they get home? I jerked my head around to look at the other twin bed in the corner. I pulled the sheets back in vain as I searched for the little blonde beauty. The bed was empty. I tore down the three feet long hall and looked into my parents’ room. It was empty too. They didn’t come home? They didn’t call? Are they ok?

  They had done this before. Once they had taken off for 4 days without notice when I was 13. It was before May was born and I didn’t know what to do. I called my real Dad and he came to get me and when they got home, 3 days later, they called him and said there was an emergency and they couldn’t wait for me to get home from school before they left. It was a load of crap and everyone knew it, but he brought me back home anyway. He didn’t want custody of me, mostly because he thought I had a good life with my Mom and I was too chicken to tell him otherwise. The day I was returned I was greeted with spit in my face coupled with a slap to make sure I got the point. When I asked where they were, she clocked me in the jaw. All of my clothes were taken except one pair of jeans and a raggedy shirt. I was made fun of for weeks because I wore the same thing to school every day for a month straight.

  Not knowing what else to do…I went to school dutifully. My classes were a haze as my brain conjured up all of the awful things that could be happening to May. I slothfully made my way into the desk in the corner of Drama. The teacher was out that day and we were told to study independently for the period. I opened up my Physics book and stared at the book, pretending to study. I was so knee deep in my worry that I didn’t even notice him until the period was almost over. He was sitting three seats up and to the right of me and was lazily glancing over his shoulder, silently begging my gaze. He was wearing a white t-shirt and some dark jeans and the same Doc Martens. My eyes locked with him and it was as if he could see through me. His face reflected the worry I felt and I wondered why he looked like he cared. Was he worried about me? Did he see the worry in me and felt sorry for the poor dorky girl? At the moment, I didn’t care which one it was. I found solace in his stare until it was broken by the ‘not so subtle’ “Aheeeemmmm” from the substitute teacher. I saw a corner of those gorgeous lips turn upward in a smirk and then they returned downward as he turned back around in his seat.

  As I made my way back home after a sweet “Are you ok?” from the bus driver, I stopped frozen in my tracks as my eyes surveyed the damage. The doors to the car were wide open and the sad white backdoor to the house was marred with a shattered window. My Mom’s purse lay halfway out the doorway as if it were crawling out of the house to safety. Its meager contents were lying in the aftermath. Oh God, what happened? Please let it be ok. I picked up the purse and its belongings, shut the doors to the car and walked into the house and set her purse on the dryer.

  The kitchen cabinets were all opened and cans and boxes littered the counters and the floor. It was like an episode of “The Haunting” where the lady turns from the kitchen to put something in the refrigerator and when she turns back, all of her cabinets are open and she flips out and screams and demands they move out immediately. I stepped through and over the mess of more purse contents and cans and boxes and came upon my answer. My Mom was sitting at the dining room table, holding a cup of coffee like it was her life jacket. The right side of her face was swollen and blood trickled from the side of her mouth. She pointed to a bag of frozen peas on the table, wrapped in a kitchen towel and sobbed as she whispered “They melted.” I dropped my bag and got her a half full bag of chopped mixed vegetables from the freezer and smacked it on the counter to break them from their frozen block shape. I wrapped them in the kitchen towel and said, “Here. Where’s May?” Her eyes bulged and she said, “Shhhhh!!!! He’s asleep.” He was passed
out again after a drunken tirade. I knew it. I rushed quietly to our bedroom and she wasn’t in her bed. I checked the next logical place, the closet. Relief flooded my system. She was there, curled up in my thrift store hooded sweat shirt asleep from fear or crying. I left her there as I didn’t know for sure if the tyrant was down for the night or just a nap. There was no telling. I shut the closet door and made my way back to the kitchen.

  I didn’t ask where they had been and I didn’t really care. I would get the story from May the next time we were alone and from her it would be the truth. That kid didn’t lie, even though we were constantly smothered with deceit. I picked up the cans and boxes like a ninja. I was skilled at cleaning up the aftermath in silence. I saw my Mom fumble in her “secret closet” through bottles until she found her pleasure. Who knows what it was. The doctors said she was bipolar, but instead of taking the medicine on schedule she waited until she was a wreck and nearly overdosed herself with whatever concoction she fancied. I shut the cabinets and the last one gave a cry of pain as it shut. I stopped to listen, seeing if the whiny cabinet woke him, but didn’t hear anything. By this time it was dark and I gathered a blanket, my pillow, a flashlight and my book and made my way to the closet. I wasn’t even going to bother with homework or showering tonight for that matter. I was safe for tonight and so was May. The last thing I thought about before going to sleep was that almost smirk from the boy who I wished was mine.

  Chapter 3

  If my Mom thought I was ugly on a normal day, she would have called the ugly police on me this morning. The dark bags under my eyes were big enough to hold a small child. I looked like Voldemort on a bad day. I did what I could, got dressed, and made my way to school. Before I left, I put May in my bed and tucked her in. She would get in trouble if she was caught sleeping in the closet. At least she was home safe and as twisted as it sounds I was grateful for the fight last night. It meant I didn’t have to anticipate one for a good while. I could breathe easy for a month at least, maybe 6 weeks if my Mom was extra submissive and daunting on him. He would spend the day apologizing and fake blubbering how much he loved her. I hate the blubbering. I was once again grateful for school.

  I hadn’t eaten the day before and my stomach gave me a sharp reminder as I passed the heavenly smells of the bakery which was right next to school. I stopped in and scrounged change for a glazed donut. I downed it like a hyena and then quenched my thirst at a water fountain in the first hall I could get to. I was still hungry, but oh, well. I made my way to Homeroom, grateful for my routine.

  Later, I was walking through the Science Hall after third period Calculus and trying not to be tardy to Physics when I saw him. It was the first time I had seen him out of Drama class and I did a double take as if I didn’t believe he existed outside of sixth period. He smiled that perfect smile at me and I gave him a stupefied tight lipped smile that I usually give freely to strangers and the lady at the library. It’s official, I’m a dork. I was contemplating giving myself a good smack against the concrete wall when I heard it. “Carlos, wait up man!!” Instinctively, I turned around, somehow knowing that it was him they were calling to. He turned and greeted the other guy and they assumed their walking. Carlos…Holy crap, that’s his name. It was just his name, but somehow it was a new, though small, something I knew about him.

  Time never goes fast when you want it to. And today was no exception. Fourth and fifth periods seemed longer than my whole day. I rushed out of fifth period AP American History and walk-ran the distance down the stairs to Drama class. My messenger bag was literally kicking my butt all the way down. Once I reached the second flight of stairs I slowed to a snail pace, trying to look calm and cool walking to class. Yeah, when you have to pretend to be calm and cool walking to class you know you’re a grade ‘A’ turd basket. I took a deep breath and entered the classroom sauntering along like I wasn’t jonesing to see him. Calm down Moron, you’re gonna have a panic attack. You’re probably foaming at the mouth or something. Even if you see him, all he sees is a pity case or an ugly duckling.

  I walked in and took a seat in the back, not because I like to sit in the back, but it was the only seat that had an empty seat next to it. “I Wuz Here” was carved into the top corner of the surface. Had to be the work of a genius, right? I scanned the class looking for him while pulling out my script for the play. Moron clue #2, looking around a classroom for a boy while you pull papers out of your backpack at .23 mph. I rolled my eyes at myself and steadied my breath. The tardy bell rang and sadness crept in. He wasn’t here today. I resolved to being a bit sad. Then the door opened and I swear I heard “Howl” by Florence + The Machine playing around me. He was there and he was eyeing the seat next to me.

  He walked in and slipped casually into the seat next to me. I got the feeling that everything he did was smooth. Today we were supposed to talk about costumes and stage directions and other theatrical things. But in the 2 feet that separated me from him there was this heat wave, kinda like the waves of heat that emanate from a space heater. I could almost hear the hum of it and I blushed furiously at the thought that he felt it too. Then that wench Real World got my attention. There’s no way this guy feels what I feel for him. There’s just no way. He’s not attracted to me. I’m just me. I might as well be an Amish wallflower.

  Out of the corner of my eye I could see him studying his lines, really intently. I had probably stared at him through my peripheral vision for forty minutes. Someone knocked at the door and the teacher excused himself for a minute.

  As soon as the door closed he turned to me, still in his desk.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hi,” I croaked out.

  After an awkward minute he added, “So…you weren’t in this class last semester.”

  I hesitated and then answered, “No…I was in Senior English, but it was full this semester because that one teacher quit so they put me here.”

  It was like the words were coming out and my brain was letting them through the gate without any censorship.

  He smiled, and said, “Well, that makes it easier.” I shook my head trying to jumble the words into place in my head.

  I answered, “Makes what…”

  The bell blared in my ears causing me to look up at the clock and when I turned back to the conversation he was gone.

  The whole bus ride and walk home was spent overanalyzing his statement. What did he mean? Why did he say that? Was he talking about me or the class? So, he noticed I wasn’t in that class last semester or he just noticed I was a new student this semester?

  I analyzed it and ran it over in my brain until I had caused a two minute conversation to become a two hour throbbing headache. But that two minute conversation had made my day, my week, maybe even my year. I caught a glance at my house as I walked under the freeway overpass and cringed. Here we go again.

  Chapter 4

  The house was clean and dinner was made when I got home which was typical after a big Tyrant episode. Later I would find out from May in a middle of the night closet conversation that Mom and the Tyrant had gotten some ‘big money.” That’s what May called it. She was extremely smart and listened to everything then repeated it back like a parrot.

  It was probably one of their famous random settlement checks for $2,300 or some other odd amount and they went to a local casino to double it. They were always suing people and this was one of their paydays. Of course they lost it all, hence the Tyrant episode. It was my Mom’s fault they had lost all of the money.

  May had been left with some lady that Mom had only talked to twice but apparently she was really nice to her and made what May called “sprinkly brownies”. And apparently that lady had given Mom quite the talking to about something outside, but May couldn’t hear what they were saying.

  I had worked that day, only for two hours and Mr. Cannon cashed my paycheck that I still had folded up from the day before yesterday. It was $213.36 and I was hoarding it in case the groceries Mom bought with her mysteri
ous check didn’t last. I needed stuff, but I could deal without until I knew we were in the green.

  Mom was Mrs. Cleaver again and not by choice, but to keep the peace. She ran through the house towards his room frantically every time he screamed “Miranda!” Her bruises were fading already but she still flinched when she smiled her fake smile. She would always make three square meals and keep the house neat as a pin after a big Tyrant event. She would keep this routine up for about a week and then it would slowly deteriorate into Medusa/Mrs. Cleaver whiplash.

  So I woke up the next day in a great mood and even put a little extra effort into my make-up and hair. I wore it down today since it was fairly cool out and it wouldn’t catch the frizzies. It was long, passed my shoulder blades but still that same brownish color. I shrugged at my reflection and grabbed my bag. I put a hair band on my wrist just in case.

  I made myself pay attention in my classes and prayed that it would make the time go faster. I was itching for just one look at him. It really does wonders to pay attention when the teacher is….you know…teaching. I found myself unaware that it was time for the bell, class after class. But I was hyper aware of the clock during fifth period. I wanted to get into Drama class so bad that I was tempted to clothesline my fellow students as they passed to make the hallways less crowded.

  I walked into class and he was there. Carlos….he was there sitting at his desk methodically rubbing the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. He looked tired or stressed and I wondered what a guy like him had to stress about. I sat in the only desk available, the one behind him even though I had plowed through the halls trying to get there early. He didn’t notice me walk in and I was too much of a coward to say anything to him. The Drama teacher wasn’t in class…again…and we were told to study on our own. So I did.