Life In Reverse

by Beth Michele

  I need more.

  The sight of blood dripping down my knuckles gives me that extra incentive. I exhale a heavy breath and draw back to pummel it again when my wrist is grabbed from behind.

  “Vance. Stop. You don’t want to do this.”

  “The hell I don’t. Let me go,” I ground out, attempting to yank my arm from Julian’s grasp. He latches on tighter and any additional fight is useless. Involvement in sports has always made him fiercer in the muscle department.

  “Mom wouldn’t want you to do this to yourself,” he pleads, playing dirty and using the only weapon he knows will stop me.

  “Let me go.” I repeat again through clenched teeth.

  “Are you going to stop acting like a crazed lunatic?” I give him a stiff nod and he releases me. “Jesus, Vance. Look at your hand.”

  Blood trickles down my fingers, skin cut up and hanging off my knuckles. Still, it’s not enough. Nothing is enough to anesthetize the torment of watching my mother slowly disappear. Hoping beyond all hope that one day when I walk in, there will be some glimmer of recognition. That she’ll remember chasing after me on the beach or teaching me how to drive a stick shift, her patience always conquering my impatience.

  I brace my arms against the wall, head hanging low. Sweat pours off my brow, trailing past my temple and mixing with the emotion rolling down my cheek. “I can’t fucking stand it, Julian. Seeing her like this… it’s… it’s….” I let out a shaky breath. “It’s fucking killing me.”

  “I know, Vance. I know.” He lays a hand on my back, his forehead coming to rest against his hand.

  “I’m scared,” I finally admit in a voice that no longer sounds like my own. “I’m so fucking scared. I’ve… been getting headaches.”

  He wraps his big arm around my chest from behind, hugging me against his frame. “I didn’t know… but it doesn’t mean that—”

  “I need to get out of here,” I cut in before he says the words I don’t want to hear. “I’ll come back when I can pull myself together.”

  I’M LEANING AGAINST the car as Julian works on my hand. He cleans it with a cotton ball doused in peroxide then wraps it in gauze, all of which came from a first-aid kit in the glove compartment. “No wonder you were the perfect Boy Scout.”

  “Lucky for you.” He smirks. “There.” He snips off the gauze with tiny scissors and seals it with medical tape. “It should hold for now. But that was a stupid thing to do. You could’ve broken your hand. I’m still tempted to demand you go to the emergency room.”

  “Nah, I’m good.” He rounds the car to the driver’s side and I hesitate with one hand on the roof. “Hey.”

  He lifts his head as he pulls the door open. “Yeah?”

  “Thanks.”

  He jerks his chin by way of acknowledgement. “Just consider it payback.”

  I duck my head and slide onto the seat at the same time he does, my expression serious. “You don’t owe me shit. I love you, man.” I focus my attention out the window. “Now let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  Julian chuckles and cranks the engine, making a left out of the parking lot and heading toward the interstate. I turn on the radio to drown out my thoughts and distract from the relentless throbbing of my hand. It’s not long until we come to a traffic light. He lowers the music, shifting his body toward me. Both hands rest on the steering wheel, his finger tapping relentlessly against it. “I need to ask you something.”

  “Okay, shoot.”

  He breathes out a sigh of what appears to be frustration. “Why did you lie the other night?”

  I drag a hand through my hair, brows knitting together. “What are you talking about?”

  “To Ember. When she asked about Mom and her painting?”

  I squeeze my eyes shut briefly, exhaling my own frustration now. “Because I didn’t want her to know. Or Avery for that matter. It’s… private and we don’t really know them that well.”

  He glances away then back to me. “I understand that. I do. It’s just that I think you’re doing a disservice to Mom by being dishonest. I don’t think she’d want you to hide her like that.”

  The light turns green and I chew on his words for a while. Of course, Ember’s statement reverberates in my head—‘there’s something to be said for simple honesty.’ I feel like a fucking asshole all of a sudden. She pours her heart out to me about her brother. And how do I repay the favor? By lying to her about Mom.

  Julian veers off the highway to get gas and I hop out of the car. I need junk food. “How much?”

  “Just forty bucks.”

  “Cool. You want anything?”

  He steps out of the car and pops the gas cap. “No, I’m good.”

  The bell jingles inside the small shop and the golden glow of a Twinkie package catches my eye immediately. It’s the last one, and I nab it before anyone else can, then get in line at the register. While I’m waiting, my gaze snags on a plastic snow globe tucked behind a stand of Blow Pops. Sitting inside of it is Mickey Mouse, his big hand waving hello. I huff out a silent laugh, shaking my head before walking over to pick it up. Tiny white flakes fly around his all too happy face. I shake my head again, this time at myself, and place it down on the counter.

  “Forty on pump eight.” I hand the attendant two twenties then dig in my pocket for three one dollar bills to pay for the Twinkies.

  “What took you so long?” Julian questions when I finally make it to the car.

  I almost shake my head again but think better of it. I’m turning into one of those bobbleheads at this point.

  “Nothing. Let’s go.”

  Within two seconds he spots my Twinkies and gives me the hard side-eye. “They didn’t have any trail mix or anything?”

  “Trail mix?” I retort with a sour face. “For who? You know I don’t eat that shit.” He busts out a laugh as he turns on the air, grabbing a CD from the center console. He pushes the button to slide it into the player and Green Day pumps through the speakers. As he shifts into drive and hits the gas, I plaster my hand on top of his.

  “Wait.”

  His head swings my way, foot jamming on the brake. “Wait for what? What’s wrong?”

  I lift a finger in the air then push open the door. “Hold up. I’ll be right back.”

  “Okaaaay.”

  I’m chastising myself the entire short walk back into the shop. I pick up the stupid snow globe from behind the damn Blow Pops and slam it down on the counter. The guy behind the register stares at me with a stupid-ass grin that I want to punch right off of his face.

  “Mickey Mouse piss you off?” Then he lifts it and views the price underneath. “Pretty hard to resist though, huh?”

  “Something like that,” I mumble, dropping cash into his hand.

  When I jump back in the car, another smug grin awaits me.

  “What’s this? I didn’t know you had a thing for Mickey Mouse.” He taps a finger against the side of his head. “Come to think of it, there’s only one person I know of who does.”

  The smile he’s sporting is too big for his face, not to mention disconcerting. I lean my head against the glass in silence all the way home, staring at freaking Mickey Mouse and wondering what the hell is happening to me.

  I WALK UP the steps to Ember’s front door, pacing for a full five minutes before I ring the bell. My palms are sweaty and I’m suddenly regretting yesterday’s purchase and questioning what I’m doing here. That is—until she opens the door. Her soft brown hair is tousled from sleep, Mickey Mouse pajamas somehow putting me at ease.

  “Oh, hey.” She rubs one eye with the back of her hand. She doesn’t seem bothered by my presence this early in the morning. Which is good, I guess. What strikes me the most is that she doesn’t give two shits about the fact that her hair is sticking up, or that she has a tiny spot of drool on the corner of her lip. Something I probably won’t point out.

  “Hey.” I shove the thumb of my injured hand in my back pocket. “Sorry to come by so early.
I, uh, just wanted to see, you know… how you were doing from the other night.”

  Groggy from sleep, it takes her a second to come up to speed with my question. She blinks a few times, shuffling her bare feet on the carpet just inside the door. “I’m better. Thanks.”

  “Okay, well… that’s good. All right,” I look over my shoulder, “I guess I’ll be going, then.”

  “What’s in the bag?”

  Oh right. The bag.

  “It’s… nothing much.” I stare down at the bag and crinkle it a little. “Just something I happened to see, and… pick up for you. It’s stupid, really.”

  She eyes the bag as if she can see inside it. “How about you stop with the disclaimers and let me decide for myself?”

  I gnaw on the corner of my lip before lifting the bag and holding it out in front of her. “Right.”

  As she takes it from my hand, a weird lump forms in my throat and I swallow it down. Her green eyes widen with excitement and for a second she looks—fucking adorable—like a little girl who races down the stairs at Christmas in her Mickey Mouse slippers. The image makes me chuckle to myself, but then I clear it and have to question what the fuck is wrong with me. She pulls the globe out of the bag. I hold my breath as she examines it, head angled to the side until her cheeks curve and she beams.

  “I love these.” She shakes it, watching with an amused expression as the little white flecks float around inside the plastic. “Honestly, I can’t tell you how many times Avery has dragged me shopping and I stop to admire the snow globes, but never buy one for myself. I’ve never seen a Mickey Mouse one either.” She lifts her eyes to mine. “Thank you. That was really thoughtful.”

  “Yeah, sure.” I lower my eyes to the ground, finding it difficult to hold her gaze. “Okay. Well, I’ll see ya.” As I turn toward the steps, her voice stops me and I whip my head around.

  Ember peeks over at the bench then back to me. “Do you want to sit for a bit?” She lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “Since we’re friends and all now.”

  “Sure.” I clear a path with my good hand, gesturing for her to go first. “After you, Mickey.”

  She cracks up as she takes a seat, though her laughter dissolves when she glares at my other hand, her mouth hanging open. “What happened?”

  I flex my fingers a few times and while the pain has lessened some, the skin is still fairly raw. “I ran into a wall.”

  “Really?” She prompts in complete disbelief, placing the globe down on the bench.

  “Really. It wouldn’t budge so I fucked it up.”

  Ember breathes out a small laugh, crossing her arms over her chest. “Gee, I’ve never heard that one before.” Then she adds, her stare burning up my face. “Care to tell me the truth now?”

  “Not really.” Even as I say it, the words don’t sound all that convincing. Part of me does want to tell her what happened to relieve the weight that sits on my chest. And maybe so I can breathe for the first time in days. Something stops me though, and instead, I stare out at the bushes lining her front yard. “Those are some seriously fucking perfectly-trimmed bushes.”

  “Right. It’s none of my business. Sorry I pried.”

  “No, it’s not that. I’d just—”

  “Rather talk about my perfectly-trimmed bushes.” She taps her forehead with the heel of her hand, her rosy cheeks turning crimson. “I can’t believe I just said that.” Gesturing toward the trees with her chin, she explains. “My mom is an interior designer so all that visual stuff is really important to her. She’s really into the whole balance thing.”

  “That’s cool.” I cover my injured hand with my good one so she’ll stop glancing at it. “And what about you? What are you into?”

  She flattens her palm, making circles as if she’s wiping a window. “Sculpting.”

  “Oh yeah?” I shift my body toward her, resting my elbow on the back of the bench. “What do you sculpt?”

  “Whatever comes to mind, really. Sometimes it’s people’s faces. Other times it might be parts of the body or an object. I typically just sit with the clay and get inspired. It’s actually really…,” her gaze reaches up to the sky, “therapeutic.”

  I twist my earring around, studying her face. It’s a nervous habit that I’ve never been able to shake. Being around Ember doesn’t necessarily make me nervous. It unsettles me somehow. I’m not sure what to make of her. Though I can’t deny there is something about her that makes me want to talk, but also makes me feel inadequate. Perhaps it’s her brutal honesty. Guilt fastens itself to my chest and tugs hard. I know I need to tell her the truth about Mom, but the words seem to get lost on the way out. Books however, books I can talk about.

  “I kind of feel that way about reading.” Her green eyes pop with interest and encourage me to continue. “It’s more like an escape for me, I think.”

  She leans back on the arm of the bench, drawing her knees up to her chest and offering me her full attention. “What are you trying to escape from?”

  “Life I suppose.” I answer honestly, my mind veering off to Mom and my reality. My shoulders stiffen and I roll my neck from left to right to ease the building tension.

  “Ah, the dreaded life escape.” She presses her lips together on a half-smile. “So what got you into reading?”

  “My mom, actually. I’m pretty sure she started reading to me when I was in the womb. Or at least that’s what she used to tell me. I remember she’d always ask me to play and I’d say, ‘no, read.’” My heart warms and I crack a smile. “Then when I learned how to read, that’s all I wanted to do.”

  “That’s awesome. I’m not much of a reader,” she offers, winding her fingers down the weathered link chain holding up the swing. “But I can definitely appreciate why people do it. I think I was too into art so I went that way instead. That reminds me….” She hits the flat of her hand on her thigh. “I’d still really like to talk to your mom about her painting, if that’s okay.” My stomach sinks to the ground and I want to fucking run. “Whenever I meet another artist, there’s just something about it. Like we’re kindred spirits.”

  Emotion balls up in my throat, the need to be alone overwhelming. “I should go.” I stand abruptly, the swing rocking back from the force. “I’ve got… stuff to do.”

  “O-okay.” She’s probably got whiplash from my sudden mood swing. Her eyes dart between mine—like if she could bypass me and dive into them—she could find the answers. The truth is, I don’t have any answers. I wish I did.

  She follows me down the steps and to the sidewalk. I should have known she wouldn’t let me make a clean getaway. That’s not her style. She stops, fumbling with the edge of her pajama top, her stare unwavering. “Are you all right? Did I say something to upset you?”

  I fist a hand on my hip, my next breath coming out louder than I’d intended. “No. You didn’t. It’s just that I…,” another pause, another big breath, “I’ve got some things I need to work out. But it’s not you,” I insist. “I….” My fingernails dig into my palms, the effort to smile exhausting. “I like… talking with you.”

  “Man, that was hard.” She nudges my arm with her elbow. Without realizing it, I back up a step and her expression falters.

  “What was?”

  “Admitting that you like me.” The furrow between her brows indicates I might have offended her and I immediately want to set it right.

  “Nah.” I gesture toward her pajamas with my chin. “What’s not to like? I already told you you’re a badass.” Her mouth pulls up at the side and she seems pleased with my assessment. Hopefully I’ve made up for my crappy mood swing. I walk away, shooting her what I hope looks like enthusiasm over my shoulder. “See you around, Mickey.”

  She gives me a brisk wave of her hand. What a sight she is, standing near the road in her Mickey Mouse pajamas with her matted hair. Damn if an honest grin doesn’t spread clear across my face.

  I’M QUIET AS I enter the house, shaking my new snow globe the entire way to my room
. My lips still curled as I flick the light switch on the wall and place the globe on the dresser. Hopping on the bed, I stare at the thoughtful gift and ponder Vance Davenport.

  He’s hiding something. Or maybe it’s not so much hiding as it is reluctance to talk about whatever is eating away at him—because something is definitely eating away at him. The fixer in me wants to know what it is because I’d like to help. Plus, he made things better for me the other day and it would be nice to return the favor. But I definitely don’t want to push him. If and when he’s ready to share, he will.

  “Ems.”

  “Oh my God, Troy.” I grab at my chest. “You scared the daylights out of me.” It takes a second to catch my breath. “How did you get in?”

  He plops down next to me, his weight shifting the mattress. “Your mom let me in.” He scoots over until our shoulders are touching. “So what are we doing? We are… staring at your dresser?” I snort, and he touches his head to mine. “Hold up. Is that a new addition I see?”

  “Yes. In fact it is,” I admit in a happy burst that he examines with his big brown eyes.

  “It’s adorable. It reminds me of the time your parents took us all to Disney and our ears popped on the plane. Remember that? You pulled out those Bubble Gum Cigarettes and the girl sitting next to you tried to take them.” One side of his mouth quirks up into a nostalgic grin and I smile. “So where exactly did you get that adorable item?”

  “A friend.”

  “Really?” He folds his arms over his chest. “The clock’s ticking.”

  “If you must know,” I veer away from his intense stare, “Vance Davenport gave it to me.”

  “Hellooo.” He wiggles his fingers in front of my face to bring me back. “First of all, I’m over here. And second, who the heck is that?”

  “Mr. Hot and Angry.”

  His mouth falls open and he drops his head, his expression shaded. “Really?”