Effortless With You

by Lizzy Charles

I nod, and my eyes widen. This is no news to me.

  Mom stands up and walks toward me. Her face is serious. “Lucy. I intend on you keeping this promise. I do not want to have to explain to him all over again why you won’t play with him anymore. Not to mention teaching him what promises mean despite your example.”

  There it is.

  I glare back at Mom with the deadliest look I can muster. I lock my target and go in for the kill. “Thanks Mom,” I begin sarcastically. “I was totally excited to play with Eric until now. Way to turn it into an order.”

  “If you make a commitment, you do it, Lucy!”

  My blood pressure doubles while she continues to speak, her voice becoming more shrill.

  “You can’t treat Eric like you do school, basketball, or me. When you don’t follow through, I’m the one explaining why he can’t follow your examples.”

  My examples? I feel like she has punched me in the face. Spiteful energy surges through my system.

  “Fine. I’ll save you the trouble.” I walk toward the garage door, pulling it open and shouting out, “Sorry Eric. I was lying. I will NEVER play basketball with you because I’m a witch.” Dad looks back, stunned. Eric’s lower lip quivers before he starts to wail.

  My heart breaks into a million pieces.

  “There, Mom. Now you won’t have to.”

  I swing open the kitchen door and storm out. Eric continues to wail in the garage while Mom follows me with heavy footsteps. I grab my purse, slam the front door in Mom’s face, and climb into Dad’s car in the driveway. I am surprised the front door didn’t fly open and Mom didn’t run out and throw herself on the car. I can’t believe her. I actually was myself and she ruined it, forcing me to become a horrible person. Of course I wanted to play with Eric. I remembered how happy it made him. I wanted to make him happy again.

  I turn the dial of the radio, fumbling in my purse for my keys. I can’t get out of there quick enough. I throw the car into reverse, ready to peal out of the driveway. But Eric’s intense sobs pouring from behind the garage door stop me. Did I really just hurt my five-year-old brother in a backwards attempt to hurt Mom? I stare at the garage; he sobs so uncontrollably he starts choking.

  I bite my tongue. Who have I become?

  I have a choice. I can get out of the car and do the hard thing, go back inside and apologize to Eric or I can drive away and leave a huge knife in Mom’s back and give Eric reason to hate me forever. I take deep breaths, trying to force myself to reason. Mom was trying to protect Eric. I’d have done the same thing had Eric needed protecting from me. My heart sinks. Wait, he did need protection from me.

  I turn off the ignition and, before I can change my mind, I click the garage door opener. I step out of the car as it retracts up. My parents glare back at me, daggers of disappointment thrown my way. Eric stops crying, turning toward the noise of the garage door. He takes a moment to look at me before reburying his head in Mom’s lap with further sobs.

  They hate me and I can’t blame them.

  I take a step toward them. “Can I speak with Eric?” Eric, ever trusting, turns around. He nods.

  Mom stands up, red-faced. “No. Absolutely not. You’re done.”

  Dad cuts her off. He puts his hand on her shoulder and squeezes. “Sarah, let me have a word with her and then she can speak with Eric.” He looks in my direction, his eyes piercing mine, “And then Lucy will speak with us.”

  Mom relents, taking Eric by the hand into the house. Dad motions for me to join him next to the lawn mower. He busily bends over it, moving parts and playing with wires. I stand next to him watching and waiting. He usually plays mediator not direct discipliner. I wonder how many weeks of grounding this conversation will send my way.

  “Lucy.” Dad continues to tinker with the motor as he talks. “Do you have any idea how cruel your choices and words are to this family?” His bluntness feels like ice cold water.

  I can’t answer. Of course I knew how cruel I’d been. That’s why I came back. Apparently, I’d become an expert in cruelty. I hated it. I hated myself for it. Tears well in my eyes. I wipe them away—I don’t deserve to cry. Thankfully, Dad keeps on tinkering with the motor, not noticing.

  “You’ve come to a point in your life where you’re old enough to make choices that define yourself and your future. If you continue down this path, do you think you will have a relationship with your brother when you are away at college? Or how about a mother to call and talk to when your heart breaks? Or even farther than that, dear—what about your children? Do you want them to be able to have a relationship with their grandparents? A relationship with you?” He pauses, looking up from the mower.

  I stand there, finally allowing my tears to spill down my cheeks. Of course I want all of that.

  No. I need it.

  Have I already jeopardized this? How did I get this way? How could I intentionally hurt Mom, over and over, when I know how fragile she really is? Why am I so evil?

  I swallow.

  That is the truth.

  I am evil.

  My chest is hit with a sudden pressure, like I’m roped to cement blocks.

  My throat thickens. It’s hard to breathe. The usual tense air that hangs between my parents and me has solidified. Too thick to inhale. What I can get in, exits in quick sobs.

  My hands shake and my heart races out of control. What is happening? The room spins. I watch Dad stand up from the motor, extending a hand which I grab. He lowers me to the ground.

  I hug my knees, sobbing, trying to take in a deep breath. I rock back and forth. My ears are ringing.

  I am evil.

  It is the saddest thing I’ve ever known.

  “Sarah, come quick.” Dad’s voice echoes behind the loud ringing.

  My crying turns into a wail. I rock back and forth.

  I am evil.

  About to break Mom for the second time.

  Evil.

  The room spins.

  No wonder Mom was depressed after I was born.

  Somehow, she had always known I was evil.

  I feel a hand on my shoulder.

  A warm body sitting behind me, arms wrapped around me.

  Rocking with me.

  Was I seriously born to be so cruel?

  The body rocks me back and forth, changing my rhythm.

  I take deeper breaths. The ringing stops.

  My sobs turns into normal breaths and tears.

  I rock.

  We rock.

  Back and forth, in the corner on the sweaty, concrete floor of the garage.

  Rocking.

  I don’t know how long we rock. I feel her arms around me.

  Mom.

  When I turn around to look at her, her face is red, tears running down them.

  I take a deep breath, “I’m so sorry, Mom.”

  I start sobbing again, falling into her arms. She holds me. She sobs too.

  We rock and sob.

  “I love you,” she whispers in my ear.

  I try to say “I love you” back but it’s incoherent.

  I don’t deserve her love when I am so evil.

  But she really does love me and that just makes me sob more.

  She holds me tighter, rocking me back and forth and whispering her love for me.

  It hurts to be loved so much.

  Finally, my sobs get under control. Mom holds out her hand, helping me up to my feet. She keeps her hand on my back as she leads me into the house. We pass through the kitchen, where Dad sits, waiting. Mom whispers, “It’s okay, Dan.” When I see Dad’s pale, concerned face, I start sobbing again. Mom leads me to my room. I crawl in bed. She sits next to me. We never speak, the tears falling from my eyes and an occasional sob escaping my chest seems to be enough.

  I am pure evil.

  I don’t remember falling asleep. I do remember her stroking my hair.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  I wake up to the early morning light, when the air is fresh and slightly tinged blue. Fi
ve thirty-five a.m. It feels like I have been sleeping forever but I have a horrible headache behind my eyes. Why?

  Crying. Last night’s events resurface. I freeze, holding my breath. Did that all really happen? And to think Mom looked like she was about to crumble. Ironic. Apparently I’m the person one crack away from shattering.

  And I cracked.

  Evil.

  I let out my breath. I need to get away. The house is quiet except for the occasional snore from Dad down the hall. I tiptoe around my room, digging through my drawers and closet for an old running tank and pair of running shoes. I throw my hair into a ponytail, creep down the stairs and out the front door.

  My feet hit the driveway and I transition into a jog. I turn onto the running path that links a chain of parks, winding around a chain of ponds. The running-way is empty this morning, the pavement mine. My feet fall into a rhythm along with my breaths, four seconds in and four seconds out. Each breath of the morning air seems to launch my body into further hypnosis with its jogging rhythm. My body is in sync, now it’s time to address my mind.

  Evil. Wow. Did I really try to hurt my mom by hurting Eric? And why was I trying to hurt Mom?

  The dark corner of my mind answers: Because she wants to control you.

  I rebuke: But isn’t she my mother? Doesn’t that give her the responsibility to parent me?

  I run faster. That answer is clear.

  But I’m still evil. What about when I hid in the bathroom stall and listened to Marissa degrade Sally? When did I become the type of person who would stand by when someone hurts another?

  Mom has reason for her need to control. Even if I don’t like how she delivers it.

  I sprint.

  I used to be the one telling off my teammates the moment they started talking smack about a player on the other team. Now, I’m too weak to stand up for anyone, even myself. Why couldn’t I see Marissa for what she really is? A selfish and manipulative person.

  She is everything I have become.

  I’ve adopted her way of life, using cruelty to control others. I intentionally hurt Mom, while Mom has never intentionally hurt me. Eric, another victim of my assault. Mom looks like she is going to break again. Do I really want to watch Mom suffer through more depression? My gut twists. No. I need her.

  My feet fly beneath me. I need to run away from my guilt. I can’t be cruel anymore.

  I am different from Marissa. I have to be. I’m done following. And I’m not going to be afraid of her. It is time to face her. Matt’s party provides the perfect opportunity. I have to show myself how she is the weak one.

  That I am different.

  Mom’s constant reminder echoes in my mind, “You always have a choice, Lucy.” I can choose to be strong again. I can choose to have values and stand for them. I can choose to be kind and loving.

  I can choose to be different.

  I stop running, panting alone on the path. I am going to try, for real this time. I can’t be perfect but at least I can be me, the real me.

  I hear the patter of feet behind me. I move off the path into a bordering garden as a group of women jog past. The smell of the daisies and sunflowers are overwhelmingly sweet. I inhale the smell over and over, hoping it’ll help me remember this moment. I need its strength.

  I feel lighter as I jog home. The heat from the rising sun beats down on my back. My favorite clouds, small white wisps, seem delicately placed in patches in the bright blue sky. I run past a man cutting his grass, the smell fresh to my senses. The neighborhood has come alive. People walking their dogs around the block, loading their cars for a day trip to the lake, or just laying out on their lawn and enjoying the sun before the heat index soars.

  I arrive home filled with a strange combination of remorseful yet positive energy. I sit down on the front step, slowly taking off my shoes, hesitating to enter. I don’t know where to begin. Should I pretend that nothing happened? Should I apologize? Say thank you?

  Do I even acknowledge that I still need Mom to put me back together again?

  I pull off my sweaty socks. No. I’m not going to allow pride to stand in the way of having a good relationship with Mom. I don’t want any more fake relationships in my life. I rise to my feet and turn around to enter the house.

  The door flings open, startling me. Mom stands behind it, wet streaks down her cheeks. We look at one another for a brief second. I decide to leap, without hesitation.

  I rush into her arms.

  Mom trembles as she hugs me, “Lucy,” she begins. “I thought, I thought …”

  I pull away from her gently and look her in the eye, “What? It’s okay.”

  She nods, more tears. “When I woke up and you were gone, I thought that you were really gone. I thought I had lost you forever.” I don’t know if she’s talking about me literally leaving or just our relationship but it doesn’t matter. It is true. She nearly lost me forever. In fact, I nearly lost myself forever.

  “Well, you didn’t. Don’t worry.”

  “I’m so sorry, baby. I know I have been horrid. I just don’t know what I’m doing. No one prepares you for the day everything changes, and you don’t know your daughter anymore.”

  “Mom, don’t worry about it. I don’t even know me anymore.”

  “That’s the worst part. I let you lose yourself. If I would have paid more attention …”

  “No, Mom. There was nothing you could have done. This was all me. And, trust me, more attention would have made it worse.” I take a seat on the bench on our front porch.

  “All the books say to fight to know what’s happening. I’m fighting, I’m trying.” She sits down next to me, her words so honest and full of exhaustion.

  “Please know that I appreciate that you try. I know it’s a good thing.” I take a deep breath. I need to be honest. If this is going to be real, if this is going to be me, I need to tell the truth. “But, sometimes, you do overreact. Or you react in the wrong place, at the wrong time.”

  “Like the party …” She folds my hand into hers.

  I nod.

  “I’m sorry. I just lost it. I snapped. You weren’t in your room. You left, snuck out. Not only was it disobedient, it was dangerous! What if something happened to you? We wouldn’t have known you were gone until morning. I called everyone I knew to find you. My brain felt like it exploded. In that moment, I feared everything horrible had happened to you. When I found you had snuck out to go to a party, I lost it. And then, I got angry. More angry then I’ve ever felt before. You snuck out. You disobeyed your father and I. It was a punishment you deserved. I know you knew it, I could tell when we grounded you that night. But then you still left? All I could think was ‘What’s become of my girl?’”

  Tears stream down my cheeks now. I never thought about how terrifying it must have been to find my room empty. It’s not like I left a note. I wonder how long she looked for me.

  “And then when I realized Marissa was involved, I was ashamed. Ashamed that I let you lose yourself to such a weak bully.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m done being a Marissa clone. Trust me. It’s way too much work. Much easier to be me, once I figure out who that is. I’m sorry I disappointed you, Mom.” I reach, offering her a hug.

  “I’m sorry I disappointed you too. Let’s communicate more, and hopefully I can be a more reasonable parent. Deal?”

  “Deal.” She wipes a tear off my cheek. Her eyes are so blue and beautiful. She could have been a model. How have I never noticed her beauty before?

  “You look pretty, Mom.”

  Mom’s face breaks into a large smile. “Stop, please. You aren’t grounded for yesterday.” Ah, a joke. My heart relaxes, thankful for the transition. “No compliments needed.”

  “No, really, Mom. You’re beautiful.”

  “Eh.” She drops my hand. “You’re crazy.” I watch her face drop. She really doesn’t believe me. I’ve been such a neglectful daughter. I swear to tell her she is beautiful more often.

  “Oh
, Justin’s inside waiting for you,” she says. I bite my lip as she studies my reaction.

  What is he doing here? It’s seven thirty in the morning. And during our breakdown? Crap.

  “Uh, isn’t it kind of early for visitors?”

  “I don’t think that can keep him away.”

  I roll my eyes. “It’s not like that. Trust me. With Justin, there’s always a business agenda. Don’t even go there.” I sit down on the front porch. “Can you just send him out here? I don’t really want to deal with him inside. Not after last night.” My home is for once cleansed of emotional confusion. I want to keep it that way.

  The door squeaks. I don’t turn around. Justin can do the talking, if he finally wants to.

  “Hey, Lady.”

  “Isn’t it a bit early for this?”

  “For what?”

  “I don’t know, whatever you’re here for.” Of course, after days of shutting me out, he chooses now to talk. Puffy red eyes, no makeup, emotionally drained, and my sweaty running glow. Awesome. He sits down next to me. I pray that the tears I’ve just cried are the healthy, non-blotching sort. “Well?” I want to get this over with.

  “Well?” His knee bumps mine. I can feel his crooked smile but I refuse to look. What is he doing?

  “What do you want?”

  “Come play ball with me.”

  “Now?” My heart does back flips.

  “Yup.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t believe it.”

  “It?”

  “You.”

  “Well, you already saw it. Believe it.”

  Was I just some game to him?

  He grabs my hand. “Come on.”

  I didn’t know basketball could be so frustrating. We move in sync and everything feels so electrified. Justin’s hand on my shoulder or the small of my back, my skin tingling out of control. My heart freaking out when he smiles at me. Swish, each time I shoot. My game is on. I couldn’t miss a shot if I tried. Justin, on the other hand, is not trying at all.

  It pisses me off.

  “Why did you drag me out here if you aren’t gonna play?” I ask after I reject a lazy lay-up. I sink a three pointer. “This isn’t even a game.”

  He chuckles and my butterflies zoom.