by Jolene Perry
“Well, I’ll be seeing you around,” Justin says.
What? Is he leaving? My heart sinks as I come to a stop. Oh. I’m at the house. He’s walking backward, still looking at me. I’m kind of sad our time today is over, but maybe we can talk in Government or something. I wave and turn up the driveway still clinging to the faint feeling of hope that I’m starting to belong.
EIGHT
Sometimes there are no good answers
Aunt Nicole and I sit in Lydia’s office.
“I’ve come here without you a few times,” Aunt Nicole says.
My heart jumps. Am I in trouble? Why are they talking about me without me?
“Relax, Joy.” Aunt Nicole rests her hand on my shoulder and I flinch.
I hear her suck in a breath.
“Okay, Joy?” Lydia’s voice. “I need you to look at me, please.”
I do as asked.
“You and your aunt are okay, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Why did you jump away from her?”
I’m so stupid. When will I get enough control over my body to stop overreacting? “I didn’t mean to. It just … happens.”
“You feel stressed?”
“A little. I didn’t know she was here talking about me without me.” That’s understandable, right?
Aunt Nicole turns on the couch to face me. “I was here for me. Because I feel like I should have rescued you a long time ago.”
“Rescued?” It sounds so dramatic.
“Yes.” She nods. Her eyes are intent on my face. “I play that brief phone call over and over in my head. When you were eight. I knew you weren’t in school, and I was worried, but you were such a long drive away.”
“And you and Mom don’t get along.” It never seemed weird that my aunt didn’t visit. Mom doesn’t like her.
“I called child services after we talked.”
“You did?”
“They said they came to the house and everything seemed fine.”
I lean back against the couch feeling weak. I remember. I haven’t remembered that in forever. After my call with Aunt Nicole, Mom and I talked about school. She told me that people might be coming over and warned me that if they thought we didn’t get along, I might go somewhere else. We had so much fun over the next few days. We read together and watched TV and cleaned our small home. When child services popped in for their surprise visit we were ready.
I was so afraid that Mom would go back to how she was or that we’d be separated when we were finally having fun. I was very convincing when I told them how well Mom and I did and that the conversation with my aunt was all a misunderstanding. We never see her. How could she know?
My eyes close. After those people left, everything went back to how it was before. Mom’s drinking even got worse for a while when she split with the nice guy who helped set me up with school.
“She only pretended so they wouldn’t take me,” I say. “Or maybe so they wouldn’t take her. I think she wanted me there, but I have no idea why.” Why? Why? That horrible question again. The question with no good answers, the one that needs to be stuffed away. There’s no good explanation for anything that’s happened in my life, the good or bad. I won’t open my eyes, not now. I don’t even try to stop the memories. Today I know I’ll lose.
Mom’s smiling face comes up first, our old brown flowered couch behind her. Then I see her smoker’s teeth. She yells. I hear her harsh voice like I’m there. “I don’t believe you, Joy! Something’s going on!” She hated how much attention Richard gave me, but there’s no way she hated it as much as I did.
Aunt Nicole slides next to me. “I can’t imagine why anyone wouldn’t want you. You’re an angel, Joy.”
I shake my head. Her voice fades the memory away and all I see is black.
“Rob and I. We have a good life and we didn’t see it. We weren’t seeing how lucky we all were. I mean, we get along okay, but learning about you, and having you in our house … we appreciate all the smaller things more than we ever have.”
“Because my life was so sucky?” I feel an actual smile start to form.
“And because you’re so special.”
My eyes squeeze tighter.
“Open your eyes, Joy,” Lydia says. “We both know that helps.”
“I have felt so often like I completely failed you,” Aunt Nicole says.
“How could you think that?” I ask. Now my eyes have to open. I stare at Aunt Nicole’s round face, her newly shortened hair.
“Because if I had been more persistent, if I’d pushed visits. I just feel like … maybe I would have been able to get you out of there sooner.”
I shrug. “I never thought about you not being there sooner. I’m still sort of overwhelmed by what you’re doing for me now.” And I don’t want them being nice to me because of guilt.
“We love having you at our house. I need you to know that.”
I stare. What words could say thank you in the right way?
Lydia leans forward in her chair. “Joy, you have to know your Uncle Rob feels the same. The only reason he isn’t here is because I know how hard it is for you to talk around him.”
“I’ll work on it.” I’m promising myself. I’m more determined.
Lydia leans toward me. “Maybe just try to spend some time in the same room as him, okay? Small steps. Don’t feel bad about taking small steps.”
Right. Baby steps. One tiny step after another. Maybe when I’m eighty I’ll really start to get somewhere.
Uncle Rob is in the living room reading a book near the gas fire. Fake fire, only it’s real because it can still burn things. Sort of funny.
So, small steps. I don’t want to be crazy forever. I don’t want to keep being afraid of the people who live in this house. It’s supposed to be my house too, even if it doesn’t always feel like it.
And I don’t want to be afraid of the kids at school. Like Justin. This house seems like a safe place to start. But being in the same room as Uncle Rob still feels like a pretty big step.
I sit on the floor near the blue flames and pull out my math homework. There. We’re in the same room. This is good. He’s reading. I’m working. Seems perfect. I take a barrette out of my bag and pull the hair off my face. It’s something I don’t normally do because most of the time I’m trying to hide.
He glances over his book, probably as unsure about me being in here as I am. Maybe he just doesn’t like me. Maybe that’s why we don’t talk. Or maybe he read something in my file that makes him leave me alone—there are certainly enough instances that would make him wonder if I’d ever want to be around men. Or maybe there are things in there that would make him not want to be around me.
“Hi,” I whisper.
His smile is big and immediate. “Hi, Joy. Glad you joined me.” His voice is quiet but he’s not whispering.
It’s hot in front of the fire and the warmth is a nice contrast to the wet day. Now that I’m here, I don’t want to move. I spread out my math book and notebook in front me. The heat is too much for all the layers I have on, so I slide my sweatshirt off, and lie on my stomach in my tank top. The warmth feels even better on my bare skin. I rest my chin on my palms and my elbows on the floor. After not paying attention in math, I’m trying to figure out parabolas using the examples from the text. I think I’m getting it. When I flip the page, Uncle Rob sucks in a breath behind me.
I turn to look at him. “Are you okay?” I ask.
“Are you?” His forehead is wrinkled up, and I swear I see tears in his eyes. What happened?
“I’m just working on parabolas. I didn’t pay attention in class so …” But we’re so not talking about this. What are we talking about then? I sit up to face him. What could be wrong?
He’s staring at my bare scarred shoulders and back. Right. Tank top. Ho
w did I miss that?
“Your back and shoulders … All those round, white … I’m sorry, you don’t want …” He shakes his head and leans back in his chair, still watching me.
“You have my file. I figured you and Aunt Nicole knew everything.” How could he be surprised by the scars? All the details are in there, exposing me in a way I didn’t ask for.
“No.” His eyes meet mine. His voice is still so quiet. He doesn’t look at me the way the men mom brought home did. Not at all.
“We asked for information on what we should and shouldn’t do with and for you. We only wanted to know what we needed to. The rest is yours, personal.”
What? I assumed they’d read everything available to them. They invited me into their house, to be around their kids. I’d think they’d want all the details.
“It’s scars from cigarette burns,” I explain.
His lips press together and his chin quivers like he’s fighting not to cry.
I need to make him feel better. “They’re no big deal.” Any scarring you can see isn’t a big deal. All the other stuff, the stuff you can’t see, that’s what weighs me down.
Tears roll down his cheeks. “There’s so many.”
He’s crying. Uncle Rob is crying because of me. Over things that happened what feels like a lifetime ago.
“They didn’t all happen at once.” And now we’re talking. Uncle Rob and I, and I’m not terrified. That alone feels like progress.
He’s leaning forward in his chair again, book forgotten. “Joy … No one. No one should ever …”
I don’t want him to be so sad over me. I’m fighting for something to say. “It looks a lot worse than it is, Uncle Rob. Stuff like that only happened when everyone was drinking and having fun. It wasn’t …” I shake my head. “It wasn’t like you’re thinking.”
He’s still silent and he’s wiped his tears once, but they’re still there.
“It’s not like they held me down and …” But I can’t think about being held down. That pulls me into a worse place than where Uncle Rob is right now. “I’m sorry, I’ll go.”
“No, Joy. I’m sorry. It took me by surprise, that’s all. I don’t want you to go—if you’re okay staying in here with me.” Uncle Rob’s eyes that hold so much kindness.
“I’ll be right back.” I go to my room and dig around for a T-shirt. Something that covers my scars. When I step back into the small den, his tears have dried and he has his book in his hand.
There’s an almost apologetic frown on his face when I sit in front of the fire. He probably feels bad that I changed for him.
“I’m really glad you decided to come stay with us,” he says.
As opposed to all my other options. “Thanks.” I look at him for just another second. “I’m back to parabolas.”
“Let me know if you need any help.” He leans back behind his book.
“I will, thanks.”
Uncle Rob and I are suddenly not only talking, but I shared a bit of my past with him. Maybe there will be a point when I feel like I belong here. Maybe.
NINE
More lists
I look down the list of reasons why I’m crazy. This list I keep in the back of my notebook, not in the front.
Can’t talk to people. But I’m totally getting better. I poise my pen to cross it out, but I can’t. Not quite yet.
Hides in her room.
Can’t function around the smell of cigarettes or beer.
Is afraid of her own uncle for no particular reason.
I sat in the same room with him. I shared a bit of my past with him, and he saw my scars. I didn’t freak out or have a panic attack. I cross him off the list, and the line through those words signifies so much stress and worry that’s now slipped away.
Oh, wait. Panicking. That needs to be added to the list.
Has panic attacks—set off by stupid things.
Okay, so one thing crossed off, one thing added.
These are not good stats.
I’m in the house alone, which rarely happens. Tara’s staying after school, and Trent’s hanging out with friends. I pull out the lunch I didn’t eat in the cafeteria today and sit in the kitchen.
I hear the front door open and my body tenses up. Who is it?
A girl giggles. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, just my cousin’s here and she practically lives in her room.” Trent.
“Okay.”
I’m listening closely so I know where they are in the house and where I shouldn’t be. What are they doing? Why does Trent want time alone with her? Why do these questions make my body shake?
“I really wanted to kiss you again,” Trent says.
The house is silent for a few moments.
“Follow me,” he whispers. Their shoes drop to the floor, and I think he’s taken her into the den.
I’m trapped. There’s no way to go upstairs without passing that room, and I really don’t want to pass that room. What are they doing? Is he kissing her again? Are they doing more? Will they soon? I leave my lunch on the counter and start to slowly walk up the stairs. Maybe if I’m quiet enough, I’ll be invisible too.
I stop when I see Trent and his girlfriend on the floor in front of the fire. They’re still in their school uniforms, but he’s on top of her, kissing her hard. My stomach knots up. I want to run, but I can’t make my feet move. What’s wrong with me?
Her arms go around his back, pulling him closer to her. I recognize her. Felicity, I think.
Her face turns to the side and our eyes catch.
I gasp and run up the stairs.
“Hey!” Trent yells. I startled him too. “Make some damn noise, would you? Or toughen up a little and tell me you’re here when I come in the door!”
I pull my door closed behind me, breathing hard, and lean against it, as if it will somehow be more closed with my weight.
“My cousin. She’s so weird. I’m sorry.” Trent.
“She just freaked me out, that’s all.” Felicity.
“When she’s upset she’ll stay in there for hours.”
Felicity giggles, and I’m sure they pick up where they left off.
Why does it make me sick? No one’s forcing me to do what he’s doing to her. It doesn’t matter if it’s happening somewhere else in the house. Well, it shouldn’t matter, anyway.
This should probably go on my list, but I don’t want to add something to that right now. I’m trying to take things off, not put things on.
I put on the yoga pants Aunt Nicole bought for me, and sit on my bed. My backpack’s downstairs, which sucks. I can’t even get my homework done. But there’s no way I’m going down there again.
For the first time, I contemplate taking a Xanax from my aunt’s bathroom without talking to her, but I don’t. Instead I curl up in my bed. Maybe I could sleep for a bit. I let my eyes fall closed, and drift off.
There are some thuds, bumps, and voices downstairs. Now I hear Aunt Nicole’s footsteps. Hers are light, like Tara’s, but she moves faster than Tara.
“Joy?”
I’m silent. I don’t want to talk, to explain. I just want to sleep.
“Joy, I know your room is your room, but I’m worried about you so I’m going to open the door.” She cracks the door and peers in.
“Just come in.” I’d rather have her in here than talking in the hallway where everyone can hear.
“Why are you up here?” Aunt Nicole asks.
“Because I’m tired.” That seems safe enough. And I’m always up here. I’m not sure why today is different.
“You left a half-eaten lunch and your backpack downstairs.” Her head tilts to the side as she looks at me.
I don’t answer. My lunch will lead to more questions.
“Did Trent do something? I think it
was just you two here.”
I open my mouth once and nothing comes out. I open it again. “No.”
Her eyes narrow, just slightly. She doesn’t believe me.
The thing is, he really didn’t do anything. Just made me uncomfortable, which made me feel stupid. He yelled, but he and Tara yell at each other sometimes.
“Why did you still have your lunch from school?”
I don’t answer.
“Joy.” She sits on the edge of my bed and I scoot away. “No, Joy. We’re past this. Is you eating your lunch after school a normal thing?”
I nod.
“Why?”
I’m stupid. I feel stupid. Why do I have to be so worried about everything? All the time? I grab handfuls of blankets and rest my chin on my hands. “I don’t know.”
The silence hurts—as if there are things unsaid I probably wouldn’t want to hear.
“Can I get you anything?”
I shake my head.
“I brought your backpack.”
Relief spreads through my shoulders, relaxing me. I have my backpack. My homework. I can do it before everyone goes to sleep.
“I’ll bring dinner up, but I’d rather see you downstairs.”
“Not tonight, please.”
She frowns as she stands up. “Okay. Is there anything else? Can we talk about anything else?”
“No.”
A few moments later, the door closes behind her.
I’m on the floor with my backpack in seconds. My math homework waits in the book. My reading for English is also in here. All these things I have control over. I can do them well. And I will.
“I hope you’re happy!” Trent’s voice carries down the hall. “Joy. I know you’re listening. I’m in trouble and no one knows what for. I’m not buying your silent act one bit. It’s old and it’s tired!” His door slams and I hear Uncle Rob’s feet on the stairs.
He doesn’t knock on Trent’s door, just goes in. I hear low angry voices paired with a few loud outbursts from Trent. I jump each time someone yells.