When To Let Go

by Sevilla, J. M.

  Ryder pushed away the memories that tried to pop up; evil was always best to keep far behind you.

  At bedtime Ryder opened the window by his twin bed all the way to the top. He rested on his back, only a fitted sheet to keep warm. He couldn't stand blankets; they were too stifling.

  “You're going to freeze to death,” the foster “dad” said at the entryway with a cigarette hanging from the side of his mouth.

  “I'll be fine.”

  He shrugged at Ryder, smoke exhaling from his nostrils before continuing down the hall.

  Ryder's favorite kind of foster “parents” were like the ones in this house: the ones who did it for the money, but had enough heart to make sure they were all given basic human needs and interfered as little as possible.

  A chill whipped through the room, the kind that let you know winter was coming. Ryder hated winter. Winter meant closed windows and time spent indoors. As soon as he turned eighteen he would move to a state that stayed warm all year round, where he could sleep outside at night if he wanted to.

  The new kid, who slept across from him in an identical twin bed, pulled his blanket tighter around himself, glaring at the open window as it blew in a frosty breeze.

  He opened his mouth and Ryder prayed he wouldn't demand that he close it. Ryder had been through this before and it resulted in Ryder getting a fat lip and a closed window, making it so he couldn't sleep all night feeling like he was suffocating.

  The new kid’s mouth closed after searching Ryder's wide, worried eyes.

  To his relief, the new kid rolled over to face the wall.

  Ryder woke up screaming from a nightmare, his limbs flailing about, covered in sweat. Nobody came to check on him; the house was used to it. Ryder appreciated that, preferring to be ignored.

  He looked over and found the new kid observing him. Ryder stared back, expecting him to say something. Instead, the new kid turned his head toward the ceiling.

  Ryder wasn't able to fall back asleep and noticed the new kid couldn’t either.

  “You got a name?” Ryder asked the new kid, having not paid attention when he was told earlier that day.

  “Parker,” the boy answered, eyes still wide awake, staring up at the popcorn ceiling as though it was a constellation of stars and worth the attention.

  “Are you one of those kids who doesn't sleep?” He had had a roommate once who was always twitchy, only sleeping for a few hours a day.

  “Bad things happen at night,” the kid answered. “I like to stay alert.”

  “You don't get tired?”

  “I find time to sleep in the day.”

  Ryder understood. The worst kinds of evil lurked in the dark. He hated that he wasn't the only kid to know that.

  “The shed out back still has blankets and pillows in it from awhile back. The kid who made it didn't sleep at night either. Nobody will bother you there. Plus, it doesn't have a door and all the windows are bare so it's obvious if anything shady is going down. Trouble usually avoids it.”

  The boy didn't respond.

  That was fine with Ryder. It had been one of the longest conversations he'd ever had and it exhausted him. He figured he didn't have to talk again for the rest of the month.

  The next afternoon Ryder spotted the new kid going inside the shed and not coming out until dinner time. At the table he gave Ryder a half smile of appreciation that Ryder didn't return. Smiling always felt weird on him.

  Tonight was Ryder's turn to shower. He kept the shower curtain wide open when he was in the tub, mopping up the wet floor afterward with his towel.

  He had once lived at a place that only had a shower stall. It was physically impossible for Ryder to go in there, so he had had to use a hose out back to get clean. It wasn't so bad. If he ever got a place of his own he wanted an outdoor bathroom set on his own private property, tucked away from the world. It would just be him, and maybe a dog.

  When Ryder was finished and dried off, he twisted the door knob but it wouldn't budge. He tried several times, sweat forming on his dark hairline. He rammed into it with his shoulder hoping to bust it open. He heard the familiar laughter of the other kids and even a chuckle from the foster parents, who never played the pranks but didn’t stop them either.

  Right away his vision started to blur and the air felt trapped in his lungs. He screamed as best he could and pounded on the door, tears streaming down his face. The walls were getting too close. Ryder couldn’t take it. He was suffocating. He couldn’t breathe. He needed to get out of there before the darkness took over.

  Then the door opened, which had never happened. They usually waited until he passed out before opening it.

  The new kid stood there wide-eyed at a tear-streaked Ryder, who was still trying to catch his breath, panting as though he had just run a marathon. He wanted to tell the kid to quit staring and leave him alone, except he could hardly get in the air to do it. Instead, Ryder shoved past him to go outside. He stayed there half the night, getting lost in the stars.

  A few days later Ryder's hands shook as he went to take another shower, fearful they would do it again. To his relief, the door opened when he finished.

  He stood there in shock with what he found: the new kid was standing with his arms crossed, as though daring anyone to mess with him or what was behind him, which happened to be the door to the bathroom.

  “I don't need your protection,” Ryder grumbled in humiliation, hating the kid for thinking he was weak and needed a bodyguard.

  The new kid only shrugged and walked away.

  For Ryder's next shower the new kid was there again, guarding the door. Ryder didn't say anything, because truthfully, it was a relief to know he wouldn't get trapped in there anymore.

  After a few weeks of this, Ryder began inviting the new kid (who he had started calling by name, something he’d never bothered with in the past) to join him after school to mess around the town, eventually showing Parker how he would break into cars to steal stuff.

  If anybody messed with them, Parker fought them. For an eleven-year-old, the kid could fight. He went crazy on the dudes. It shocked Ryder the first time he saw it. Parker was always so quiet and calm; however, he was a monster when he fought, turning bright red with wild eyes. Ryder would never admit this to anyone, but it scared the shit out of him. He was thankful the kid was on his side.

  One day, after Parker had beat the crap out of an adult for thinking he could steal their money, a mechanic from the nearby auto shop called them over. The two boys were ready to book it, but before they shot off the guy came closer, saying he had a job for them if they were interested in earning more money.

  Parker and Ryder didn't trust anybody, but they listened to the man, intrigued by what it could be.

  He needed certain parts for his shop. He'd make them a list and pay them a ten percent finder’s fee. Parker said thirty or no deal. The guy agreed.

  Not only did they earn large sums of money, but the guys at the shop took the boys in and taught them all about cars – how to rebuild them and how to fix 'em.

  Early on they learned that Ryder couldn't be under or inside a car for too long before he panicked (part of the reason why he was so quick with stealing parts), so the man who worked on motorcycles took him on.

  The two boys loved it there. It became their “real” home. The guys even let them borrow magazines full of naked women.

  The guy that had hired them to steal parts happened to be the owner, Rocco. He noticed how the boys were always distracted, staring at the girls’ chests who were always hanging around.

  One night, Rocco had the boys come hang out at his place with the rest of the auto shop workers.

  Women were everywhere, and not just any kind of women: they looked identical to those in the magazines the boys were always gaping at.

  Rocco lead the boys to a bedroom with two big-breasted women who appeared more than twice the boys' age. He left the boys alone with them.

  They both lost their virginity t
hat night.

  Parker became an addict, finding a girl three or four times a day, with anybody who was willing. He even got the older girls at school to do things with him.

  Ryder was pickier, usually sticking to the same couple of women; they understood he never wanted to be touched and never bothered to find out why. All he had to do was pay them some cash.

  He eventually learned Parker had a six-year-old sister. They had been separated when taken into the system.

  Ryder rode along with Parker on the bus the next time he went to visit her. They had a secret meeting place they met at twice a month. They only had about five minutes, but it seemed to be enough to keep Parker satisfied that his sister was being well cared for. She was fortunate to be in the kind of home where the couple actually wanted to make a difference.

  Ryder had had one of those for about a minute and it was awesome.

  The little girl would always jump into Parker's arms, squealing with happiness when they arrived.

  Ryder was envious of their bond. He’d never had anybody love him. Ryder didn't even recall ever being truly hugged. That's why Ryder didn’t like to be touched and always wore long sleeves. He'd had such lack of skin contact that it made his chest and stomach hurt when it happened, so he found it best to just avoid all together.

  Parker's little sister always had a cupcake for him, and after a couple meetings had one for Ryder too. The first time she lept into his arms for a hug, Ryder panicked. Something about the little girl had him hugging her back, a part of him never wanting to let go, relishing the affection.

  Parker and Ryder shared a little bit of their pasts with each other. Both held back details, only giving enough away to better understand the other. Ryder explained how he had one of the worst cases of claustrophobia his social worker had ever seen. The only explanation he could muster was that it stemmed from a nefarious foster home, not having the stomach to explain how when he was four, the couple would lock him in a hole in their closet for days with no food or water, forcing him to sleep locked in the dark, stuffy hole every night. He lived that way for three years until they got busted.

  No, not lived.

  Existed.

  Over the next year Ryder and Parker became closer than best friends. It became more of a brotherhood, and he came to think of Parker's little sister, Ava, as his sister too.

  Ryder finally had the family he'd always secretly wished for.

  When almost a year later Parker's social worker came to get him, claiming he had been adopted, Ryder was in denial, expecting him to come back any day. Nobody adopted older kids – especially ones with Parker's reputation of having a short fuse and bad attitude.

  Not long after, Ryder was caught stealing car parts, landing him in a juvenile detention center. He would remain there until he turned eighteen.

  He never got to find out where Parker and Ava went or if they were in good hands. He didn’t get to say goodbye to the guys at the shop either. In the course of a few weeks he had lost the only home and family he had ever known. Ryder shut down. This was why he distanced himself from people. Getting attached only brought pain.

  Chapter 3

  Unlovable

  Seven-year-old Ava clutched a brown paper bag tightly in both fists in front of her.

  “You ready?” Her social worker, Mrs. Turner, asked.

  She wasn't, but not wanting to be any trouble she breathed out a faint, “yes,” crinkling the bag further in her grip.

  Mrs. Turner smoothed out the top of Ava's hair, showing kindness in her smile, “Don't forget to smile.”

  Ava tried to lift her mouth, but it twitched from the effort, her nerves making it impossible.

  Mrs. Turner opened the door, holding it for Ava to enter first.

  Ava kept her eyes to the ground, too afraid to glance up.

  “Hello, it's nice to finally meet you both in person after our many phone conversations,” Mrs. Turner spoke in a welcoming manner. She placed her hand between Ava's shoulder blades, giving her a slight nudge towards a chair, “Ava, I want you to meet the two women who are interested in adopting you.”

  Ava lifted her eyes, keeping her head down.

  The woman that caught her attention first had the most beautiful hair Ava had ever seen. It looked like a mermaid’s the way it fell down past her shoulders in long waves, the color on top an aqua green that faded into a dark blue that colored the ends. The woman had black-framed glasses on and wore a big smile on her face.

  “Hi, Ava. I'm Stevie, and this is my partner, Naomi,” the woman with the mermaid hair said, gesturing to the woman next to her.

  The other woman's face wasn't as soft or delicate; it had a stiffness to it that matched her tightly curled hair. Ava did love her eyes. They were as blue as the sky, her second favorite color after yellow.

  This woman had a close-lipped smile, yet it was friendly, “Hello, Ava. I'm Naomi. I've been looking forward to meeting you.”

  “It's nice to meet you both,” Ava spoke softly.

  “You have beautiful hair,” Stevie commented. “I've never seen coloring like that before.”

  Ava's hand naturally went to it. It had gotten longer over the years and the blond in it had lightened over summer, making the red seem brighter.

  “Thank you,” she remembered to say, even though she didn't like people bringing up her hair. She had wanted to cut it, the length reminding her of how her mother's boyfriend loved to play with it, but Parker wouldn't let her. He said it gave the guy too much power. Ava didn't understand what that meant, but she didn't want to disappoint her brother so she kept it long. She had learned how to french braid it herself, hoping to conceal it, yet it never worked. People always noticed its unique coloring.

  “I love your color,” Ava couldn't help but gush. “Are you related to mermaids?”

  “No,” Stevie laughed, her smile getting wider, “but wouldn't that be fun?”

  Ava vigorously shook her head up and down in agreement, having always wanted to be a mermaid.

  “Do you like to swim?”

  “I don't know how,” she admitted, hating that she didn't know how to do anything.

  “That's okay. We can teach you. We have a pool in our backyard.”

  Ava liked that so much she perked up in her seat, thinking that Mrs. Turner had to be her fairy godmother for finding her a couple who had a pool.

  The bag crinkled from the movement, reminding her it was still clutched in both hands, resting on her lap.

  She leaned over the table, placing the bag in the middle, “I made you cupcakes.”

  “You did?” Naomi happily asked, grabbing the bag and looking inside. “Chocolate. My favorite.”

  “The frosting has peanut butter mixed into it,” Ava informed her. She had just started experimenting with mixing flavors. So far this one was her favorite.

  “Did you make them all by yourself?”

  Ava nodded proudly.

  “Wow, that's impressive.”

  Ava beamed at the compliment.

  Naomi pointed inside the bag, “Can I eat it now?”

  She nodded that it was okay, even though she didn't want her to. She held her breath while Naomi bit into it, afraid she wouldn't like it and realize what a waste of time this was.

  Ava wanted these women to like her so badly it made her tummy and throat hurt.

  “This is amazing,” Naomi raved. “You seriously made this all by yourself?”

  “Yes, I memorized the recipe when I was four,” Ava explained, wishing she hadn't, not wanting them to know she’d only memorized it because she couldn't understand the recipe book (not realizing that no four-year-old could have). It also didn't help that numbers and letters still looked jumbled on paper to Ava, making her truly believe every nasty word her mother had ever said.

  Naomi's chocolate-cake-filled mouth dropped open, pieces stuck between her teeth. It made Ava want to giggle. “This is from scratch?”

  Ava didn't know what that meant and was relieved
she didn't have to respond. Naomi was shoving the bag towards Stevie, declaring that she had to try the best cupcake she'd ever had.

  Stevie's eyes bugged out after the first bite, “Holy shit, this is really good!” She covered her mouth, embarrassed, darting a fearful glance at Mrs. Turner.

  Ava wondered if she was worried about getting into trouble for saying the s-word. She liked to believe that it was. It made her more comfortable to know Mrs. Turner made others uneasy too.

  Ava noticed Stevie had tattoos. They had been hidden under the table until she brought them up to eat. They covered both her arms in an array of colors. She tried not to stare, knowing that was impolite, but she was fascinated by them. Luckily the two women didn’t notice, too absorbed in their treats.

  Her favorite one was a tree with violet-colored flowers. It had a sword carved into its trunk, taking up the length of it.

  “I'm a tattoo artist,” Stevie explained, noticing the way Ava stared.

  Ava flushed with embarrassment at being caught.

  “It's okay. I don't mind.” She extended her arms out and laid them on the table so Ava could get a better view, “It's a way to express myself.”

  Ava kept her hands on her lap, even though she wanted to reach out and touch them, “They're very pretty.”

  “Thank you. Every one of them means something to me. They represent parts of myself.” She pointed to the one Ava had liked the most, “This one is my favorite.”

  Ave agreed, “Mine too.”

  “I got it to represent my best friend's kids. I think you'd really like them. They're around your age.”

  Ava got excited at the idea. She'd never had any friends.

  “Can I get one?”

  Naomi's laugh startled her, “When you're eighteen.”