Turning Grace

by J. Q. Davis

  “Hi sweetheart! I’m in the kitchen!”

  Of course she was. I threw my book bag on the couch and went into the kitchen to greet her with a kiss. “I thought you had to work late tonight.”

  “I thought I did too. You know I try not to work late unless it is necessary. I would rather be home with you. So how was school today?” she asked as she thumbed through the mail at the kitchen table. I went straight to the fridge to get some pomegranate goodness.

  “Oh, you know. It was school.” I couldn’t help but smile.

  “Did you learn anything fun? Oh and honey how did you like your lunch today?”

  “Well, it’s funny that you ask—”

  Mom popped her head up to look at me across the table. “You didn’t like it?” she asked almost as if she were horrified. “Gracie, did you eat lunch today?”

  “Mom, yes I ate lunch. Lunch was great. I always eat your lunch, you know that,” I reassured her. She took a deep breath and went back to the mail. Mom was very sensitive about her cooking. I loved her food and never had a problem with it, but if I didn’t like it for some reason, she would become completely crazy and try to perfect what she had made. I thought it was a bit OCD, but Mom’s passion for cooking was important to her, and I supported that. Sometimes I would wonder if it was what she did to forget about Dad leaving. Maybe it was her way of coping. I would never ask, though. Jack was a sore subject.

  “Anyway, something great actually did happen today,” I said. “Remember the boy that I really like at school?” I didn’t think that she forgot him, really. It was the only time I had ever confided in my mother regarding a crush. And it was only because she overheard Phoebe and I dishing about which guys at school were cute.

  “Oh yes. Tristen, is it? Yes, I remember,” she said as she continued to write in her check book.

  “Well, I am going to be tutoring him. He needs help with his calculus.” I pulled a chair out to join her at the antique wooden kitchen table. Most of the things in our house were antique...Mom had an interest in old things.

  She smiled softly, not lifting her head from her check book. “That’s great, Gracie. Isn’t he dating that Sam girl?”

  My ridiculous grin faded. Why would she burst my bubble? Didn’t she know how much I liked him?

  “Um, yeah…yes,” I couldn’t help shifting uncomfortably in my chair. “Her name is Sonny. She’s perfect,” I mumbled under my breath.

  Mom sensed the slight disappointment in my voice. She looked up at me. “Gracie, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, sweetie, but he is dating someone. Don’t you think it would be inappropriate for you to act on how you feel for him? Do you think it would even be a good idea to tutor him, knowing how you feel?”

  Why was she trying to rain on my parade? I stared at her for a moment, letting what she just said seep into my mind.

  “Yes, I guess you’re right,” I said through clenched teeth. “I won’t have a problem tutoring him, though. He really does need the help, and it will make me feel good to help him.” I picked up my glass and stood. “I think I’m gonna go listen to some music.”

  I could see a little bit of guilt in Mom’s eyes before I turned to walk out of the room. “Okay, dear.”

  I went upstairs into my bedroom, grabbed my IPod and threw myself back onto the bed. Why was she so uptight about this? I mean, I get what she was saying. Okay, he had a girlfriend. And she was perfect. But, that didn’t mean that I couldn’t like him. Almost every girl in school liked him. Heck, I’m sure almost every girl in the greater New Orleans area liked him. What was so wrong with that?

  As I laid there thinking, I realized that she didn’t really like me dating Josh either. I remembered I had to beg her to let me go on a date with him. The other times we hung out, I snuck out to see him. She would have killed me if she knew that I kissed him.

  This was ridiculous. I was seventeen years old, almost a college student, and very mature for my age. Anyway, he was dating the epitome of perfection. I doubted that he would want anything less than perfect at this point. I was way less than perfect. Then again, maybe he was tired of perfect.

  I could hear my stomach begin to rumble. I needed food. Soon.

  After listening to a little music while I did calculus, civics, and English IV homework, I nearly began running downstairs when the scent of sizzling fajitas reached my smell receptors. Man, that smell made me feel like I hadn’t eaten in months.

  “Gracie, dinner is…!” Mom yelled right as she watched me tumble onto the kitchen floor. “Grace! Are you okay?” she asked frantically as she bent to help me.

  I shuffled to my feet while holding on to her arm. I couldn’t help but giggle a little. I wasn’t normally clumsy, but every now and then I would get dizzy if I felt too hungry.

  “I’m fine, Mom. Just hungry,” I made my way to the table where steak fajitas, black beans with sausage and rice, fried little banana thingys, and chips and salsa were awaiting my starving mouth.

  “Mom, it looks so good,” I growled after swallowing a mouth full of saliva.

  “Okay, well eat up. You need food right now,” she demanded. She pulled out the chair across the table in front of me to sit down and eat. I couldn’t be polite. I had to start at that moment.

  “So Gracie, I was thinking about our conversation earlier,” she said while placing her napkin on her lap. I swallowed hard. “I didn’t mean to sound…insensitive.” Sincerity swept her face. “I just don’t want you to get hurt, honey.”

  I swallowed hard again, wondering why she would think I’d get hurt. I got that he was in love with Miss Perfectly Perfect, and I didn’t expect us to be together after one study date.

  I continued to eat the delectably delicious steak fajitas.

  “It’s just that, he has a girlfriend. He may not think of you in the way you want him to. Not to mention, if he does, you could come in between them and cause a big mess.”

  I managed to keep the fork out of my mouth for a moment. “Mom, I know that. I am not expecting anything from him. Besides, Sonny hates me.”

  “She hates you? Why?”

  I shrugged off her question. I didn’t want to get into that.

  “Well, I just worry. Anyway, you should be focusing on your college applications,” she said before finally picking up her fork to eat. How can she not want to dig in from the smell alone?

  I nodded and we continued to eat in silence.

  After dinner, Mom sat in the bay window to read a book and I went upstairs to surf the internet. Well, I say surf but really just jump on Facebook to check out what my friends did that day. That was the great thing about social media. You could be nosey, without actually being nosey. People wanted you to know what they were doing. It always amazed me how people would post updates about their lives every thirty minutes.

  Going to the movies with so and so. Getting my ticket for the movie. Movie is about to start. Just got out of the movie. On my way home from the movie. Sitting on my toilet thinking about the movie.

  Really?

  I changed into my pajama pants and my mom’s old Berkeley University t-shirt, flopped onto the bed, opened my laptop and signed in. There was a friend request awaiting my approval when the homepage popped up. I clicked it, knowing that it would be some random person who was a friend of a sister’s boyfriend’s best friend of a friend that I currently have on my friends list.

  Tristen Miles is awaiting your approval.

  What? I rubbed my eyes to make sure that I was not temporarily blind, and only envisioning what I read. He was asking me to be his friend? My initial reaction was to wonder why. Why now? Was I his friend now because I agreed to tutor him?

  I stared at my laptop, recognizing that there may be some consequences to this. If I accepted his request to be friends on a social network, there was the slight possibility that I might end up wasting too much of time in my day checking to see what he did the night before, which would grant me a stalker status. Not to mention, the high possibi
lity that Sonny would see that we were friends and it would add fuel to the fire she already wanted to set me on.

  I squinted at the tiny picture next to the request, he and Sonny wearing sombreros at what seemed to be a Mexican restaurant. He liked Mexican food. So did I. I began to wonder what else he liked. If he cherished food as much as I did, or loved horrors movies, or if he liked comic books, or enjoyed walking in the park on a beautiful day.

  I held my finger up to my mouth and squeezed my nail between my teeth. Grace, just do it! my subconscious yelled. I brought my finger down to the mouse pad, hovered the cursor over the ACCEPT option, and after about ten seconds, tapped the pad. There, I was his friend. That wasn’t so bad. I resisted the urge to scan through his profile. I closed my laptop and set it on the night stand next to my bed. I flipped the lamp off and cuddled up in my blankets, wondering if my decision was smart. Who knew, maybe this would be the start of a great friendship.

  Mom’s words slowly crept into my thoughts, making me cringe. He may not think of you in the way you want him to. Was I expecting anything more? Would this decision to help him study be the beginning of disappointments and hurt feelings?

  No, the important question here was, what would I do to get close to him?

  Well, I guess helping him study would be the first thing.

  Chapter 3

  The Hunger

  The next morning, I awoke to the smell of bacon and pancakes, and I was sure much more. I changed into a gray camisole, jeans, and Converse. I threw on a brown and white tight-fitting flannel shirt, leaving the buttons undone. I went into the bathroom and tied my hair up into a messy bun. I looked in the mirror and touched the bags under my eyes, wondering if it was time for me to begin wearing makeup. Maybe Phoebe was right; makeup might make guys think I was a little more attractive. I didn’t think I was ugly, but I could use a little help. I grazed my fingers over the tiny freckles scattered around my nose and cheeks. I dropped them down to my pale, but full lips. Sonny wore makeup, maybe Tristen liked that.

  “Gracie, breakfast is ready, my dear!” Mom yelled from downstairs. Still staring, I dropped my hand down to my side, letting out a small sigh.

  Tomorrow. I would put some makeup on tomorrow.

  After attending to my hygiene duties, I grabbed my book bag and slowly walked downstairs. I was starving, and normally I would be dashing down the stairs, two steps at a time. But I was feeling a bit lethargic this morning.

  I devoured my incredibly large but scrumptious breakfast, kissed Mom on the cheek, and hopped out the door to meet Phoebe for our walk to school. My lethargy was quickly dissipating after the fantastic breakfast.

  School was the same. Between classes, Phoebe indulged in telling me of her almost work date with…oh wait, I finally got a name: Eric. From what I understood, she and Eric flirted continuously while at work, giving each other sexy looks and briefly making contact as they walked near each other. She liked him, more than a lot, and was waiting for the right time to ask him out. I did envy Phoebe’s lack of regard for being rejected. I wondered that if Tristen was single, would I have enough guts to ask him out. Doubtful.

  The school day ended with an excited Phoebe rushing to get to work, a malicious look from Sonny, and a slight smile from Tristen. I was used to Phoebe and Sonny, but when I saw the corners of Tristan’s mouth slowly turn up when our eyes met in the breezeway after the final bell, I had a mini stroke. If it wasn’t for the rumbling that came from my stomach, I probably would have frozen in that moment. But, I was starving, so I smiled a gentle smile, lowering my head down like a shy little girl, and rushed to get home to some food.

  On my walk home, I sucked in the aroma of the fall air, admiring the gardens that outlined the sidewalks, letting my fingertips graze the blooming flowers fighting their way out of the iron fences that surrounded them. The houses in my neighborhood were the old, French-style type. They were mostly two stories, brick, with stairs leading up to the front doors and balconies above them. There was a charm about them, warm and homey. The neighbors were friendly, but mostly kept to themselves. They had either lived here for a while and raised a family and watched their children raise theirs, or they had just started a family, running around their front courtyards with their toddlers. This was home, and where I wanted to raise my family one day. I briefly wondered what Tristen’s plans for the future were.

  When I reached my driveway, I noticed a black Mercedes Benz parked behind my mother’s car. Who would be here? We never had company over.

  I walked through the front door to find my mom on the couch facing someone sitting on the loveseat. I could only see the back of his black-haired head. They stood up immediately.

  “Grace, hi honey,” she greeted. She was smiling, but it seemed to be hiding concern. The man stood up with her and turned to face me. He was tall, clean shaven, with gold-rimmed glasses. “This is Dr. Roberson. He is a…an old colleague.”

  Dr. Roberson extended his hand out to me. “Hi, Grace. You can call me Mark.” His smile was magnificent.

  I reached to shake his hand, a little shocked that we had a guest over and even more shocked that he was so cute, in a doctor kind of way.

  “Hi,” I smiled back.

  “Wow, you look so much like Veronica. I have heard so much about you. Your mother was just singing your praises.”

  My mom quickly added, “Well, she is a wonderful daughter.” She looked a bit nervous, which was odd to me because Mom was normally very confident about everything. “It has been a long time since we have spoken, so I just wanted to let him know how blessed I was to have you.” She smiled nervously and shifted her eyes over to Mark.

  “Okay,” I said, not sure of what else to say. We stood there for a moment in an awkward silence.

  “Um, Gracie, if you could just give Dr. Roberson and I a few more minutes…”

  “ No, yeah, that’s fine. I have a ton of homework to do anyway.” Thank god. It was beginning to feel too uncomfortable.

  “Gotta get that homework done,” Mark added. “Do you like to study? What are your favorite subjects?” he asked with curiosity in his tone.

  “Um, pretty much everything. Math is my thing though. Mom always wonders how I am so good at it.”

  “Well, your mother wasn’t known as the mathematician around the office. But, you do well?”

  “Yeah. Yes, I just like it, I guess. I never really thought about it.” It was true, why did I like math? It came naturally to me. I never struggled as much as say, Phoebe did. Most of the kids in our school dreaded math, but I didn’t mind it.

  “Well good for you. Keep up the good work. Have you been feeling okay?”

  I looked at my mom and it was as if she were burning a hole through his head with her eyes. Was she upset that he was making conversation with me?

  “Um, yes, I have been well. Just tired from so much studying. Well, I should get to it.” I smiled and politely excused myself from the living room. As I walk up the stairs, I could hear a whisper and barely make out my mom saying “…don’t think you should be asking her those types of questions.”

  As I entered my room and shut the door quietly, I wondered what that was supposed to mean. Why couldn’t he ask me those types of questions? What alarmed me even more was Mom’s nervousness. I had never heard of a Dr. Mark Roberson before; Mom never mentioned him. And why would he ask me if I have been feeling well? I guess it was a doctor thing. Mom used to be a doctor. A surgeon. She always asked me how I feeling. I guess it was in their nature to make sure people were not feeling ill.

  My stomach made a loud rumble, but I really did not want to go back downstairs into the awkwardness. Maybe my mom liked Mark and wanted some time alone with him. That would be interesting. Mom had only been on a hand full of dates…that I knew of. She said she would rather spend her time with me and that it was too late in her life to be dating. Maybe she reconsidered.

  I threw myself on my bed and stared at the ceiling. Thoughts of tomorrow’s study
date circled my mind and before I knew it, my eyes grew heavier.

  It was suddenly late at night, and I was walking slowly down an empty field, with only the moonlight guiding my way. There was heavy fog low at my feet, obstructing my view of the ground. I felt nervous, scared, not sure of what I was doing. I walked and walked as the fog grew heavier and heavier at my feet. I felt dizzy and hungry. So, so hungry. I couldn’t smell anything. My vision was blurred. But I could barely hear a crunching sound as my foot stepped forward. I stopped and bent to see what I had stepped on, but still couldn’t make out anything. I touched the ground, only to feel the soft soil. I flailed my arms around, pushing the fog to either side of me. I pushed and pushed, until suddenly, there was something. I bent down closer to get a better view, only to see what looked like a finger pointing straight up. I stared for a moment, not understanding why this finger was protruding out of the soggy mud. I became curious and wanted to touch it. As I slowly brought my fingertips to it, it twitched. Once, twice, three times. I reached down closer, still curious. I didn’t stand up, I didn’t run away. The finger began to move, grabbing on to the edge. Another finger emerged. Then another, and another, until five fingers were in the air. I was mesmerized, frozen in time. The hand began to move again, clawing into the soil now, pulling Earth further and further down. A wrist emerged, then an arm. The skin was pale and smelled of rot, with greenish, black blisters and bruises. I could see a balding head beginning to crown through the surface. The few strands of hair on the blistering scalp were thin, long, and colorless. As the head slowly made its out, and a face was becoming visible, I began to realize that it looked familiar. She looked familiar. There were heavy bags under her eyes, tiny freckles scattered on her nose and cheeks, and pale, full lips. It was me.

  My eyes sprung open as I lay still in my bed. I stared at the ceiling, wondering why I was not a crying mess from the terrible vision of myself I had just witnessed in my sleep. When I tried to turn my head to get a glimpse of the time on my nightstand, I winced at the achiness radiating from my neck to my toes. I struggled to lift myself up into a sitting position, realizing at the same time that the sheets were wet. My forehead and whole body was covered in sweat. I reached over to flick the lamp on. The light burned my retinas and I flicked it back off quickly. I glanced over at the clock, squinting and struggling to read the time. I could barely see. It was blurry, but after focusing for a moment, the clock read 3:00 a.m.