Story A Day Cafe

Blood Rose: Ch. 3

Hot tears dripped from my cheeks. I wasn’t ready for this moment.

I wasn’t ready to die.

Not here. Not now.

Not like this.

“Please,” my voice sounded more like a croak, “please, don’t ki—"

Before I could finish my plea for mercy, another one of these strange people—another man this time—leapt onto the one that was about to kill me, ripping her head from her body in one fluid motion before his feet could even touch the ground. Then, just as suddenly, he scooped me up in his arms, and began to run.

He was running so fast, the friction pinned me to his chest, and I couldn’t move. It was like we were moving in hyperspeed, all visible surroundings nothing more than a blur.

“Where—“ I started, my breath catching in my throat. The air felt like it was being sucked from my lungs, but I had to ask. I had to know. “where…are…you…ta-taking…me? Please…please…don’t…ki-kill…me.”

The strange man didn’t answer. Instead, he crushed me closer against his chest.

My head felt lighter than a balloon filled with helium. I couldn’t even be certain it was still attached to my body.

I could feel my eyelids getting heavy. No, I shouted in my head. I have to stay awake! I have to stay alive! My family needs me!

My lungs were choking. I could feel them spasm inside my ribcage. It hurt so much. I just needed air. Just one breath and…

Everything went black.

*******

I dreamt of Grandpa. I dreamt we were at his house in Arizona, the sun beaming down on us as we gazed upon the mountains in the distance. I felt peaceful, content. Like the moment just after a great laugh.

But then—

“Why did you let me die, Grace?” Grandpa questioned, and I turned to look at him. “Why didn’t you save me?”

Half his neck was gone, and blood was pouring out of him, staining his clothes and the deck we were sitting on. Tears rained down my cheeks as an anguished sob escaped from my chest.

“Grandpa, I’m so sorry! I’m so very sorry! I tried! I tried!” I cried as I wrapped my arms around him.

I was being soaked with his blood, but I didn’t care. Grandpa was beginning to fade between my arms, and I was losing my grasp on him.

“Grandpa, no! Please don’t go! Please!” I begged.

The disappointment and despair in his eyes were the last to disappear.

And I was left standing alone on his porch, covered in his blood.

Thursday, June 13, 2019

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author: kayla mathys

Winning the Game: Ch. 3

“Did you attend the party last night?”

At this question, Karissa felt as if she was going to scream. This had been about the billionth time she had been asked this question, and it was getting annoying.

It wasn’t just that the question was getting annoying, though. It was also the look people gave her when she said no. They looked at her as if she was a crazy person, and when she told them she was doing homework all night instead, they looked at her as if she was even crazier.

Obviously, attending this party was at the very top of everyone’s list of things to do while homework was at the very bottom of the list. This had only been apparent in every class Karissa had attended.

Only a couple of people from each class were able to hand in their homework, and only a handful of people were able to refrain from falling asleep. A few people weren’t even able to show up. Karissa assumed it had something to do with the massive hangovers everyone was complaining about.

Karissa was beyond frustrated and annoyed, but since her new friend Abel was the one asking this question at this precise moment, she couldn’t find it in her to yell at him.

“No, I had too much homework to do.” Karissa answered, trying to keep herself composed when she really just wanted to seethe at him for asking her.

“Good because I didn’t either. I was hoping you would say no so I wouldn’t feel like a total loser for not attending the party. They're just too crazy for me, and I’ve got more important stuff to do,” Abel responded with a look of relief on his face, and Karissa’s mood instantly shifted to one of delight.

“Finally, someone I can relate with! I can’t stand parties! On the other hand, though, it was real nice to have my dorm all to myself. Joyce wouldn’t dare miss a party of this magnitude. I just wonder where she happened to wake up this morning. She has a darned hangover I’m sure.”

“Oh, I think almost everyone has a hangover this morning. It’s ridiculous how many people waste their college years away partying. I don’t understand it. It costs way too much to waste away something so important. I mean, these are the years that shape our future! My grandparents would kill me if I blew it partying.”

“Are your grandparents helping you with school?”

“Yeah, they live upstate. I’ve lived with them my whole life. My parents were addicts who never managed to get clean. My grandparents took me in when I was really little. They’re all I’ve ever known, really. I love them, but it was rough growing up with them. They were always paranoid I was going to end up like my parents, always convinced I was up to no good, no matter how much I proved otherwise. It’s been a relief to get away, honestly.”

“Oh Able, it breaks my heart to hear that! If it makes you feel any better, I think you’re a wonderful man your grandparents should be proud of.”

“Thanks. I’m sure they will be eventually. Anyway, what’s your story? What’s your family like?”

“Well, my dad is a good man. He’s very protective. He’s always lookin’ out for me. I don’t know why. I can take care of myself. I s’pose he’s just lookin’ out for his only child. There were some complications during my birth, and my mother wasn’t able to have any more children after she had me. They were lookin’ at adoptin’ but it was too expensive. You ain’t got much to spend on a ranchers salary. They make enough to pay the bills, put food on the table, and feed the animals, but there ain’t much extra money, especially not enough to adopt a child. It was hard for my mom. She came from a wealthy family. She wasn’t used to wearing the same clothes for years at a time or not being able to afford a pair of nice earrings, but you get used to it. It ain’t a bad life, but it ain’t really a good one either. Every time I go home, I learn to appreciate my life here more and more, that’s for sure!”

The conversation went like this for what seemed like hours. Karissa learned what his grandparents did for a living, what his favorite things were, that he had visited the beach hundreds of times yet had never learned how to surf, what his goals for the future were, and much, much more.

What he had learned was practically everything about Karissa. At the end of their lunch, they could have written a book about each other, and been dead accurate on every single word they wrote.

Any other time and Karissa would have hated talking about herself. She didn’t like letting guys into her head very much. She knew that it would too easily lead to something else.

However, there was something different about Abel. He was warm and inviting. She wasn’t afraid to pour her heart out to him. In fact, he was so delightful that she gave him a loving hug when she had realized that she was going to now be a little late to her next class.

She didn’t mind, though. It wouldn’t be the first time she had been late to a class, and this particular class was one of which everyone happened to be late to. It was late in the day, and everyone was always caught up doing something which meant that (like Karissa) they were too distracted to keep track of the time.

Luckily, Karissa had been smart enough to pack her book in her backpack when she had left her room today. She wouldn’t have to go back to her dorm to retrieve it.

“So, can we meet here tomorrow?” Abel asked after Karissa had hugged him.

“That sounds wonderful, Abel.” Karissa answered with a grin, and Abel smiled widely at her.

“Great. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Alrighty then!”

Karissa gave him another hug (a quick one this time), and then began hurriedly walking to her class. Thankfully, she was saved from humiliation when she walked into her classroom. Another girl and guy walked in late at the same time.

She sat down at her usual seat, and then realized that her professor hadn’t even called roll yet. Apparently, he had finally learned that his students showed up late, and was giving them more time to show up. Therefore, Karissa had time to pull out her book, pencil, and notebook before her professor began taking roll. By this time, he knew what name belonged to which student, so Karissa was able to daydream a bit before the lecture began.

During their talk, Abel had told her where she could find the soccer stadium on campus, and where she could find the practice schedule (just in case she wanted to watch the team practice). She vowed she would check out those times after class because she knew she could probably learn a thing or two from observing the practices.

Abel also told her that she wouldn’t be the only one watching the practices. He told her that many of the guys on the team had girlfriends who would watch them practice, and that a few people would go up to the stands to study.

That had been his response to the conflicted look on her face. He had probably figured out that she was thinking about the embarrassment she would feel if she were the only one observing the practice. She loved how he could practically read her mind sometimes.

In her daydream, she imagined herself playing on the boy’s soccer team. She imagined winning the scoring goal, and having everyone lift her up, shout her name, and seeing the coach beaming proudly at her. She imagined her parents coming up to her, and telling her how wrong they had been about soccer only being a hobby for her.

When the lecture began, Karissa forced these thoughts out of her mind. This was her World Literature class, and since it was an English class, she knew she really had to pay attention. It wasn’t one of her better subjects.

When Karissa’s class was finally over, she wasn’t as relieved as she thought she would be. She would have an essay due the next week, and with all the other homework she had yet to work on, she knew it would take her forever to get it done.

Therefore, instead of going to athletic building to check out the soccer practice schedule like she’d planned to, she went straight to her dorm to retrieve her homework so she could begin working on it in the library. When Joyce wasn’t there, she wondered whether she could just stay in her dorm room to do her work. However, she knew that Joyce could come in at any time, and she didn’t want to chance Joyce ruining all her hard work.

Instead, she grabbed her homework, books, and laptop, and went straight to the library to work on it.

It was a Thursday night, so the library was a bustle of people doing exactly what Karissa came to do. People were working on projects, homework, and finishing reading the required books when Karissa sat down at one of the tables to do her homework.

She started on the math homework that was due the next day because she knew it would take the longest and work her brain the hardest. Since it was also due the next day, she knew it had the most need to be finished. It took her about two hours to finish, and then she started on her other homework that was due the next day. That took her a short fifteen minutes for each assignment, and then she was finally able to concentrate on the essay due the next Tuesday.

Coming up with an idea was easy for her. It was putting the idea into proper and perfect sentences that was hard. She always had the hardest time remembering grammar rules and what was considered proper spelling. The essay took her another few hours before she was finally done with all her homework.

She could only hope that her classes the next day wouldn’t give her even more work to finish. She was eager to get to the practice field.

Wednesday, June 12, 2019

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author: kayla mathys

Twisting Fate: Ch. 3

I should’ve ran.

I should’ve jumped out of this bed, and gotten the hell out of here.

I probably wouldn’t have made it very far, but it would have been worth the shot.

That’s what I’m thinking when the detectives enter the room with Dr. Diaz. One of them is short, fat, and bald with big bushy, black eyebrows and a greying beard. He’s wearing a khaki suit with a bright blue tie that his wife probably gave him when they first started dating in the eighties.

His partner is a woman who looks like a former basketball champion, tall, broad-shouldered, angular jaw, and black hair slicked back in a tight bun at the nape of her neck. She’s wearing a grey pantsuit with a maroon blouse underneath, and matching maroon clogs on her feet. She doesn’t smile when she sees me, though the other one does.

Good cop, bad cop game, I figure.

Bring it on then.

“Hello, Miss Youvella,” the short one says. “I’m Detective Gold, and this here is my partner Detective Toya. If you don’t mind, we’d like to ask you a few questions about the incident on the night of October tenth.”

I shrug. “I don’t remember anything.”

“You don’t remember the name of the man you went home with?” the woman, Detective Toya asks.

I don’t like the accusation in her tone. She’s definitely playing the bad cop. I steal a quick glance at Ben, but he’s looking at the Detectives. I shake my head.

“No, I don’t,” I say.

“The paramedics said they found you naked in the car that was reported stolen from the Lucky Lounge that night. Do you have any idea how you ended up there?” Detective Toya questions.

I have a flash of a memory, waking up in the backseat of a strange car, the red, wool blanket wrapped around my naked body, my reflection in the rearview mirror. I shiver as I recall the quake of thunder and the streak of lightening from the storm outside, and the blood on the back of my head.

I shake my head again. “I don’t remember. The last thing I remember is leaving the bar. Lucky Lounge, I mean.”

“And you don’t remember who you left with?” Detective Gold asks, his eyes more concerned than accusatory.

“I remember I called him Sweet Breath, and I vaguely remember what he looks like.”

“Sweet Breath?” Detective Toya scoffs. Her partner shoots her a warning look.

“Can you describe what you remember?” Detective Gold asks, pulling a pen and small notebook from his jacket pocket.

“Um, tall? White. I think he had like dirty blonde hair that was kinda short. And maybe brown eyes? I’m not really sure.”

Ben clears his throat. “I might be able to get a name,” he says.

****

“Do you come here often?” he asks, taking the ball from her dogs mouth. He throws the ball across the park, and her dog rushes to catch it. He smiles at her. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”

If it wasn’t her first experience in this kind of situation, she may have been able to perceive that he is flirting with her.

But Jennifer hasn’t ever been flirted with before, and it has been a long time since she had a conversation with someone other than her family.

She tucks her hair behind her ear, feeling awkward and bashful. She can feel the gaze of his eyes on her skin, and she likes the way it feels, even though it makes her shiver.

“I try to come every night, even though I’m not really supposed to be here,” she answers to fill the silence. “My mom lets me come when my father has to work late. He doesn’t really like me being out of the house.”

“How old are you?” he asks.

“Nineteen."

He laughs, and her cheeks suddenly feel hot. She has the impression he’s laughing at her. She wasn’t trying to be funny. She doesn’t understand her own joke.

“Perfect,” he says, and winks at her.

****

“I’m sorry, who are you?” Detective Toya asks Ben.

“Ben Barlow. I own the Lucky Lounge.”

“Hey, didn’t your pops used to own that brewery right outside town? What was it called again?” Detective Gold asks.

“Barlow’s Brews,” Ben answers with a flat expression. “Yeah, that was him.”

I know Ben hated his father. Who could blame him? The man left Ben’s mom on Christmas for another woman, started a new family right outside town, opened up the brewery with mild success, and only ever acknowledged his first son even existed when he left the brewery to Ben as an inheritance.

Ben sold the place and used the money to open up the Lucky Lounge.

“I’m sorry, but what is your connection to Miss Youvella again, exactly?” Detective Toya asks.

“We’re roommates,” he says. I snort. That’s one way of putting it, I guess. Ben glares at me. Detective Toya looks from Ben to me and back again.

“I see,” she says. “And how long have you been living together exactly?”

“Six months,” I say at the same time Ben says, “About a year.”

The Detectives exchange glances. Detective Gold clears his throat. “Well, Mr. Barlow, if you don’t mind, we’d like to get a formal statement from you at the station as soon as possible. We have a couple more questions for Miss Youvella here, and then perhaps you’d be willing to meet us there?”

“I’m not leaving Jasmine here alone,” Ben says.

“I’m sure Dr. Diaz and his staff will continue to take great care of her here,” Detective Gold says. “It shouldn’t take long to gather your statement.”

“I said I’m not leaving her,” Ben says, a hard edge to his voice.

He knows I’ll run as soon as I get the chance.

“You understand it’s a crime to withhold information from the police,” Detective Toya says.

“I’m not withholding information,” Ben says.

“You said you might be able to get us a name.”

“I’ll have to check the receipts from that night. I’m pretty sure I remember him paying with a card, but I could be wrong. It was a busy night.”

“We would like to see those receipts.”

“I’ll get them to you as soon as Jasmine is better, and I have time to return to the bar.”

“We’d like them sooner than that, Mr. Barlow.”

“Then you can get a warrant.”

Detective Toya stares hard at Ben, her expression full of fury. Ben stares right back, unflinching. I can’t stand the tension.

“I’m starting to feel a little tired,” I say. All eyes turn to me, the tension put on hold. “Can we wrap this up, please?”

****

“You don’t get out much, do you?” he asks.

They’re sitting on the park bench together now. She can feel his thigh pressed against hers, and the weight of his arm around her shoulders. His breath is warm against her neck. It feels a little uncomfortable to be this close to a stranger, but at the same time, she feels a little thrill. This is the closest she’s ever been to guy. Her father would be furious.

“Not really,” she says, smiling bashfully.

“Where would you go if you could go anywhere?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. I haven’t really ever left the city.”

“Why not?”

“My father…he’s a little overprotective.”

She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. She doesn’t like the way he’s looking at her. Like she’s a species his brown eyes have never seen before.

“Would you like to go somewhere?” he asks.

“With you?” she asks.

“Sure,” he shrugs.

“But I just met you!”

“And?”

There’s a twinkle in his brown eyes as they make contact with hers. She feels a fluttering in her stomach that she’s never felt before.

She doesn’t return home that night.

Tuesday, June 11, 2019

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author: kayla mathys

In the Middle: Ch. 2

The class valedictorian is a peppy red-head named Rebecka. Captain of the cheerleading squad, Student Body President, and leader of the town’s youth group, she’s the golden girl of our school. For most of our high school careers, Rebecka and I swam in vastly different social circles, but the past year, Rebecka made it her mission to become my greatest friend.

Throughout the year, she had escorted me to just about every class, looping her arm through mine like we’ve been best friends forever, and always slipping me an invitation to some event or another that I wouldn’t attend.

The night Brad died, I remember seeing a picture of her when she was little, her hair frizzy, her freckled face lit up by her gap-toothed smile caught in the middle of a laugh. The picture was hanging on the wall of the room where I last saw Brad, her image forever etched into my last memory of him.

Now, she stands at the podium on the stage in front of me, and gives her glowing speech, the last words of her high school career.

“Last year, a tragedy took the life of one of our fellow classmates, a senior whose memory has echoed through the halls of our school as we follow in his footsteps toward this day here, our graduation. We now know how precious life is,” she says, meeting my gaze with a sickeningly sweet smile, “and we won’t take the time we have for granted. Most importantly, we won’t take each other for granted. We have been tied together through this tragedy. Tied together with strength, love, faith, and hope--”

I don’t hear the rest.

I stand up, and shuffle my way past the knees of my classmates sitting in their organized row until I reach the aisle. I see my mother stand at the sight of me walking toward the door, but I don’t stop.

I have to get out of here.

I throw my graduation cap onto the passenger seat as I start my car. My hands grip the steering wheel tightly the whole way home.

When I arrive, I move as if on autopilot, rushing into my room, throwing open the closet door and rummaging through the closet until I find my duffle bag. I pack whatever belongings I can fit, and then toss the bag into the trunk of my car.

I’ve just closed the trunk door when my parents pull into the driveway.

My mother comes rushing out of the passenger seat, waving a blue envelope above her head.

“Sarah! You forgot your diploma!” she says. “Normally, if you miss the ceremony, you have to wait a few weeks for the diploma to be mailed to you, but Principal Baker made an exception for you. I should probably send her a thank-you card. She’s done so much for you and this family ever since…” My mom stops herself before she can say the words out loud, crosses her arms over her chest, and narrows her eyes at me. “You know, Sarah, I just have to say it was really rude of you to just walk out of the ceremony like that. You only graduate from high school once in your life, you know, and I really think you’re going to regret missing such an integral part of your youth. I mean, you of all people should know how important—"

“Mom,” I say, and she stops talking so quickly a small hiccup escapes the back of her throat. “I’m leaving.”

My dad clears his throat, finally stepping out of the car to engage in the conversation.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” he asks, crossing his arms in solidarity with my mother.

“I don’t know yet,” I say, shrugging.

And for the first time in over a year, I feel a small smile twitch my lips at the opportunities behind my statement.

If I don’t know where I’m going, I can go anywhere.

“Well, I think we should talk about this,” my mother says. “Right, Bob?” She looks at my father, desperation in her eyes.

“Yes, we should. Absolutely. We can’t just let you run off without knowing where you’re headed,” he says.

“Fine,” I say. “We can talk over dinner.”

And perhaps because for the first time in a year I actually do talk over dinner, and—with the stipulations that I’ll call them every hour on the hour to let them know where I am, as well as before bed and as soon as I wake up—they agree to let me go. And for the first time I feel like I might actually get to escape the pit of emptiness swallowing me whole.

I hug my parents one at a time outside the house, tell them I love them, and promise I will call if I ever need anything.

Then, I get in my car and start to drive.

As I pass Brad’s house, I see his mother walking down the gravel drive with a bouquet of fresh picked flowers in her hands. She raises her hand to wave at me, but I turn away and look straight ahead.

As I pull onto the highway heading west, I turn off my phone in case my parents change their mind and try to convince me to turn around. I tell myself I won’t go back, no matter what, and refuse to look in the mirror until the sun finally sets.

With nothing but darkness behind me and the headlights illuminating the road ahead of me, I finally have hope.

****

I stop at a motel on the northern outskirts of Denver just as the sun begins to blink the arrival of a new day.

The man at the front desk is barely awake as I hand him my driver’s license and the credit card my parents got me when I was sixteen in case of emergencies. I’m grateful for the lack of small talk during our brief interaction, mumbling only a quick “thanks” as he slaps my room key and receipt on the counter.

As soon as I’m in my room, I turn on my phone, sighing at the overwhelming pouring of messages that instantly buzz my phone to life. I have nearly thirty missed texts and calls with voicemails from my parents alone, each one sounding more urgent than the one before.

My dad’s last text threatens to file a missing persons report if they don’t hear from me by the morning; a few messages from Rebecka ask me if I’m okay, what happened to me during the ceremony, and that she’ll pray for me. I delete the single remaining voicemail from Carmen, Brad's mom, without listening to it.

I’m not ready to hear her voice.

Instead, I dial my parents home phone number, surprised when my mother answers on the first ring.

“Hello? Sarah, is that you? Are you alright?” she asks, the worry in her voice making my chest ache with a pang of guilt.

“I’m fine, mom. I’m staying at a motel in Denver.”

“Denver? You drove all the way to Denver without calling us a single time? Do you realize how worried your father and I have been? We were about to call the police to come find you! We thought something terrible had happened! We thought—” She starts sobbing, and I hear a few shuffling noises before the gruff sound of my dad clearing his throat.

“Sarah,” he says, sounding exhausted, “we’re glad you’re alright. We understand you’re an adult now, and we’re trying to give you the freedom and space you think you need, but you’ve got to cut us a break here. We’re your parents and we love you, and that means we need to know that you’re safe, alright? That’s all. We just need to know you’re safe.”

Tears sting my eyes, and I nod my head. Then, remembering he can’t see me, I say, “Yeah, okay. I’m sorry, dad. I just…I need this. I really need this.”

He sighs. “I know you do, sweetheart. Now, get some rest. We love you.”

“I love you too.”

I get in the shower after we hang up, cranking the heat as high as I can. The steaming water scalds my skin, turning my freckled, pale skin a beet red under the spray, but I don’t care. The heat feels like a long overdue cleansing, and not just from the scum of sitting in a car for nearly ten hours with fuel and gas-station coffee refills my only reprieve. As the water washes over my skin, the steam billowing all around me, I feel as if I’m being cleansed from within too. As if all the baggage and words left unspoken from the past year are finally being washed away.

I step out of the shower, and take a look at my foggy reflection framed in the mirror, allowing a tiny smile to creep onto my small, thin lips . It’d be easy to blame my dully pale skin on the sleepless hours I spent in the dark car, but I know it’s more than the long night of travel sucking the life from my complexion. The constellations of freckles sparkling on my skin are a result of genetics rather than a hint of sunshine past.

I partly dry my just-past-the-shoulder length, light brown hair with the travel-sized dryer next to the sink and wrap it into a bun at the top of my head. I stare at my reflection for a moment longer, gazing into the dark black pupils of my azure-colored eyes.

Brad used to say they were my best feature.

I turn away, and rummage through my duffle bag until I find an old t-shirt to sleep in. I close the curtains, blocking out the view of the sun rising over the distant mountains, and then I curl into the queen-sized bed, wrapping the covers tightly around me.

I’d like to say I sleep peacefully, but the nightmares return as soon as I close my eyes.

Monday, June 10, 2019

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author: kayla mathys

Redemptive: Ch. 2

The house was a disaster by the time the party ended.

As promised, Ty stuck around to help clean up. I was grateful for the help, but I couldn’t get Zeke and the hopeless expression on his face out of my head. I felt bad for him. He didn’t deserved to be tortured by Ike for reasons that weren’t even his fault.

I stomped on a red plastic cup, and shoved it forcefully into the trash bag I was carrying. A little too forcefully apparently; my hand ripped right through the bag, and the contents poured onto the floor. I let out a frustrated sigh, and dramatically plopped myself onto the ground, tucking my head between my knees.

“You okay?” Ty asked.

“No,” I said.

Ty bent down beside me, and stroked my back. He twirled a lock of my black hair around his finger, and tucked it behind my ear as he leaned in to kiss the top of my head.

“I know the mess seems endless right now, but I promise you this house will look brand new before your parents get home, okay? I’m not leaving until you can lick every surface,” he said, smiling.

“Thank you,” I said, “but it’s not just the mess.”

“Okay, well, I know Chelsea left with Ike, and that it’s probably not one of her best ideas, but eventually we all learn from our mistakes. It may take a couple tries or even a couple thousand, but I promise you, Chelsea will be okay. She’s a tough girl, and she’s very lucky to have you as a friend.”

“Chelsea left with Ike?” I snapped my head up to look at him with wide eyes.

“She’s fine. I promise.”

“You’re making too many promises.”

Ty chuckled, and kissed the tip of my nose. “There’s no such thing.”

I lowered my gaze to the pristine, white carpet of the floor, thankful I’d remembered to hide the red wine. I could feel the warmth of Ty’s hand tracing small circles along my back, and I wanted so badly to just forget about Zeke and Ike and everything that happened, but I couldn’t.

“What else is bothering you?” Ty asked, his forehead wrinkling in concern.

I sighed. “I don’t like the way Ike treats Zeke. It’s wrong. He doesn’t deserve to be treated like that. Zeke’s always been so nice to him. It’s not like he asked for that stupid driving arrangement.”

“I already cleaned the carpet. I promise, your parents won’t ever be able to tell there was a spill.”

“It’s not about the carpet, Ty!”

Ty raised his eyebrows, but didn’t speak. Using his thumb and forefinger, he traced a line up and down the vertebras of my spine, causing gooseflesh to appear on my skin. I was a sucker for this kind of soothing touch, and he knew it. I could already feel my anger toward Ike fading, the memory of Zeke hanging from the stair banister under a waterfall of cheap beer beginning to—

I moved away from Ty, swatting his hands away as he immediately reached for me.

Ty sighed. “Cam, what do you want me to do? Do you want me to talk to Ike? I can talk to him before practice tomorrow morning if that will make you feel better.”

“He won’t listen.”

“Probably not, but I can still try to get through to him. Who knows? Maybe something will stick."

I was silent. Ty was right. If anyone could get through to Ike, it was probably Ty. It wouldn’t hurt to let him try.

“Are you sure there isn’t something else bothering you? Ike’s always been an asshole. Especially to Zeke. But I’ve never seen you get this upset about it before.”

That was true. Though I had always been disgusted by Ike’s pranks, it had never bothered me this much. A simple eye-roll and a that’s so Ike were enough of a response, and then I would go on as if nothing ever happened.

But it bothered me now.

Zeke’s tortured, helpless expression, the hatred in his voice as he threw the towel and said Does it look like I’m okay?…the images played on a loop inside my head.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I just feel awful about it. I mean, he wouldn’t even take the towel I offered him. He was so upset, so helpless. And what did he do to be treated like that anyway? Nothing. He did nothing. It’s not right. We need to do something because I can’t stand it anymore. I can’t.”

Ty moved to sit behind me, his legs on either side of me as he took me into his arms. I leaned back into his embrace, resting my head and back on his chest.

“I’ll talk to Ike at practice tomorrow morning, okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, okay. Even though it won’t make a difference.”

“Well, until you gain some magic psychic powers, I think we’ll have to leave the future unpredictable for now. They’re rare, but miracles do happen every now and then, you know.”

I sighed, and rolled my eyes. I knew Ty was probably right, but the guilt gnawing at my insides wasn’t satisfied. I would find a way to make things right eventually.

I always did.

****

My parents were professional fixers.

From the couple who couldn’t agree on anything to the child who had trouble fitting in at school, my parents were famous for fixing every problem. They had a television special on the Oprah Network, and had written countless self-help books, their most recent being the reason they were spending Spring Break on a ten-day book tour. If there was a problem, you could bet my parents had a solution.

Perhaps that’s where I got it from.

I remember when I was five years old, I was wandering the grocery store while my mother shopped when I spotted a middle-aged couple arguing in the frozen meal section. Without hesitating, I walked up to the couple, hands on my hips, head cocked to the side, and inquired about the “root of their problem” like I’d seen my parents do a thousand times on their television special.

“What’s your root?” I had asked them.

“Excuse me?” the lady had asked.

“What’s this fight really about?” I asked, using the best impression of my mother’s voice.

“Camille! There you are!” my mother had said as she appeared with the shopping cart. “I’m so sorry. I hope she didn’t bother you.”

The woman had blinked, looking from me to my mother. “I know you,” the woman said. “You and your husband…you have that special on tv! And this must be your daughter!” the woman laughed. “No wonder she sounded so wise and grown up!”

My mother wound up talking to the lady in front of the Lean Cuisines for what felt like forever until eventually my mother handed the lady an appointment card for next week.

After that, my parents regularly used me as one of their “icebreakers” to reel in clients, encouraging me to insert myself in the middle of a stranger’s personal issues.

It’s a habit that stuck with me long after it stopped being cute. There was rarely a problem I wasn’t determined to fix.

And Zeke had become one of them.

Sunday, June 09, 2019

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