Kick, Push
Page 5
And so for the next two years, I didn’t feel so alone, at least not in the grand scheme of things. I had help, emotional and financial, and I no longer felt like I was cracking under the strain of my life.
Until she came along.
1
-Becca-
fear f/
noun
an unpleasant emotion caused by the threat of danger, pain, or harm.
It’s also a completely strange and difficult and sometimes unjustifiable emotion.
I’ve lived with fear for all of the reasons listed above. But now I’m experiencing it for an entirely different one.
Uncertainty.
I look out the window while my grandmother speaks to me from the driver’s seat. “I want you to feel comfortable. My home is your home now. Your father…” she says, and I tune her out, choosing instead to focus on the trees that line the streets and the rays of sunlight filtering through the leaves. I wind down my window and inhale deeply, feeling the heat against my cheeks. Then I close my eyes and rest my head against the seat. It feels good just to be able to breathe. Just breathe. Because the simple act of breathing is a constant struggle when you live your life in fear.
Her car sways as she drives over a bump, pulling me from my daze. “There they are,” she says, and I look out the windshield at some guy opening the driveway gate. There who are? I think to myself. The guy smiles, or more like grins like an idiot and yells out to some kid running toward the car. He picks up the kid quickly and moves out of the way so Chazarae (or Grams, as she wants me to call her) can park in front of the house.
Once Chazarae’s out of the car, I grab the bag by my feet and hold it to my chest, looking up at the two-story house that’s apparently now my home.
“Rebecca,” she calls out and my eyes drift shut.
I step out of the car and meet her at the trunk. “Becca,” I tell her, my voice cracking from lack of use.
“What’s that?” she asks, the pity and confusion clear in her voice.
“My name’s Becca. Rebecca is my mother.” Was my mother, I should have said.
Her eyebrows furrow and the aged wrinkles around her eyes tighten when she quietly says, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” I murmur, feeling guilty for her reaction. Slowly, I reach up, wanting to touch her, to show her that I’m the one who should be sorry. But the fear of uncertainty prevents the contact and I drop my hand to my side, the other still clutching my bag.
“This is the boy I was telling you about,” she says, just as the guy, still holding the kid, steps beside her. “Joshua, this is Becca. Becca, this is Joshua.”
She must have mentioned him in the car after I’d tuned her out because all I can think is what boy?
Joshua places the little boy carefully on the ground and removes his hat, revealing his shaggy dark hair and dark brown eyes—eyes that squint as they look directly at mine. He blinks hard and blows out a breath and I wonder if he’s spotted one of the many scars I try so hard to hide. Then I remember they’re not visible—at least not to anyone else.
“Hi,” he finally says, raising his hand between us. I look down at the hand, and then at my grandmother, panicked, pleading with her to understand me.
The confusion on her face passes quickly. She grabs Joshua’s arm and spins him to face her. “I’m glad you’re here. We need your muscles.”
Joshua’s still looking at me even though he’s facing her and I don’t know why. So I avert my gaze and look down at the little boy who’s looking up at me, his grin wide and unassuming. And I decide then and there that he may possibly be my favorite person in the entire world. He won’t ever care enough to ask questions I don’t want to answer—questions I’ve heard way too many times before.
I raise my hand in a small wave and he smiles wider. And I realize then that his smile is identical to Joshua’s. I quickly look between them both. Joshua must realize what I’m thinking, or at least guessing, because he says, “That’s my son. Say hi, Tommy.”
“Hi Tommy!” the kid shouts, and I almost smile.
Almost.
“Becca’s my granddaughter,” my grandmother tells Joshua. “She’s going to be staying with us for a while.”
Us?
After a moment’s silence, I hear Josh say, “Cool.” Right before he sets my suitcase by my feet. I pull up the handle and that’s all I do because I don’t know where I am and who I’m with and what the hell I’m doing.
“Josh lives in the garage apartment,” my grandmother informs and I nod in response.
“Did you need a hand carrying your bags up the stairs?” Josh asks.
I look back up at him but he’s already watching me—his eyes focused on mine like they were before.
“No,” I tell him, but it comes out a whisper. I swallow nervously, my mouth dry and my heart racing—no doubt caused by his impenetrable gaze. “But thank you.” This time I actually do smile. It’s fake as shit but it’s still there, and if I’m lucky enough, he won’t notice.
I don’t think he hears me though because he doesn’t seem to respond, he just continues to stare.
So I take a step back, away from all of them, rolling my suitcase with me as I look down at the kid; my new best friend. I raise my hand in another wave and somehow his smile gets even wider. He grabs onto his dad’s leg before shouting, “Bye Tommy!”
-Joshua-
Her eyes are the color of emeralds. And that’s pretty much all I remember about her. Even now, after hours have passed, all I can think about are those eyes.
I get through the obstacle course of toys on the floor and answer the knock on the door. Chazarae stands on the other side greeting me with the genuine smile I’ve learned not to confuse with pity.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Everything’s fine. I just wanted to apologize to you about the Rebecca—I mean Becca—situation. It was very last minute and very—”
“You don’t need to apologize for anything. It’s your house.”
“No, Josh. It’s our house, and if I’d had more time I would’ve run it by you at least. I don’t want anyone—”
“It’s fine, ma’am. Really. I don’t mind at all.”
“Good,” she says, clearing her throat.
“So she’s staying for a while? Is everything okay? I didn’t even know you had a granddaughter.”
“I do.” She sighed. “She’s just graduated high school in Mississippi and she’ll be here—well, it’s a long, complicated story. One that I wish to stay between Becca and I. Okay?”
“Sure,” I tell her, though I don’t really know what I’m agreeing to. “She’s not, like, in trouble or anything is she?”
“Define trouble?” she mumbles, but it’s more to her than me so I leave it alone.
She turns to leave but before she does, I ask, “Is there anything I can do to make her feel more welcome or something? Anything?”
She sighs again, long and slow. “I think it’s best if you just leave her alone.”
Until she came along.
1
-Becca-
fear f/
noun
an unpleasant emotion caused by the threat of danger, pain, or harm.
It’s also a completely strange and difficult and sometimes unjustifiable emotion.
I’ve lived with fear for all of the reasons listed above. But now I’m experiencing it for an entirely different one.
Uncertainty.
I look out the window while my grandmother speaks to me from the driver’s seat. “I want you to feel comfortable. My home is your home now. Your father…” she says, and I tune her out, choosing instead to focus on the trees that line the streets and the rays of sunlight filtering through the leaves. I wind down my window and inhale deeply, feeling the heat against my cheeks. Then I close my eyes and rest my head against the seat. It feels good just to be able to breathe. Just breathe. Because the simple act of breathing is a constant struggle when you live your life in fear.
Her car sways as she drives over a bump, pulling me from my daze. “There they are,” she says, and I look out the windshield at some guy opening the driveway gate. There who are? I think to myself. The guy smiles, or more like grins like an idiot and yells out to some kid running toward the car. He picks up the kid quickly and moves out of the way so Chazarae (or Grams, as she wants me to call her) can park in front of the house.
Once Chazarae’s out of the car, I grab the bag by my feet and hold it to my chest, looking up at the two-story house that’s apparently now my home.
“Rebecca,” she calls out and my eyes drift shut.
I step out of the car and meet her at the trunk. “Becca,” I tell her, my voice cracking from lack of use.
“What’s that?” she asks, the pity and confusion clear in her voice.
“My name’s Becca. Rebecca is my mother.” Was my mother, I should have said.
Her eyebrows furrow and the aged wrinkles around her eyes tighten when she quietly says, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” I murmur, feeling guilty for her reaction. Slowly, I reach up, wanting to touch her, to show her that I’m the one who should be sorry. But the fear of uncertainty prevents the contact and I drop my hand to my side, the other still clutching my bag.
“This is the boy I was telling you about,” she says, just as the guy, still holding the kid, steps beside her. “Joshua, this is Becca. Becca, this is Joshua.”
She must have mentioned him in the car after I’d tuned her out because all I can think is what boy?
Joshua places the little boy carefully on the ground and removes his hat, revealing his shaggy dark hair and dark brown eyes—eyes that squint as they look directly at mine. He blinks hard and blows out a breath and I wonder if he’s spotted one of the many scars I try so hard to hide. Then I remember they’re not visible—at least not to anyone else.
“Hi,” he finally says, raising his hand between us. I look down at the hand, and then at my grandmother, panicked, pleading with her to understand me.
The confusion on her face passes quickly. She grabs Joshua’s arm and spins him to face her. “I’m glad you’re here. We need your muscles.”
Joshua’s still looking at me even though he’s facing her and I don’t know why. So I avert my gaze and look down at the little boy who’s looking up at me, his grin wide and unassuming. And I decide then and there that he may possibly be my favorite person in the entire world. He won’t ever care enough to ask questions I don’t want to answer—questions I’ve heard way too many times before.
I raise my hand in a small wave and he smiles wider. And I realize then that his smile is identical to Joshua’s. I quickly look between them both. Joshua must realize what I’m thinking, or at least guessing, because he says, “That’s my son. Say hi, Tommy.”
“Hi Tommy!” the kid shouts, and I almost smile.
Almost.
“Becca’s my granddaughter,” my grandmother tells Joshua. “She’s going to be staying with us for a while.”
Us?
After a moment’s silence, I hear Josh say, “Cool.” Right before he sets my suitcase by my feet. I pull up the handle and that’s all I do because I don’t know where I am and who I’m with and what the hell I’m doing.
“Josh lives in the garage apartment,” my grandmother informs and I nod in response.
“Did you need a hand carrying your bags up the stairs?” Josh asks.
I look back up at him but he’s already watching me—his eyes focused on mine like they were before.
“No,” I tell him, but it comes out a whisper. I swallow nervously, my mouth dry and my heart racing—no doubt caused by his impenetrable gaze. “But thank you.” This time I actually do smile. It’s fake as shit but it’s still there, and if I’m lucky enough, he won’t notice.
I don’t think he hears me though because he doesn’t seem to respond, he just continues to stare.
So I take a step back, away from all of them, rolling my suitcase with me as I look down at the kid; my new best friend. I raise my hand in another wave and somehow his smile gets even wider. He grabs onto his dad’s leg before shouting, “Bye Tommy!”
-Joshua-
Her eyes are the color of emeralds. And that’s pretty much all I remember about her. Even now, after hours have passed, all I can think about are those eyes.
I get through the obstacle course of toys on the floor and answer the knock on the door. Chazarae stands on the other side greeting me with the genuine smile I’ve learned not to confuse with pity.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Everything’s fine. I just wanted to apologize to you about the Rebecca—I mean Becca—situation. It was very last minute and very—”
“You don’t need to apologize for anything. It’s your house.”
“No, Josh. It’s our house, and if I’d had more time I would’ve run it by you at least. I don’t want anyone—”
“It’s fine, ma’am. Really. I don’t mind at all.”
“Good,” she says, clearing her throat.
“So she’s staying for a while? Is everything okay? I didn’t even know you had a granddaughter.”
“I do.” She sighed. “She’s just graduated high school in Mississippi and she’ll be here—well, it’s a long, complicated story. One that I wish to stay between Becca and I. Okay?”
“Sure,” I tell her, though I don’t really know what I’m agreeing to. “She’s not, like, in trouble or anything is she?”
“Define trouble?” she mumbles, but it’s more to her than me so I leave it alone.
She turns to leave but before she does, I ask, “Is there anything I can do to make her feel more welcome or something? Anything?”
She sighs again, long and slow. “I think it’s best if you just leave her alone.”
