Monday, June 29, 2009

Murphy and Me IV

Normally there's one good storm during pre-season, living in Upstate New York and all, and this year promised a doozy. It was a few days after falling off the couch, and they'd been a busy few days. I'd only had time to say hi to Murphy in passing.

Anyway, I'd forewent my ceiling light in favor of my desk lamp, so it was kind of dark in the room.

The first lightning strike lit the place up like the launching of a space shuttle.

And I yelped pretty damn loud.

The thunder overhead boomed hard enough to shake the foundation, and I scrambled to the desk, hair went and uncombed from my shower, halfway into my pajamas, because I just knew the power was going to go out. I must have had some luck because no sooner had the machine powered down than the lamp went out without so much as a flicker. Rain pounded on the roof and the window - why had I wanted the corner, again? - and I moved automatically toward the window. And almost tripped over everything between here and there. My phone lay on the bed, hidden by the darkness, shown only by the occasionally flashes of lightning.

I managed to make it from the window to the bed without breaking anything - myself included - and after feeling for my phone like a blind man, flipped it open. Oh, look. Text from Sasha.

U ok?

'Peachy' I texted back, flinching as Mother Nature continued to pummel my building. Storms made me uneasy, a fact that Sasha knew very well, and considering that I was alone she was probably assuming I was having a minor freak out.

Damn, did she know me well.

She at least had Cara to snuggle up to. I had a teddy bear and a green...thing...to curl around and whimper through the night with. (I say green 'thing' because I don't exactly know what Edgar is.)

The phone vibrated.

Ur freakin out, rnt u?

Yeah, my bestie had me pegged.

'Yeah.' I turned thoughtful for a minute, then typed, 'the only thing i'm missing is a creepy serial killer to murder me.' And really, that was the only thing I was missing.

Which was when someone pounded on my door and sent my heartrate into the upper stratosphere to punched around by the storm. Naturally I froze. Someone had conjured me my serial killer. All I need was confirmation.

Whoever it was banged again. My phone buzzed. Sasha was now calling.

"Olivia!"

I opened the phone and dropped it. He knew my name. Lightning flashed again. Might as well see who it is.

"Yeah?" Which clarified nothing and merely stated to whoever was outside the door and Sasha on the other end of the open phone connection that I was still there and it was eloquent, to boot.

"You okay?"

If it hadn't been storming like hell and my nerves kind of fried, the simultaneous identical response would have been kind of comical. Especially since Sasha's voice was tinny and coming from the floor.

"Sort of?"

"Do you want me to come down?" was Sasha and the guy (it was definitely a guy outside my door) said, "Can I come in? I'm coming in."

Well, I might as well have just left the damn phone on the floor because as soon as I'd picked it up, I dropped it again (threw it toward the general direction of the bed is more accurate and heard it slap off the wall) in favor of diving, in the dark, for a shirt to pull on. I yanked the hem down as the door pushed open and a flashlight beam illuminated part of the bed and the floor. Picked up the phone. Again.

"Olivia?""

I wished for light - lightning supplied - and found that my 'serial killer' was really just Murphy. Filling the door frame quite impressively I might add.

"Murphy," I breathed, relief going through me. I wasn't going to murdered after all. I put the phone to my ear and then yanked it away. Sasha was basically screaming into the receiver.

"Sasha!" I bellowed, startling Murphy, "I'm okay. It was just Murphy..yes, Ford-man...Yeah...Yeah...No, stay with Cara...Yes...Yes..See you at breakfast, yes I promise. Shut up. Goodnight." I snapped the phone shut and looked at Murphy. "I don't like storms."

Thunder ripped through the sky, practically rattling the window; I flinched.

"Yeah, I see that." His voice was dry, and a bit concerned. "Um, some of us are camped in the lounge downstairs and I knew you were here alone..."

People, even if they were most likely beefy football men, were a godsend at the moment.

"Yes," I said, not caring that I was barefoot, and my hair uncombed. I'll take human companionship over Mother Nature's wrath any day. It must have showed on my face since Murphy chuckled.

"My brother doesn't like storms," he said as I shut the door. It was unlocked and I was not hunting for my keys. Didn't even take my phone. "Devan doesn't either."

"My roommate last year hated the dark," I said, resting my hand on his shoulder on the way down the stairs so I wouldn't fall. His shirt was warm and soft.

There was light coming from the lounge. Someone, for some unknown reason, had brought a battery-powered Coleman lamp with them to college. It sat proudly on the floor, surrounded by six bulky guys. My hunch had been right.

"Olivia?"

"Yeah?"

"You know your shirt is on backward?"

I looked down. Not only was it on backward, it was also inside-out. My cheeks went red. He hid me behind him so I could at least put the tag in the back. I wasn't worried so much about the inside-out part. Lots of people wore shirts to bed that way, right?

"Hey, guys," Murphy said when I was ready, announcing our arrival. He switched off the flashlight. "This is Olivia. She plays soccer."

"Hi." I waved, unsteady about being the focus of that much attention. That and I was still rocking my black eye. And hadn't combed my hair. And was in an inside-out shirt. And barefoot.

God, I was a mess.

Mother Nature on a PMS rampage was not helping.

"Hey, you're the girl who ran into my truck," said a guy on the left, a little too cheery for my liking. My cheeks were positively flaming.

"Yeah, but she's got a better black eye than what you've got on your leg from Spike," Murphy said, nudging aside his teammates so I could sit. He sandwiched me between himself and a guy with an unruly mop of blonde hair. Devan, Murphy's roommate and the only other person I even recognized was on my then-serial-killer, now knight-in-shining-armor's other side.

"True that," the behemoth on my right rumbled. He looked at the cards in his meaty fist and it was then that I realized they were playing some sort of game. A closer look revealed that it wasn't poker or anything, but, of all things, Apples to Apples.

Needless to say I was floored.

"Here's your cards, Murph." Devan handed his roommate his cards.

"Olivia?"

I turned to my right again. The big man handed me some cards. I took them, still mildly shocked, and looked at what I had. Cockroaches, Family Reunions, Michael Jackson -

A. HA!

The trump of the game: Helen Keller.

Conversation and laughter ranged, light and varied. Murphy attempted to peek at my hand - I caught him, of course, and gave him a good-natured jab in the ribs for his trouble.

Then I saw my opportunity.

Devan, closest to the pile of green cards, flipped one over. 'Insane.' Defined as ' psychotic, deranged, mad.' It was a no-brainer.

I dropped my card on the pile, smirking.

"Ooh, someone's got somethin' good."

No idea who said it, but I flushed anyway. Murphy jabbed my ribs playfully.

"We'll see," I said, intent on not giving anything away.

Someone on the other side of the circle was judging and I could tell when he got to mine. He started laughing.

"Yeah," he said between chuckles, "a deaf, blind, and female pilot is pretty insane." He held up the Helen Keller card. "Alright fellas, who's is it?"

I ignored the sexist remark tacked on to the end and held out my hand. "Thanks, girl."

He turned red; everyone laughed. I could hear Murphy's loudest, the sound reverberating through the both of us where his arm touched mine

Not a bad way to spend an evening, even if Mother Nature was a bit pissy and the only company I had was a testosterone fest in the third-floor lounge.

I looked at Murphy, his grin. Yeah, definitely not a bad way to spend an evening.

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Murphy and Me III

Really the only thing I wanted to do with the rest of my night was sit and veg. Be it with Supernatural or regular TV, I just wanted to veg. If someone could tell that to my malfunctioning cable that would be fabulous. Because I live on the fourth floor, there's no traditional lounge with uncomfortable couches and not-quite-new chairs. Also means there's no wall-mounted TV. So, grabbing my blanket, I traipsed downstairs and, seeing no one in the lounge, dumped the blanket on one of the couches and turned on the tube. I couldn't remember the channels exactly, and after some searching and surfing re-discovered the Discovery channel.

Curling up on the couch and chilling with the boys and girl of MythBusters seemed perfect.

I'd left my phone upstairs, knowing I'd be tempted to text Sasha. From the look on her face earlier she had some connecting to do with Cara and I was not getting in the way of that. They needed some good alone time together before pre-season got completely crazy.

The sound of a door closing drew my attention away from the television. There was a room across from the lounge - we called it the Fishbowl because of the windows facing the little table and chairs by the microwave - and someone had either just gone in or just come out. I turned my attention back to the TV - Tori was building...something. Least they weren't yelling at plants in this episode.

"Hi."

Naturally I was startled, so, naturally, I jumped. It was him again. Aviator-guy.

"Hey." I fiddled with the tassels on my blanket. It was one of those DIY ones where the edges were tied together. My teammates had made it for me, as a Senior gift. I wasn't sure how I felt about having it in his presence but it was making me feel safe. "My TV's not working and I don't have a lounge." Tried not to sound apologetic. Or hopeful.

"Cool." He put his hands in his pockets. "I, uh, I live over there." He jerked his head to the Fishbowl. "Devan said there was a girl with a shiner on our couch."

Girl with a shiner. Yup. Definitely made a great first impression on everyone in the parking lot. And then some.

He chewed his bottom lip. Nervously? There was nothing to be nervous about. I didn't bite. Actually, compared to some things, I was relatively harmless, if a bit clumsy at times.

"Do you watch MythBusters?" I asked, grasping at almost anything to talk about, to make the awkward silence disappear.

"It's cool." He sat gingerly in one of the chairs. "But I like Doing DaVinci better. Have you seen it?"

Where a group of guy's built DaVinci's inventions from the same materials he'd have access to? Hell. Yes. Part history, part building, part testing and experimenting with the potential to blow things up? It was pure engineering gold.

I grinned. "Love it."

Which prompted a discussion about which was cooler, Doing DaVinci or MythBusters, which led to 'Favorite TV show' and I was a bit stunned to discover he had a thing for CSI:NY. Which kind of clashed with my love of Supernatural and, by association, Dean Winchester. He supported Gary Sinise and I agree he's a good actor (though from the episodes I've seen, Danny's pretty gorgeous himself) and that somehow led to what are you studying/what do you want to be?

"I think I want to be a teacher," he said. "A history teacher."

Considering I was using teaching as a back up plan in case everything else failed epically, I could see the stability of it. And when he talked about it, and about his love for history, I could see that he meant it. He wanted the same thing I wanted in a job - to wake up in the morning and want to go to work. To be excited about a job, a career. I could identify with that. Completely.

"What about you? What do you want to do?"

Honestly, I wanted to do a lot of things. I wanted to travel all over the place; get my book published; love whatever job I got; and wanted to not be in so much debt in four years.

And I wanted to know if a body that big put out heat like a furnance and was really good for snuggling.

Huh. No idea where that came from.

"I just...I don't know," I answered honestly. "I like to write and I'm in the teaching program, but I don't know what I want to do. Really." And I felt like my time was running out to figure out what exactly I was supposed to "be."

"That's cool, too," he said. There was no condescending tone, no mocking, nothing to hint that he was just humoring me. He was not only genuinely curious, but genuinely serious.

Which bumped him up a couple of pegs in my book.

I rubbed my tired eyes and bit back a curse. I'd forgotten about my literal run-in with a parked truck.

"You okay?" Genuinely concerned.

He was rapidly approaching absolute gentleman status.

"Yeah," I said, cursing my own general stupidity and the attractiveness of the boy in front of me. "Forgot about my eye." Which announced that no only was I a dumbass, but I was a dumbass with a staring problem. Staring at him, that is.

Wait a minute.

We'd been talking for almost an hour and I didn't know the schmuck's name. And he didn't know mine.

"I'm Olivia." It was rather abrupt and probably awkward. Then again, that was me in a nutshell.

He smiled. Held out his hand. "I'm Murphy."

I leaned over, my upper body hanging off the side of the couch, hand protruding from under the blanket. We shook; I then fell gracelessly off the couch, tangled in the blanket and silently cursing my lack of balance and luck.

The irony of his name was not lost on me as he helped me off the floor.

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

Murphy and Me II

It probably wasn't the best idea for me to A) No look in the mirror B) Not go see the trainer and C) Slap a bunch of freezer pops on the affected area. Before I left to go get my ankle wrapped again, I did stop for a quick check in the mirror. It wasn't bad...sorta....Okay, it was pretty puffed and starting to bruise, but really not bad. I'd had worse through my shin guards.

Still, Alex MacIntosh, the trainer, gave me a double-take when I walked through the door.

"Yeah, Mac?" I said, doing my absolute best to sound cheerful, like the mother of all headaches wasn't beginning to form.

"Should I even ask what happened?" Mac asked. He was trying not to smile under his professionalism. His first instinct was to make sure I was okay. Then he could laugh at me, once he verified that I hadn't accidentally given myself a concussion.

"Not. Really."

Mac wrapped my perma-swelled ankle and then, doctor's eye firmly in place, he began to look at my forehead. It wasn't so much my forehead, forehead, but more like the top of my eye, the corner of my eyebrow. And it was quite tender to the touch.

And I mean quite.

"Have a headache? Blurred vision? Double vision? Feel like you're going to pass out? Did you pass out?"

I was pretty sure I wasn't concussed since none of that would have made sense if I hadn't been all there.

"No to the above except for the headache." And a severe dent in my dignity.

"Scale of one to ten?" Mac asked, his fingers ruthless.

8. "Five." I looked at the clock behind him. "I don't need a concussion test and I will let you know if my headache gets worse. Promise."

Mac looked at me hard, sighed in defeat, and then motioned for me to leave. "Still want to know what you did."

I stopped at the door. "There's a good reason I drive an Oldsmobile and not a Ford. One of them is height clearance on its mirrors."

His laugh followed me all the way down the hall to the locker room.


"Hey, Ollie - Whoa!"

I took my plate of whole-wheat rotini and meatsauce and looked at Sasha head-on. I'd wised up and looked in the mirror - at Mac's insistence - and my right eye had turned into the first, best, and most vibrant shiner of my life. Mac was amazed my eye could still open, tha I could still see. Even the white of my eye was a different color. And considering I had green eyes, they now looked like I should be celebrating Christmas internally year-round. Thankfully, Mac hadn't thought I needed X-Rays.

Thank God for small favors.

"What the hell did you do?"

Couldn't help the flush. I looked around the other athletes milling around for food; the hulking football players mingled with the slighter soccer players, and the stick-like field hockey girls. And I was absolutely, certifiably not looking for that football boy. Absolutely not. And if he just happened to be over by the bread basket, then what of it? I wasn't going to go over there. I had pride, I had dignity -

And my feet had a mind of their own.

"Bread," I called to Sasha.

"I'll get a table," she called back, smirking. Damn her.

So my black eye and I headed for the boy - and the bread - and I gave him a slight smile. He returned it, and I noticed his eyes, previously hidden by wonderful aviators, were hazel.

"You, uh, you okay?" He had a nice voice. Suited his body. "You, uh, you went down pretty hard."

I went from completely calm to having a flaming face to match my eyes in less than six seconds. I should have known. Of course he'd seen me on impact, and from impact to when I staggered left into someone's Audi. Well, everyone had seen that since the car alarm had started blaring and half the parking lot turnded to stare. And they'd seen me teeter like a drunk to the door of my building and stumble up the stairs.

Spectacular first impression on my part.

"I'm good," I said. A piece of bread landed on my plate while two others wound up on the floor. I prayed he hadn't noticed and kicked them under the cart. The dining hall worker on my right scowled.

He took the statement at face value. "Nice shiner."

"Thanks." Smiled again. The silence stretched. I began to back away.

"Hey, uh, hope you feel better."

I turned and nodded vigorously, ignoring the angry pounding in my head. "Thanks." Then cut the corner too short and ran my thigh into the edge of the tray counter. Biting my lip, now with a matching bruise on my thigh, I found Sasha at a table and sat.

She let me have approximately ten seconds to myself.

"So, what did you do?"

"Ran into a mirror. On a Ford." I stabbed a piece of pasta thoughtfully.

"In front of that guy?"

And many, many others. And parents. "Yeah."

"Yeah, that sounds like you."

I snorted and was allowed to enjoy my dinner in relative silence. Had about ten minutes left before we had to be back at the trainers, when Sasha said, "He's staring at you."

"I have a black eye. Everyone's staring."

Sasha rolled her eyes. "But he's staring at you."

Great. Probably thought I was moron with major depth perception issues and a thing for Fords.

"Let's get ice cream," I suggested. The soft-serve machine wasn't plugged in yet, so all that was left was hard ice cream. I was a waitress, not an ice cream scooper, and it showed in my poorly balanced two scoops. We made it outside into the August heat without incident and I looked over, through the window into the dining hall. I spotted him easily, without really looking.

One of his friends nudged him, pointed my way. He grinned and waved. I gave too much flourish in my salute with my ice cream and promptly lost the top scoop over the edge of the cone and onto my sneaker.

Least I still had the bottom scoop.

Sunday, June 14, 2009

Murphy and Me

I came up with this idea a day or two ago, with some inspiration from "Murphy's Luck" and it's an original story (no idea how long it will be) that's also a work in progress. There will be installments as often as I write them while working on other things. So, without further introduction, here we go. It's written in first person point of view.



"I'm not sure I like this."

I barely refrained from rolling my eyes at my mother, choosing instead to heave my full laundry basket on the newly-made bed. This was not the first time she had said that particular line, or a variation of it, and would not be the last, either.

"I know," I said, trying not to sound as exasperated as I was beginning to feel. "But it'll be okay. I'll come out every now and then. You know, to socialize with civilization." She was not impressed by my attempted humor. "I'm not going to turn into a hermit. Promise."

She looked skeptical. Of course she would. She was less than thrilled about walking up eight flights of stairs to my new room - though it was a corner with two windows - and even less enthused about me living by myself. I, on the other hand, was thoroughly ecstatic to have a corner single. Even if it was on the fourth floor. Which meant a minimum of eight flights of stairs at a pop.

"I'm not going to be a hermit," I repeated. Not only would the team see to that, but so would the girls when they got back to campus. And if I felt like spending a majority of my down time in my room with not only The Boondock Saints, but the boys from Supernatural, too, well, that was my perogative. And my sanity.

My mother didn't need to know that part.

Mom sighed. "I just worry."

Yes, she definitely did. "I know."

She put her hands on her hips, her lips in a thin line. "Especially now that you're by yourself."

Which was not to say that she wouldn't have worried if I was living with someone else. But she might have worried less. If that was even possible.

"I know." I took a deep breath and looked my home for the year. Basically it was a standard room - not as big as a double, but still pretty big - with a built-in closet, a mirror on the door, and a dormer window. The only things that made it specifically mine was the hand-me-down green and blue rug on the tile floor and the nondescript blue bedding. Everything else was still packed and piled on the floor. It would give me something to do until the meeting that night.

"I'll be okay, Mama," I said. I think I was trying to reassure her more than last year, and last year had been my first year away at college.

She gave me a smile and a hug. "I know. I just worry."

I didn't tell her there was nothing to worry about - it would only make it worse. Still, it wasn't anything like the previous year.

Hopefully.


"Wow, Olivia, got enough pills?"

"Hardy-har, Sasha," I shot back, dumping the contents of the pillbox on the table. It was only two (my dinner set) and she had yet to see my morning pile. Thought my health was basically normal again, the pillbox was a small reminder of why it was that way. A daily regiment; a crazy-straw for a colon. It would probably stay with me forever, just like the scars on my belly from surgery only eight months ago. Another reminder.

"That to keep you level?"

I nodded. Sasha had been through it all with me. Every step of the way. She knew what all my pills were for, why I took them, and what the intended outcome was. She also asked me if I had taken them/reminded me of them when I got scatterbrained.

"Workin' like a charm," I added between pills. "You goin' back to your room?"

"Yeah," Sasha said, "Cara moves in today."

"Cool." Cara was Sasha's girlfriend. After much discussion and pints of Ben and Jerry's, and after being exclusive for six months, they were going to try it as roommates. The "living together" stage without pets, awkward moments, and money pooling. I figured it would either make or break them. Another reason I was glad to go back to my corner single. That and they depressed the hell out of me somedays.

"Well," I said, standing and gathering my tray, "you have fun with that and I'm going to go take a nap." I liked naps. That and curling up in bed with a season of Supernatural. Dean Winchester was just too damned hot.

"See you later."

I waved one last time and nearly baubled the tray as I headed out. It was an absolute brilliant day and I enjoyed the walk from the dining hall to my dorm through the quad. I rounded the corner of the bookstore and that's when I noticed it. More cars in the parking lot. And more men. Big, burly men.

The football team was moving in.

Honestly, I tried not to ogle them. Really, I did. Especially not the ones moving into my building. Still, it couldn't be helped. And did I find one to ogle. He was by his car - nothing flashy but definitely newer than my hunk of dented metal - duffel slung over one broad shoulder, short unruly almost-black hair, and eyes hidden by aviator shades. He was tall, he was gorgeous, and he demanded a glance or two (or a continuous stare, in my case) from those passing through the parking lot. So much attention I think I was actually drooling a bit, stumbling a little. Then he looked up at me. I did the only thing I could think to do - blushed, tried not to look like I hadn't been sizing him up, and was determined to enter our - my - building with as much grace, dignity, and poise as one of Donald Trump's Pageant girls on evening gown night. I was going to be graceful, I was going to glide....

I turned away from him and ran head-first into the side mirror of a parked Ford F-150.

Saturday, June 13, 2009

The Sunset Girl

[Alright...I know that I posted this previously, but I took it, reworked the original word document into something a little more HTML friendly, so this should look a bit better. If you don't know what this is, this is my ENG309 Craft of Fiction story that I worked on all semester long. Not something you usually see from me, but hey..we all experiment sometime or other. I just experiment in fiction.]


“Mom? Mom, you in here? Abby?”

Charlie walked the four steps from her bedroom to the kitchen where she could see into the living room. Her mother’s bag was absent from the coffee table. The TV was off; the trailer oddly silent. Silence didn’t bother Charlie, and, when she really thought about it, neither did the absence of her mother. Abby had probably gone out the night before and hadn’t come back yet. That was usually what happened.

She went back to her tiny bedroom for her backpack and when she returned for her keys, the door screeched open. Sunlight spilled onto the dirty carpet, Abby casting a shadow from where she lounged in the doorway, a grin on her face.

“Hi, Charlie,” she said, stumbling up the last of the rickety steps and into the trailer. Charlie didn’t have to be close to her mother to realize Abby was currently in orbit. The fresh needle mark on the inside of her skinny white arm was proof enough.

Abby stumbled across the small room to the couch. Charlie watched for another couple of seconds and then looked back at the still-open door. She slowly counted to five in her head and sure enough, Rick appeared. He gave Charlie a sly smile and lingered in the doorway, blocking the exit. Rick was tall and thin, what her dad would call a “yuppie” if he were there to see. But Jason wasn’t there to see and hadn’t been for almost four years. Not for the first time Charlie wished he’d taken her with him. She’d been willing enough to go at the time, but Jason had told her she needed Abby, needed a mother as she grew up more than she’d need a father. What he was really saying was that Abby needed Charlie more than he did. Then it was like he’d fallen off the face of the earth; Charlie hadn’t had so much as a phone call from her father in the last year and a half.

“Hey Charlie,” Rick drawled, moving from the doorway to sit next to Abby. Charlie forced a smile and shoved the thoughts of her dad out of her mind. Not only was Rick Abby’s current boyfriend, he was also her dealer. Every bit as slimy as he looked. Charlie watched Abby turn the television on and lean against Rick.

“I gotta go,” Charlie said, grabbing her keys from the counter and walking to the door.

“Charlotte.”

She had one foot on the top step and paused. The use of her given name from Rick always made her pause. It also always made her feel dirty. Still, she turned and looked at him.

“Your mom’s busy tonight,” he said, petting Abby’s hair. His eyes told her all she wanted to know, and more she didn’t.

“Got it.” Charlie turned her back to them both, leaning up to shut the door once she was on the cracked cement of the “patio,” really nothing more than a slab of concrete that the trailer sat next to. The phrase “busy tonight” could mean anything from drugs and alcohol, to having sex. Or all three. It wouldn’t be safe for her to come back until late, around ten or so.

With a sigh, Charlie hiked her backpack higher on her shoulders and started for the city of Clarence. She walked up the row of other trailers, all looking essentially the same, like she had the morning before and nothing was out of the ordinary; rap was thumping from Harvey’s, the one directly next door to her own, while Mr. and Mrs. Bennette were arguing, yet again, the words barely discernible. Money was the subject that morning. It was mundane in some respects, yet an integral part of her life. It was a walk she made every morning, sunshine or otherwise, from Sunset Park, across the old, unused railroad tracks to the suburban fringes of Clarence. In some ways, it was all that defined her.



School started at eight-thirty. Charlie left Sunset a little before seven to make sure she got to Ellie’s by seven-twenty. She’d met Ellie Porter in first grade after they’d been paired together for a small project. Ellie was the first and only person, besides the faculty, who hadn’t cared that Charlie was from Sunset. Despite the dirty looks from some of their classmates, Ellie had found the whole trailer park thing cool, though neither of them completely understood the social implications. They’d been best friends ever since, one explanation as to why Charlie practically lived at Ellie’s large, Victorian-esque house with wrap-around porch, a definite step above the glory that was Sunset.

Ellie’s older brother Isaac had been monumental during the girls’ transition into middle school; he didn’t carry the same prejudices the other students carried, something to which everyone involved had been extremely grateful for. Charlie couldn’t have been happier in that regard. The Porter family also acknowledged that Charlie’s home life wasn’t exactly ideal, and usually didn’t ask about Abby. Renee Porter, Ellie’s mother, looked at Charlie almost like a second daughter some days. She’d also been feeding Charlie breakfast for nearly four years.

When Charlie reached the Porter house, she skipped knocking and simply opened the door. The smell of bacon and eggs wafted from the kitchen and she smiled. This was what home was supposed to smell like in the morning; eggs sizzling, almost burnt bacon, and coffee ready to go. Number 9, Sunset Park didn’t smell anything like 482 East Fifth Street.

“Charlotte? That you?” Renee called from the kitchen.

“Yeah, it’s me,” she answered back, slipping her shoes off onto the mat by the stairs. Her backpack came next and she wandered into the kitchen, hands stuffed in the pockets of her jeans. “Smells good.”

“Coffee on the counter, orange juice in the fridge, but I don’t have to remind you, do I?”

It was a variation of the same conversation they’d had yesterday, and the day before.

“No, ma’am.” Charlie reached into a cupboard for a coffee mug. Renee turned back to the stove and Charlie looked at the mug between her hands; the green enamel showed spidery cracks from years of use. Ellie said it was Isaac’s favorite when he was home from college. The normalcy of it struck her hard and she blinked back tears. This was what family was supposed to feel like; coffee cups and good mornings. Not for the first time, she wondered what her father, Jason’s, mornings were like. Did he have coffee and eggs? Or maybe orange juice? She missed him always, but some days hurt more than others.

“Charlie? You okay?”

She turned and looked at Ellie’s dad, Robert.

“Yeah. I’m good.” She set the mug on the counter and added creamer before she poured the coffee. Robert had taught her that – doing them in reverse stirred the creamer into the coffee without dirtying a spoon. Not that dirty dishes were a problem; a dishwasher was a great invention, not that Charlie wished she had one in the trailer. There were never enough dirty dishes to worry about, anyway. Abby didn’t do much cooking.

“Hey Char,” Ellie said when she flounced into the kitchen. She wrinkled her nose at the coffee smell. “Ew. I don’t know how you can drink that stuff. Don’t you know too much of it will put a hole in your stomach?”

Charlie rolled her eyes. “Haven’t heard that one before.” She sat at the table and casually glanced at the headline. Police Cracking Down on Illegal Drug Dealers. Unease swirled in her belly and her forehead creased. Abby was careful, wasn’t she? She only bought from Rick and didn’t sell, right? She couldn’t answer the questions her mind asked her because she didn’t know her mother’s habit that well. Truthfully, she tried to ignore what Abby did since it usually involved Rick. And drugs. Experience and the memory of Abby passed out on the lumpy couch, not responding to anything Charlie said or did to wake her up was not a reassuring combination.

“Eggs, honey?” Renee asked serenely. Charlie took a deep breath, looking away from the glaring headline. She suddenly didn’t have an appetite.

“No, thanks, I’m okay with coffee,” she said. Her voice was steadier than she gave herself credit for. She grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl in the middle of the table for good measure. Renee was a health nut which explained why Ellie was a closet junk food junkie.

Eight-fifteen couldn’t come fast enough for Charlie and when it did she was the first to the neat row of shoes near the door. Ellie kissed her mother goodbye and joined Charlie.

“You okay today?” she asked as they walked down the sidewalk, heading for the corner to catch the bus.

Charlie kicked at the grass by the edge of the cement. “Abby came home this morning. With Rick.” Ellie knew all about Rick, having the unfortunate chance to meet him the only time she had ever been to Charlie’s, just to see what it was like. Once was more than enough in her opinion. “And the paper says the police are cracking down on dealers.”

“She’s not entirely stupid,” Ellie said, bending down to adjust the bottom of her designer jeans over her almost-new Nikes. “I mean, she’s an idiot to be into the stuff, but I’m sure that she’s sort of careful. If she isn’t then Rick is because he doesn’t wanna go to jail.”

Ellie was right, logically, but Charlie’s gut was still churning. One parent had abandoned her already, the other barely there in the full sense of the word. Still, it was all that Charlie had and she wanted to hang onto it as best she could. It was better than nothing.

“Guess you’re right,” she sighed as the bus pulled up. “They’re careful.”



“Trailer trash.”

Charlie closed her locker and squared her shoulders. This was nothing new. Similar phrases had been following her around since she was old enough to understand their meaning. Middle school had been a special kind of hell; there were no restrictions on how mean the other girls could be and they did it publicly. High school was classier in a way; the others still talked about her, but at least they did it behind her back where she couldn’t hear. Boys barely said anything to her about it; a few well-aimed punches in middle school had solved that problem. Charlie thanked God for small blessings.

“You gonna stand there all day or we gonna actually go to class?”

Thank God for Ellie, too. “Amanda Jensen just needs to not run her mouth so much, especially when she realizes Austin’s gonna think her ass looks big in those pants.” Charlie didn’t have to look to see the other girl turn scarlet. Ellie grinned.

“So the rumor is that Patten’s going to assign another project,” Ellie prattled on as they turned to enter the classroom. Charlie’s elbow bumped into the back of the boy ahead of her and he looked over his shoulder at her. Brennan Westbury. She froze for a moment. Brennan stepped back and allowed her and Ellie to enter first, the picture of a perfect gentleman.

“Thanks,” Charlie murmured, her gray eyes locked on his brown ones. Heart beating a little faster, she hurried into the room and rammed her thigh into the corner of the first desk in her row. Biting back a curse she eased into her seat and shot a glare at a silently laughing Ellie. She massaged her throbbing thigh as Patten closed the door and took his usual spot behind the podium, all thoughts of Brennan’s beautiful brown eyes mostly forgotten. She tried not to think about how she was nursing a crush the size of Canada on the boy, and had been doing so for years.

“It’s project time again,” he said excitedly, clapping his hands together. “Now, since you’re all high school kids and can pick your own partners depending on what grade you think you’d like, I’m going to throw a wrench in the system and pick your partners for you. Mix it up a little.”

“Mix it up a little” reminded Charlie of the stickers they handed out a few years ago, to try and get people to sit in different places with different people during lunch. To integrate themselves more. It hadn’t worked well, in Charlie’s opinion, but she was willing to bet good money she didn’t have that Patten’s attempt would be better. However, it was with a dawning dread that she realized her and Ellie’s take-no-prisoners-always-earn-an-A partnership was probably first on the chopping block.

Patten started listing off the names of the various pairs and there was the usual sniggering from the back row. Charlie was still massaging her thigh (it was probably going to bruise spectacularly) when she heard Ellie’s name paired with Carl and winced. Carl was the worst slacker in the history of slackers, notorious for late assignments and hangovers. Patten was probably thinking that Ellie could turn him around. Charlie reasoned Ellie was more likely to get frustrated and put her size eight where the sun didn’t shine.

“And Brennan and Charlotte. These sheets going around are the topics that you’ve been assigned and the due dates…”

Charlie’s world narrowed, her thigh momentarily forgotten. It was both the best day of her life and the day that would doom her. She’d had an unofficial “thing” for Brennan Westbury, second-youngest of the four Westbury boys since she could honestly remember and had always kept her distance. The Westbury family lived in a affluent part of Clarence and she, well, she lived in a completely different world. Not only was Brennan’s family sitting comfortable, all four boys were easy on the eyes, and smart, to boot. Brennan and his brother Evan were the only other pair in the class to really give her and Ellie any sort of academic challenge. Scholastically it was a winning combination; personally, Charlie knew she was destined to rot in hell to be so close to something so good and not be able to do a damn thing about it.

She was further saved from her ruminations when the classroom phone rang. Her heart resumed its mile a minute pace as Patten crossed the room with short strides, nearly yanking the phone off the wall in his haste to answer it. Charlie glanced at Ellie who was still somewhat dumbstruck at the pairings but was still coherent enough to flash her a thumbs up.

“Of course. She’ll be right down.” Patten hung up with considerably more grace than he’d answered and Charlie sat up a little straighter in her chair. Something was wrong. He moved down the aisle toward her, leaning close to softly say, “They want you in the main office, Charlotte. Take your things.” Him using a gentle tone was frightening in itself; if anybody got called anywhere he simply bellowed it across the room. Charlie’s stomach sank to her ankles as she gathered her things.

The walk to the office was shorter than she remembered it from the few times she’d walked it and the secretaries grew silent the moment they saw her. Her heart thudded loudly in her chest as she was directed to Principle Hayes’ office. Two uniformed cops, a man in regular clothes with a badge around his neck on a chain, the school guidance counselor and the principle all stood, waiting for her.

“Shut the door, Charlotte.”

The thud of the heavy door was a death sentence. She worked her jaw back and forth to keep her lower lip from wobbling. “It’s Abby, isn’t it?” She already knew the answer but still felt the need to ask. She had to make sure.

The plainclothes officer nodded. “I’m Detective Stone with the Clarence Narcotics Unit.” He didn’t make any attempt to shake Charlie’s hand; she wouldn’t have, anyway. “Rick Edmonston and Abigail Anderson were arrested earlier today for being on and in the possession of illegal drugs.” Charlie leaned against the door, swallowing repeatedly to keep the tears away. “This isn’t their first time in custody.”

“I know,” Charlie said, staring at the window blinds. She couldn’t look at anyone; if she did, she’d lose it completely and start crying. “She did time in rehab for it.” But rehab hadn’t been enough. Abby had gone back to Rick and the drugs after leaving her daughter alone for over a week. “She’s not coming home tonight, is she?” She finally looked at Detective Stone.

“No.”

So it was done.

Her mother’s habit had finally caught up with her. Jason leaving hadn’t been enough, the first time in rehab hadn’t been enough, now Abby was in serious trouble. And she was leaving Charlie alone again, after promising she wouldn’t. Charlie realized then that most of Abby’s promises were empty, her word saved only for Rick and the next high. Charlie was then, and had always been, second-best.

“We can’t seem to find your father. Do you know where he is?”

Charlie swallowed hard and shook her head, not trusting her voice.

“We assumed that might be the case. As of now you’re being placed in the care of your father’s sister, Megan Anderson, who has been informed of what has happened. These officers will escort you back to Sunset Park to gather your belongings.” He paused. “Do you understand what’s happening?”

“Yeah,” Charlie said faintly. “I get it.” Life as she had known it was done.



Charlie looked at the contrast of her worn sneakers against the pristine sidewalk in silence, anything to keep from focusing on the house in front of her.

“Ready, Charlotte?”

She looked at Detective Stone, her shabby suitcase in his hand and tightened her grip on her backpack strap, knuckles white. She was hugely relieved it was dusk; had it been lighter there would have been curtain-peekers from the rest of the cul-de-sac neighbors. This was going to be awkward enough as it was without an audience.

“Charlotte?”

Charlie looked at Stone and nodded, following him lamely up the carefully tailored walk to the front porch of the sprawling, three-story house. It was the only modest-sized place on the entire street.

She’d never felt so out of place in her entire life.

Stone rang the doorbell, oblivious to Charlie’s discomfort. Her heart thumped hard against her ribcage, a million different things running through her head. First and foremost was whether or not Megan would even like her. There was no telling how long Charlie would be staying there because there was no time limit on how long Abby would be gone. Or, whether she was coming back at all. Charlie absolutely refused to continue that line of thinking.

Lost in her own head, she was completely unprepared for the door to open, bathing her and Stone in light. Charlie lifted her head and swallowed hard. She tried to remember the last time she’d seen Megan and an image came immediately to mind – she was seven, sitting on her father’s lap in the grand living room, a basket of multi-colored eggs in front of them on the floor. She’d just finished finding them. Megan stood to the side, camera in hand. Abby was nowhere to be found.

“I wasn’t expecting you so early,” Megan said, stepping onto the porch. Her brown eyes fell on Charlie and she was reminded forcibly of Jason. Megan reached a tentative hand out, cupping Charlie’s cheek with her palm, eyes unreadable. “You’ve grown up so much.”

Charlie’s lower lip wobbled at the unexpected tenderness; Stone shuffled his feet, awkward in the presence of such an intimate moment.

Megan must have heard the noise because she looked at the detective. “Detective. I’ll take her suitcase.”

Stone handed it over without protest, wanting nothing more than to get to off the porch.

The silence stretched.

Stone cleared his throat. “Good evening, ladies.” He neither wanted nor needed a thank you, glad when neither woman provided one.

Charlie was saved the sight of Stone driving away as Megan herded her into the house. Her immediate impression was classic elegance but comfortably lived-in. If she allowed herself to realize it, it was exactly how she remembered it.

Megan shut the door. “Now, do you prefer Charlotte or Charlie?”

“Charlie’s a little more comfortable.” She didn’t mind her given name, really, except from Rick. Still, she’d be Charlie any day; her father had given her the nickname. She stood there awkwardly, hand still curled around her backpack strap, her lifeline.

“There’s a room upstairs for you,” Megan said to break the silence that had descended on them. “Upstairs, upstairs. I thought you might enjoy something a little…off the ground, like an attic room.”

Charlie smiled. She’d always been secretly jealous of Ellie’s second-floor bedroom, and while living in the attic sounded a bit Harry Potter it would be a nice change of pace.

Megan smiled a bit wider, glad Charlie liked the idea. She easily hefted the suitcase and started up the stairs, Charlie following dutifully behind. Like most houses, there were pictures carefully arranged on the way up the stairs. Charlie paused with a wince, her brace-faced eighth grade self grinning out at her from a mahogany frame. This must have been the last photo that Jason had sent. School pictures were taken in the fall, Jason had left shortly after that January. Charlie felt a stab of guilt that she hadn’t thought to continue sending photos. That was the consequence of thinking Abby would take care of it.

“That’s one of my favorites of you,” Megan said from the landing. “I’ve always thought you photographed well.”

Charlie blushed and finished going up the first flight and then another. There was a large sitting room or sorts on the right and on the left a door. Megan pushed open the door and flicked on the light. The room was, to Charlie, bigger than the entire trailer. The walls were light blue with an almost purple tinge, the furniture made of dark, sturdy oak. There were windows, many of them, dark with night behind delicate white curtains. The space was nice, bare enough that Charlie could take it and make it her own. Her lower lip wobbled – the kindness downstairs, the picture on the wall a reminder of both how life was and could have been with Jason, and a space to call her own – everything was almost too much to handle.

“Charlie?”

She looked at Megan, eyes wide and vacant.

“Did you eat?”

“Yeah,” she said, clearing her throat. “Detective Stone took me to Subway.” She skipped the part where she had been mortified he’d bought her dinner.

“How about some ice cream?” Megan was looking to distract her from the dark place in her mind, the harsh reality of the day’s events as they were trying to catch up with her.

Charlie nodded silently and left her backpack on the bed, hands feeling oddly empty, and was the first out the door. Once she hit the first floor, she used the same Easter memory from earlier to guide her to the huge kitchen. She leaned against the kitchen island, trying to get accustomed to the stainless steel and name-brand appliances instead of the cramped barrenness and scratched, hand-me-down pots and pans.

Megan pulled two bowls down from the cupboard; Charlie found the silverware drawer and ice cream scoop after some investigation. Megan placed the tub of Cookies-N-Cream ice cream on the island, coaxing a smile from Charlie.

“You think I’d forget your favorite?” Megan smiled.

“It’s yours, too, isn’t it?” That tidbit was dredged from another memory, another holiday. Memorial Day, maybe. Charlie wasn’t sure.

“Yup.”

They stood at the kitchen island, silently eating ice cream. Charlie was used to silence from the trailer, from Abby, but this was different. Calmer. Less apocalyptic. Abby wasn’t going to come busting through the door at any moment, Rick in tow. For as much as Charlie loved her mother, she didn’t miss the suspense. She didn’t miss Abby.



“Morning, Ellie.”

Ellie jumped damn near out of her skin at Charlie’s voice in her ear, slamming her locker and narrowly missing her fingers. “Jesus, Charlie, scare me why don’t you.” She glared at the other girl for a moment and then softened, her eyes worried. “You okay?”

Charlie shrugged. “Not really anything I can do about it. Megan’s nice. We spent a lot of time together when I was little.” Before Jason left hung unspoken between them. “Didn’t sleep well last night but it was really quiet.” In contrast to Megan’s eerily silent house, the trailer park was almost never quiet, especially at night. Charlie had tossed and turned for hours before finally drifting off around one.

Ellie nodded as the two headed to the library. Patten’s class was meeting there because of the newest project.

The project.

“Shit,” Charlie muttered. The project, her partner Brennan Westbury, her massive crush on him, and the fact that her life had just been turned on its head all cumulated into that one expressive word. She came immediately to the panicked conclusion that he couldn’t know. He could not know that Abby was her mother, that Abby had been arrested, that Abby was a junkie. He simply couldn’t know. And because he couldn’t know, she wouldn’t tell him. Neither could anyone else.

“You can’t tell him.”

Ellie looked at her like she had a squid for a head. “Can’t tell who what?”

“Brennan.” She swallowed hard. “He can’t know about Abby.”

“What? So, you’re going to lie to him?”

Charlie flinched. Lie was such an ugly word and as much as she wanted Brennan to accept her as herself, she wanted him to know Charlie as a person, not the daughter of an arrested druggie.

“I’m not going to lie to him,” Charlie said carefully. “I’m just…not going to tell him everything. It’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” Ellie shrugged. “I’ll be on standby with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s for when this backfires.”

She didn’t have a snappy comeback for that and said nothing. She stepped into the library, unconsciously tightening her grip on her backpack strap. Charlie grinned and waved as Ellie went to sit with Carl. She was still smiling when she approached Brennan’s table. His brother, Evan, was leaning over his shoulder, their heads almost touching, in complete concentration of whatever was on the table in front of them.

“Hey.”

Both heads popped up, two sets of eyes locked on her and they responded in perfect harmony, “Hi.”

Brennan gave her a smile as she took a seat, a bit shell-shocked, and said to his brother, “That’s pretty much it, Ev. Not exactly rocket science.”

Evan rolled his eyes, cuffed his brother on the shoulder, and wandered back to his own partner.

“Math test,” Brennan said. “He doesn’t do too well with math. Wants me to sit the test for him.” He snorted. “Like O’Hara wouldn’t notice the difference.”

Charlie smirked. Teachers must have had it difficult trying to tell all four boys apart. Patten had issues some days with only two. She felt a stab of sympathy for Brennan’s mother.

“So, we’ve got the American Revolution.”

Her face brightened immediately and she had to forcibly restrain herself from getting up and doing a happy dance on the table. She absolutely loved the American Revolution.

“Somebody’s excited.” The grin was evident in his voice.

“You have no idea.” She cracked open her notebook and began writing down important people, places, and events they would need to include and incorporate. Brennan watched with a kind of awe. She paused, halfway through scribbling Boston and asked, “What?”

He held his hands up, a gesture of defense and shook his head. “Nothing.” He got out his textbook; she went back to writing and they worked in silence for a few minutes. “So, we’re going to have to work on this outside of school.” He was hesitant, unsure.

Charlie looked up and realized he was nervous.

“So, um, where do you live?”

She looked at him oddly, wondering if he was being an idiot on purpose. Then she decided that he either didn’t know and had therefore not really been living in the same town as her the past seventeen years, or had completely disregarded that information. Or maybe he figured she’d moved. She bit her lip, trying to decide how to phrase what she needed to say, the not-quite-lie she was going to feed him. “I’m staying with my aunt for a while. My mom’s out of town.” She had no idea where her mother was at the moment and Brennan definitely did not need to know that, either.

“Oh.” Brennan was still hesitant. “Where does your aunt live?”

“Um, forty-six Rose Park East,” Charlie said, her forehead scrunched as she tried to remember her new – possibly temporary, possibly not – address. Uncomfortable, she fumbled with her pen and dropped it on the floor.

Brennan cocked his head to the side, surprise on his beautiful features. “Meg’s your aunt?”

Charlie was reaching for the dropped pen and nearly fell out of her chair. Brennan knew Megan? This was not going to be as easy as she’d hoped for. Straightening, pen closed in her fist, she smiled thinly. “That’s my aunt. You know her?” Her stomach felt queasy.

“She lives two houses down from me.”

Charlie’s heart and stomach fled in opposite directions at his soft, truthful statement, one to her throat and the other to her ankles. This was going to be nowhere near easy.



“So, you didn’t tell me that you lived near the Westbury boys.”

Megan looked over her shoulder from where she was making stir-fry. Charlie was leaning against the kitchen island, worrying an apple between her hands. She went back to the stir-fry with an absent, “Didn’t think it was a big deal. Is it?”

Not really. I’ve just had a crush on Brennan since the beginning of my school career and I’m now partnered with him for a school project, my mother’s a druggie, and my life has been turned completely upside down. So, no, it’s not really a big deal. She didn’t say any of what was running through her head, opting for, “I’m working on a school project with one of them. Brennan.”

“He’s a nice boy. They’re all nice boys.”

“They are.” She really only knew Brennan, but if his brother’s were anything like him, then all four were the dictionary entry on “gentleman.” Probably pictured there, too. Charlie wished she owned a copy of said dictionary. Maybe she could make one.

“So? There something you’re not telling me Charlie?” Megan took the stir-fry off the stove and set it on the table in the joint dining room. She leaned against the doorjamb and watched her niece fidget. “You like him, don’t you?”

Charlie shoved her hands in her pockets and refused to let the flush creep up her neck. She’d never talked boys with anyone other than Ellie. The only other female in her life had been Abby and there hadn’t been a time when Abby had sat down, just the two of them, and wanted to hear about her social life. Hell, her mother had stopped offering to help with her homework after the fifth grade. That had been all Jason.

“You have a crush on him, don’t you?” Megan grinned, needling shamelessly.

Charlie said nothing; her blush answered for her.

“So, now would be a good time to tell you that every Wednesday they invite me for dinner?”

“What?” Charlie’s eyes grew wide and round, half horrified, half ecstatic.

Megan simply cackled in a kind sort of way. Charlie wished the floor would swallow her whole.

* * *


Charlie’s breath caught in her chest the moment Brennan opened the door to his house Wednesday afternoon. They had a little left to do on their project, mostly a lot of putting together and adding aesthetic pieces, and she’d agreed to come with him early, before her aunt arrived for dinner the way she did every Wednesday. It would be Charlie’s first joint dinner with the Westbury’s, though she’d been spending quite a bit of time with Brennan, courtesy of the project. She was beginning to wish they didn’t have to stop working together; it was too nice to spend time with him. And there was no way he’d want to continue seeing her, so what was the point of hoping for it?

“The savages aren’t home,” he said, toeing his shoes off on the mat by the door. “My brothers,” he clarified at her blank look. “Do you want a snack or a drink or anything before we get to work and finish this thing?”He stuffed his hands in his pockets to prevent himself from fidgeting.

“I’m okay, thanks.” The downstairs, what she could see of it, looked well-kept and neat. Not at all what she’d been expecting with four teenage boys in the house, following Brennan as he led her into the study, the polished table gleaming in the sunlight as it streamed through the picture window. There were pens, colored pencils, pieces of poster paper, glue, tape and scissors already there, ready and waiting.

Definitely more than prepared, she mused, digging into her bag for her notebook. Warm weight pressed close to her back for a moment and she froze. It was gone within a couple heartbeats, Brennan on the other side of her and absently alphabetizing the colored pencils. She let her head tilt to the side slightly, wondering if he was a tad on the OCD side….

“What?”

She sucked in a breath and smiled, trying for innocence. “Nothin’.”

Brennan shrugged and they got to work. The first half an hour was spent cutting and laying out, light banter and conversation traded in quiet voices, occasionally rising in laughter or to make a point first. As much as Charlie was enjoying herself, she knew it would hurt when it was over and they went back to their respective places in society – Brennan in his huge house, his family having dinner with Meg every Wednesday and everything stereotypically great and her to her changed life, living with Meg without the thought of Abby coming back to her and the notion that she would follow that same path hanging always over her head. The Earth would continue to spin on its axis and the universe would be saved from imploding from impracticality.

“You okay?”

Charlie looked over at him, unaware she’d been gnawing on her bottom lip like a carrot, eyes wet and wide with unexpected tears. “Yeah,” she croaked, her voice harsh. She swallowed the roughness away. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

“Miss your mom?” he ventured.

She did her best not to stiffen like a dead man in rigor. “She’ll come back…and it’ll be like she wasn’t even gone.”

Brennan set down the glue and scissors, wiping his hands nervously on his pants. He looked in her eyes briefly and then looked away, a flush creeping up his neck. Charlie blinked at him, completely unprepared for when he swooped in and gently touched his lips to hers.

The world then tipped off its axis and the universe imploded. And it was the sweetest thing she’d ever experienced.

* * *


There was a new kind of order invoked, one that Charlie vowed to make last as long as possible because it ensured her happiness. Her mother’s absence, whether Abby was in jail or checked into a rehab center by then, still weighed on her, more so than before. She hated that there was that pivotal secret between her and Brennan, the only blemish on her fairy tale, and fear ate at her whenever the conversation turned to the latest front-page, always wondering if Abby would one day appear front and center there. And if Meg knew what was happening with her sister-in-law, she did a good job keeping it from her niece out of respect for the quality of life Charlie now had, and the happiness that made her smile wide and often.

But Brennan wasn’t an honor student because he was attractive. He knew there was something bothering Charlie, something she was keeping from him. Every time he pressed her, trying to get her to open up about, she either closed off and changed the subject or practically fled. He was confused and frustrated; there was something deeply worrisome in her life and as close as they had become he still wasn’t privy to it. Which led him inevitably to Ellie.

“Can’t tell you,” Ellie said before he had the chance to open his mouth. “Really.”

“Why won’t she tell me?” He’d realized it was useless to bribe her for information and settled on wanting to know why he was so lacking to Charlie.

“It’s not that she doesn’t trust you,” Ellie said, making a mental note to stock up on pints of Ben and Jerry’s for when this blew up, “but it’s….personal for her. Really personal.”

“Is it about her mom?”

Ellie leaned against her locker and chewed her lip.

“It is, isn’t it?”

“Brennan. You’re a great guy. But I promised my best friend I wouldn’t say anything. When she’s ready, she’ll tell you.” She gave him a pleading look. “Trust her on that. It’s just hard.” Ellie slung her bag on her shoulders and walked away, leaving a very confused Brennan Westbury standing in the hallway.

“Brennan.”

He didn’t jump. He should have known this was coming. The wolves would only stay quiet for so long. He turned to see Amanda Jensen and met her eyes, absolutely refusing to look at what she was wearing not only in deference to his girlfriend, Charlie, but also because he knew that’s what she wanted and had no desire to give it to her.

“I know what your trailer trash tramp won’t tell you.” Amanda pulled a folded newspaper from her Coach bag. “About her mother.” She handed him the newspaper. “Local section. The police columns. See what she’s been hiding.” Amanda leaned in close; her perfume wafted heavy and cloying in his nose, a contrast to Charlie’s pure, clean smell, and knew if he looked down he’d have a perfect glance at her chest. He kept his eyes on her nose. “What you’re not good enough to know.” She straightened and flipped her hair over her shoulder. “See you around, Brennan.”

Brennan looked at the newspaper and instantly thought of trust. How much would he be betraying Charlie’s faith in him if he looked? But how much was she betraying him by keeping something from him? They were friends before they were boyfriend and girlfriend. It needed to be that way for anything to work.

“You gonna look?” Charlie asked from over his shoulder. Her heart was thudding hard in her chest. It was all coming out now, every bit of it. She took a deep breath, feeling like she was shattering from the inside out. “It was nice while it lasted.”

He jerked his head up and craned his neck to look back at her but she was gone just as suddenly as she had arrived. He looked at the folded paper in his hands, backdated at least two weeks, nearly three. The day that Charlie had been called to the office and hadn’t come back to class after. He rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache coming on, and pulled his phone from his pocket.

Need ur help guys. Library. Now.



All four Westbury boys were huddled at a table in the corner of the library, oblivious to the outside world and completely focused on whatever was the on the table in front of them. Ellie almost didn’t want to interrupt. But this was an emergency. Charlie hadn’t even moved for the pint of Ben and Jerry’s Ellie had gotten for her on a run to the store during their lunch period. Right then her best friend was sitting in the smallest of the school’s enclosed courtyards and feeling as though her heart had broken into tiny shards that were stabbing into her lungs, that Brennan knew her dirty secret and wanted nothing to do with her. From what Ellie could tell that was the exact opposite of what Brennan was thinking, not that she could convince Charlie of that. So she was calling in the big guns.

She let her feet take her to the table on autopilot. “Brennan?”

All four heads shot up at once. It took a lot not to flinch back.

“Do you know where she is?” Brennan asked. He was worried; it was plain in every facet of his character.

Ellie looked at the newspaper on the table. She swallowed. Nobody knew about Charlie’s hiding place but her. This was either going to be the best thing she could have done or the biggest screw up in her friendship with Charlie. “Courtyard by the AV Lab.”

“Thank you,” he breathed, nearly mowing his brother over in an attempt to get out of his chair and to the door.

Ellie wrapped her arms around her middle and tried to convince herself she hadn’t betrayed her best friend. She risked a look at Evan, who gave her a reassuring smile. The feeling didn’t go away.



Charlie sat with her legs pulled to her chest beneath a cherry blossom tree, her long hair tickling her bare upper arms. She retreated to the little used courtyard when she needed to think. It was surrounded by AV and computer labs so the shades were always drawn in the classrooms. She was careful to stay quiet so no one would know she was there.

Well, almost no one.

The thud of the closing door alerted her to another presence. She knew in her gut it wasn’t Ellie and hugged her knees tighter. This was a day from hell, almost rival to the day when her mother had been arrested and carted off somewhere. How lousy of a daughter was she to not even know where her own mother was? Or even care?

“Charlie?” Brennan kept his voice soft, coming to stand in front of her as she sat on the stone bench beneath the tree, blossoms falling gently to the ground, her agony apparent in the untouched and melting pint of ice cream beside her. “I looked at the newspaper.”

If it had been anybody else but the two of them, it wouldn’t have mattered. It would have been just another newspaper, just another couple. Charlie wouldn’t have felt as vulnerable as she did.

Brennan sat on the bench beside her.

“I didn’t want you to look at me and see what everyone else sees.” Tears glistened anew at the corners of her eyes. “Didn’t…Didn’t want you to see…” The words stuck painfully in her throat. “The Sunset girl. With a junkie mom and a dad who left her behind.” She kept her face hidden from him so he wouldn’t see her shame and her tears.

Brennan didn’t even begin to understand all that was going through her mind and chose instead to follow his instincts. Gently, he cupped her chin in his palm and turned her toward him, watching intently until she met his eyes. With his other hand he wiped away her fresh-fallen tears and brushed her hair from her face.

“Listen to me,” he said, soft and sincere. His eyes never left hers. “I don’t know a Sunset girl. I know a Charlie Anderson, a funny, sweet, incredibly intelligent and talented young lady. She’s got green eyes, a beautiful smile and a kind heart. She’s who she is, despite what she’s been through, and I wouldn’t change any of it because I think I love this girl. You, Charlie, I love you for you. Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Charlie had no words to express herself. Instead, she launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around him and sobbing her happiness at his acceptance of her into his neck. For the first time she could let it go. All of it. She wasn’t the Sunset Girl anymore. She was only Charlie Anderson and, content, for once, to have nothing to hide.



“I want to show you something.”

Brennan looked up from his math book at Charlie as she sat curled in the window seat of one of his bedroom windows. They’d retreated to his house after the fiasco at school. This was the first she’d spoken since they’d gotten back from the courtyard.

“Okay.” He had an idea of where this was going and knew he needed to let her lead.

She uncurled herself and held out her hand. He took it without hesitation. “We have to walk, though,” she clarified.

He nodded, fully prepared to step into her shoes for a bit. They took the bus to a street near Ellie’s and went on foot from there. Charlie wouldn’t hold his hand; Brennan let her have her space, as much as it hurt him to see her so introverted, left hand kneading her right forearm. She paused in front of the cheerfully bright Sunset Park sign and he had to forcibly restrain himself from touching or hugging her. She walked them down a row of trailers and stopped at number nine. Brennan thought it was a little cleaner, a little better than the others.

“This is where I grew up.” She slipped a key from her pocket.

Brennan barely noticed the rickety steps. The first thing he noticed when his feet hit the carpet was that it was small and cramped, enough so a claustrophobic would already be breaking into a sweat. The place was stale; Charlie evidently hadn’t been back since that day. He followed Charlie down a short hall to a tiny room painted pale lavender. He stood on the edge of the carpet, teetering, on the verge of stepping into a place that was intimately Charlie.

“It’s okay.” She held out her hand to him.

She pulled him into her world. Sat him gingerly on her bed.

He looked at the walls, the random pieces of clothing on the floor, everything undisturbed in her absence.

“I’ll come back and sort through things but I just…I can’t right now.” Charlie sat on the bed next to him, bumping his shoulder with hers.

“We’ll help, if you want. My brothers. Ellie’d help, too.” Ellie was an absolute gem to Brennan and he was going to tell his brother to treat her right under penalty of endless noogies and dish-detail.

She leaned against him, breathing in his smell – a little bit of cologne, a hint of man-sweat, and a scent that was uniquely Brennan. She relaxed. He was in her world, the tiny trailer, and he filled it more than Abby and Rick had ever done. If Jason had showed up then, her world would have been complete. He put his arm around her and kissed her hair softly. She could feel the smile forming, her eyes already looking at her corkboard across the room, the picture tacked near the top – she was wearing a metal pasta strainer on her head like a helmet, wooden spoon in hand, and grinning in a devil-may-care kind of way.

“Should I even ask?” he muttered.

Charlie grinned. “No. No, you shouldn’t.”

* * *


True to his word, Brennan, his brothers, and Ellie helped Charlie sort through the trailer, room by room when she was ready almost a week after she’d taken him there. He helped Evan pack what she wanted from the kitchen while Colby and Darren, his older brothers, wrapped what little knickknacks there were in the living room in bubble wrap and put them in boxes. Ellie helped Charlie go through her mother’s room. Colby had poked his head in there on one occasion to see how it was going, and wasn’t surprised to find both girls on the floor, Charlie’s head on Ellie’s shoulder as she cried. He’d retreated from the room and told the other boys it would be best to leave them be until they came out on their own. They emerged a couple hours later, Charlie’s eyes puffy and red, a shoebox of photos in her hand. She made the decision to give the clothes she didn’t want or could no longer wear, along with bags of Abby’s old clothes, to the Salvation Army. Most of the other items in the trailer went that same way.

Brennan leaned against the side of Colby’s beat-up Chevy Impala while the girls made one last round in the trailer. It would go on the market that afternoon, after the park manager checked it over and maybe cleaned it. He looked at the letter, addressed to Charlie and unopened, in his hand. Meg had handed it to him when they’d picked up Charlie, choosing to allow him to decide how to handle it. He knew where it was from. Otter Creek Rehabilitation Center. Where Abby currently resided, trying to overcome her addiction and get her life back in order.

Charlie, a bit more color in her cheeks than before, came down the steps one last time, a sense of liberation exploding from her chest. She was done with it. She looked at Brennan, saw Colby, Darren, and Evan horsing around in the small brown yard between what used to be her trailer and her neighbors, felt Ellie beside and realized she had all the family she needed right there. And then there was Megan, more than willing to accept her and take her in, raise her as the daughter she’d never had. Charlie was more content with life than she had been since Jason left, something she thought she’d never achieve.

“You look better,” Brennan said with a smile as she walked over. Ellie had gone to harass Evan.

“I feel better.” She looked down at the photo she couldn’t seem to let go of. She was five, maybe six, when it was taken. She was cradled between both her parents, grinning, as they all were, and one happy family. She noticed the envelope. “What’s that?”

“It’s about Abby.” He’d learned pretty quickly to ease off on the references of Abby being Charlie’s mother. Though it was a biological fact he’d been slow to realize that Charlie didn’t refer to her mother as her mother because Abby really hadn’t filled the role as she should have through the years.

Charlie traded the picture for the envelope, not missing the smile that curled Brennan’s lips. She opened it quickly and started to read. When she was done she folded it hastily and stuffed it back in the envelope.

“Charlie?”

She had a million thoughts and feelings running through her, none of which made sense except the overwhelming anger. “They’re telling me she’s there and it would be beneficial for her “recovery” if a loved one came to visit.” She looked at him, eyes bright with unshed tears. “I can’t, Brennan. I can’t go see her. I just…I just got things under control.” Her movements were jerky, her throat working overtime to attempt to keep the tears in. “I can’t – I can’t see her because then it’ll be like it always was. Abby and her problems, the issue nobody wants to talk about and she doesn’t wanna fix, even for her baby girl.”

Brennan carefully slid the photograph into his pocket and took her unresisting in his arms. He rocked her, being her anchor in the world tipped sideways again. Ultimately it was her decision what she would do, whether she would visit or not. But her being stubborn, she might need a little push. “I still think you should go.” He wouldn’t pressure her, but he did have a plan forming in his mind.

“I can’t,” she whispered into his chest. “I can’t let her win.”

“Okay,” he said, nodding his agreement. “How about we go home?”

Charlie bit her lip and nodded. He opened the door to the backseat for her and whistled for his brothers. “Darren, put your brother down!” came Colby’s yell from around the back of the trailer as Brennan slid into the backseat next to Charlie. She leaned against him once more and stared out the window. This would be the last time she ever had to see the place. The last time she’d leave it for something better. She smiled ruefully as Colby started the Impala and pulled out.

She didn’t look back.

* * *


The following weekend Charlie didn’t suspect a thing and for that Brennan heaved a sigh of relief and a thank you toward the heavens. She was asleep against him, the seatbelt awkwardly across her body as she sprawled in the backseat. Colby kept stealing glances at them in the rearview mirror; Darren was dead to the world in the front seat, ear buds from his iPod in his ears and head against the window. Evan had purposefully taken Ellie to the movies and a day of shopping (or at least excessive trying-on) at the mall and Charlie was under the assumption they were taking a road trip to a little tourist town by a lake she’d always wanted to visit. He’d take her there, eventually, just like he’d promised, but this was more important. This overruled his desire to obey her wishes because it was necessary. It had eaten at his conscience and after a long conversation with his brothers, Colby in particular, being the oldest, and his parents, he decided that, though it would be hard for her, she needed this one last thing from Abby and Abby needed this from her.

He knew he was in the doghouse for this. There would be no way around that.

Colby followed the signs for Otter Creek off the highway and pretty soon they were pulling into the visitors’ parking lot. He shut the car off and gracelessly bounced his brother’s head off the window to wake him up. Darren’s head hit the glass with a dull thunk and he snapped his eyes open, automatically taking a retaliatory swing at Colby, muttering something about useless older brothers.

Brennan coaxed Charlie awake, pushing her hair out of her eyes as she sat up, groggy.

“We’re here?” she asked, rubbing her eyes. Those same eyes widened when she looked through the window. This was definitely not where she thought she was. Once she found the sign that read Otter Creek she went from confused to exasperated and scared in less than ten seconds. “You didn’t.”

“We did,” Colby confirmed from the front, opening his door.

“That’s why Evan took Ellie to the mall,” Charlie said, getting out and slamming the door, the pieces falling effortlessly into place for her. She jerked her hand away from Brennan as he reached for her. “I can’t.”

“You can.” He held out his hand, praying she would take it. “Just one visit. Just one. If you don’t go, you’ll know you’ll regret it later. Please, Charlie? We’ll be with you the entire time.” He paused. “I’ll be with you the entire time. I won’t let go. Promise.”

She hesitated for what seemed like an eternity and then took his hand, lacing their fingers together. Colby appeared on her other side and closed his big hand over hers, the big brother she’d never had, and with Darren leading the way they headed for the visitors’ entrance.

It was nice. Soft neutral colors, strong wood accents, quiet staff. Charlie instantly hated it and knew Abby must, too. It even set Darren on edge, from the hunch of his shoulders, and nothing rattled Darren. Quiet conversation could be heard from various rooms off the check-in desk. Darren took care of the actual check-in process and filled out name tags for them all. Neither Colby or Brennan let go of her hand once, except to let her wipe under her eyes. She couldn’t imagine Abby being in such a place but knew it was helping her face the truth, the ugly reality of what she’d been doing for years.

“Abby’s in the main recreation room, down that hallway,” the woman at the desk said, pointing.

Their small group started down the hallway, and the rec room was easy to find. Colby gave her hand a squeeze and stopped at the door. Brennan pulled her gently through the doorway and steered her toward a table by the window. A solitary woman sat there, newspaper in front of her, staring out the window. Charlie could recognize Abby anywhere. Brennan slipped something into her hand when he let go and she felt like she was floating instead of walking, her mind vaguely thinking he’d broken his promise. She looked down at the picture. Her and Abby, curled on the couch and smiling up at whoever was taking the photo. Jason, most likely. Not long before he left. Not long before Abby started doing drugs. Not long before Charlie’s world fell slowly and surely apart until she learned to regain her balance on her own.

“Abby?”

Abby turned at the sound of her name, her hollowed eyes brightening a bit when she saw Charlie. She’d lost weight. “Charlie.” She smiled but didn’t move.

Charlie slid woodenly into the chair across from her mother. Abby didn’t look well. Like she’d stopped eating. There was a plastic bracelet around her thin wrist, along with scars that looked fairly new. Charlie gripped her own wrist, her heart sinking. Abby wasn’t dealing well with getting over her addiction and started new habits to replace the ones she couldn’t feed anymore.

“How’s school?”

Charlie bit off the sharp retort before it could escape. “Fine. Fine. Just had a project a couple weeks ago.” She looked at Brennan out of the corner of her eye. He was leaning against the wall, oblivious to everything going on around him except her. She looked at the table, tracing the plastic tabletop with her fingers, the picture clenched in her other hand in her lap. “I’m happy, Abby.” She looked up. “I’m happy. I’ve got a real home now. With Megan. And she loves me and she cares.” Her lip wobbled. “And she wants me to tell you that when you get better you can come stay. And be part of our family.” She sniffled. “But you have to get better first.” She smiled, tears rolling gently down her cheeks. “I didn’t want to come. I got the letter and I didn’t want to come. Brennan and his brothers brought me, ‘cause he knew I’d regret not going.” She took a deep, shuddering breath and looked Abby in the eyes. “This is the best place for you. Where you should have gone after dad left. And I’m sorry I didn’t push for it. Get better, Abby.” She put the photo on the table and slid it toward her silent mother. Charlie gave her one last watery smile and got up. “Be happy I’m happy.”

It took every ounce of willpower that she had not to look back. Brennan slung his arm around her when she passed him, Colby and Darren joining them at the door.

Abby looked from her daughter’s back to the photo on the table. She picked it up. When she looked up again, Charlie was gone, as though she’d never been there. She knew then how Charlie had felt for the past four years, since Jason had left. Abby kissed the photograph and tucked it inside her robe, close to her heart, and carefully fingered the razor in her pocket.

Charlie gulped in heaving breaths of air in the parking lot. That would be the last time she visited Otter Creek. The last time she would visit Abby. She thought about that all the way back to Megan’s. It was then that the universe ground to a halt for a second time, accompanied by the explosion of the sun, at least to Charlie. Waiting for her on the steps was a man she hadn’t seen in years.

“Jason,” she breathed. “Dad!” She jumped and he caught her, clinging tight, and the universe righted itself, at least for the moment.

“I think that gets you outta the doghouse, buddy,” Colby whispered to Brennan, heading for his own house.

Brennan didn’t respond. His focus was elsewhere, on his Sunset girl as she glowed brighter than a supernova.

[Thank you.]

Friday, June 12, 2009

Murphy

Some days Murphy and I don't get along.

No, I'm not talking about The Boondock Saints absolutely adorable Murphy McManus played by Norman Reedus, I'm talking about Murphy and his infamous laws. And mostly how it seems that if I didn't have his luck, then I wouldn't have any at all. Especially with men.

I'm trying to think back to when everything started. I'll go with over a year ago, in the spring, tail end of softball season. When I let my on again/off again, on-again-at-the-time boyfriend go because A) It was summer and B) I was going off to college in August. And I needed something different. I wanted him to find other people. Didn't think he'd go to the extreme but, hey, what's better than learning he had a new girlfriend in the middle of September? Course, cue health problems, middle of soccer season, a crazy, perma-swollen ankle, and hey, whadda ya know? His girlfriend doesn't stay his girlfriend but instead, they're going to get married. Which, threw me for so much of a loop that I'm glad my roommate wasn't in the room because I lost it completely. A week later and things simply get even better because, surprise surprise, they're having dinner in the same town that my college is in. Which leads to, "Can we stop and see you?" Me being me, I've never been able to say no to seeing him, because, when we were little, he was my best friend. But to see the two of them together, like they were, it was just...let's just say after rehearsal that night for a musical, while screwing around and listening to an iPod playing "I'll Cover You (Reprise)" from RENT, it devolved into an entire sob-fest, fixed only by a midnight run for Ben and Jerry's cookie dough and Izze soda.

Mmmmkay....so I have my surgery in January to fix my health issue, and in February I find a great guy. We get along splendidly. Then I get news from said old boyfriend, that not only is he getting married, but he's now having a child and wants me to be happy for him. After that there was talk of him leaving her because he'd had an epiphany that he wanted to get back to me. Haven't spoken to him since then and it's not really that big a deal in my life anymore.

Now, the latest episode that Murphy and I are entering into is my wonderful luck with men continued. My ex-boyfriend (not the one getting married) but the one from February, whom I still speak to on a regular basis. He's looking for a job. And he's applied at the same place that I'm currently working. Due to my relationship with Murph, not only will he get a job, he will be placed on the same shifts that I am, and I will have to train him. That is just the way it will work. Because Murph loves me.

I guess to sum everything up, I'll talk a line from Practical Magic when Sally's writing a letter to her sister, and looking at the gorgeous full moon over head. And she says, "There is no man for me, Gilly. There is only that moon."

And the idea of "Murphy and Me" sounds like a good notion for a book. Maybe I'll look into that.

Thursday, June 4, 2009

Memory III

My favorite flavor of Snapple is Strawberry-Kiwi.

Effing tears.

Anyway, back toward the beginning of the semester I was having a rough day (it started off okay, my afternoon English class was canceled, I was working on...something, and making really good progress) and I went to get some lunch at the Pub. And the Snapple bottles they have there are glass, not the plastic ones like the cafe. The weather wasn't the greatest (windy, snowy, just plain nasty) and I'm carrying the take-out container and trying not to simultaneously freeze my hands off, and the Snapple slips through the crook of my arm and smashes on the sidewalk. So, I stopped at the bookstore and got some imitation juice type thing in a fruity flavor (definitely not the same) and when I get back to the room, I text him saying that I've dropped my Snapple. My day after that gets even better because I call my sister (whom I love and whom loves me) and tell her about a rather interesting thing that happened. (Lemme put it this way - my NY Yankee zip up pullover was my FAVORITE fashion item that week) And after much condescending and quiet angry talk in which she makes me promise never to do it again, I'm feeling all dejected and like I've done something wrong, something...dirty. Which just puts me in the state of mind of...well, what the hell. Em came over from next door and of course, I'm lying on the floor in the middle of the room (possible retreat back to my childhood?) and, because she's awesome, she gets down on the floor with me. Well, we ended up falling asleep there. Sleeping for about two hours, that is. Okay, so it was more like three but hey, we were tired and I had been crying and yeah. What wakes me up is my phone getting a text message. It's him. Downstairs, waiting for me to come let him in. I wake up enough to realize not only do I not want to get up, I'm not sure I want to have this conversation with him - about a lot of things really, that my sister matters to me but that I was also happy, happier than I had been in a really, really long time. So I tried reasoning that Em was closest to the door so she could go let him in. He solves the problem for us by waiting for someone to come along with a key and the next thing I know, he's filling my doorway and looking at Em sitting on the floor, me curled up on it, and he just knows that it's not going to be pleasant, that it hasn't been a pleasant afternoon. Em knows I'm in good hands and she goes back next door. He comes in, shuts the door, puts his backpack on my bed (actually made my bed some days) and simply lies down on the floor, shoulders against my mini-fridge, pulls a strawberry-kiwi Snapple from somewhere and puts it on the floor between us before taking my hand and squeezing to let me know that everything's going to be okay, that it'll get better and I can tell him anything.

I think we were on the floor for an hour.

And the hits just keep coming down memory lane today.

The Snapple stayed in my fridge until I moved out of the room.

Memory II

I swear today is just one big friggin' trip down memory lane. It feels like every ten minutes or so I'm looking at the window, at the blue sky outside, and simply tearing up, remembering so many sweet things.

Maybe this is my muse and my focus using my memories to try and assist me through my writer's block? It's a good idea in theory, but in practice...it's a little difficult. More than a little difficult, really.

Oh, jeez, here I go again...

Memory

At the moment I'm sitting in my living room, in the rocking chair in the corner by the TV, and have tears in my eyes. Because out of the blue this memory pops into my head and I can't really remember specifics - the where and the when - but I have the important stuff.

The way he's looking at me, both his big hands holding my face so gently and telling me, sincerely with a warm, reassuring smile, that it's okay, that it's nothing to be embarrassed about and that it doesn't matter. And he's shaking his head, still smiling reassuringly at me like, "You really think I would care about something that trivial? Please, thought you knew me better than that." And it's the tenderness and trust in his eyes and so yeah, right now I'm remembering this and I'm crying.

Doesn't help that I'm listening to "Where Are You Going" by Dave Matthews Band and "If Today Was Your Last Day" by Nickelback.

I just wanted to share that. Mostly because it made me smile through my tears.

Monday, June 1, 2009

Sticks and Branches

So, I came to this realization a while ago (a couple of years, at least) when I started playing travel soccer outside of my area. Not all women, especially ones serious about a sport, are sticks. Some of us, myself included, are branches. This is further cemented at the collegiate level. Let me explain.

Around the middle of my sophomore year of high school, after I had been playing with WAZA Flo for going on two years, I realized that it's okay to not be a stick (to be, in other words, a size 3 or below). It is not in my family to be a skinny-mini. We have some amazing cooks and bakers in the family and we like food. I like food. Especially home cooking. But if you're a size 3 with no hips (lovehandles can also be used here) then it's a little hard to bump somebody off the ball and use your body effectively to shield it.

When I got to college for pre-season, I was really happy to see that there were girls who were built like me.

Bottom line: women are built differently from each other. We have hips, we have thighs, and if you truly love your sport, you will lift weights and work your body to its fullest potential. There is nothing wrong with not being able to wear baby toll T-shirts because your arms kind of make the seams bulge. Or unbuttoning the sleeves on your favorite plaid overshirt because your biceps have gotten a little bigger. And pants - if you have hips, cover 'em with denim and remember your thighs actually have a purpose, namely, getting you up and down a field after a round object. Keep it in perspective.

Remember this the next time you look in the mirror. We're all built differently, outside and in. =] And in case you were wondering, I'm proud to be a branch.
"The difference between life and the movies is that a script has to make sense, and life doesn't."

-Joseph L. Mankiewicz