Page 30 of Searching for Beautiful
And I want to find a way to evict him from my life…from my head.
“Ugh!” I kick my bed. Mature, I know, but it’s all I can think to do. Hoping it’s not raining outside, I slip on my bunny slippers, put my coat on over my pajamas, and sneak out my bedroom door.
I didn’t take the time to look at the clock, but I know it’s late…or early, I should say. Maybe three or four in the morning. I can’t help but wonder if Dad will be pissed if he finds out I’m going outside at this time of night.
Author: Nyrae Dawn
I can’t stay, though, can’t find a way to breathe inside, and I miss my haven. I miss my pottery and clay. Miss making something out of nothing. Having something that’s mine. Mom might have worked to give it to me, but still, pottery has always been mine.
Almost more than I want to forget about Jason, I want that back.
Quietly, I slip out our back door. I’m just at the door to my pottery room when I freeze.
A shuffle sounds from over the fence. Do I want it to be Christian or not? We haven’t talked since that day in the hall a few weeks ago. I should have apologized a long time ago, but I’m not sure how to go about it.
It’s easier not to talk to him at school because he’s always with my old friends, but it’s harder at the center. There all I do is visit with Emery or have my lame weekly sessions with Valerie. Emery and I never really talk about anything important, which is nice. Valerie is always poking and prodding.
My instincts scream at me to keep walking. To open this door, walk in, and close it behind me. I don’t need him or anyone else. I don’t trust him or anyone else.
A little flash of that stupid speedometer zips into my head.
My hand twists the knob, but then I stop, for some reason, just needing to know. A nightmare brought me out at this time of night and I wonder what would bring Christian out.
Trying to be all inconspicuous, I glance over my shoulder, toward the house on the other side of the fence, but it’s not Christian. It’s the Hispanic woman from the center. She’s taking a drag of a cigarette when she sees me.
“Busted,” she says, her shoulders going up and down. Her voice sounds more ethnic than Christian’s. He has that Hispanic lilt to his voice, but hers is thicker. “Is there any chance we can keep this a secret?” She holds up the cigarette.
When she smiles, I notice it’s the same as Christian’s…light, happy, like they don’t have a care in the world. For some reason, it makes me want to do the same. “Umm…sure? I don’t know who I would tell anyway. ” Talk about an odd request coming from someone’s mom.
“Shh. Christian is a light sleeper and he’s got the back room. My son doesn’t like smoking. ”
Go, Christian! Still, it’s strange that she’s hiding it from him. “Sorry,” I whisper, sort of wanting to laugh at how she looks over her shoulder to make sure Christian isn’t coming.
“It’s okay, mija. It’s not your fault. I’m too old to be out here sneaking cigarettes, but I’m down to one a day. Not too bad if you ask me. My boy is a tough critic, though. ”
Yeah, no kidding, I want to tell her, when I think about that day in the hall.
“What are you doing outside this early in the morning? I can’t keep closet-smoking secrets for you. At least I’m of age. ” Christian’s mom winks at me.
“No, no. I don’t smoke. This is my…” My pottery room. I was coming out here to try and claim something of mine back. “Couldn’t sleep,” I finish lamely.
“Story of my life. There’s nothing in the world worse than being tired and not being able to find sleep. Probably not as tough on you young ones as it is on us old ladies, though. ” She takes another puff of her cigarette before putting it into a soda can and then slipping that into her robe pocket. “I have a secret hiding place. ” She laughs, this time a little more loudly. I guess she doesn’t mind the risk of waking him after she’s finished.
“Ignore me. What’s that saying? Do as I say, not as I do. Smoking is bad for you. ” She shakes her finger at me. Just as it happened with Christian that night, a laugh sneaks up on me.
“No worries. Zero chance of me ever touching one of those things. ”
“Good girl. ” She smiles and I realize I’m smiling, too. She reminds me of my mom.
Christian’s mom cocks her head at me, studying me. “You’re much too pretty to look so sad, mija. ”
My first instinct is to blush, but then, I feel like crying. I want to tell her I’m broken. I want to tell her about Mom, about Jason…even about Dad. I want to tell her…someone…everything. That little taste of talking with Emery the other day makes me crave more, but my fear always steps in the way. “I’m fine. ”
She shakes her head. “I have a daughter. ” Her voice suddenly sounds as alone as I feel. “I’ve started to know what it sounds like when someone says she’s fine but she’s really not. ” Just like Christian did all those weeks ago, she grabs the chair from the porch, walks over, puts it by the fence, and stands on it.
It’s such a strange thing to see a mom do. I can imagine my mom doing it, but I’ve never met another parent like her.
“I’m Brenda. ” Another kind smile. Big blue eyes that match her son’s.
