Array
(
[text] =>

A G E : T H I R T E E N

I don't like talking about it.

Not talking about it is the easiest way to pretend it never happened.

Knowing that my own mother, the only person I told, doesn't believe me is possibly the worst part of it. The way she reacted when I told her nearly ripped my heart out of my chest. What hurts the most, in the end, is what she said after. She said I was making it up, that I wanted attention, and that I simply don't like Jared (which I don't, but that is beyond the point.)

She presses her palms to ears, a lit cigarette in between her fingers. "Shut-up, Silvia. I don't want to hear about this anymore. You see, this is the exact kind of crap that pisses off Jared. I know what kind of man he is. He isn't the nicest guy in town but he isn't that way."

I swallow the bile building up in the back of my throat. "So you're going to take his word over mine? You're just going to take his side?!"

She shakes off the ash at the end of her cigarette on to the carpeted floor where it will remain until Lenard is home. He's the only one who ever tries to clean up her messes. I gave up a long time ago. "It's not like that, Silvia. He's an adult, I know what the man is capable of." Mom touches the side of her face, rubbing her temple. "All this talking has got me a headache. Go fetch momma an aspirin."

Despite the fact that I'm mad at her, I reluctantly get up and get her an aspirin and a glass of water. She takes the cup and thanks me, gulping down the pill and then some water.

The smell of booze is sealed on her lips. She's still wearing the clothes she had on the other night. Only now there are new stains against the fringe. I wonder how long it will take her to notice that there isn't any food in the fridge and that I haven't eaten since the school Lunch I got yesterday afternoon. I asked my friend, Emma, to let me have her left over fruit during lunch.

The kids around the table always look at me funny when I ask for food. It was weird at first, but I've gotten used to it. It's still a mystery what kind of condition I'm in at home. They make up their own assumptions though.

Other kids like Lola Wilson and her gang of friends tease me about it, taking note of the same pair of jeans I wear to school nearly everyday. They always have the latest, up-to-date fashion and they make sure you know the price.

* * * * * *

"You shouldn't let Lola talk to you like that," is what one of my friends told me. His name's Ian and he wears these multi-colored suspenders that Lola makes fun of all the time. I think they're cool. The other kids join in and calling all of these sick, twisted names--worse than what they've ever called me.

He used to be friends with Lola, but ever since rumors spread that he tried to kiss Peter Sanders at Lola's birthday party, he's been cut out of the group.

"It's not like I can do anything about. Four against one isn't a fair fight. The second I walk up to her, her hounds will have their own insults to throw at me before I even get the first word out."

"That's not true. I'll be there. Two against four isn't all that bad," he nudges me. "I'll have your back. You take on two and I'll take on two."

I shake my head. "Thanks, but no thanks. I would like to live up to the age of fifty, and if I try to confront her, there's no way I'll even live to see the ninth grade."

He chuckles. It's a nice kind of chuckle, the kind that makes you want to laugh along with and be as amused as he is. "Maybe some other time then."

****

After that day, my friendship with Ian has only grown. His mom doesn't like him going to my side of town--because of all the drug use and violence my neighborhood is known for--so for the most part, we just hang out at his place or over at the school library.

I'm comfortable with Ian. We can talk about anything and we laugh at the same kinds of jokes. Whenever someone tries to corner him at school, I always have his back. Same goes for me whenever I'm in that kind of situation. He doesn't really know how to fully understand what I've gone through, but he's good at sympathizing and making sure to let me talk when I need it. And with what's going on at home, I always need someone to talk to.

Lenard is busy with school. He's typically the person I go to when I need someone, but he's starting to concentrate more on sports, parties, girls, and other stupid boy things. Mom keeps warning him about knocking someone up whenever he goes off to a party.

"I don't want a damn grandchild," she shouts out. "I can hardly take care of you two loud ass kids."

"You can hardly take care of yourself," Lenard mutters before rushing to open the front door.

"What did he just say?" She says, but I know damn well that she heard him--loud and clear. "He's lucky he's already out the door."

The good thing about Ian is that he never judges me, no matter what it is I tell him. He doesn't look at me with disgust and he never tells me to "shut up" like my mom always does.

That's why, when it felt right, I told him what's really happening at my house.

He doesn't scream.

He doesn't swear at me.

He is calm.

He places his hand on my shoulder and tells me that everything will be okay.

Right now, it's what I need to hear. What I need to feel. I've been starving for affection for so long that my heart nearly bursts when he moves into hug me. I don't want to release him. I hold on to him, in fear that he will fade out of existence if I let go.

******

There's something different about the gossip that's polluting the airways at Lincoln Junior High when I walk in Monday morning. I spot Ian, but he's not standing next to my locker--like he usually is on most mornings. He's standing next to Lola and her friends. His back is to me so he can't see me when I walk up to him.

"...her mom's such a whore. Always out, drinking and doing drugs. Sleeping with anything with a pulse. She told me how her mom would even snort a line right in front of her, not even caring at who's in the room or not." Ian says, using that laugh of his that I used to like to hear.

"I bet she'll end up being a druggie like her mom." Lola chimes in.

"I wouldn't be surprised if she's already had a taste herself," Ian adds on. "I hope there isn't anyone there to help her when she overdoses. All she ever does is talk about herself. Whine, whine, whine 'I'm so poor.''"

Lola is about to say something, but she stops herself, finally realizing that I'm standing there with my hands formed into fists.

All of this time, was he really ever my friend or has he been Lola's little spy, leaching information out of me? I don't know, and right at this moment, that is the least of my worries. Ian's eyes widen when he turns around and sees me. He tries to speak, but my fist goes for him before he can muster up a lame excuse. His glasses fall to the floor, along with his body that hit the floor with a thud. A teacher witnesses the entire thing. It isn't long until I'm sent to the principles office.

I don't care.

I don't.

Oh, God. I care so much.

He's the first friend I've had in so long.

The first person I've trusted since my father up and left us for his perfect family in California.

I hope they expel me. Likely, they will not. But my stupid, naïve, gullible, little heart can only pray for it anyway.

[text_hash] => e6088f10
)