Safe and Sound(6)

She shook the upsetting thought away and swept the floor with renewed vigor.





2



Lola zipped her jacket and quietly left the house, clutching a purple folder to her chest. A cool breeze blew her hair over her eyes and Lola pushed it away. The sun was bright, warming her where it touched her. The air was cleansing and Lola inhaled deeply.

Her eyes strayed to the house across the street, not surprised to find it silent and still. It was early Saturday morning, not even eight yet. Lola had to work at noon and wanted to take advantage of the hours before then.

She turned in the direction of the park. It was a short walk. The park had full green grass, lots of shady trees, and play equipment she and Sebastian used to play on as kids. There was a shelter mainly used for family get-togethers and a basketball court high school boys liked to monopolize.

It seemed almost every memory she had of her childhood involved Sebastian.

Lola found a bench and sat down. She set down her pen and opened the folder. Inside were pages and pages of words, some flowing, others erratic, some that didn’t even make sense to her once she went back and read them.

Lola found one she’d written over six months ago. Her hand paused, and then pulled it from the folder. Her eyes blurred as she read.

The Truth

Try to convince yourself you’re sane, try to overcome the pain

You may feel like dying, but you can’t stop trying

If you look hard enough, you’ll find a friend

If you pray long enough, you’ll learn to trust again

True, you have been hurt

Yes, you are confused

But you have to face the fact:

You didn’t deserve to be abused.

A sob escaped her and Lola put a hand over her mouth, eyes searching for possible witnesses. She didn’t want anyone to see her weep. It was bad enough she had a tendency to do so on a whim these days; it would be worse if someone saw it.

Don’t cry. Stop crying. Don’t cry.

Her eyes burned with the need to release her pain. Reading those words was like reliving the pain and fear and sense of helplessness of every cruel action or word Bob had ever inflicted on her. Lola took a deep breath and shoved the paper back into the folder.

Blank sheet of paper before her, pen in hand, Lola chewed her lower lip as she tried to put her current emotions into words.

Acceptance

She’s dead, I thought. How can she be dead?

Then I remembered all the pain she’d endured through her life and I understood.

Physically she was not dead, but her soul was.

She just sat there with a lifeless look in her eyes and lived in her own world.

In her safe haven, there was no emotion, only acceptance.

She glanced up in sorrow and…

I gazed at myself through a dusty window.

Lola stared at the words. It was funny how almost every poem she wrote started out about her or her mother and somewhere during the process turned out being about the opposite one. Or maybe they all were about them both.

Their life hadn’t been perfect. There had been clashes of will and temper tantrums and whatever else was normal between a parent and their child. But there hadn’t been abuse. Her mother hadn’t locked herself in her room all the time and slept.

Or had she?

She tried to think back. Maybe occasionally her mother had had days like that, but not every day. There had forever been a sadness to her mother’s eyes because of the husband she’d lost, but she’d still managed to function, to be a mother to Lola. Now she wasn’t anything.

Sneakers thudded against the pavement and Lola jerked her head toward the basketball court, dismayed to see Sebastian. He had on black athletic shorts and a matching jacket, his hair a darker shade of brown with wetness. His eyes were on her, studying and searching, his hand dribbling a basketball with the ease of a natural athlete.

“Hey.”

Lola turned her head away and slammed the folder full of her writing shut, getting to her feet.

“Lola, wait.”

She spun around and glared at him. “Are we suddenly on speaking terms again? I guess I didn’t get the memo.”

Sebastian was close, too close, and she took a step back. Even with the added distance between them, she could smell him. He smelled like toothpaste and deodorant and soap. He smelled familiar, good. Her chest ached and she fought the urge to cry. She missed her friend; she missed him so much.

He looked down at the ball in his large hands. When had his hands gotten so big? And his shoulders bulked out? His cheekbones were more hollowed out, his chin squarer than she remembered. He was a young man now, no longer a boy. Sebastian would be eighteen in less than a month. How had a year physically changed him so much?

Lola thought of how much she had visually metamorphosed in the last year and knew it wasn’t so unimaginable, not really.