I Don't Belong

Do you remember when Ma took us to the barn off of Shady Creek Lane? I played with the calico kittens, their eyes barely open, while you climbed bales of hay. The insides were falling apart, like an old man whose bones were nearly poking through his skin, but Ma didn’t seem to care as she smoked cigarette after cigarette with Dan, the owner.

I thought we had found our escape, the secret lair of our daydreams, until Ma’s yelling pierced through the air. The kitten I was holding wiggled out of my grasp, and I still remember feeling lost as my eyes met yours. Even without saying a word, we knew we’d be snatched up soon and shoved back into the car that reeked of old gas fumes.

Before we could even call the place home, it was ripped away like being woken up from a dream too good to be true.

*

The second barn is where I lose what’s left of my innocence. You told me not to give it up too soon—though who could say if you knew what you were even talking about—but Harry Miller was so nice to me. He was the only guy who didn’t laugh at my thrift-store flannel shirts or the jeans ripped from use instead of for fashion’s sake. As he presses me back against the hay, his lips explore my neck. All I can do is let my eyes trace the beams of the barn’s ceiling because I had no idea what to do with my hands.

When the heat between us begins to build, I nearly gasp at the bright hot pain I feel. My fingernails dig into Harry’s neck, but he’s lost in his own world as a groan slips from his mouth.

When Harry’s body shudders on top of mine, I have yet to see the stars or feel the explosions. I just lay there for what feels like countless moments while Harry catches his breath.

His lips graze my temple. “You okay, babe?”

I decide then that it’s true: romance is dead.

And I have a suspicion that it’s probably not meant for me after all.

*

You know how Ma always disappears? Sometimes I think she just does it to scare us. What if she doesn’t come back? But then, like a cat on the prowl away from home, she’s back at the kitchen table the next morning, a cigarette hanging from her mouth. No words, no explanations, but she’s the adult. She can do whatever she wants—within reason. And within the law. I can bet that at age forty-five she doesn’t want to end up back in a jail cell.

The disappearing acts started when you were in the sixth grade. I think Ma thought that I was old enough to take care of you—or at least watch you well enough where you wouldn’t get electrocuted, kidnapped, or murdered. But I’m here sitting at sixteen and watching you play with Barbie dolls that no longer have any hair. You’re fourteen, you should be out at the mall or something, not in this leaky apartment with your unfortunate sister who can’t even give you dating advice.

You hum to yourself, and I ask, “What’s that song, Bea?”

You stop abruptly, like I’ve just asked you to strip naked. “It’s just something stupid,” you mumble.

“Then why are you humming it?”

“Laney Morris let me listen to her iPod, and this song came up. She said it’s from Japan.”

“Japan.” I can hear the fascination even in my own voice. We don’t have the internet, so the only pictures I’ve seen of Japan have been in history books. “That’s a whole lifetime away from here.”

“I know.” Your voice holds so much longing that I feel it too, raw and ragged in my own chest. “She said the singer’s beautiful.”

“What’s her name?”

“It’s a guy.”

A beautiful boy. I can’t picture someone who has the grace of a woman yet the appeal of a man. All the boys I’ve known are just younger versions of the farmers populating our county. If any of them even sing, it’s with a guitar firmly in hand.

“There’s a whole other world out there, huh,” I say. I don’t sound enthused or enchanted—just flat. Why imagine all these things I’ll never know or experience? There are no princes out there—just Harry Millers who will rock their hips against yours for a few minutes while you wonder what all the fuss is about.

“Yup.” You sound gloomy now, frowning at your Barbies, and I reach out a hand to smooth your brown hair.

“Maybe you’ll see the world for the both of us, Bea,” I say.

The look you give me is uncertain, but at least a small smile dashes across your lips.

*

The barn haunts my dreams. I can almost feel Harry’s weight on top of me again, and I think he’ll suffocate me from how heavy he seems.

But then I’m back to holding a kitten between my tiny hands as I hear Ma’s angry voice cutting through all the haze.

“I told you I don’t want them anymore!”

“You should have thought of that, Donna, before you had the brats!”

I don’t know if you have heard. I can just see the way your eyes widen, your wavy hair catching stray bits of hay.

“Play with the kitties, Bea,” I say, but then Ma is storming in and grabbing me up by the back of my collar.

“We’re leaving!”

I don’t even get to say goodbye to the kittens I had wanted to name.

And when I wake up, it’s like that moment just happened again in real time, a fresh wound to my senses.

*

At school, Harry Miller pretends he doesn’t know who I am.

I try to pretend I never knew who he was either.

Some guys smirk my way in the hallways, and I know they know what happened between Harry and me. The language of high school is universal that way.

I go to my locker between first and second period, only to find a crudely drawn picture of a naked girl placed right on top of my textbooks.

Behind me, two girls giggle. My neck prickles as if I can tell that they’re talking about me.

I slam the locker door shut, the metal clanging, and my fist crumples up the drawing left behind.

*

Now I’m not worried about Ma.

I’m worried about you, Bea.

You hang out with Laney Morris at her house. I pick you up at seven most nights, and you look sullen—like I’m taking you away from the place you really want to be.

Laney has a mom and dad, a little brother, and a dog. At home? You just have me.

You’re only fourteen, and I feel like I’m losing you inch by inch.

I want to say, “Don’t leave me behind,” but how can I?

I want you to have the world.

Take the world, Bea, even if that means you have to give up Ma and me to do it.

I think of the barn, the kittens, and the few minutes I felt like we finally had a home.

I think of Harry Miller and broken expectations and the fleeting desire to feel loved.

I think of you and wonder if you’ll just escape this sorry town when you turn eighteen.

I don’t belong, Bea, but neither do you.