Blade Silver: Color Me Scarred (16 page)

"Well, have a good night," says Abby finally.

"Yeah. You too."

About five minutes after I hang up the phone, it rings. To my
pleased surprise, it's Glen.

"Abby said you're not grounded anymore."

"Did she call you?"

"Yeah."

"How pathetic is that?" I say. "Did she tell you that I was home
alone on a Friday night?"

"Something like that. But I wasn't really wanting to go to the
lake party either. I thought maybe we could hang together. That is,
unless you'd rather stay home alone and wash your hair or watch
reruns or something."

I laugh. "No, I'd love to hang with you. I need to go out to
celebrate my new freedom."

So it's settled. He will pick me up in twenty minutes, just enough
time for me to do a little primping and to change my clothes. I see
my mom, the green phantom, slipping down the hallway as I come
from the bathroom, and I'm tempted to say something to her. But
just like that she's gone. The bedroom door closes silently.

Then Glen is here and we're off to see what kind of fun we can
dig up on a Friday night. The town feels full of life as Glen drives
down Main Street. It's balmy and warm, and for the first time in a
long time, I'm feeling really alive and hopeful.

"I think things are changing," I say to Glen. "I got a job and my
dad's acting nicer, and I think maybe it's going to get better."

He smiles, but I can see a trace of concern in his smile. "I sure
hope so, Ruth. For your sake."

We finally decide to go to a movie and get there just as it's beginning. As a result we have to sit in the front row, and because it's an
action adventure flick, I start to feel like I'm actually participating
in the film. But it's a good distraction. Otherwise I'm sure I would
be obsessing about tomorrow. I have no idea which way this thing
is headed. I'm not even sure which way I want it to go. Finally the
movie is over and we're back outside.

"That was pretty good," I tell him as we walk back to his car.
"Thanks! "

"Sorry about the seats," he says.

I just laugh. "Hey, it added to the excitement."

We go out for coffee again, just like we did on our first date, and
I'm really tempted to tell Glen all about Ms. Blanchard's plan for me.
But that would mean revealing my little problem. And I'm not ready
for that. In fact, I'm not sure I will ever be ready for that. Besides,
I'm telling myself, I think I'm over it now. I think I've got the upper
hand in this. I honestly don't think I'll ever need to cut again. Why
should I, if life keeps going like this? I'm not grounded. My dad will
respect me because I have a job and am contributing. And there's
Glen. How much better can things get?

Even so, I tell Glen that I should get home by eleven. And just as
I say this, it occurs to me that I totally forgot to write my dad a note.
Oh, crap! I feel like someone just dumped a bucket of ice water over
my head. If Dad gets home before me, I will be in serious trouble.

"What's wrong?" asks Glen as we walk outside.

"Oh, nothing."

He reaches for my hand. "Come on, Ruth. I know something's
wrong. You've got the worst look on your face. What's up? Did I say
something-"

"No. It's not you." I turn and look at him. His face, lit by the
overhead streetlight, shows his concern. "You're great, Glen. It's
really nothing you did. I just realized that I forgot to leave my dad a
note before I left. So I'm just hoping he's not home yet." I take in a
deep breath. "Chances are, he isn't. I mean it's a Friday. He's probably
at The Dark Horse, putting away another beer even as we speak."

Glen nods then moves his face closer to mine. "Yeah, I bet that's
what he's doing." And then, right there on the sidewalk, he leans
down and kisses me. I'm so surprised and amazed. It's like the sweetest, best feeling I can imagine. Then I kiss him back. And we kiss for a few seconds. And, man, it is so good.

He stops suddenly. "Just in case, Ruth, I should get you home
right away. I mean, I don't want you getting grounded again after
just one night of freedom."

But it's funny. After kissing Glen, I don't feel nearly so worried
about my dad. I have no idea why this is, but even when I sec my
dad's pickup in the driveway, I don't totally freak.

"Hope it goes okay," says Glen. "You probably don't want me to
walk you to the door, right?"

"Yeah. That'd probably be better. Thanks for everything. It was
great."

"See ya," he calls as I get out.

Now I'm heading up the walk toward our house, telling myself
to just chill. Everything's going to be fine. I've got a job and Dad was
in a good mood tonight. Things are changing. Also, the lights are
on. That's a good sign. But as soon as I'm inside, I know that I'm in
for it.

"Where have you been?" he booms at me before I can even close
the door.

"I'm sorry. I totally forgot to leave a note. It's just that Glen called
and-"

"I can't believe you, Ruth! You're barely out of trouble and the
next thing I know you're running out of here half-cocked and you
screw up all over again. What is wrong with you?"

"I'm sorry, 1 just-"

"I don't want your worthless apology, Ruth! I want you to obey
my rules. I want you to respect me. I want you to use your head!
Things have got to change around here! I'm sick and tired of the
crap I get from you kids, from your mom. This whole family makes
me want to..."

But I'm tuning it out now. As best I can anyway. The words are
so familiar that I know them by heart. The rhythm, the beat of his
speech. I think I could do it in my sleep. Then he uses the word that
cuts deep. He calls me "half-breed" a few times, and he probably
sees me flinch and consequently thinks he's gotten my attention.

"I don't know why I even try," he's saying now. "You guys are all
just a bunch of losers." Now he leans down and looks at me, and to
my surprise he seems almost sad. "I was starting to have some hope
for you, Ruth. I thought getting a job would help you to grow up
and take on some more grown-up responsibilities. But you just keep
letting me down. Again and again. I guess that's all I should expect
from a half-breed." Then he turns and walks away. And it's weird,
I think I would prefer being yelled at. This other thing, a guilt trip
or whatever you want to call it, actually hurts even more than just
plain yelling and swearing.

And as I go to the bathroom, I'm thinking he's probably right. I
probably am a loser. I mean look at me. Here I am hiding out in the
bathroom, sneaking out my precious razor blade, and slicing into
my own flesh. What kind of a freak really lives like this?

AI `T ER I'M DONE, AFTER I'VE BANDAGED MY ARM, AFTER I'VE EXPERIENCED A
brief form of relief, I am sorry. Not so much for the actual cut. I'm
used to that. But I'm sorry that I couldn't control myself, couldn't
keep myself from doing what I didn't want to do. I'd been telling myself all day that I don't really need help, that I can stop this
thing myself. And then, during my date with Glen, I was actually
convinced that I didn't need to go to some stupid clinic for cutters.
I was ready to tell Ms. Blanchard, "Thanks, but no thanks. I can
handle this myself." Now I'm not so sure.

It doesn't help anything to know what I'll be losing if I do decide
to go. First of all, there's Glen. It's like that relationship I really, really
want is just starting to happen. And now I have to go off and leave
him for a whole month? During the summertime? There's no way
he'll wait that long for me. Especially when he finds out why I'm
gone. And how do I keep that a secret? I'm sure Abby will figure it
out. Abby. I'll miss her too. Our friendship is already in a rocky place.
When she finds out that I never really quit cutting, what then?

Then there's the job. Not that I want it. I really hate the idea of
working in the tire store, being under my dad's ever-watchful eye.
But I wouldn't have minded earning some money, taking some of
the stress off my family.

And what about Caleb and my mom? What will happen to
them? All these worries pile up on me like a bunch of heavy stones
until it seems I can barely breathe. Until I feel certain that I must
stay home. How can I possibly leave?

Even so, I follow Ms. Blanchard's instructions and pack a
bag-just in case. And then I go to bed and try to sleep, but I think
it's about three in the morning before I actually do.

When I wake up, it's almost ten thirty. I'm glad my dad's not
around to see how late I slept. I can just hear him saying that I'm a
lazy, good-for-nothing half-breed as I crawl out of bed and head for
the bathroom. It's amazing really, the way his words echo inside of
me even when he's not around.

I shower and dress and go through the paces of my chores without really thinking. I feel like a robot, like my dad has programmed
me and this is the only way I can actually operate. I remind myself of
how stupid I am when I take the trash out to the garage. Our can is
packed full, and I've had to put the additional trash in a plastic bag
that keeps falling over and spilling. I don't know how many times
I've picked up bits and pieces of garbage from the garage floor. All
this because I forgot to put the can on the street last week. I really
am pathetic!

Even so, I manage to have all my chores done by one o'clock.
Knowing my dad will be home any minute, I go to my room and
just wait. I don't want to have to talk to him before Ms. Blanchard
arrives.

It's weird, but I'm actually getting worried that she might not
come at all. I'm thinking that maybe I got my facts wrong, that
maybe I even imagined this whole thing. And the possibility that
I really do want her to come is downright freaky. Maybe I really do
want to get out of here. Then I consider my mom. If I really am leav ing, maybe I should go tell her good-bye. Or would that just upset
her? Or would she even care?

So I tiptoe down the hallway, knock on her door, wait a few
seconds, and then go in. As usual, she's in her green bathrobe, sitting
in her rocker, bright afghan in her lap, vacant look across her face.

"Mom?" I move closer, unsure whether she even knows I'm in
here. Then she looks up and almost smiles. Or maybe its her eyes
that are almost smiling, because her mouth is a straight line. Or
maybe it's just a glimmer of recognition, like she really does remember me after all.

"I just wanted to talk to you," I tell her.

To my surprise she reaches out and takes my hand. This gesture
alone almost makes me cry. Almost. But she doesn't say anything.

' 1 just wanted to tell you I love you," I say in a slightly shaky
voice. "And no matter what happens, I will always love you. And I
hope you get better soon. I hope we all get better soon."

She sort of nods now. And her eyes are shiny, like she's about to
cry too. But she doesn't. Neither of us shed a single tear. We just sit
there until I hear a door opening in the house, followed by heavy
footsteps that belong to my dad. I can tell by her eyes that she hears
them too.

Then I lean down and hug her and quickly leave. Slipping back
into my room, I hole up there and listen to my dad moving through
the kitchen. I know exactly what he's doing. He goes through the
mail, sets the newspaper aside, then checks to see if I've done my
chores, including whether I've made him some lunch. Fortunately I
have. It's just another tuna-fish sandwich, but I'm sure he'll eat it.

I hear the squeak of the kitchen chair as he settles down with his
lunch and newspaper. And I wonder if Ms. Blanchard has contacted
him like she said she would. I wonder if she is coming at all.

Despite my longing to stay here and make myself stop cutting
and keep dating Glen and everything, I am suddenly sure I will fall
completely apart if Ms. Blanchard does not show. I'm hanging onto
this last tiny thread, and if it breaks ... well, I just don't know.

I hear the doorbell. I get up and open my bedroom door just
slightly, enough so that I can hear who is there. I can tell by the
sweet ringing voice that it is Ms. Blanchard. And I can tell that Dad
is taking her into the living room and she is doing most of the talking. I can't quite discern the words, but I know she's explaining
something. And then 1 hear my dad calling me. "Ruth!" he yells for
the second time. "Come out here."

Feeling like a trapped mouse, I go out and stand in the doorway
between the hall and the living room.

"Hi, Ruth," says Ms. Blanchard with a smile. She is wearing a
soft yellow shirt and white pants with coordinating accessories. Her
purse and shoes match.

"What's this she's saying about you, Ruth?" asks my dad, using
his controlled voice as if he were talking to an irate customer. "Ms.
Blanchard says that she's taking you somewhere, that you have a
problem. What's this about, Ruth?"

I look at Ms. Blanchard, hoping she'll handle this, give me some
kind of clue, or better yet, just take over.