Seeds of Hate (13 page)

"We should go. It's getting late," he said.

I stood up and followed behind him, stopping at the trash can.

"Are you going to tell me where he lives?" I asked.

"Let me think it over as you drive me home," he replied.

I reached in and grabbed the letter, folding it twice before placing it in my pocket and exiting.

"One man’s trash, another man’s treasure," I said as I patted him on the shoulder.

"He won't be happy you've seen that. You sure you want to keep it?"

"Nathan left it on my car," I replied, my voice quiet and staggering, unsure if I was overstepping a double-yellow line.

Izzy turned and locked the four deadbolts behind us, checking them twice before nodding and walking to my car. We both got in and I drove him home, following his one-worded directions. When I pulled up to his house, he got out and shut the door. Before walking away, he tapped his knuckles against the glass. I rolled down the window and he handed me a scrap of paper.

"Be careful," he said and then was gone.

Chapter 17

A Gift

(Javier)

I didn't run home after I lost my shoes. Instead, I ran to the swings. My heart needed to be calmed, and my mind needed direction. A few kids speckled the park, enjoying an afternoon snack before their mothers would take them home and prepare dinner. Their fathers would arrive five minutes before the oven bell dinged and everyone would take their place. The way of the normal always seemed so easy.

As I entered, the gate creaked open and slammed back into the fence, rattling the peaceful atmosphere. Yes, I'm here.
Again
. Don't judge me. The kids looked away, and the parents whispered amongst themselves. No doubt speculating about the drugs in my system or the lack of involved parenting.

"Don't worry," I whispered into the air, my words directed at them, but my eyes capturing the swings. "I'm safe. There has never been drugs. But you're right about the latter. There has never been parenting either."

I rested on the first open seat and breathed in and out, my fingers knotting themselves into the metal links. The sun sat low in the sky, but its entire circular edge was accounted for. My mother would be expecting me soon, but as I looked down at my bare feet I couldn't acknowledge her face. Disappointment had plagued my childhood, not her in me, but me in her. I thought I would feel vindication or some sort of repayment allowance when I returned the favor, but I just felt more disappointment. In myself and in knowing that I wasn't better than she had raised me. Instead I was exactly what I was expected to be.

My toes dug into the sand and pushed back, sending me slow and steady into the air. My freedom. My strength. My peace. Every good memory of my childhood could be found on a swing with my mother or with Nathan. The only two constants in life.

I pumped my legs back and forth, picking up speed and letting go, but still holding on. My eyes closed and I took no account of the time. As my hands grew tired, the air became cold and the sun no longer a circle. I stopped pumping my legs and let the swing come to a rest on its own. I felt better.

The streets were busy with cars as I exited the park and headed home. My feet twitched against the pavement as I turned the corner and looked ahead into my window. I saw lights, but no movement. Gio's place was dark, but that meant nothing. He would be home.

I began to make my way up the stairs, but stopped on the third step when I heard my name.

"Javier?" she said.

I wanted to just walk away and leave her there, but my reason for going home was sitting next to her. I headed toward Gio and stopped right in front of him. His head hung between his shoulders and he wouldn't make eye contact. I kneeled down and squeezed his hand. His eyes looked up at me, but his head stayed in place.

"How did you know?" I asked him.

He shrugged, a small smile pulling at the side of his face.

"Gio ... how did you know she was safe?"

He looked up at Selah and pointed to the box in her hands. She handed it over to Gio and he opened the lid—inside sat a pair of black shoes with white laces. His face ignited with light and he gave Selah a thumbs up.

I turned to Selah, my voice stern and my face emotionless. "How did you know my size?" I asked.

Selah and Gio burst into laughter. A repetitive stream of giggles and cries that made no sense.

"I'm sorry, we're not laughing at you," she said, wiping the tears from her eyes. "It's just that when I got here—" As she attempted to explain herself, Gio cupped his hand and covered her mouth. His head shook from side to side as he cut off her words. He waited a moment before pulling his hand back, but then pressed a single finger against her lips.

"Okay, I won't tell him," she replied.

I looked at Gio then back at Selah, my mind lost in their transaction. Gio handed me the box and then grabbed Selah's hand, leaving the bench and heading toward the apartment.

They stood outside my front door, waiting for me. Gio waved me up as he bounced on the tips of his feet. My hand rubbed across my eyes and I scratched the back of my neck as I walked up the stairs and pulled out my key.

"I can leave if you don't want me here. I just wanted to drop off the shoes. I felt responsible," said Selah. But Gio wouldn't let go of her hand, and he moved to stand in front of her. She laughed in response, but her eyes fell to the floor as she waited for me to open the door.

"Responsible? Responsible for what?" I asked. Gio coughed and then pulled on my shirt sleeve.

"What?"

He lifted his right leg and stepped on my bare foot.

"She thinks she's responsible for losing my shoes?" Gio was shaking his head before I finished asking. As I pushed the door open, Selah walked in and hovered before following Gio to the couch. He ran and plopped down without hesitation. She took a seat, slow and gentle, and then crossed her legs at the ankles.

"Did you change clothes?" I asked.

Selah and Gio both looked up at me and then to each other. Her neck heated with splotches as she turned.

"It appears so," she said, while pulling the hem down further trying to cover her knees.

I set the shoes down on the coffee table before heading to the kitchen. I pulled out the food my mother had prepared and several plates. The drawer with the silverware slammed shut as I peeked around the corner. They were whispering together.

"Anything you want to share?" I asked.

Gio continued snickering, but Selah stopped. Leaning back against the couch, she folded her arms across her chest and stared out the window. Neither responded.

I finished throwing together dinner and then sat down at the table.

"Food's ready."

My fork hit my mouth before they filled the other seats. I ate to keep from talking, and since I only had to fear words from Selah I figured the meal would fill with silence.

Fork. Plate. Scrap.

This continued for several minutes until our plates were empty. I couldn't decide what to do next. Gio made the decision for me when he got up, cleared the table and started the dishes.

I pushed my chair back and stood. "What are you doing?"

He kept washing without looking at me.

Selah picked up her plate and followed.

And I sat and watched. The temperature of the room shifted as anger built up inside me. I didn't even know why. Washing dishes wasn't harming me, if anything it was helpful. They worked together as a team, their movements and interaction rhythmic.

I left the table, my chair slamming against the wall and moved to the living room. The water continued to run and the sound of cabinet doors opening and closing grated against my ears. I fingered the loose thread on the armrest of the couch and sat in silence.

My right fist clenched and I pushed the box of shoes away with my knuckles. I wanted to throw them out the window. Drop them in the toilet. Push them down the garbage disposal.

When the water stopped, I placed my fist on top of my thigh. My eyes stared at the broken skin still healing. Gio walked out first and headed straight to the door.

"You'll talk to her, but you won't talk to me?" The words flew from my mouth and hit Gio between the shoulder blades. Him not talking wasn't about me. I knew that.

Gio let his hand drop from the doorknob and turned around, his eyes focusing on the dingy carpet. He moved forward, his pace slow, but persistent. Kneeling down next to the coffee table, he pulled the box of shoes toward him and removed the lid. Gio reached in and grabbed both shoes. He started lacing one and then moved on to the other.

I was aware of Selah watching from the corner. She stood with her mouth ajar and eyes curious, not wanting to watch, but not wanting to leave.

When Gio was done he took the shoes and scooted across the carpet on his knees. He stopped at my feet and then breathed in—swallowing the air as if it were a large, black, jagged rock. He pulled the tongue of the shoe open and loosened the first laces, and then he grabbed each of my feet and placed them inside the proper shoe.

The moisture in my mouth and down my throat ran away. It took residence in my eyes and on my palms.

What is he trying to tell me?

Gio stopped before lacing the shoes and then turned to Selah. He held her gaze for a moment then returned his eyes to me. His mouth never opened, but his eyes pleaded with me to understand. To accept. To acknowledge what he was asking without saying. I peeled my tongue away from the roof of my mouth, but didn't reply.

He grabbed the tips of the laces with his hand and then let them fall between his fingers. Without another look, he stood, grabbed the empty box and handed it to Selah. He paused for a moment at the door and then left.

The room was silent, but my heart pounded against its walls. I peeked at Selah from the corner of my eye and she stood staring at the empty box. Could she hear it? My heart?

Her hand flinched before moving into her coat pocket and pulling out a folded note. She opened the box and placed the note inside. Lifting her eyes, she looked at me as her lips pulled to the side—half smile, half concern.

I let out a breath, leaned back against the couch and closed my eyes. I didn't know what to say or do. I didn't know who she was or why she was here. What she wanted. What she needed. My eyes flicked open as I felt tugging against my feet.

She stood kneeling in front of me like Gio, tying my laces.

"You said it was your fault?" I asked. Selah paused at my voice, but continued tying.

"It was. You were fine until I touched you."

"You touched me?" I asked.

She stopped tying, pulled extra hard on the final bow and then looked up, her hands resting on her legs.

"There was a piece of the note sticking out of your collar. I removed it." Her eyes moved to the box on the table. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault. I don't ... I don't..." I closed my eyes again, feeling her fingers graze the back of my neck as she removed the paper earlier. A tingling sensation void of fear ran along my spine as I saw her hands instead of Nathan's.

"I don't like being touched. It's not you. It wasn't your fault."

Selah let out a long sigh and ended it with a chuckle. "It's funny how unhappy people always want something different."

"I don't understand," I replied. I wasn't unhappy.

"Never mind." She waved her hand in the air, brushing away her words like white-out on a page. "It's getting late. I should go." Selah stood and ran her fingers down the sides of her dress. Her skin was light—pale in comparison to mine and with no visible scars.

She walked away, opened the door and left.

I sat on the couch staring at the box before moving. My feet began to ache as I looked down at the laces. And then finally I whispered two words to an empty room.

"Thank you."

Then I grabbed the box and opened the lid. The letter had been taped together and folded several times. I knew what it was and what it said without reading it.

I wondered how long it would take ... before she started asking questions.

Chapter 18

The Next Day

(Selah)

There were only two cars in the lot when I arrived. I had this idea that if I got to the brick wall before Izzy and Javier, sitting with me would then be a choice. A choice I wanted them to make.

Last night, I repeated my actions over and over again, convincing myself they would both hate me. I sat against the brick wall, pulled out my books and studied.

The birds chirped in the trees—a harsh melody I found more annoying than peaceful. I tapped my toes together and bit the eraser off the edge of my pencil. If they didn't sit next to me I would be okay. Life would be okay. I still had a roof over my head and a place to sleep at night. Friends were a luxury I had learned to live without. I could adjust again.

I just didn't want to.

When I went to bed last night, there was a new letter waiting for me on my pillow. I hadn't read it and sometimes it took me days or even weeks before I could. For now, it would sit in my pocket, pulling at the threads, and weighing me down.