This and That

Belle looked at him with big eyes, seeming to take in the dance like I was. A couple of times she winked at me, almost to say look at him. Isn’t he great? And I thought that he must be great. Because if he was always touching Belle, and keeping the conversation going, and laughing loudly, then he was all the things that a person was supposed to be.

But then I thought that maybe those winks were a desperate reassurance, because my twelve-going-
on-thirteen eyes witnessed some other things, too: Jeremy’s fingers digging into Belle’s right thigh underneath the table. His condensing smile that looked more like a grimace. The way Belle’s eyes flashed to his face after every word, trying to gauge his reaction.

At one point, she reached across the table for some salt, extending her arm. I watched in horror as her sleeve slipped up slightly, revealing a purple bruise near her wrist. It’s vibrancy and color practically jumping off of her naturally vampiric skin. In that instant, my mother shot me the aforementioned not here look. I had to force my mouth closed, a gasp caught uncomfortably in my throat.

And now I knew. I understood. For the first time. School began, and I begrudgingly attended. The few times I snuck away and spent the day in the park, my mom somehow found out and began walking with me to ensure I wasn’t plotting any other escapes.

The two of us never discussed what I saw at the table, though the image was burned into my head. It was the only thing I could really think of. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her thin wrist. I saw him grabbing it forcefully. I saw her crying out in pain. And I couldn’t stop seeing it. Eventually, fall break rolled around. The brightness of summer had dulled and died, and the streets smelled like dampness. What few trees with flourishing leaves Arizona possessed lost their color.

Then the knock on the door came. As before, I rushed downstairs and flew into her arms. She quickly set me down without her familiar chuckle. I saw that her eyes were red and her light smile had been wiped away, replaced by a stony grimace. I looked her up and down, taking in the yellow long-sleeve, ponytail, and jeans she was sporting. She looked the same. Everything was the same. Except it wasn’t, because her eyes weren’t sparkling. My mother had followed down the stairs behind me, and I saw a look of knowingness pass between them. This time, when I quietly followed them into the kitchen, my mother didn’t say anything.
“We’re moving.” Were Belle’s words.
Mother sighed, “Where?”
“Oklahoma.”
A single nod. So few words transpired between them, but the air hung heavily. When Belle closed the door behind her, I saw a single tear slip from my mother’s eye and travel slowly down her cheek like a lonely raindrop.
“Why?” I asked when the silence grew too oppressive. Mother shook her head and left me
alone in the room.

To this day, I don’t think I’ve ever forgiven her for that. I can’t. I see myself, so young, falling onto my knees and sobbing. Not able to reconcile why an injustice so massive, can burden someone so beautiful. I knew she was leaving because of him. Were people getting too close? Was she seeking help? The now familiar feeling of burning questions lodged in my throat encompassed me. I couldn’t do anything. So I cried. My mother never reentered. And I knew it was because she was crying too.

I’m not twelve anymore. But it felt like I was when slants of sunshine planted themselves against the wall of my apartment, too reminiscent of those 1987 June and July mornings. I’m desperate to know what happened to her. I never saw her again. Never saw him, either, thank God. I don’t know what I would have done. I’m scared that I would have done nothing. That I would stand there, looking at him, telling myself that this isn’t the place to talk about that. I look down at the rings. Rings of silver and gold splaying across my knuckles and fingers. I pick up my glass of lemonade, taking a long, satisfactory sip, and allow my tears to fall for her. BACK <<

Written by: Taylor Jones