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“Sorry!” Eli said, holding his arms up and away from me. “I just wanted to get ya number before you left, that’s all.”
“My number?” I asked, perplexed. “Like, my age?”
Eli laughed. “No, like your digits. You know, ya cell phone.”
“Oh, right.” I shook my head, feeling like an outsider once again. I could watch from my window all I wanted, but I would never belong in this world. “I don’t have one.”
“How do I reach you?” I shrugged at his question, feeling more and more uncomfortable. The longer I talked with Eli, the more likely it was Daddy would wake up and find me missing.
“You don’t.”
“Do you have an email?” Eli pressed.
“No.” We didn’t have many electronics at our house. We had one landline that Daddy kept in his study but no TV, no computer, and not even a digital clock. We had a refrigerator, but we didn’t have a microwave. I had a feeling if this boy took even a glimpse into my house he would run far, far away.
Eli rubbed his chin, nodding at my response. “You’re a unique one, ain’t ya Grace?”
I shrugged again.
&
nbsp; Still rubbing his chin, Eli spoke quickly. “I have an idea. What if we meet back at this exact spot and this exact time tomorrow?”
My eyebrows must have shot behind my head. He wanted to meet me again?
“I don’t… I’m not…” I stuttered. I was rarely able to get out of the house. I wasn’t allowed to leave the house, which meant I had to sneak out. Why would I risk it all to meet this boy?
My chest constricted and my head felt light, but for the first time ever, I felt a sense of freedom. I looked up at Eli, still unsure of what I was doing, and responded.
“Okay.”
I shouldn’t have been so happy. That was my first mistake. My happiness made me forget the time and that made me late. My happiness made me feel like it was okay to be late. Worst of all, my happiness made me forget what all of that meant, what would happen when I got home.
He was waiting for me when I arrived. I knew he would be angry that I’d left. I knew I would get the switch or a belt. I knew that. I did. I may have been twelve, but I wasn’t naive—at least, not about him.
I didn’t leave often, not unless he said I could and when he said I could it’s usually with Mama or him. I’d only left without his permission twice before. Once when I was ten, because I’d heard the Independence Day parade for years and years and I just had to see it.
I had to.
There were fireworks and I could hear the laughter all the way up in my room, four streets away. Four streets away I could hear laughter.
So I left. It was just as amazing as I’d imagined it would be. They had corn dogs and fried green tomatoes and people were getting their faces painted. No one paid attention to me, which was just as well, because I wanted to watch them.
I wished I could say I had a good time, but I didn’t. Despite all the fun around me, I had a horrible time. I was too worried about what he’d think.
When I got back, he beat me, but he didn’t beat me that hard. Still, I learned my lesson, and from then on I listened to the parade from inside my room.
The second time I left it was for Mama. She was sick and wasn’t getting better. Her fever wouldn’t break and he wouldn’t let us call the doctor. I went to a pay phone to dial 911. Mama ended up having appendicitis. Nothing about that was fun. I hated leaving. I hated dialing on the phone. I hated when they took her away and I had to be alone with him. He beat me, of course, but not that hard.
So I think my biggest mistake that time was that I actually enjoyed leaving. He saw it on my face when I came home. Unlike the parade and unlike Mama’s hospitalization, that time when I closed the door against my back, the joy was plastered across my face, ingrained in my skin. The joy was like sunshine in my body.
There was nothing taking that away from me.
But Daddy tried.
The second the dark oak door snapped into place, Daddy grabbed my arm and whipped me into the living room. I cried out in pain, feeling my shoulder snap out of its socket. It wasn’t the first time Daddy had dislocated my shoulder. Later Mama would come with a towel for me to bite down on and she would shove it back into place.
It wasn’t the first time Mama had done that, either. Mama and I had a routine just as much as Daddy and I did.
