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What prettiness? I wondered. I saw myself as plain. Plain dark hair, not the silver blonde hair that my brother had. Freckles on my nose. Not the perfect, tanned skin Ty had like Mom. My eyes were probably my best feature, but I was blind as a bat. I wore glasses because I couldn’t stand to stick anything in my eye including the contact lenses that we had purchased this year. I sighed. Plain Abs, that was me. I had been called far worse.
“Let’s get you on the bed,” Belinda said guiding me out of the wheelchair and onto the uncomfortable gurney with a hard mattress she called a bed. Then she covered me and brushed my hair back from my face. “The doc will be in soon to talk about the x-rays and stitch up that chin.”
She turned and left me with my parents and my brother. Alone and awkward. Mom sat by Ty and Dad squeezed into a small chair by me. He took my hand again and smiled at me.
Daddy’s girl, that’s what he used to call me when I was seven maybe eight. Not since I was ten. Tears gathered in my eyes when I thought about that time. I wanted to be Daddy’s girl again.
I turned away because I didn’t want to cry. Not in front of everyone. “Tyson, I was surprised I didn’t see you in the office when I picked up your sister,” Dad said.
I glanced at him, horrified that he might reveal what I had told him. Ty grunted at him.
Mom looked at Ty and then at Dad, but Dad was looking at me. “Ty, where were you?” Mom asked. “I got Dad’s voicemail after my tennis lesson and picked you up after football practice. You didn’t say anything about not being with Abby when she hurt herself.”
“I was in the gym. Cal had it under control,” he said without
looking away from his phone.
“Put your phone away,” Dad told him with a sternness that indicated he was not happy.
I was getting uncomfortable. Things weren’t good between me and Ty. I didn’t need for them to make it worse. My brother sighed and slipped his phone into his jeans pocket. He stretched out his long legs and crossed his arms over his chest. He refused to look at anyone.
“Ty, I asked you a question.” Mom was looking at him too.
“I was in class,” he replied.
Mom gazed at dad. She knew something was up. “Same class,” Dad replied. Her head turned slowly.
“Who is Cal?” Mom asked.
“A guy in our gym class,” he replied.
Mom turned back to me and tucked a perfect blonde curl behind her ear. She crossed one long, tanned leg over the other. She didn’t look forty-two. She looked about thirty-two. She prided herself on taking care of her face and body. Her bathroom counter contained expensive creams and oils for keeping her looking young.
“Who is Cal?” She asked me, not satisfied with Tyson’s response.
My head pounded from the pain in my chin. I really didn’t want to explain anything right now. “He plays football.” I saw her eyes light up. I knew that would make her happy. Cal wasn’t part of any book or chess club. No debate clubs for Cal. “He’s in my English, History and last period gym. We were running side by side when I tripped on my shoestring.”
Ty snorted at that.
Mom elbowed him in the ribs.
He grunted but remained mute.
Tears began to roll down my cheeks because all I could see in my head was Tyson’s feet as he ran by me time after time as I bled on the gym floor.
“Ty, why?” I asked.
His eyes slowly turned to me. He was frowning. He wasn’t moved by my tears as he once would have been. He looked away. “Why what?” He sounded frustrated, almost aggravated with me or annoyed that I was bringing this up now.
“Why did you just run by me like you didn’t know me or you didn’t care?” I asked. Then, I hated myself because his eyes turned to Mom. We both could see the look of horror that had crossed her face.
“Tyson Andrew Gardener, is that what you did?” She asked. I don’t think Ty had ever disappointed our mother until that moment. She didn’t realize that she had disappointed me over and over too.
He got out of his chair and walked to the door. “So, what if I did,” Ty responded. “I’ll be in the waiting area.”
My brother walked out the door leaving me with our parents and my tears. Dad stood and leaned over the bed. He kissed my forehead. Honestly, I don’t know when Dad had kissed me last either. Not like this. A tender moment shared between father and daughter. How had we lost our connection?
Was it my fault?
