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“Lets go load up on some kindling then.” Jumping to his feet, Sawyer is racing into the trees to find as many sticks as he can. Trailing behind him, I do my best to stop looking for trouble when there is none. It can’t seem to leave the family alone lately though. It seems to be one thing after another and I’d rather be over prepared than under. Especially when Sawyer’s in my care.
“This enough?” He turns to me with a bundle of sticks and twigs in his arms.
“Should be.” I nod. “Don’t run with those!” I caution when he jets back to our site. Sawyer’s story is a sad one. The growth in his confidence and his strength is something he must get from his mom. Because for damn sure, no man, could have the resilience that Noelle does.
“Now what?” Dropping his load next to the fire pit, he awaits my instruction.
“Place them inside like a teepee with plenty of room in the middle, then bunch up some paper, put it in the middle anda few places around the base. I’m going to chop the wood.” Nodding he begins his task while I grab the axe I brought and the wood we bought when we arrived from the back of my truck.
Finding a spot, a safe distance away from where Sawyer is working with deep concentration, I get set up and take off my sweater. It’s been a while since I chopped wood. I forgot the sweat it worked up from the exertion. Keeping an eye on the kid, I take a swing and the block splits in half.
“Wow!” I hear Sawyer’s voice and look up to see him sitting back in his chair, now watching me. Covering his mouth with a hand, he points behind me, where the road is and I groan, already knowing what I’ll see.
A couple of women are walking their dogs past our site and stopped to watch the show I didn’t mean to put on when I took off my sweater. “Ladies.” Nodding my head, I turn back around and continue chopping. Sawyer is on the ground rolling with laughter by the time I’ve finished and as I’m bringing the wood over to the pit, I see more women have gathered around.
“I feel dirty.” I mutter to the kid while he continues laughing before I grab the back of his coat and haul him to his feet. “Go get the wood you shit.”
“Ohhhh Mom’s going to be mad you swore.” Running before I can grab him again, I know he’s right. Noelle hates when we swear in front of him. I try my best, really, I do. But I’ve spent my life using the wordfuckas a replacement for almost every word in the dictionary.
Reaching for my shirt, I’m about to put it on when one of the women catches my attention. Rail thin, paler than a white cloud, bright blue eyes, dull brown hair, wearing oversized clothes, she doesn’t seem to realize when the group of women she was with has begun walking away, and they don’t bother calling for her.
Intrigued, I glance from her to her group and back again, but she seems to be transfixed on me. Saying something to me withher eyes but I haven’t a fucking clue what. When she finally jerks back to reality, I’m fucking livid that it’s because her wrists are bound with a rope being tugged by one of the older women.
“Uncle Nolan it’s ready! I have the lighter!” Sawyer’s comment has me turning from the woman to make sure he’s not trying to light the fire on his own and rushing to his side. By the time I look back to where she was, she’s gone.
Bea
“God, Bea, you’re such a drag.” My step-sister, Amarie laughs with her sister, Elsa, and my step-mother, Flora. The tug on the rope is a reminder that I can’t be left alone.
Sometimes, I wander, or forget what I’m doing. Where I’m going. Who I’m with. Sometimes even, I forget who I am.
“Sorry.” I mumble too low for them to even hear what I’m saying. My father rented one of the lake houses at Bliss Lodge and Camping for the summer.
An entire summer in unfamiliar territory means my step-mother and sisters get to find all new ways to torture me. I don’t say anything to my father because it would upset him and he’d only worry more. And because of his indiscretions with my mother, he can’t leave Flora.
I was an accident. Never meant to happen. Daddy had an affair with the woman who gave birth to me. A woman who was so addicted to drugs that she disappeared during her entire pregnancy, high as a kite, and ensured I would have brain damage for the rest of my life.
Nobody knew I existed until she died a day after giving birth to me from an overdose. She got in one last parting shot though.
Naming me Bean Plant Daley.
Life has been grand.
On more than one occasion I’ve been tempted to end my life. Just check out and never feel this emptiness again. The trouble is, I can’t. I know it would hurt daddy. Despite his flaws, he does love me. He favors me over Amarie and Elsa, and they use that as a reason to torment me. Flora has never liked me. I’m the bane to her existence.
“He was so hot. Did you see the way his muscles flexed while he was cutting that wood?” Amarie cackles to Elsa. They’re obsessed with sleeping around. Always wanting something, someone new to throw in the others face.
“Please, he had eyes for me.” Another tug on the rope as I continue to look back, hoping he’ll follow. But I know he won’t, he has a little boy. Rightfully so, he wouldn’t risk the child to follow some woman just because I felt a spark when he caught my eye.
The way he looked at me, I felt seen, for the first time in my life, I felt like someone saw past the drab girl I am and through to the lonely soul begging for mercy.
As we approach the lake house on the other side of the campsite’s, the rope is dropped and I’m free to wander the property. “For the love of god, Bea, don’t get lost. I’m not sending out another search party for you.” Flora snaps as I head towards the large swing in the sand by the water.
Nodding at her, I keep my head down, quickly getting lost in my own thoughts as I remove the rope from my wrists, until I’m stepping into the cool lake. The sudden change shocks me out of my head and I look up before turning to see where I am and trying to reorient myself.
“The swing.” I whisper. Pulling out the small notebook and pen I keep in my jacket pocket, I begin scribbling down little notes about what I remember seeing.
My therapist says that should help. She’s been saying it for years. But Dr. Kate is wrong. It’s never helped and when I finally confessed that to her last week, she asked why.
Stress immediately engulfed me, and I forgot who I was, why I was there. She’s heard about the episodes for years but until then she’d never seen one before. Her shock would have shocked me but the temporary amnesia makes me afraid.
Transient Global Amnesia is what I was diagnosed with when I was five. It would have been sooner but because of my developmental and speech delays, I wasn’t talking until then. I couldn’t explain to anyone that I forgot who they were and where I was. The more stressed I become, the more often the TGA happens too.
Which is far more frequently than I would like. I know Flora has been nagging my father for years to have me institutionalized, for some reason he hasn’t done it yet. I’m not sure if he feels guilt for my condition or he thinks I’ll grow out of it and finally be normal. Dr. Kate says neither will happen.
Glancing down at my notebook, I begin to draw instead of taking notes. Before long I’ve drawn the man and his son in their campsite. Smiling at the little picture, I wonder what they’re doing now.
