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|| 1 || Liv-Andria
It hasn’t been a good day.
Then again, when was the last time I had a solidly good day? When was the last time I felt rested or prepared for what lay ahead? When was the last time I didn’t feel stretched thin or worried about something?
Years ago.
That time took forever to get to, and it didn’t last very long.
My world from birth to age fifteen was…dark. Painful. At my first opportunity, I started sleeping on friends’ couches rather than at home and, thankfully, I never really had to return to my mother’s house after I tasted that freedom. I officially got a life of my own when I graduated high school, and I remember the way it felt: like I’d drawn my very first real breath.
I finally only had myself to worry about, and I could make sure I’d end up okay. There was a lot from my childhood that I hadn’t dealt with yet, but my future was wide open; I had all the room to breathe that I could ask for.
I’d never been happy to be alive until then.
And although I’m still happy to be alive, breathing in that open air is going a little more slowly than I planned on, because I’m no longer on my own. My older sister’s kid became my responsibility when I was nineteen. Since then, I haven’t had to feed, clothe, shelter, and care for only myself—since then, someone much more fragile and important than me has been around.
So, yeah, I’m back to having a lot going on in my life.
That being said, if given the chance, I absolutely would not trade this life for a different one.
Why? Because Rae Elizabeth is the most precious thing in this universe. She’s a happy angel of a child, and she owns my heart. Raising her isn’t something I thought I’d end up doing—and, boy, can it get difficult—but it has become clear to me that it’s the path I belong on.
And, actually, now that I’m recalling the sort of stuff I grew up around, it’s dumb of me to say today was a bad day. It was inconvenient and stressful, but bad? No. Didn’t even approach it.
I’m shaking my head at myself when I hear the sound of delicate feet treading on carpet. Rae shuffles into sight through the bathroom doorway, and I feel new stupidity for grumbling about my day. In our little world, all days should be considered pretty good ones not just because of what I can personally compare them to, but also because my young niece is no longer living a sad and shitty life either. She’s safe and loved now; I’ve given her a better, happier home than she had before. And I’m going to continue doing it for as long as I live.
Indeed, the past five years of her life have been happier than the entire first half of mine, and that’s something to be thankful for.
We’re currently getting ready for bed. Her little white hair bow is barely clinging to her blonde ponytail, which has been made silly by what I’m sure was an impatient removal of the shirt she wore today. She’s crazy about her new pajamas and I know she’s been itching to put them on. The pink, princess-y things were on clearance earlier at Wal-Mart, and she fell so in love with them that I splurged and got them. She held them for the rest of the shopping trip, including on the way home, because she didn’t want the groceries to get on them (I don’t really know what she meant by that since almost everything was packaged up, but I went with it).
I notice the sparkly buttons on the shirt are giving her trouble—thanks to my sister’s use of drugs while pregnant, a few of Rae’s fingers and toes aren’t fully formed. It makes a lot of things challenging for her, but she never gives up trying until she’s sure she needs help.
This time is no different, so while I floss, I lean against the bathroom counter and watch the tiny seven-year-old fumble with a button. I have faith that she can handle it, and I can see she does, too. She’s sweet and sensitive and skinny and short for her age, but she’s also stubborn when she needs to be.
She really is my favorite person.
In some ways, she’s my role model. Isn’t that wild? Me, twenty-four years old, looking up to a child.
“I almost have it, Annie,” she says sleepily in her little voice, knowing I’m watching her. “I can do it. I really know…” she squints her blue eyes, “…I really know I can.”
“Yes, you can,” I agree with a nod. “What do I always tell you?”
“Um….” She’s concentrating hard on her task. “To believe in myself no matter what?”
“Yep.”
The button slips out of her small, awkward fingers. Her shoulders lift and drop in a sigh, but she keeps trying.
“You’re doing great,” I tell her.
She mumbles, “It’s hard,” and rubs at one eye with one shoulder.
I think of both this moment and life in general, and I murmur, “I know.”
It’s all I can tell her. No need to insist on doing the buttons for her, since I know how determined she is andsheknows I’ll be here if she does need help. And no need to keep trying to inspire her, since she’s insightful all on her own. She understands things I’ve honestly never seen other kids grasp.
Deciding to leave her be for a minute, I turn to the mirror and reach for my comb. I take my own ponytail down, causing strawberry blonde hair to tumble over my shoulders and down my back. I comb through the tangles and silently curse the Texas weather for making me sweat as much as I did today. Dried sweat in long hair is just awful.
