Her Youth

(3) Summer heat

We put fliers up around the neighborhood. I called the local shelters to see if anyone was asking for a dog. I even logged back in to my Facebook account to ask a couple community lost-and-found pet groups. 

A day goes by, then three more, than whole week. Still nothing. One week becomes two, and next thing you know, I go from referring to it as "a dog," to "the dog," and finally, to Bonnie. As much as I hate to admit it, it's a pretty damn good name for a dog. 

It took two weeks to go back on my word. Two weeks! But with the way mom reacted to her staying here, the way she warmed up to the idea of having a pet...and it was another reason for her to get up in the morning. Lord knows she needed as many as she could get. 

~

I always knew when those "sad days" were coming. I don't know how, I just always had an inkling a couple days or weeks before they happened. Guess growing up with the unpredictable gave me the sixth sense to predict it. 

It was nearing the end of June; the days were getting longer, and the swamp cooler was working on overdrive to keep up with the never-ending heat. Everything was hot, and it made everyone miserable. Playgrounds were abandoned for fear skin marks and sun burns. Every place to play some sort of sport outside was left alone till the evening. Anything metal—handle bars left in the sun, seatbelt buckles—must not be touched, lest you feel the wrath of the summer. It was considered an extreme sport to pretty much do anything in the heat of the day. 

Still, small spaces like mobile homes were not ideal for staying cool, so we had to get out some way or another. So, that's exactly what we did. 

My brown skin protected me enough for a short walk down the street. Jason's tan complexion meant he burned if he was out too long. But Jude? Boy, that kid looked pale as chalk in the daylight.

Okay, so maybe that was an exaggeration, but you get the point. He needed sunscreen slathered everywhere for a short walk across town. 

"Evie!" he squirmed, trying to escape the worst of it. Could I blame him for not wanting a weird liquid on his face? No. But I still yanked him back, quickly, almost violently, slapping it around on his cheeks. 

I stood up and examined him, grimacing at all the white smudges left. "Good enough." 

He wiped at his face for a second, trying to  get it off. This was an every-time kind of thing. Him getting pissed for a second until he got settled into my bike basket, Jason trying to ride off without me, me yelling at him when he's halfway down the street. It was our whole routine, pretty much. 

At some point or another, we get going. 

It's probably quite the site to see. Two kids on bikes in the heat of the day, a third in a basket, riding at the same time 'most every day. 

It's always high-stress for me when we cross main roads. For Jason? It's the perfect time to lose balance, or veer too far to the side, or almost hit someone on the opposite side of the crosswalk. Pretty much anything he shouldn't do while crossing the road. 

He stayed ahead of me most of the time, only slowing to a stop when we passed McDonald's. 

"Jase," I called, slowing my bike to a stop. He was completely out of it, absentmindedly walking his bike forward, eyes fixed on the golden arch the entire time. "Jason!" As if a switch went off in his mind, he flicked his head forward again, pushed off, and sped off yet again. 

McDonald's was merely a landmark we passed on the way to our destination. A few more minutes of riding, and we finally rolled up to our goal: school. 

I know what you're thinking; why in the world would you be going to a school on a summer afternoon? I have two words for you, my friend. Free food. Every weekday, the boys' school did a free lunch program through the summer. It was always the perfect way to run their energy out, get some fresh air, and when it wasn't too hot out, they'd go and play at the playground afterward. There were sometimes a couple friends Jason would see there, too, which gave him the chance to play for a little while. And did I mention free food? It was a lifesaver, to say the least. 

It was taco Tuesday, so we were all greasy and ready to run into a stomach ache. One of Jason's friends, Anthony, found him in the growing crowd leaving the cafeteria, and just like that, he was gone. With a sigh, I grabbed Jude's hand and dragged him outside, scanning the field and playground for our brother. I ignored poor Jude's pleads to let him go. I kept my grip strong around his little hand, but just loose enough to keep from giving him a mark. 

Finally, I spotted him. "Jason!" 

He came running over, a grin printed on his face. He was oblivious to how pissed off I was. "Evie!" he came trotting up out of breath. "Anthony's mom said I could go over—"

"You can't run off like that," I cut him off. 

"But Anthony's mom said I could come over for dinner tonight," he said. 

Tired from lack of sleep and irritated by Jude's tugging, I relented, letting him dart off to the playground. He never wandered far; he'd always stop in his tracks the moment no one he knew was in sight. 

I turned my attention to Jason now. "I don't care. You can't run off like that." 

"I didn't run off! I was right over there," he said, pointing to where he came from. 

"How was I supposed to know that?" 

"Well, you found me, so," he sassed. 

Now I was pissed. There were people looking over at us, and that only made me more agitated. Why did people only want to be in my business when they weren't doing a damn thing to help?

"I shouldn't have to find you! I should already know where you're going before you wander off!"

As if I wasn't already pissed off enough, he decided to throw some salt into the wound. 

"You're not my mom!" 

I pursed my lips, drawing in a shaky breath before stomping away. I wouldn't be surprised if there were burn marks in the grass behind me in the shape of my footprints. 

"Where are you going?" Jude called after me. Ah, what a role-reversal. "Evie!" 

I threw a glowering look over my shoulder. "We're going home," I deadpanned. "Go with your friend, I don't care." 

"Wait!" He looked between me walking to the playground, and Anthony running to him from their family minivan. "Evie, wait!" 

I turned back around, arms crossed and waiting for the poor stuttering boy to give an answer. 

I looked at how torn he was, glued in place, getting all riled up over nothing. And just like that, all my anger was gone in a breath. 

I rolled my eyes, walking back to him again. You could tell he was trying to hold back tears. 

"You can go over to his house, I don't care," I told him. "I'm just not walking your bike back with me, though." 

By this time, Anthony had caught up to tell us that his family was ready to go, and wanted to know if he was going with. The nicest way to say they were tired of waiting up on us. 

"We can put it in the trunk," Anthony suggested, looking over to the minivan where his mom waited with three other kids in the vehicle. 

Jase looked over to me for one more confirmation. 

"As long his mom's okay with it," I sighed. 

His face lit up. And just like that, they were darting off to pester his mom with questions. 

For the rest of the afternoon, though, I kept thinking about what he said. No, I wasn't his mom. But I'd always felt like a stand-in mom of some sort. Even a back-up mom would have been a more appreciated title. I got zero very little appreciation, and absolutely no recognition.