Ryder

Chapter 7

Walking into my house was like walking into Heaven.  We came there at about 1:30....too early for mum or dad to be home.  Plus, they were already gone with Sarah when we woke up, so it was like Ryder had never even left home.

"Let's get our story straight," Ryder instructed me, taking a seat on our green living-room couch.  She had become more talkative, and more confident now that her office lady lie had worked.  I could sense more firmness in her voice, and she seemed to believe her previous words of  "our home".

"Okay.  So, while I was at school, I felt si--"

"No no no," Ryder quickly said, cutting me off. "We shouldn't even mention that.  She'd ask why you didn't call her cell phone to have her pick you up."

"Okay, then, how about I stayed at school the whole day, then came home to find you," I began.

"And I was making you a snack, but I accidentally spilled some milk on myself, and that's why I have stains on my clothes--"

"And I couldn't find my raincoat, so I pulled out Sarah's--"

"Yes!  And I was waiting for you pleasantly at home.  You got here at 3:30, end of story.  And you might want to hide your raincoat in your closet, if that's your cover-up for the jacket being wet," she stated.  I was astonished at this sudden burst of words from her.  She actually understood how to make up a good lie.  She had to teach me.

For the rest of the wait, Ryder and I sat down, had some snacks (crackers for Ryder, ramen for me), and talked.  I listened attentively as she rambled on about her family before the incident.

From what I had gathered, her family seemed pretty normal.  They were pleasant people, she had said.  There was a lot of love that went around.  Ryder said that she had especially been attatched to her little brother, Caleb.  They listened to their parents sing lullabies and read stories aloud.  They even had a dog.  Ryder said that she missed her family a lot.  

"So....what....um....what happened, exactly, with your father....?  If you don't mind me asking, I mean."

Ryder sighed deeply, and her gaze fell.  I instantly regretted asking her.  I needed to learn how to stop doing that.  Stop second-guessing myself.  

"He was stricken with grief.  He was always a nice, quiet, keep-to-himself sort of guy.  Bottled a lot of things up.  I remeber that he used to go on very long walks when he was mad.  So I never saw him upset."  There was a long pause in which Ryder seemed to breathe heavier.

"You don't have to continue, if you don't want to," I told her gently, placing one hand on her bony shoulder.  I immediately drew it back.  There it was again: the second-guessing. 

She shook her head and cleared her throat hastily. "I'm sorry," she mumbled.

"Hey, it--it's okay.  It's not your fault.  I'd be scared, too, if I were you.  Why--why don't we go do something?"

Ryder looked up at me, nodding.  She stood up quietly.  I imagined a man with a blank face, Ryder's father, doing the same thing.  Leaving to walk.  That was initially my first idea, but after picturing this, I decided against it.  I led her to the kitchen.  The tiny digital clock built into the stove read 5:00.  I guess time flew when conversations were so engaging.  I didn't speak in many conversations.  It was nice to not spend a Friday night by myself like I usually did. 

"What do you want to eat?"  I asked Ryder, my back turned to her.  I shuffled through cabinets and cupboards to look for a Ryder-friendly dinner item.

"What do you have?" She replied.  I smiled to myself.  In a lot of ways, Ryder was just like me.  That was always my response, too.  She wasn't as odd as I had originally thought. 

"Pasta, ramen noodles, soup, frozen pizzas, sandwiches--"

"Probably the pizza, if it's not too much trouble.  Caleb liked pizza."  There was another prolonged silence.

"Okay," I whispered.  No.  Don't be sad.  It's just a pizza.  Just absent memories of her family.  It's okay.  She's fine.

It took around 20 minutes for the pizza to cook.  During that time, Ryder sat down at the kitchen bench, waiting quietly.  Too quietly.  

The oven dinged and I pulled the pizza out.  A sudden stinging pain clung to my fingers.

"Dammit," I exclaimed, a little louder than I had meant to.  I stared down at my hand.  The fingers were turning redish-purple.  Not a good sign.

Ryder was awoken from her gaze and looked at the tips of my fingers as I shook them frantically back and forth.  She stood up, rushing over to me. 

"Ryan!  What happened?  Are you hurt?  What should we do?"  Her eyebrows crept up her forehead into a concerned look. 

"I'm fine, Ryder, I'm okay," I reassured her.  She looked more hurt than I did. "It was just a burn from the tray."

"Oh, gosh," she whispered. "That looks really bad....here, hurry...." Grabbing my fingers gently, she held them in her own.  Then, in a sudden movement, she grasped all 10 of them with such strength that I nearly jumped back. 

"What are you doing?!"  I cried out, "that hurts!  Stop!  I can't feel my fingers!"

"Then it's working!"

"What's working?  Your plan to rip off my entire hand?"

Ryder closed her eyes and took a deep breath.  "It's going to be okay.  I promise, Ryan.  This will all work out."

"How would you know?  When have you done this before?"  I responded quickly.  How the Hell was this supposed to help me in any way?

"I would know.  My father used to do this."

"Hold your fingers?"

She shook her head slowly.  "Burn them," she whispered in a voice that was barely audible.  "He held my hands to pots of boiling water after....after....you know.  And, I was hurt.  Badly.  The side of the pot was very hot.  Like fire....so I wanted to be okay again....and....I'd hold my fingers....and press hard....until I couldn't feel it anymore."

My arm went slack.  I didn't dare try to move a single muscle.  My chest felt tight, as tight as the grip Ryder had on my fingers.  The story she had told seemed to make the world slow down.  

"I feel fine now," I whispered after a while.  Her cold little fingers unwound themselves from mine.  Immediately, they changed in colour from red, to white, then to normal.  "Let's eat."

She sat down in a daze at the table.  I absent-mindedly sliced up the pizza, pulled off a slice, and slapped it down onto a plate, handing it to Ryder.  We sat in silence, and the only noise in the room was the sound of me chewing.  I realized how loud I was, and immediately stopped.

That must've been horrible for her to go through.  I couldn't possibly imagine having a family like that.  Being beaten.  Left for dead.  I only had to stand strong for 7 hours each day at school, and then my home was a safe haven.  But for Ryder....everywhere was Hell.  She was never safe.  It was weird how a frozen pizza got me to realize that.  I slowly finished off my slice, then placed the dish in the sink to be washed.

It was strange.  Everything.  Ryder.  She was so shy, so mysterious, yet so....out there.  Confusing.  I didn't know how to describe her. 

Except for one word.

Keeper.