Queen of Nothing

13. Dance With Me

I was turning fourteen in a couple hours. Mom and Gia were having a very loud argument downstairs, a level nine on the richter scale of mommy-daughter meltdowns. If I sat still enough, I could feel the walls reverberate. 

I used to get involved, used to sandwich myself firmly in between them before they resorted to full on blows. I never understood it, the evil thing that lived between them, that made them want to hurt each other. 

Weren't you supposed to be kind to the people you loved? 

I heard bangs, screaming, then crying, followed by a loud CRASH. I wanted no part of their anger anymore, did my best to distance myself from it. So I had squeezed myself into a corner of my room, tried hard to focus on my book. 

But the walls were shaking, the screams were crescendoing and that feeling at the pit of my stomach, the one built from despair and anger, was deepening. If I reached just right, I could tumble through that chasm, let it breach my safe space. 

Instead, I heard a soft rap on my window. 

I peered through the blinds, terrified. It could be a crazy person, a stalker, a gunmen. 

Instead it was a gawky fourteen year old, with messed up hair and mischief in his eyes. My heart swelled, but I pretended not to show it. 

I opened the window, "What?" 

Milo grinned, holding a cupcake up, "It's almost your birthday." 

I looked at it, the chocolate frosting with sprinkles, felt my knees wobble. Something like a tear bloomed at the back of my eyes.

Another crash resounded through the house.

"You can't be here right now," I whispered. 

The tear dropped down my face. Fear bloomed in my chest, as his brows furrowed, a mixture of sympathy and concern melding on his face. Milo never was good at hiding his emotions. It was what I'd liked best about him. 

Something like worry softened his face, and he held his hand out, "Neither can you." 

---

We sat on the swings, feet dangling. Strictly speaking, the park was closed at this hour, so we'd scaled a fence that had left my knees bruised and aching. The sky was bright, stars sparkling, the wind cold on my face. Mom and Gia wouldn't notice I was missing, and something about that fact unleashed a brand of carefreeness within me that I wasn't accustomed to. 

If I closed my eyes, I could pretend I was in Paris or Spain, or somewhere far from here. But I was sitting in a playground at night with Milo, and for some reason, there was nowhere else I could think of being at the moment. 

"I didn't know it was getting bad again," he commented. 

I shrugged, "It was never good." 

We were silent for a few more moments. 

"Do they ever...hurt you?" He inquired, eyes wide.

I shook my head immediately, "No. No they do a good job of hurting each other just enough. They don't remember me much." 

He looked away again, "Oh." 

Oh indeed. We swung some more. 

"You know," he started, turning to me, "I found out the other day that chickens can't fly." 

"Well duh," I laughed, despite myself. Every Christmas, Milo received a deck of cards about weird fun facts about the world, and I could have sworn that this boys goal in life was to memorize it all. For moments like this, of course.