Jackson
Grace gave her time and energy to any and everyone in town without any thought to it. I’d seen different nosy individuals who thought it was their job to butt into her personal life stopping her all the time. Yet instead of telling them to fuck off as she should’ve, she smiled, stood tall, and responded to their questions with such elegance.
It was sickening to watch.
They were emotionally draining her, and she was giving herself to them as if she hadn’t even cared a bit for their bluntness and disrespect.
“Well, bless your heart, Gracelyn Mae. I don’t even know what I’d do if my marriage was on the rocks. But you’re strong. I’m sure you’ll make it through. Plus, you’re not that old, so maybe you’ll find someone else. Or maybe Finn will take you back. Otherwise, there are always cats. I’m praying for you, sweetheart,” an old woman told Grace in the marketplace while Grace was simply trying to buy flowers. She’d been standing there for over ten minutes, trying to check out, but people kept butting into her time and space as though they didn’t give a damn about her feelings at all.
Once the old hag walked away, I grumbled as I brushed past Grace. “You just allow anyone to treat you like crap, huh?” I asked her.
She turned my way, and goddamn, her eyes were still beautiful. I wondered when that would go away.
She blinked once. “What are you talking about?”
“For the past forever minutes, people have been so belittling to you.”
“What? No, they haven’t. They are just giving me their prayers.”
“With prayers like that, who needs curses?”
Her eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about, Jackson?”
“Everyone in town has been eating you alive over the past few days, and you’re just allowing it to happen.”
“Have you been watching me?”
“No.”
Yes.
Maybe.
She cleared her throat. “Well, all I’m saying is, you don’t know these people like I do. They are just being caring, that’s all.”
“They are abusing you, and you’re freely allowing it!” I barked, annoyed by how ignorant she was being. They were pretty much spitting in her face, and she was pretending it wasn’t happening.
“Why do you even care, Jackson?” she wondered out loud, raising an eyebrow.
“I don’t,” I snapped.
“Then why are you standing here talking about it?”
I released a low growl. “You’re right. Go ahead, let them mock you to your face. Let them treat you like shit, look down on you, and suck you dry of all your energy. But when the day comes that you’re burnt the complete fuck out, remember I told you so.”
“How can you be so sure about that, huh? How can you be so positive that people are using me?”
“Because I know how people work. They think so little of you, and you know why?”
“Why?” she asked, her voice unsteady.
“Because you think so little of yourself. People only treat you the way you treat yourself. And I know exactly what they are going to do to you if you keep this up.” I leaned in closer to her, and our eyes stayed locked. We were so close that I felt her uneven breaths against my skin, and I was certain she felt mine. “They’re gonna bleed you out till you’re nothing, and then they’re gonna ask how you died.”
She swallowed hard, and her eyes watered over, but she stood as tall as she could and tried her best to hide the trembling in her hands as she held her flowers.
“Let me guess,” I said. “This is the part where you cry.”
“Yes.” She nodded slow, taking a deep breath. “And this is the part where you leave.”
The corner of my mouth twitched, and I turned to walk away when she called me once more. “Why do you treat yourself like that?”
“Like what?” I asked.
“You said people treat you the way you treat yourself. Then why do you choose to treat yourself like a monster?”
Her words pushed me, and I almost wavered. “Because that’s exactly what I am.”
* * *
Jackson
Eight Years Old
“This is stupid!” I snapped, knocking my canvas over in the open field as Ma tried to teach me a new technique for the sunset. She’d been showing me for over an hour, and I couldn’t do it. It was stupid, and art was stupid, and I was done with it all.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Ma remarked, arching her eyebrow. “What was that? Since when do we act out like that?”
“I can’t do it! I don’t want to do this,” I said, swallowing hard. I was angry, and I didn’t want to paint anymore. I just wanted to go home.
Not to our new home, but our old one.
The one where I had a few friends.
“What’s wrong?” Ma asked.
“Nothing.”
“Jackson, what is it? I know you’re not mad at the painting, because you were doing great. So tell me the truth. What’s wrong?”
I took a deep breath. “I don’t understand why we have to live in this stupid town! Nobody likes me, and they just pick on me about everything. I hate it here, and I want to move!”
“Are people bullying you again?” she asked me.
Tears fell from my eyes. She said “again” like everyone had stopped bullying me at some point. I was tired of people judging me for how I looked. I was tired of people laughing at me because sometimes I couldn’t score a goal in gym class. I was tired of not fitting in.
I was tired.
“Come here,” she told me.
“No.”
“Jackson Paul.”
I sighed.
I walked over to her and she took my hands into hers. “What are you?” she asked me.
I mumbled a word.
“Louder,” Ma said.
“I said I’m extraordinary.”
“That’s right, and even on the bad days, you are extraordinary. These mean people, they don’t get to run you away. They don’t get to hurt you, and come Monday, I’ll be marching down to the school to talk to the principal about doing something about this. But we are staying in this town.”
“Why?”
“Because we don’t run. We don’t let people run us away. We have a right to be here, to be happy, and that’s exactly what we are going to do, okay? We are going to be happy.”
I sniffled. “Okay.”
“And you are going to get this technique down tonight. Do you know why?”
I sniffled. “Because I’m extraordinary?”
“Yes, my love. You. Are. Extraordinary.”
