Everything

Super Awkward

Seventh grade summer I joined my first sport, softball. I picked it because I had always loved the sport. it was the only thing I found myself maybe being good at. I liked it, generally. I remember the coach, and I liked her too. She had blonde hair and a thin body.
"Alright, girls, pair off and practice your throws," coach commenced practice.
I looked around and girls were pairing off and I was still standing there. I made it look like I was fixing something on my light brown glove. I liked the color. It was a rich brown, not an ugly one. The white leather strings went well with it.
My stomach wrenched as I realized I was still the odd one out. Coach probably saw girls like me and thought it was sad. I saw Emma and her blonde ponytail, also not paired yet, so I approached her.
"Hey, want to be partners?"
Her chubby cheeks rose up as she smiled, "Yeah sure."
We walked and joined the line. We were both friendly toward each other, but we weren't friends. I didn't find her jokes funny or her conversation interesting. The only thing I liked about her was the way she did her hair. Always shiny and pretty. Her braids were always perfect and her ponytails, too. They were so smooth from the roots all the way to the hair tie, I reached for mine and it was all right. My bangs were always sticking out and it always swayed back and forth when I walked, but it's not like I had a horribly messy ponytail like some of the girls at my school. I saw them and wondered, did they just not care or did they not know, even? I always thought about telling them. Imagining the conversation going like this, I stopped.
"Hey, your ponytail has huge bumps in it and there's hair sticking out from between the bands," I would say.
"Well your face has a shit ton of freckles on it, and your right eye is a lazy eye," she would retaliate.
I didn't like to do confrontation when it wasn't needed.
Softball was when I got my first nickname that wasn't "tatertot". Rylee Dickey, one of our best players, was getting my attention. She called me "Taits". The name stuck and I liked it.
That summer, I began dressing like the sportos. It made me feel acceptable and like people knew I was in sports, if I was wearing a cut off and some softee shorts.
I also moved into Gene's daughter's room at his house in Maquoketa, with my mother, and found out who he really was.
He would yell about nothing and he was clean, too clean. He would yell if something was dirty, too. He would yell if something went wrong. He was always watching TV and getting drunk with his brother, James, and a sixteen year old, Drew. James was constantly drunk and constantly driving, too. He'd gotten pretty good at driving drunk. He only got into a wreck about three times a year. i would say nothing to him about his drinking and nothing to gene about his yelling.
Gene would cook, too. He was a pretty good cook. I loved his omelets and cakes but, not the biscuits and gravy. I remember trying them and feeling like I was eating someone's vomit. I would rather have toast.
One night I was listening to music, falling asleep, and I heard a noise. I pulled one headphone out of my ear and heard it again. It was my mom. She made that sound she made when I walked on her back for her. It would crack and she would sigh, in relief. Gene must have been doing the same thing. I heard her again. I got a strange feeling when I heard it, like I was scared and nervous. She didn't sound like she was getting her back cracked. She was having sex.
That was the first time I ever pretended something didn't happen. I put my music back in and blasted a Nickelback song. I didn't want to hear that ugly noise. I couldn't fall asleep very easily after that.
I pretended it never happened. I think that's when the darkness began to embrace my soul.
Gene would go hunting with his brother and what ever other hoodlums went along, as well. James had this shed that was just a room with dead, furry raccoons hanging everywhere. I remember the sight. It was disgusting.
I walked out just a second after I walked in, I had no desire to be in there. I went into James's house instead. His wife, Dawn, and baby, Austin, were inside. Austin looked just like James, only his face was fresh and chubby, while James has a salt and pepper beard over his leathery face.
They had parakeets in the living room which was dusted with an immense amount of toys. I liked the white bird, she was pretty. She came to the front of the cage and looked at me with curiosity. I stuck my finger between the bars and pet her wing. She held still for a moment before whipping around and catching my finger between her beak. I jerked away and never tried touching her again. I pretended that didn't happen, too.
Dawn came in the room and saw me, "Oh! Hey Tatum! I was just putting Austin down for a nap upstairs. By the way, I was wondering, what color is you hair?"
I picked up a lock from my ponytail and brought it in front of me, so I could see. I had never been asked this before, I didn't know. It was brown, but not really brown. In the sun it's shine wasn't brown, it was golden and red. "I really don't know. "It's like, a reddish brown."
"Well it's beautiful. I wish I had that color instead of this plain old black," she motioned to her shoulder length hair as she bounded up the stairs with Austin. Mine went down to my lower back, not quite my butt. I had always had long hair. I didn't really notice it's length anymore but I was bored with it. Something comes with having long hair for your entire life, a numbness in the scalp. You could pull my hair right out of it's roots, but I wouldn't feel it very much. My mom used to brush it, ruthlessly, it felt like. I got used to it, though.
I wanted to donate my hair. So I went down to the barber shop and chopped off six whole inches of my silky hair. It was now up to my shoulders and I loved it so much. I looked cute.
I couldn't wait to go to school with it. Then, when August 16 came around, everyone complimented my new look and some people even cut their hair, too. I was happy with the choice I made.