Kindness

Call me Gabriella

            When dad was around he would spend most of his hours with Ruth and me. He was a stay at home dad. He would drive us to school, make dinner, and help us with our homework. He was our only parent growing up. Our mother worked as a personal assistant for the head of a law firm. She was never happy and no one could ever really make her happy; except maybe Ruth.

        I was thirteen when they divorced, Ruth was ten. She called him a cheating dog, signed the divorce papers, and then kicked him out.  They took away the family we had and gave me nothing in return.

          Every now and then we would spend the weekends with dad, his new wife Rebecca, and his stepson, Drake. I was at a payphone when I called him. My wound hadn’t completely stopped bleeding and I felt faint.

           “Dad, can you come get me please?”

            “Where are you Gabbie?”

            “16th and McKenzie. I’ll wait at the bus stop. Dad please hurry.”

          “Okay, I’m at work right now, but I’ll send Drake to get you. Wait for Drake, Gabbie. Wait for him.”

          Drake pulled up ten minutes later. I stumbled into his car smearing blood on his seats. Suddenly I woke up in the hospital with bandages on my face, an IV in my arm, and Drake in a chair beside me flipping through a sport’s magazine.

              “Where’s my dad?” I asked faintly.

           “He’s at work Ruth. I thought he told you that.” He replied annoyed.

           “Does he know I’m here?” I asked.

          “Yea, he talked with your mom and said you’d be staying with us for now.”

          “Is he coming by?”

         “No, he says work is too hectic right now and that you’d understand. By the way who did that to you?” he asked glancing over at my bandages.

        I looked down into the blankets trying to hide my tears. It hurt so much. It hurt me to know I could never win my mother’s love. I was nothing to her.

           “I’m so tired.” I cried. “I don’t want to live like this.”

           “Um, you okay?”

          I turned on my side and held the pillow tight against me and cried. Drake looked at me unsure of what to do. Then he came over to the bed and gently embraced me. I let him shield me, just this once. Soon I fell asleep in his arms. I was at my dad’s house in the guest room when I awoke, which they would later convert into my new bedroom. Drake was asleep beside me. He was nineteen now. I never really did pay attention to him when I came to visit. It was odd to look at him now.

          “Hey Drake, are you asleep?”

         “A little, why?” He yawned.

         “Thank you.”

        He opened his eyes and looked at me. I saw the sadness there. I felt guilty for making him look like that; for making him have pity on this poor confused girl.

       He grabbed me and pulled me into his frame. I could smell his body spray clinging to his shirt. I laid there for a while taking in the comfortable feelings he gave off.

     “I’m sorry too,” he said.

     I spent the next few days lying in bed flipping through channels with major face pains. Drake would stop in every now and then to see if I was alright. I didn’t think he cared that much about me until now. It was nice.

     “My mom says your face is healing nicely,” He smiled from the doorway. “Can I take a look at it?”

      I sat up in bed and touched my cheek unsure I was ready to see the scare myself. I slowly began to remove the fabric and sighed into my chest. I couldn’t look into the mirror across from my bed. Instead I hesitantly looked toward Drake.

       “Well how is it?” I squirmed.

       Drake sat at the edge of the bed gaping at me. His eyes were wide and his mouth was stiff and expressionless. I couldn’t take the silence. It frightened me. Was I that ugly? I started to bury my face in the blankets when Drake stopped me.

     “No, stop. You look beautiful. Really,” He smiled. “The scare looks like a small moon. You can barely notice it now.”

       I stood scared and hesitant and headed over to the mirror.The person staring back at me looked tired, different, and with the smallest moon shaped scar caressing her right cheekbone. By the grace of God the scare healed well.

       “You should come with me today. I volunteer down at this church. When I’m down there I feel re-energized, you know. It could be good for you. Come with me Ruth?” Drake smiled still from the corner of my bed.

          “Fine, I guess, but call me Gabriella. Only my mother calls me Ruth.”

19We have this hope as anchor for the soul, firm and secure. It enters the inner sanctuary behind the curtain… (Hebrews 7:19 NIV)