Sometimes

Ella

*

I’m six, cowering behind the ratted green plaid couch. It’s dark outside, ominously black and the chilly October wind is tossing leaves around the yard in violent directions. Much like the man I call my father is tossing my mom around the small house we rent. After an hour or so of rocking back and forth, quietly crying to myself, there’s silence in the house. No more screaming, no more shouts, no more pain. I count to one hundred before peeking out behind the rough fabric. I see their bedroom door is shut and a tiny piece of me relaxes, knowing it’s over for the night and they’re sleeping. Scrambling as quickly as my lanky legs let me, I flash through the house as quiet as a mouse until I reach my bedroom door. Ducking inside, I crawl under my thin sheets and press myself against the wall, facing the door. I watch the doorknob intensely, not bothering to move even when my stringy blond hair falls into my eyes. And that’s how I fall asleep, just like every night.

*

I’m ten, smiling as I run out of the elementary school doors and into the arms of my dad. He hoists me up, a smile even bigger than mine on his face. He asks me how my first day of fourth grade was. He sets me down but holds my hand as we walk to his shiny white car. I’m overwhelmed with happiness as I explain every event of the day to him. In the car, mom and baby Michael are waiting. I jump into the car and slide over so I’m leaning over Michael’s car seat. He’s only six months old but already my heart belongs to him. Mom asks me how I like my teachers or if I had class with any of my friends as dad pulls the car onto the street. Dad smiles at me in the rearview mirror and I smile back. This is my new family, my favorite one. Not like my other mom and dad who yelled and hit. This is love and happiness. And that’s when the truck smashes into the side of the car.

*

I’m seventeen, and my grandma is waiting for me as I walk through the doors. I give her a hug as I drop my car keys on the table. She’s making a big dinner that consists of potatoes and chicken, my favorite. But I still smell from basketball practice and I make my way to my bedroom. Pictures of mom, dad, and Michael are sitting on my dresser, greeting me as I walk in and drop my bag, heading for the shower. When I’m out and dressed, I comb through my long tangled dirty blond hair. Walking into the kitchen, I see grandma, sitting in her place at the table holding a picture. I know it’s my grandpa’s picture she holds and I know she only brings it out when she is sad or scared. And that makes me scared. Sitting across the table from her, she smiles but it’s forced. We fill our plates silently and my heart is breaking. Breaking isn’t a word anymore. It’s shattering as she looks up and her soft wrinkled face looks at me. Her eyes, blue, like my dad’s, meet mine. The eyes that I never got to inherit are filled with so much sadness and sorrow that I don’t hear it when my fork hits the plate with a clatter. I only hear the words she mutters and, honestly, I shouldn’t be surprised to know that the last person left for me is dying of cancer. 

*

I’m nineteen, and I want to completely and totally give up on life.

“God damn car,” I mutter, throwing my seatbelt off. I angrily run a hand through my hair and stare out into the dark street, my headlights shining down the two-lane asphalt road. I want to cry and scream and break something all at the same time. I was just trying to get home after the ten hour shift I managed to pull at the bookstore. Not that I did not love my job, because I did, but ten hours really floored me. And this was the third one this week. But going home peacefully would be too easy for me, so my car had to sputter and roll slowly to a stop because if not, it wouldn’t fit the category that is my life. 

Not to make the night worse or anything but I left my cell phone charging in the back of the bookstore. And about ten minutes ago, the heavens had decided to open and the torrential downpour that had followed added onto the pile. Plus the perfect timing of my car to break down right smack dab in the part of town where you didn’t want to be caught alone. And the final cherry on top, my apartment was a twenty minute drive and the nearest gas station was at least a ten minute walk. Crying definitely seemed like the best thing to do.

But I want to go home and take a long shower and sleep until next week. So, with a frustrated sigh I zip my thin jacket up, pull the hood over my hair and take my keys out, making the lights turn off, leaving me in complete darkness except for the streetlight down the road. After mentally prepping myself, I throw open the door and step outside. Part of me wants to run the full ten minutes but I remember that no matter how fast I go, I will get soaked to the bone either way. So I set out at a steady fast walk and the rain beats down on me, cold and hard. By the time I reach the streetlight that only seemed a minute away from the car, I’m soaked through.

I feel like a miner who had just struck oil when the gas station finally appeared, the lights bright in the night. It’s the only place around besides some houses and a small dollar store farther down the road. There are no cars in sight and the lights in the gas station are still on. I want to run to the doors but the roof over the pumps is nice and the pause from rain was glorious. It looks like a locally owned gas station, an auto body shop connected to the side and I am beyond relieved to see that. Wringing my clothes and hair out, I open the front door, a small bell clinging to announce my entrance. I don’t see anyone as I make my way to the counter.

“We closed at eleven,” a voice calls from somewhere behind me and I jump slightly. Spinning around, I turn to see a guy about my age. He is busy wiping his grease stained hands on a rag, his tall frame leaning against the doorframe leading to the garage. 

“I broke down,” I speak, gesturing behind me as if it was right outside and not a couple miles down the road. 

“Sorry but,” he stops speaking when he finally looks up and I must look a hell of a lot worse than I thought because his eyebrows rise in concern. “You okay?” 

“Fine, thanks. I just need a tow or something. I’m not sure why it broke down, I got gas yesterday and my friend said that he checked everything last week and it was fine.” I explain as he continues to stare at me with dark green eyes.

“Where is it?” He asks when I finish, stepping farther into the store. His plain white shirt is stained in places with dirt and grease and the one piece jumper he wears is unbuttoned down to the waist and the sleeves tied around his slim waist. His work boots are worn and old but sturdy.

“Um,” I turn around, looking out the clear glass of the front of the gas station. “About ten minutes that way.” I said pointing. 

“You walked here, in the rain, at night, in this part of town?” He asks, his voice incredulous and concerned.

“Well, with no traffic or means of communication, how else was I supposed to get anywhere?” I reply, raising a questioning brow in his direction. I may or may not sound snarky but honestly, I’m soaked, tired, and just want to go home.

“Right, well I don’t have the truck here,” he says, shoving the rag into his back pocket. “But I can call Roy to bring it back up tonight.” He walks past me and the smell of oil, sweat, and man hits me, making my heart speed up for reasons unbeknownst to me. 

“How much is it?” I ask, dreading the answer. Because my bank account is on the low end of the spectrum. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he waves me off, as he picks up the phone by the register and dials a number, placing the phone to his ear. 

“Thanks,” I whisper, beyond relieved and grateful. I’m standing there, listening to him talk to the man on the other end, looking at the candy bar selections, the pop, and the other snacks when the lights above me flicker. Looking up, I watch as they flicker again before completely going out. 

“Fuck,” I hear the man mutter as he slams the phone down on the counter. This was so not my night. I turn to face him at the counter and see him leaning on his elbows, head in his hands. With a frustrated sigh, he looks up at me through the dimly lit room, the only light from the emergency light at the back of the store.