I got to the parking lot of the antique bookstore and head
in, seeing my boss already atop a ladder trying to get a first edition
Hemingway for a customer. He heard the bell chime as I walked in. “Elaina! So
good to see you! I have a list of books that need to be rotated…”
Thomas Henderson was a senile old man who had owned this
store for decades. He spent his early years trekking around the east coast and
Europe tracking down old books to add to his collection. Once he settled down
to get married and have kids, he opened this store to pay the bills for his
family. Even though he has grandkids in different states and his wife past
seven years ago, he stayed in town with his store to bring the joy of books to
this modern technology generation.
I was one of two employees he hired to help him keep things
smooth. I mainly did the administrative work that he never seemed to grasp.
When I first got hired his receipts were all in shoeboxes with no cataloging or
filing system in place. Although I do get up on the ladder sometimes to help
customers, that is mostly Kennedie’s job. She’s his granddaughter, from his one
son that stayed in town to make sure he was still moving about and didn’t need
to be placed in a home. Kennedie grew up hearing the stories of how Thomas got
each book and was able to use those sentimental pieces to sell them. Her
technique was flawless and something to be admired by anyone was a clue about
sales. I typically just sat in the back office mumbling to myself about how he
Thomas might be able to keep from being audited if he had a sentimental story
to share with the IRS.
As I start my work, I can’t help but feel my mind wander
back to the events of the last couple days. My life just seems to be on repeat:
summer day in, summer day out. Parents fight, I run next door. You’d think
someone who was angry enough by all of this would try and not let it affect
them, right? It would be so much easier not to care. But then again it would
also be easier just to leave and start over, but for some reason I wasn’t doing
that either.
Am I really staying in
town for college for Cameron? It was an answer I refused to find only
because I knew how easily I could convince myself that I was. I had the grades
to go to any state-funded school, and I had sports to get me scholarships if I
wanted to go private, but instead I only applied to the school in town. I got
in, and that was that. I tuned out the rest of senior year and I tried to
ignore all of my classmates and their excited chatter for the future.
Stop it. I jolt
out of my memory. Acceptance and change;
those are your two options. You don’t waste time and emotions on things you
can’t accept or change. I quickly get out of the office and look for
Kennedie to start rotating those books.
*~*~*~*
Every night starts the same.
I try not to need him. I try and find the strength in myself
to handle everything that’s going on in my life. I try and tune out the copious
amounts of arguments I hear each night from the depths of my parents’ bedroom.
I try every mechanism I know to keep myself from going back into Cam’s arms. Or
worse…
I look to the top left desk drawer across from my bed. Even
though I haven’t opened that drawer for months, I know exactly what the
contents are. I know that in the back corner, where no one would see if they
just opened the drawer not knowing what to find. The box of razor blades was
inconspicuous for a reason; I had no intention of letting anyone know how I
used to cope with reality before Cam.
Every night was a constant battle. Which was the lesser
evil: Relying on someone to keep you from falling and not knowing how to exist
without that someone there; or using physical pain as a distraction from mental
and emotional pain? Years of practice showed me where to cut so I could wear
clothes typical for the season without being questioned as well as how deep to
cut to cause the biggest distraction without the biggest risk of needing
medical attention. If you looked at my arms they were lean and tan as much as
any other softball player’s. But, if you looked at the side of my knees, or the
front of my shoulder, you would see a series of slightly raised scars. Some
were over four years old; others were just under three months. Once Cam and I
started using each other, he became my distraction. But the longer we used each
other, the more I knew I was starting to depend on him. And the longer that was
in my mind, the more appealing my old option became.
But each night I had the internal debate and each night I
found myself in bed with Cameron. Because I knew that it wasn’t just me using
him; he was using me as well. And if I decided to stop, he was losing a
distraction for no reason, and I couldn’t be that selfish. So even when I’ve
taken the box out and been poised for the first cut, I’ve always found myself putting
with back without marring my skin and tapping on his window.
It had been a bad night. After work I had gotten home and my
dad was already there but my brother was not. I was about to make a split
second decision to keep driving past my house and pretend I got caught up at
work when I saw my mom look out the window and smile when she saw my car. So I
had to park and slowly climb up the stairs to the front door where she greeted
me with open arms. “Elaina! You’re just in time; your father is getting the
chicken off the grill!” She had a tone about her voice that she was excited
about our family dinner. I still don’t understand her optimism.
I walked through the house. “Where’s Eli?”
“Oh he’s just running a bit late,” she replied. “Why don’t
you go change out of your work clothes and come back down, and then your
brother will be back and then we’ll eat!”
I start trudging up the stairs without responding. Even
though I wasn’t surprised by my brother’s absence, it unnerved me. Edward was
slightly more tolerable when Eli was around. I heard the back door slam shut
and a hoarse male voice call for my mother. Yep, it was going to be a long
night.
We had a mostly silent dinner up until when Eli came banging
through the front door. Both of my parents looked up at him, but only one was
welcoming. “Eli, honey, come and grab—“
“Where the HELL do you think you’ve been!?” My father
boomed. “You knew dinner started a half an hour ago and you were expected to be
here.”
Eli just shrugged and headed for the stairs. “Wasn’t hungry”
was all he said and then he disappeared to his room.
Edward was turning puce and looked like a vein was about to
burst in his forehead. “If I had a right mind I’d go up there and whip his
ass…”
My mother turned to her husband and pats his hand. “He had
asked to go out and I let him. So he’s a little late; he’s home now. No harm,
no fowl.”
Edward jerked away from her touch. “You’re a terrible parent
if you think that behavior is acceptable. Every time he disobeys you, you need
to whip him. See if he comes home late after that…”
I looked down at my plate. I knew I was pale and my appetite
was completely dissolved. Keeping my head bowed I took it to the sink and
cleaned it quickly and quietly, slipping away to my room as soon as possible,
where I was now trying not to open that top drawer of my desk.
I was sitting on my hands and slightly rocking on my bed to
keep me from jumping up and opening the drawer. I was trying to think of every
single Spanish verb conjugation I knew to distract me. I was trying to remember
all the logic behind not cutting myself and promoting a healthier lifestyle.
All of these distractors were barely keep me from cutting, adding the reminder
of my father’s abuse to me as a child, and then it became near impossible. Tears
were brimming on my eyelids and I was almost at a breaking point when my phone
buzzed, illuminating the small part of my bed as it did so. I looked at the
screen:
Resistance is futile
;-) -Cam
And just like that, I saw nothing else. My tunnel vision was
only on my phone and my next destination: his window.
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