Authors: Scarlet Risqué
Anna was my best friend and we called each other besties. She was short and had to sit in the front of class to see the board.
My fingers were sticky with wet clay that smelled like dung. I focused on sculpting my next figurine and didn’t answer her.
“You’ve made ten of those now,” said Anna, pointing at the row of figurines drying in the sun on the window sill. “They all look horrible except for the angel.”
“I look horrible.”
“Nah, silly. You look just like the nice angel one.” She pointed at the perfected figurine. “Isn’t it supposed to be you?”
“No. It’s my mother.” I wondered if her comment had to do with her nearsightedness. I couldn’t take her seriously because she was too blind to see me for who I was.
“Hmm.” Anna shrugged. “Well, it looks just like you. You should make more of those. The wings are pretty.” She shoved her drawing toward my desk. “How do you like my artwork?”
It was a picture of her family, and she was holding her younger brother’s hand. There were cows grazing in the foreground and a cottage on top of a hill. They owned a dairy farm.
“It’s nice,” I said as a burn erupted in my chest. I envied her family … and that her mother was in the drawing.
I used a sharp knife to shape the figurine in my hand. I wanted to create the perfect form of myself, but all I could manage was a round face, two hands, and long legs. I rolled up the clay and started again.
* * *
“You liar! You stole my book!” Anna screamed at me in the playground, drawing the attention of the other students.
“I didn’t. I swear,” I said, trying to calm her down.
“Then why is my book in your bag?”
“Someone else put it there.”
“I don’t believe you!” Anna pulled a small folding knife out of her skirt pocket. Her hands shook with anger as she opened it and wielded it in my direction. “You’re full of lies!”
I instinctively lunged at her, covered her eyes with one hand, and grabbed the pocketknife with my other hand. I cut my fingers as I disarmed her.
This is what it feels like to be sliced by someone close to my heart
. I knew in that moment that the pain was addictive. I let go of the pocketknife and it dropped into the sand.
“Anna, we’re besties. You know I’d never do that.” Blood began trickling down my fingers. Little droplets dripped from my hand into red splotches on the sand.
“I used to trust you, but I’ve seen you stealing books from the library. I just never said anything.”
“But …”
“This is it you thief! We’re not friends anymore!” she screamed as she ran away from the playground.
I did steal Anna’s book. It was a storybook I wanted but couldn’t afford. I picked up her knife and thought about all the times we shared, laughing and running around in circles. Those times with her—in school, away from the pain and violence of my home—were the best times of my life. It only took three minutes to end three years of friendship.
I really am a monster
. That night, I slept with the teddy bear she gave me for my last birthday.
Anna transferred to a new school the next day. With her gone, I had no friends and nothing to look forward to. All my classmates were afraid to come near me, but I didn’t care.
Let them fear me
.
At least I
’
ll be safe
.
For the next few days, I couldn’t use my right hand to write. The slightest movement opened my wounds, splattering my schoolwork with drops of blood. I had to replace the bandages when that happened.
I got in the habit of carrying Anna’s pocketknife with me wherever I went, and I played with it under my desk at school. I enjoyed folding the blade in and out, in and out, in and out.
As the weeks passed, I realized that I would never see Anna again. Just like my mother, she wasn’t coming back. Books became my new companions. I didn’t need anyone to talk to.
* * *
One night, I took the teddy bear Anna gave me and started shredding it with her pocketknife. It felt so good that I sliced up all my soft toys. My bedroom was littered with stuffing and fluffy remains after the slaughter. Lying amidst the massacre remains gave me a sense of power. It was like I could do anything in the world with this blade. I was a superhero, a superstar, something bigger than myself.
My stepfather walked into the room, filling it with the stink of cigarettes and vodka.
“Clean up this mess you monkey!” he shouted.
I pointed the pocketknife at him in defiance.
“How dare you! Put the knife down you ungrateful little brat!”
He tried to pin me on my bed and I struggled against his weight. With one grab, he took the knife from my small hand.
“Clean up this room if you don’t want a beating!” He stormed out and slammed the door.
I found another pocketknife I’d hidden under my bed and started playing with it. I liked the way I could control how the light shined off the blade … and knowing that I could use it to cut through anything I wanted.
If only I were strong enough to overpower my stepfather
.
If only I could run away from this hell
. I swore that I would take my revenge one day.
* * *
To avoid the wrath of my stepfather, I began cooking and cleaning every day. He would put his spare change on the table beside the front door before he left to work the fields. He only ever used the money for booze and cigarettes, so I started taking some of it to buy food from the nearby market. I’d seen my mother cook, and I recalled enough to make meals.
My stepfather drank himself stupid every night after dinner. During the week he sat in front of the old TV that didn’t get reception when the weather was bad. It didn’t matter what was on, and if the reception was bad he would just stare at the snow on the screen and drink. When my mother was still around, she’d watch with him. After she was gone, he sat in the same spot on the sofa, next to her empty seat. He went to the local bar for his drinks on weekends. Years passed, and he continued to drink away his nights.
I planned to escape when I turned sixteen. I read as much as I could about city life and other places and countries that I could explore after I left the farm. I had maps tucked under my bed, and every night I would unfold them and imagine where my travels would take me once I made my way out of hell.
Max
Max bullied the weak boys at school and coerced them into giving him protection payments. He was always escorted by two big boys as he collected his money—and he was constantly swarmed by crazy fangirls.
I wanted to unlock the secret of his popularity and I began sketching him in class. With his angular chin, spiky hair, long sideburns, and intense black eyes, he made a good subject.
I was reading a book with the nerds in the schoolyard when Max and his gang approached me.
“I’ve heard about you … Mary Summers,” said Max.
“Who are you?” I continued reading my book. I was worried that he was mad because he’d found out that I’d been secretly sketching him.
“What? You don’t know who I am?” He eyed me carefully from head to toe. “Sorry. I guess I should introduced myself. I’m Max. These two guys here are my buddies. Wanna hang out later?”
“Sure, why not?” I knew Anna had a secret crush on him in fifth grade. I’d seen her write love letters and slip them into his locker. But who was I to decline an offer from the most popular guy on the planet?
“Great. Meet me outside after school.” He smiled and did a stealthy little fist pump as he walked away.
The other girls were all staring at me. I knew they were jealous.
Hah,
stupid girls
.
The clock seemed to tick in slow motion the rest of the afternoon. It felt like an eternity. I couldn’t pay attention in class as I daydreamed and feverishly drew on my notebooks—hearts, swords, and lots of other nonsensical things. Why did I agree to meet someone I wasn’t at all attracted to? I knew I was acting silly, but the thought of doing something out of the ordinary excited me. I guess it was the thrill of the unknown, and being envied by the other girls was quite … satisfying.
The loud school bell at the end of the day brought me back to the chaotic classroom. As everyone else scrambled to leave, I erased the scribbles on my notebooks.
I skipped toward the school gates. Max was standing next to one of the stone pillars, beside his shiny motorcycle. The frame and tank were painted metallic-white with electric-blue flames.
“Wanna go for a ride?” Max asked.
“That would be … nice.” I didn’t want to sound too excited, but I was screaming with delight on the inside, like a little girl.
“Put this on.” He handed me a helmet.
I took the clunky helmet and clumsily put it over my head. Max helped me tighten and fasten the chin strap.
“There you are. Now we can explore together. Let’s go,” he said as he got on the bike and put on his black leather gloves. He signaled for me to hop on the back.
I threw my leg over the saddle and climbed onto his dangerous weapon. I’d never gone out with someone I barely knew, much less ridden on a motorcycle.
“I’m gonna start the engine,” he said as he used his foot to put up the kickstand and turned the key in the ignition. “Hang on tight to my waist and lean with me when we turn. But most of all, make sure you don’t fall off.”
“Okay,” I said as I put my arms around his sturdy waist and clasped my hands in front of him.
Max gently turned the throttle and we rolled out the school gates. He waved goodbye to the security guard, and all the girls were trailing us with envious eyes as we rode away.
We drove along the winding country roads for a short distance, and then he pulled over.
“This is where I live,” he said, pointing at a cottage. “You can come over anytime.”
“Really?” I said, removing the hot helmet. I looked around and noticed a lap pool by the side of the cottage. “That might be nice.”
He dismounted and helped me off the bike.
“Could you teach me to ride this thing?” I asked, caressing the bike’s flamed tank.
“If you want to ride this beast, you can’t have any fear,” he smiled.
“That’s not a problem. I don’t have any fears.”
“Really? A girl with no fears? That’s amazing.”
“You don’t know me very well … yet.” I blushed. “So, how does this thing work?”
“First, you have to make sure it’s in neutral. You pull the clutch lever with your left hand and use your left foot to push the shifter pedal down until it doesn’t go down any more. Then, move your foot underneath the pedal and lift it to click the bike into neutral. You can let go of the clutch when it’s in neutral. Then you’re ready to put up the kickstand, turn the key, and press the starter. Engage the clutch again and press down on the shifter pedal to put it in first gear. Turn the right grip toward you to give it some throttle as you let go of the clutch. When you need to shift into second, pull in the clutch and put your left foot under the shifter to click up into second, and so on. Use the last three fingers on your right hand to grab the brake lever for the front brake. That little pedal by your right foot is the back brake. And don’t ever touch the exhaust pipe … unless you want to get burned,” he said, pointing down at the shiny silver pipe.
“Okay, let me try.” I climbed on the bike and my feet barely reached the ground. The bike was already in neutral, so I put up the kickstand, started the engine, and turned the right grip. The engine started to roar. “I think I’m getting the hang of this …”
“All right girl, that’s enough. I’ll teach you to ride, but not today,” he said, grabbing the grips.
I scooted back and Max climbed on. I wrapped my arms around his waist and leaned into his warm body.
“Let’s ride,” he said as we tore off down the road.
* * *
We went for long rides around the countryside most afternoons after school. It was fun speeding down the twisty roads and up the dirt tracks in the rolling hills. We explored the terrain and out-of-the-way, isolated places, having our own mini-adventures and picnics in the hills. Our fruit and sandwiches seemed to taste much better under the wide open bright blue sky.
Max taught me how to ride over the next few months. Commanding the lethal machine between my legs with him at my back, the wind in my hair, and nothing in the way to stop us was exhilarating. The smell of freedom as we raced toward liberation was intoxicating. We were young and carefree, cruising along highways and byways that seemed to go on forever.
One night, after a long ride, we went up into the hills and sat under the pitch-black sky. There was no one around for miles, and the moonlight was shimmering off the lake at the bottom of the hill.
“I’m moving out soon,” I said. “I can’t live with my stepfather anymore. I need to go to the city and find my mother.”
“I’ll help you,” said Max. “We can live at my house until I go to college.”
“Are you serious? You’d do that for me?”
“Yeah … you’re my love. When I get my acceptance letters from the schools, I’ll know my options. Anyway, I’ll be moving away to go to college in a few months and I’ll take you with me.”
“You know I can’t afford to go to college, right? My stepfather doesn’t even want me to leave the farm.”
“Your stepdad’s selfish. He just wants to keep you to himself.”
“Yeah … so I can do all the cooking and housework and keep him company. He still talks about my mother. He occasionally calls out her name when he’s passed out drunk on the sofa. And he still hits me sometimes.”
“Ouch, that must hurt,” said Max, putting his arm around my neck and looking up at the stars. “It’s not your fault that your mother took off, and you shouldn’t be stuck here as that jerk’s slave. You have me now.”
“Where have you applied to college?” I asked.
“All over the country. When we move, I’ll find a place to rent and we’ll live together. You can work, and maybe I’ll be able to get a part-time job. If we’re careful, maybe we can save up enough for you to go to college the following year. I want to help you … I will help you.”
“You’re so nice to me.” I turned to face him and put my hand on his chest. “Why?”