“Are the police here to arrest my uncle?” I asked.
Mrs. Weaver looked at me curiously. “No, dear. They’re here to
arrest the Johnson boy.”
“Why?”
“Your uncle is pressing charges against him for assault.”
“What! That’s crazy. Reds was protecting me from him.” First I
pointed to myself, and then I pointed towards my uncle’s cottage. “If anyone
should be pressing charges for assault, it should be me. Against my uncle!”
Those were brave words. Truth on fire.
“I thought maybe you would have something to say about that. Just
go downstairs and tell your side of the story. Set things straight.”
I hesitated. If I told what had happened to me, it would change
the way people thought about me. But I knew I was hanging on to an identity
that no longer fit me. I had outgrown it like one of Wendy’s summer dresses. “I
can’t.”
“Yes, honey child, you can. You need to give the secret away to
another to look after it. Give yourself some time to heal. You can’t do it
alone.” She nodded toward the stairs. “Go on, now. You can do it. “I’ll be
waiting for you on the third floor. Come see me when you’re done.”
I nodded and limped as best as I could downstairs. I reached the
bottom, and Wendy, Julie, and Reds were there waiting for me.
Julie walked over and hugged me. I whispered
in her ear, smelling her citrus shampoo. “I just wanted to be more like you.”
“Hey, remember that you’re an original. Remember the moments that
define you . . . good and bad. That’s what makes you special. Besides, you’re
the bravest girl I know. Actually, I wish I was more like you.”
I stepped back to look into her blue eyes. Emotions clogged up my
throat and I couldn’t swallow or talk, so I just smiled sadly and nodded at
her.
“Just keep your head above water, New Girl,
and everything will be okay.” She said my nickname like it was a badge of
honor.
I sniffed back tears as I watched her and Wendy walk out the front
door.
Reds walked over to me and hugged me.
I hugged back. I inhaled, taking in a deep breath of him. He
smelled like pine trees, mud, and fish. He smelled like the river. Our river.
The police officer shuffled and I heard his handcuffs jingle. I
let go of Reds, but he didn’t want to let go of me. I reached into my pocket
and pulled out the flattened penny my mom had given me. I rubbed it between my
finger and thumb one last time, feeling its smoothness. I handed it to him.
“Here. Penny for your thoughts.”
His eyes got watery. “I take back what I said before.”
“What?”
“You know, about the penny.” He held it up in
front of his face.
I gave him a quizzical look.
“It’s not worthless. It’s worth
everything
.” He smiled a
sad smile, turned, and went to the door.
Our emotions were tangled together and I wanted to cry too. We
were like evergreen trees in winter, laden with snow, bent over with the weight
of what we knew.
The door closed behind him, and I felt empty. Scared. I was too
young to carry around this amount of pain, of guilt and of shame. I needed to
let the sparrows fly away.
I limped over to the police officer, gathering my bravery. I
cleared my throat. At first, I tried to push the words up, but they tasted like
mud. I cleared my throat again, this time I could feel my throat open and the
words float up like sparrows. “I have something to tell you.”
It happened. I would forever be something different because of it.
But it wouldn’t kill me like I thought it would. As the words spilled
effortlessly from me, I knew I would always keep talking. I would tell anyone
who would listen to me to TELL SOMEONE if something bad happens. The truth was
muddy and dirty and sharp. But it would no longer cut my throat if I spoke.
After the officer wrote down my story, he said he would file the
report and let us know what would happen next.
I waited until the officer shut the door behind him before I
climbed the three flights of stairs. Mrs. Weaver was sitting in a chair facing
the north side of the camp, looking out the window toward the river.
The ceiling was slanted on the right side and on the left were two
rocking chairs facing the window, which was the same shape as a stop sign. It
was dark and cozy with lots of books. It was a perfect tiny library.
“I thought I might sit with you up here. I need—”
“No explanation needed, girl. This is where I come when things are
too much for me.”
I sat in the rocking chair next to her. I knew it was her
husband’s chair.
“I was watching last night. I saw what your uncle was doing to you
on the path. And you weren’t the first, honey. I remember your uncle years ago
when he was in high school. He was skipping school with a girl about his age. I
watched them on the path by the river and they just seemed like a young couple
canoodling. I didn’t pay too much mind. Then I heard the girl scream. I watched
her struggle against his grip, and I knew something was wrong.
Luckily, I ran out and stopped him before he could do anything. I
called the police, but they said it was my word against his. Of course he
denied everything, and the girl had run off as soon as he let go of her. Since
the police couldn’t do anything, I did the next best thing. I called the truant
officer and they caught him. He got a suspension from school and all related
activities.”
I gasped. I cried. I couldn’t speak.
“I see everything from up here.” She motioned with her hand for me
to look out the window.
I got up from my chair and stood in front of
the window. It was breathtaking. I could see the entire camp, including the
river.
“You can see everything.” She paused. “Or you can see nothing at
all.”
I looked long and hard, silently staring out the window. I didn’t
have to see anything at all, but I opened my mind’s eye and saw everything.
I saw my mother running toward me. I saw a child become a woman. I
saw the sparkling stars on the river and I saw dandelions in the sky. I saw
everything.
I stayed on top of the world with Mrs. Weaver for as long as
possible, but I knew I couldn’t avoid the inevitable. I was just waiting as
long as I could, waiting for my mother to come fly me away home.
After receiving her BA in English from Virginia
Commonwealth University, life swept Tina Sears away from writing.
She worked as an Evidence Photographer for the FBI,
a Medi
cal Photographer for a major teaching hospital and a Ballroom
Dance Instructor. But it was during her time as contributing writer for The
Fredericksburg Times that led her
back to her
passion for writing. She received an MFA in Cre
ative Writing from
Southern New Hampshire University. She lives with her wife in Virginia.