Chapter One

At eighty-nine years old, Clara Denise Graham is nearing death. While spending her last days in a hospice care center, she concocts a plan to amend the relationship she has with her daughter.

Chapter One

I was born and raised in Rhemus, Alabama--and I think because of that fact, I was introduced to Him at a young age. By Him, I mean God. God was the center of our household, our pillar and support system in good times and in bad times. Bad times were seen more often than the good times, but all and all, God was always with us or so they said He was. When it rained outside and the water poured in through the leaking roof, and the pots and pans had to be placed on the floor to catch the water, God was there. When the food stamps were cut off, and the answer to everyone eating for the rest of the month was anyone’s guess, God was there. I was never skeptical of His presence. I believed He was there; however, sometimes I wished that He would allow us to experience more of the good times instead of the bad.

Growing up in Rhemus was like growing up in any other small southern town, I suppose. Everyone knew each other and everyone knew each other’s business. I guess if you were nosy that was one of the few pleasantries of living in Rhemus. Rhemus was smaller than small. It could be seen on foot in thirty minutes and less than fifteen minutes if driving. Divided into two sections, uptown and downtown held all there was to see in Rhemus: a high school, an elementary and middle school next door, one makeshift park, one bank, one post office, one Laundromat, one library, one city hall building, one bar named the Dew Drop Inn, one department store, two churches, two corner stores, two small grocery stores, and a multitude of run down shacks pretty much summed up Rhemus. It wasn’t much, but it was home to me and everyone I loved.

            Along with being small, Rhemus was dull and placid. It would have been the perfect vacation spot for a centenarian. On account that it was quiet, I felt that it was my personal duty to liven things up a bit. And since I was blessed with Rolly (who was given his nickname because he was round like a Roly Poly) that was an easy task to embark upon. Rolly was my partner in mischief. He was the brother I always wanted, but the brother my mama never had.

            Rolly and I were both eleven years old, and our birthdays were only four days apart. Sometimes I wondered if God had a hand in his mama and my mama being pregnant at the same time--somehow foreseeing that we would need each other. Rolly never knew his mama--or any of his family for that matter. When he was four years old, he was left in a stroller on the front steps of the World Faith Christian Center with a note. Grandmama said the note had one sentence: Take care of him because we don’t want him. Grandmama led the church’s Motherboard Ministry and begged Grandaddy to let her keep him. Grandaddy said she was taking the “mother” portion of the “motherboard a little too literally, but eventually relented after Grandmama convinced him that I needed someone to play and grow up with.

On rare occasions, when Grandmama was feeling nostalgic, or wanted to remind Grandaddy that she had been right, she told--what she coined--“our story.” It was always quick and began and ended the same way. Rolly and I heard it so many times that we silently recited it with her. “Like glue these two were stuck together from the start,” Grandmama would say. “When I introduced Rolly to Clara, the first thing he did was hug her like he knew exactly who she was. Ever since then, they haven’t left each other’s side. They’ve been causing a ruckus and protecting each other in the process.” When Grandmama finished “our story,” Rolly and I always released a collective “awww.” We teased Grandmama about it but deep down I think we both enjoyed hearing it. It solidified what we knew but couldn’t remember: Rolly and I had loved each other from the beginning.

When we weren’t in school, Rolly and I were looking for something to get into. Grandmama called it mischief, but we called it fun, and it was found in the abandoned churchyard next door to our house. Rolly and I focused all of our free time and energy on kicking the doors to the church open. The church doors were locked so our kicking was always done in vain. The doors never flew open like we hoped they would. I thought the latter would be true forever, until one day after school, Rolly and I thought we would finally experience the sweet taste of victory. Rolly had a brilliant plan that ensured we would finally see the inside of the church.

“All we gotta do is take one of our old bottle rockets, put it into a pop bottle, light it, and the rocket will do all of the hard work for us,” said Rolly. 

“I don’t know Rolly, what if we get in trouble? If Grandmama finds out, she’s going to whoop us until we can’t cry.”

“We won’t get into trouble. Besides, after it’s lit, we’ll run and hide and they won’t even know it was us,” he said.

It sounded like a solid plan to me so I fulfilled my part of the plan quickly. I ran to the old shed and took the biggest bottle rocket I could find. I raced back to Rolly as fast as I could and found everything set up. An old muddy Sprite bottle was lying on its side and Rolly was holding a single match in his hand that he had stolen from Grandmama’s matchbox.

“You got it!” he shouted.

“Yeah!” I said.

I couldn’t wait to see the inside of the church, and I knew Rolly couldn’t either because he snatched the rocket from my hand before I came to a complete stop. He placed the rocket inside the bottle and aimed the bottle toward the church. One violent scratch of the match against the concrete allowed Rolly to light the rocket’s fuse. As the fuse burned away, Rolly grabbed my hand and we ran behind Grandaddy’s abandoned 1964 blue Chevy Impala parked in the yard.

We were barely behind the Chevy when we saw the rocket fly from the bottle, curve, and crash into the waist-high weeds that were adjacent to the church. Fire immediately swallowed the weeds. Rolly and I watched in horror. We tried to stick to our plan and remain hidden, but our cover was blown when a woman walking down the sidewalk started screaming, pointing at us, and yelling FIRRRREEE! Rolly and I were frozen in our tracks. We couldn’t move. All we could do was stand there and look on in horror as the fire spread throughout the weeds.

            It didn’t take long for the neighbors to pour out into the street and watch the blaze and the chaos that ensued. Before long, my Uncle Bruce sprinted past us toward the fire with only a shirt in his hands. Using his shirt, he beat the flaming weeds until the fire was extinguished. Along with extinguishing the fire, he disturbed a wasp nest and was severely bitten on his face, back, and neck.  As I watched Bruce squirm and yell from the wasp stings, a laughter arose in my belly that I wanted to release with great joy. I thought he deserved every last one of those wasp stings.

             My thirst for jovial laughter, however, was immediately replaced with fear, sadness, and tears when I saw Grandmama looking at Rolly and I with anger. How did she know it was us? Was she watching us the entire time? My mind couldn’t think about the answer to those questions at that moment. I looked into Grandmama’s eyes and burst into tears. I knew Rolly and I were in trouble and a whooping was inevitable.

            Luckily for Rolly and I, the whooping would have to wait. As Grandmama firmly motioned for Rolly and I to come to her, a police car pulled into the yard. Officer Bart, as he was affectionately known around town, simultaneously, exited his squad car and asked who started the fire. Unfortunately for us, the woman who initially saw the fire told Officer Bart every single detail and promptly identified Rolly and I as the “two bad a*s kids” that did it. I continued to sob. My life was over at eleven. I knew I was going to jail; however, when I looked at Rolly, I was comforted--at least he would be there with me.

            “Grandmama this is all my fault,” said Rolly. “Clara didn’t do anything. She tried to get me to stop.”

Grandmama held up her hand with her palm facing outward. “I don’t want to hear it Rolly.” Grandmama knew the truth. “You and Clara take yall butts on that porch and wait for me.”

            I wanted to run and hide, but I couldn’t make my legs move. I knew she was going to whoop both of us and hiding would only prolong my fate.

            “Are your grandkids responsible for this mess Mrs. Graham?” asked Officer Bart.

“Yes they are,” said Grandmama, darting her eyes toward Rolly and I sitting on the porch.

“Well Mrs. Graham you know-”

“Don’t worry, I will talk to them.”

I knew what she meant by talk--that was the code word for whooping. Officer Bart must have understood the code word as well because he politely smiled and walked back to his squad car. Watching Grandmama from the porch confirmed that she was the most beautiful woman in the world, even if she was going to whoop me. Maybe it was because I loved her so much, but sometimes I stared at Grandmama. I marveled at how tall and stately she was. Her demeanor facilitated an air of sophistication and strength to flow forth to all who encountered her. She possessed something that you just couldn’t put your finger on. Although you didn’t know what it was, you knew you wanted some of it. She had skin like butter and long black hair that she kept tightly in a bun. She loved to eat cream cheese and crackers and was an avid smoker.

Although the smell of her clothes and the color of her nails made it impossible for her to hide her pack a day smoking habit, she effectively hid her most cherished vice in a brown paper bag underneath the kitchen sink. I didn’t know when she drank, and I never smelled alcohol on her breath until she used her spit to remove the sleep from the corners of my mouth when I forgot to wash my face in the morning.

I loved her because she was a strong, yet gentle and kind woman, and I knew she loved me. When we went out in public and the town folks whispered and pointed at my red curls and blue eyes, she didn’t hide me but held me close, sending a message to everyone that I was her grandbaby and she loved me. She loved all of us. She never complained, even when she spent her entire day looking after everyone but herself. Because she never had time for herself, I figured she deserved a drink every now and again, especially after raising ten kids and now taking care of Rolly, Bruce, Grandaddy, and me.

            After watching Officer Bart drive his squad car out of the yard and down the street, Grandmama glared at us and disappeared behind the house. I knew where she was going. She was headed for the big tree next to the shed. She was going to pick the switch she would use to whoop Rolly and me. Waiting for her to whoop us was torture. I wanted her to yell at us and tell us how angry she was. I just wanted her to get it over with, but I knew she had other plans. Five minutes had slowly ticked by from the time she watched Officer Bart’s departure and walked toward the backyard. Rolly and I looked at each other in small intervals every time we heard a noise.

            “Where is she?” whispered Rolly.

            “I don’t know, maybe she forgot,” I said.

I knew that wasn’t the truth, but it made me feel better. After what seemed like an eternity, but was only ten minutes, Rolly and I heard the back screen door slam.

“Here she comes,” whispered Rolly.

“I know, be quiet,” I said.

She was headed our way with the sole purpose of whooping us. Grandmama walked onto the porch with a long switch in her hand and sat down in between Rolly and me.

“Grandmama, pleaassssse!” said Rolly, leaping from the porch swing and running for the door.

“Ooooh Grandmama please, we won’t do it again! I promise!” I said, following Rolly’s lead and running toward the door.

“Come here,” Grandmama said coolly, looking at Rolly and I with mild amusement.

“Please Grandmama, please!” said Rolly.

“Clara, Rolly, come here. If I have to ask you again, I can assure you that you’re not going to like the way I ask.”

I walked toward Grandmama and sat at the opposite end of the porch swing, which forced Rolly to sit in between Grandmama and me after I refused to scoot over.  I figured if Grandmama began swinging the switch, Rolly would be the most accessible. Grandmama placed the switch on the ground, moved in between Rolly and me, and put her arms around us.

“You know what you and Rolly did was very dangerous. Someone could have gotten seriously hurt. Sometimes I think you two are hell-bent on discarding the God-given sense that I know you both have,” said Grandmama.

If there was one thing Grandmama didn’t like, it was her grandkids running wild like road lizards in the neighborhood--acting as if they don’t have any sense or home training.

“I taught both of you better than that, and I know you know better. I’m very disappointed. I want you both to go next door and clean up the burnt weeds and write a letter of apology to the town of Rhemus for your behavior.”

“Yes ma’am,” we responded in unison.

As Rolly and I mercifully looked at Grandmama, she smiled, stood up, and picked the switch off of the floor. She left Rolly and I sitting on the porch. Rolly and I lingered there for a short while after Grandmama left. We didn’t high five each other or sigh with relief because we escaped the burn of the switch on our backsides. Rolly and I learned that disappointing Grandmama was more painful than getting a whooping, and I vowed to never disappoint her again.

            After the fire, Rolly and I were forbidden to even look at the churchyard, let alone go near it. Because we were banned, Rolly and I shifted our attention to the backyard. A bare, dusty, gravel-filled area with a basketball court, uncut grass, and an old shed. Basketball was rarely chosen as an activity; Rolly and I usually opted to search for snakes in the tall unkempt grass. Once they were successfully found, hollering and screaming followed with precision. Our newfound activity was not as exciting as the churchyard, but it kept us in Grandmama’s good graces. And every once in a while, when no one was around, we snuck onto the churchyard and resumed our mission of kicking the church doors open. From that time forward, the days followed accordingly: school and then mischief.

            Sunday, however, was reserved for church. There wasn’t any room for mischief on the Lord’s Day. It was the one day I could repent for all of the horrible things I had done during the week, or at least that’s what Grandmama said in order to scare me into going. I didn’t fight her too much about going to church. I enjoyed going to church because it allowed me to talk directly to God. Grandmama said that when two or more people are gathered together in God’s name, He is in the midst of them.

We had been proud members of the World Faith Christian Center for as long as I could remember, and on Sunday, there were more than seventy-five members in attendance. I knew God was amongst us. I felt his presence, and because of that, I didn’t miss an opportunity to talk to Him. Grandmama said God would always hear me because I talked to Him through Jesus, I was baptized when I was a baby, I accepted Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior, and I believed Jesus died on the cross for my sins.

Although everyone around me seemed to have God on speed dial, I was still learning how to talk to God and what to say to Him when we conversed. I usually copied Grandmama and thanked Him for allowing me to get out of bed that morning and for keeping me clothed and in my right mind. I didn’t know what clothed and in my right mind meant, but I knew if Grandmama was saying it, then it was definitely the right thing to say.

After the copied prerequisite praise, I usually asked God for things I wanted. Pastor Johns told the congregation that if we ask anything in God’s name, He would do it. So I frequently asked God, through Jesus, to put it on Grandmama’s heart to buy Rolly and I lots of toys. But a majority of my conversation with God was spent telling Him what Bruce was doing to me and asking Him to protect me from Bruce like He protected David from Saul and the Israelites from Pharaoh. 

Bruce was my youngest uncle, and he was as mean as a rattlesnake. And although he wasn’t a false prophet, he came in sheep’s clothing but inwardly was a ravenous wolf. He was the baby out of ten children, and the last one to leave the nest. He stood five-feet two--which was unusual because a majority of the men in my family were over six-feet tall. Although small in stature, his height didn’t hinder him. Bruce was the starting point guard for the varsity basketball team, the star attraction in the school’s marching band, and a straight A student. Grandmama and Grandaddy adored him. According to them, he was walking perfection that could do no wrong. He had everyone fooled--like those movie-manufactured sociopaths who pull the wool over everyone’s eyes with their intellect and charm until cracks began to show in their façade--but by then it’s too late--everyone is dead!

When Grandmama was forced to leave the house to run errands or take Grandaddy to his doctor’s appointments, Bruce was chosen to watch Rolly and me. I loathed the time when Grandmama was gone because she was my protection. I felt safe when she was near. Bruce didn’t utter a word to me when she was around because Grandmama watched me like a Mama bear watches her cubs.

I paid close attention to Grandmama’s comings and goings. When I knew she was leaving, I begged and pleaded for her to take me. When my begging and pleas fell on deaf ears, I coerced Rolly into playing with me as far from the house as we could get. It was my personal mission to never be alone with Bruce if I could help it. I fought hard to stay away from him during the day, because at night, I didn’t have a choice. The day following my eleventh birthday, and every day after, Bruce snuck into my room at night and took from me what girls are suppose to possess until they give it away.  

It amazed and frightened me how quickly the love I felt for my once favorite Uncle turned to hate. I wanted to hurt him as much as he hurt me. I wanted him to feel the hurt and the pain that seared my heart because of his betrayal. I wanted to cut his penis off and make him eat it. At least he wouldn’t be able to use it to hurt anyone else like I know he wanted to. He salivated over the girls who lived on our street"some as young as six--unable to keep his mouth closed while he watched their dresses fly up and down as they jumped rope or played hopscotch on the sidewalk. I knew they would be his next victims if I denied him, so I didn’t. I didn’t fight him when he snuck into my room at night and tapped me on my shoulder. I rolled over, slid my panties to my ankles, and endured it--saying the Lord’s Prayer over and over in my head and thinking about the little girls--their innocence still intact and their gift still theirs to give away.

“Remember, don’t tell. This is our little secret.” Bruce always said the same thing after he finished. I did as I was told. I kept his secret, but the day after I turned thirteen, I learned that Bruce and I weren’t the only one’s keeping it.

“Clara, why does Bruce come into your room after I leave?” asked Rolly, one night as we knelt down in front of my bed to say the Lord’s Prayer in unison.

The question came from his mouth without warning and shocked me. It seemed random, but it wasn’t. It seemed impromptu, but I knew he had practiced asking the question"waiting for the courage and the right moment to say it to me.

“What are you talking about?” I tried to ask him convincingly--squinting my eyes and shaking my head at the same time.

“Clara, you know what I’m talking about,” said Rolly, looking at me with tears in his eyes.

He was right, I did know, and I wanted to tell him. The confession of the secret formed in my head and the words scratched my throat eagerly trying to escape. I needed to tell someone--not someone--Rolly.

“Please don’t make me say it,” I said, looking down at the floor.

“You don’t have to,” he said, unclasping his hands and pulling me into his arms. “I hear him hurting you every night. Well no more, do you hear me? No more. Clara, look at me.” Rolly pulled me away from his body with as much force as he used to pull me into him. “I’ll die before I let him touch you again. I’ll die.”

Rolly was crying harder now--not a cry of sadness but of anger and rage. The tips of his nails--turning white from lack of blood flow--dug deep into my arms. “I’ll die Clara. I’ll die.”

“I know,” I said, looking into his eyes and gently wiping the tears from his cheeks. “It’s okay.”

I tried to remain stoic, unaffected, and strong but with each passing second of watching the tears leap from his eyes and roll down his cheeks, I became undone--my face growing hot, my throat closing up, and the tears building in my eyes despite my best efforts to keep them at bay. In that moment, I thanked God for creating my skeletal structure because without it, I would have gone everywhere at once.

Don’t cry Clara. Come on don’t cry. Suck it up. I wanted to stop the tears. The tears would confirm it. The tears would make it real. It’s not as if I didn’t want to cry--I did. I wanted to sob. I wanted to fall onto his chest and cry, and cry, and cry. I no longer felt alone. Rolly knew everything, and I didn’t have to say a word. When my eyes were full, and I knew the next blink would reveal the emotions I was desperately trying to hide, I wrapped my arms around his neck and laid my head on his chest.

Rolly’s arms welcomed and engulfed me. I closed my eyes and slightly exhaled--relaxing every muscle in my body with the expulsion of air. The world around me, and all the problems in it, seemed to fade away. If possible, I would have stayed there with Rolly forever--lying on his chest and counting the number of times his heart beat per minute. In that peaceful and calm moment with him, something changed. For the first time in my thirteen years with Rolly, I saw a glimpse of something more in him--more than the playmate and big brother role he filled so well. In that moment, those roles no longer fit. I didn’t want them to fit. They confined and restrained the love that I felt for him. Although I was just thirteen, I knew I never wanted him to leave me. I wanted him to always protect me--always make me feel safe.                          

Rolly rocked me gently and held me tightly. I wondered if things had changed for him too. I wondered if he loved me the way that I loved him. Maybe one day I could be his wife--that’s if he didn’t think I was too damaged.

“Clara.” The sound of my name coming from the hall startled me and pulled me away from my future with Rolly. “Clara.”

“That’s him,” I whispered, jumping from Rolly’s arms and scooting on my butt into the farthest corner away from the door.

Rolly jumped to his feet and ran to the door.

“Clara, open the door,” said Bruce, twisting the doorknob back and forth.

“Bruce if you don’t get away from this f*****g door I’m gonna tell everyone what you’ve been doing to Clara.”

“Rolly!” My eyes grew two sizes at the sound of his threat. “Don’t say that. You’ll make him angry.”

Rolly turned away from the door and walked toward me until he was standing at my feet. “Angry or not, this has to stop.”

“I know,” I said, reaching for him. “Just stay with me Rolly. Don’t let him get me.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

I buried my head into Rolly’s chest and listened for Bruce’s response. I expected him to laugh. It would be fitting. I mean, who were we kidding? Even if we did tell, who would believe us? It would be our word against Saint Bruce’s word. Everyone would believe him, and we would be pegged as two kids trying to cause trouble.

I was shaking now and each passing moment of silence made me more afraid.

“It’s okay,” said Rolly, rubbing my back. “He can’t get in here. The door is locked.”

“I know, but what is he doing? Why isn’t he saying anything? Is he still standing in front of the door?”

 Maybe he was in shock or thinking of a way to convince Rolly that I was lying. You know she’s lying, right? I would never do that, especially not to my own niece. I could hear Bruce’s convincing denial. He would portray me as a liar, and the thought of not being believed made me not want to tell anyone. Rolly knew the truth and that was enough.

“It doesn’t matter what he’s doing,” said Rolly. “I’m going to protect you.” Rolly pulled my pillow and comforter from the bed and laid them on the floor. “Now come on, let’s go to sleep,” he said, pointing to the pallet he made for both of us in the corner.

“Okay.”

As I lay down next to Rolly, I took one last glance at the door before I put my arms across him, closed my eyes, and silently counted backward from a thousand. When I reached zero, I opened my right eye just enough to see if Rolly was asleep before I began to pray.

“Dear God, it’s me,” I said, whispering to myself and double checking for any sign that Rolly was still awake. Satisfied that he was asleep, I continued. “I know I’m not suppose to pray to You like this but I wanted to thank You for sending Rolly to me. Tonight is the first time in years, I’m not going to bed feeling dirty and in pain, and I know it’s because of You and him. I don’t know where Bruce is, but I know wherever he is, he’s angry. I know he’s gonna make us pay for tonight so can you please protect us from him? Amen.”

“Amen,” said Rolly, turning away from me.

“You little jerk,” I said, playfully elbowing him in his back. “I thought you were asleep.”

A few seconds passed, but Rolly didn’t respond.

“Rolly, what’s wrong?” I asked, looking at the back of his head. “Why did you turn away?”

“I’m tired Clara, that’s all.”

I sat up on my elbows and peered over his shoulder. The glint of light seeping in through the open blinds exposed his glistening eyes.

“Rolly,” I said, slowly easing back to the floor.

“Yeah.”

“You know none of this is your fault.”

“I should have protected you sooner Clara. I was being a coward.”

“Rolly you’re not a-”

“Clara, I’m really tired.”

“Okay.”

I laid next to Rolly thinking of what I could say to make him know that none of this was his fault. I scoured my mind for the right words until it hit me. Words weren’t needed. I rolled onto my side, scooted closer to Rolly, and wrapped my arm around him.

Rolly grabbed my hand and interlocked it with his. “Goodnight Clara.”

“Goodnight Rolly.”

       ***

The next morning I woke up in my bed--swaddled with my blanket like a newborn infant. “Rolly,” I said, pulling my arm from underneath the blanket and blindly patting the bed in search of him. “Rolly.”

Realizing I was alone, I sat up in bed and blinked my eyes in rapid succession to expedite their adjustment to the sunlight flooding into the room through the open blinds.

“Rolly,” I darted my eyes to the corner where we fell asleep, but he wasn’t there. “Ro-” I said, throwing my hands over my mouth upon seeing him sitting with his back to the door and his head bowed down toward his chest. Climbing out of bed and dropping to my hands and knees, I crawled toward him for a closer examination. The rising and falling of his head with each breath told me he was still alive. “Thank God.”

I didn’t have a logical reason to think Rolly was dead. Bruce was a sociopath, but he wasn’t a murderer. And however illogical, seeing Rolly sleeping so peacefully made me want to confirm that his suspended state of tranquility was only temporary. I guess even then, I was somehow aware of the eventual pain that comes with finding love.

 Grandmama said that love is the most amazing thing in the world. I believed her, but ironically, it’s also one of the most painful. Whether one realizes it or not, when we love others and let others love us, we knowingly or unknowingly, accept that the realm in which we can physically express that love is temporary and fleeting. One day, either by force or choice, the relationship in which that love lived will end. And however, cruel and painful, we will have to go on living without that person--left alone to endure the memories of that love and the pain of no longer having the person we once shared that love with in our lives. Watching Rolly’s shoulders rise and fall, and the air escape from his mouth, meant that I had more time"more time to show him how much I loved him and how much I needed him.

“Rolly.” I gently placed my index and middle finger on his shoulder blade and nudged him. “Wake up, it’s morning.”

“Clara,” he said, rolling his head backward and opening his eyes.

“Yeah, who else would it be?” I wrapped my hands around his wrist and pulled his arm. “Come on Rolly, get up.”

“Alright.” Rolly climbed to his feet and turned to face the door. “Have you heard anything from Bruce,” he asked, looking back at me.

“No, I was gonna ask you the same thing.”

Rolly turned the brass lock and placed his hand on the doorknob. “Well let’s find out.”

“No,” I said, putting my right hand on top of his.

“Clara, it’s gonna be okay. Besides, we can’t stay in here forever. We’re gonna have to leave sometime.”

“Fine,” I said, realizing he was right. “Let’s just get it over with.”

Rolly eased the door open slowly and carefully--masterfully trying to prevent the old rusty hinges from creaking. With every inch of the hallway revealed, my heart beat faster and faster until I thought it would explode or beat out of my chest. I wanted to run under the bed and hide--leave Rolly there to face whatever was on the other side of the door alone, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t leave him. I wouldn’t. Come what may, we were in this together. Like death row inmates strapped to a gurney and anticipating the lethal cocktail of drugs that would end their lives or a mother being told that their child had been in an accident and it was bad--I knew whatever was coming wasn’t good, but we would have to endure it.

The cream-colored carpet, the spiral staircase, the family portraits--showing a younger Grandmama and Grandaddy married and in love hung on the wall and filled my vision. Like a painting finally unveiled, Rolly and I saw the complete picture and Bruce wasn’t in it.

“See, I told you everything would be okay,” said Rolly smiling. “Come on.” Rolly grabbed my hand and we walked into the hallway.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” I screamed, seeing Bruce in my peripheral vision.

“Get back into the room Clara! Go!”

I ran backward into the room--crashing into the foot of the bed and falling to the floor.

Rolly grabbed the door and tried to close it. “Stop Bruce,” screamed Rolly. “Stop!”

Bruce fought to get into the room. His hands firmly gripped the inside of the door while he repeatedly rammed his shoulder into its frame. Come on Rolly. Come on. I silently rooted for Rolly--somehow hoping that he would hear it and it would give him the strength he needed to keep fighting. At thirteen, Rolly was already 6’2 and two hundred and twenty pounds. “I’m a monster Clara. Look at me. God made a mistake. I’m too big.” Rolly hated always being bigger than the rest of the kids in our grade. “Rolly, God don’t make no mistakes.” I would say. “He made you that way for a reason.” And as I watched Rolly fight to push the door close, I knew I had been right. Maybe God made him that way so he could protect me--us.

I climbed from the floor and watched them--eagerly anticipating Rolly closing the door in Bruce’s face. It was almost over. Rolly was winning. Every time Bruce removed his shoulder from the door--only to slam it against the door again, Rolly remained steady and consistent--keeping his weight against the door and pushing it away from him with all of his strength. When I could no longer see Bruce’s fingers on the inside of the door, I smiled. Come on Rolly, just a little bit more. You almost got it.

“Ahhhhh, I’m slipping.”

“What?” I looked at Rolly’s feet"covered with white socks"sliding on the hardwood floor. “No.”

Instead of ramming the door, Bruce started pushing it against Rolly. Unable to keep his footing, Rolly’s feet slid gradually from the door until he slipped to his knees, the door flew open, and Bruce stood in the doorway.

“Clara, get over here now.”

I ran behind Rolly--grabbing his upper arms and using him as a human shield. He was the only thing separating me from Bruce, and I wanted to keep it that way.

“Calm down,” Bruce said, closing the door behind him. “I just came to talk. This is all a misunderstanding.”

“A misunderstanding. How is raping Clara a misunderstanding?”

“I didn’t rape Clara.”

Liar! I closed my eyes and placed my forehead in the middle of Rolly’s back. Liar! I wanted to tell him to his face that he was a liar, but I couldn’t move. I could barely breathe.

“Clara.”

I opened my eyes and repositioned Rolly in front of me as Bruce called my name and peered behind Rolly to look at me.

“Clara.”

He said my name the same way he did each night he crept into my room and slithered into bed with me.

“Clara, you need to tell the truth.”

No, no, no. I closed my eyes and tried to think about anything but the sound of my name coming from his mouth. I tried to fight my thoughts, but they snatched me backward. I tried to breathe but the oxygen wouldn’t enter my lungs fast enough to stop my gasps for air. As if I was lying on my bed and Bruce was on top of me, I could smell his deodorant and feel the heat and sweat emanating from his body.

 “Get him out of here Rolly! Get him out of here!”

“Man, you’re gonna believe her. Look at her. She’s crazy.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna believe her. Now get the f**k out of here Bruce. Go!”

“I’ll leave, but what yall plannin to do? Tell. You think Mama is gonna believe you two b******s over me. I’m her son.”

“Just go Bruce!”

Bruce walked to the door and placed his hand on the doorknob. “You keep her quiet,” he said, looking back at Rolly. Remember who you are. You’re not a part of this family. You don’t belong here. One word from me and you’re out of here. Now who do you think will protect her once you’re gone?”

Laughing, Bruce opened the door and walked into the hallway and disappeared. Rolly followed quickly behind him and closed the door.

“Lock it, I said, after failing to hear the click of the lock.

“Well, I’m gonna need my arms back to do that.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, looking down at my hands still gripping his biceps.

“Here.” Rolly pointed at the bed. “Sit down. Are you okay?”

I shook my head. “Yes, I just need to catch my breath.”

“Listen to me Clara. I know you don’t want to hear this but we’ve gotta tell Grandmama.”

“No,” I said, gasping for air in a feeble attempt to regulate my breathing. “She’s not gonna believe us. You heard Bruce.”

“I don’t care what Bruce said. She’ll believe us if we both tell her.”

“No.”

“Clara.”

“No, I don’t wanna tell her, and you can’t tell her either. I just want it to stop.”

“Even if you don’t tell, it will stop. I won’t let him touch you again.”

“You promise.”

Rolly lifted his open hand toward my face and caressed my cheek. “I promise.”

Maybe it was the look in his eyes, the tone of his voice, or the way he held his hand to my cheek and gently swept his thumb back and forth underneath my eye, but for some reason, I believed he would keep his promise, and he did.

However, I knew Bruce wouldn’t make it easy. “You can’t be with her all the time. They’ll come a time when you won’t be around, and I’ll get her.” Bruce’s threats were consistent and successful--at least by my standards. He terrified me, and the thought of him catching me alone made me wish I never told our secret. Our secret--like it was ever our secret to begin with. The secret was one-sided. It was his secret. I never wanted to share it with him, but I did. At least, when it was between us, I knew what to expect. Now, I didn’t know what vile and disgusting things he had planned for me. What would he subject me to? Could it get any worse? Was he watching me? I was convinced that he was. I always thought he was somewhere near--lurking and watching--even when he wasn’t.

Bruce’s threats turned me into a basket case. I was always looking over my shoulder--expecting to see him there watching and waiting for a time when I would be alone. Bruce’s threats had the opposite effect on Rolly. They made him angry and even more obsessed with keeping me safe. According to Rolly, the only way to protect me was to keep me in his sight at all times. We became each other’s shadow. Everywhere I went, he followed, and everywhere he went, I followed.

We walked to school together. When we didn’t share a class, Rolly walked me to my class and was there waiting for me after it ended. We compromised with one another. Rolly endured one hour of choir rehearsal every Wednesday and Saturday--despite declaring after each practice that everyone but me was tone deaf and his ears were bleeding. I agreed to attend all of his football practices and games, although my heart sank to my stomach every time he was hit or tackled. I immediately assumed the worst when the scores of football players piled on top of him, and it took him more than a few seconds to peel himself from the ground.

After school, we did our chores together and tried to keep some semblance of our former routine by searching for garden snakes in the waist-high grass, playing h-o-r-s-e in the backyard, and sneaking onto the churchyard to kick the church doors open when Grandmama was gone. When I had to use the bathroom or take a shower, Rolly walked me to the bathroom and waited outside. When it was his turn, I followed him into the bathroom--each time renewing my promise to face the door, close my eyes, cover my ears, (sometimes my nose) and sing so he knew I was there. Before bed, we said the Lord’s Prayer in unison, but instead of returning to his room, Rolly stayed in my room--locking the door, sitting upright with his back against the wall, and watching me until I fell asleep.

“You don’t have to sleep on the floor,” I would say each night as he made his makeshift pallet. “There’s plenty of room in here for both of us.”

“No Clara. I’m never going to sleep with you,” he would always say.

Never. I didn’t like that word. It was finite. Never. Each time I heard it, I felt rejected. One night after hearing the word again, I turned away from him in a fit. I did it to spite him. I knew Rolly couldn’t fall asleep until he knew I was asleep, but I didn’t care. I wanted him to know that I was angry. However, Rolly didn’t notice. He just moved to the other side of the room so he could see me. I closed my eyes and tried to forget his words. I’m NEVER going to sleep with you. NEVER. NEVER. NEVER. The word danced in my head and began to throw a party that I knew wouldn’t end until I found out why.

“What’s wrong with me? I asked, shooting up in my bed and turning toward him.

“What?”

“You always say that you will never sleep with me. What’s wrong with me?”

Rolly scooted out of the shadows and knelt on his knees at my bedside. The moonlight shining in through the open blinds illuminated his face enough so that I could see him.

“Nothing is wrong with you Clara,” Rolly said, searching my eyes and looking at me as if he was confused about why I didn’t already know that. “You’re perfect. You’re beautiful. Any man who is able to lay his eyes on you, stand so close to you so that he can smell your hair, have you truly smile at him, and look into those eyes that rival the bluest waters is blessed by God. And any man that you grant permission to sleep with you and touch you, should be your husband.” Rolly gently placed his hand on the back of my neck and moved my face toward his. “I love you Clara,” he said, closing his eyes and kissing my forehead.

 “I love you too Rolly,” I whispered, barely able to speak.

“Now go to sleep. I’m tired,” he said smiling.

I fell backward onto my bed and turned away from Rolly"quickly using my blanket to wipe the tears forming in my eyes. Rolly slid across the floor and sat in front of the door. I closed my eyes just enough to see him but also give the illusion that I was asleep. I watched him as he watched me--repeatedly praying that Rolly would someday be my husband until I drifted off to sleep.

   ***

Grandmama said that everyone on Earth has an assigned guardian angel in Heaven. The guardian angel’s only job is to watch over us and protect us. However, when I thought about Rolly, I thought God made an exception just for him and me. My guardian angel wasn’t high above the clouds watching over me. Instead, he was on Earth--in flesh and blood--loving me, protecting me, and seeing me through this. My guardian angel was Rolly.

Sometimes, when I wasn’t afraid of getting caught, I examined Rolly’s back as he got undressed. I searched for hidden wings or any indication that he was from above. I never saw anything out of the ordinary, but it didn’t stop me from wondering how someone who wasn’t from Heaven could love me so perfectly. Rolly loved me and didn’t expect anything in return. His love was pure, sacrificial, and unconditional. It healed me and gave me strength all at the same time.

When I was depressed, moody, and feeling guilty about the young girls on our street who ran the risk of becoming Bruce’s next victims, Rolly gathered them all in a town hall meeting fashion and warned them to scream and run when they saw Bruce because he was a bad man that would hurt them and steal their toys. At night, when Rolly thought I was asleep, he knelt down at my bedside, held my hand, and prayed for me. Every night he asked God to take away the pain and the memories of the abuse. He asked God to help me forgive Bruce. I said Amen after Rolly’s prayer--well at least to the former. I would have given anything to forget the smells, the sensations, and the pain. However, I didn’t want to forgive Bruce. I hated him, and I didn’t think it was possible to forgive him for what he had done.

When I was tired of Bruce’s constant threats and lamented to Rolly that we should just let him win, Rolly convinced me that we wouldn’t always have to run from Bruce or feel like prisoners. “I’m going away to school. There aint nothing in Rhemus for me.” Rolly always reminded me of Bruce’s plans"revealed to Grandmama and Grandaddy one night during dinner.

I tried to remember his words anytime I was scared or sad, but since nothing was set in stone, I didn’t rely on Bruce’s ramblings too much. What if he didn’t leave? I didn’t want to be disappointed if he decided to stay in Rhemus, so I reconciled within myself that it didn’t matter if he stayed or left. Bruce was only one bad apple in a basket full of apples that I loved. I had Rolly, Grandmama, and Grandaddy. I loved them all very much and that was one thing I wasn’t going to let Bruce or anyone take away from me.

Author's Note

Please feel free to live a review. I want to become a better writer so any criticism, good or bad, is strongly encouraged! Thank you so much! :-)