Courage

A Story by mwelborne

A short story about the significance of words.

The first words spoken: “It's a girl!”

She was born on Valentines Day, a wad of mangled, black hair and caramel colored skin. A preemie, born 4 weeks early, the baby hardly made a noise until her first birthday. They named her Valentia, not because of Valentines Day, but after the Hispanic meaning, “courage.”

However, our story begins almost one and a half decades later, on Valentia's Quinceanera.

***

Valentia

“Sooner or later you're going to to have to meet him.”

“I don't want to,” Valentia cowered at the thought of meeting Rob, her mother's most recent love affair. All the other prospects had been either extremely annoying or overly cocky, and all short and fat. “Rob is different,” her mother reassured her, “you'll like him. I promise.” But Valentia was not so sure...and she especially did not want to face him on her Quinceanera...besides, he wasn't even Hispanic! Yet, after much debating, she finally relented and decided to view him as just another party guest.

The night air was cool and the house was covered with lights like a cake covered in dripping frosting. Conversation and laughter entangled the home as the guests wished the girl a Happy Birthday. Valentia, looking much older than fifteen, danced and laughed her way through the night. It was not until later that Rob arrived.

Valentia's first impressions of her mother's boyfriend: Her mother was right when she told her that he was different than the others. Tall and muscular, Rob stood at the doorway, a head taller than the rest of the Latin American guests. His lips seemed to be permanently twisted in a sarcastic smirk. Worst of all, he was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, completely under-dressed for the celebration.

“You must be Valentia.” The words slithered out of his slim, red lips. “Nice to meet you.”

She nodded, cautiously shaking his hand.

And from that day on, her life became a living hell.

Ben

“Good job, son! Meet you at home?” Mr. Roads shouted across the field.

Ben turned, spying out his father's SUV in the distance, the window rolled down to let in the night air. “Yeah Dad! I'll grab dinner!” His father nodded, speeding off.

Ben, carrying his lacrosse sticks and a sports bag, headed towards his ancient, silver truck. Tossing them in the rear, he jumped in the drivers seat and jump started the engine. He ran a hand through his dirty, blonde hair and turned the radio to the local rock station. Rolling down his windows, letting the cool spring breeze cool the sweat on his brow.

By now, the parking lot had mostly emptied except for a few stray vehicles. It had been a popular game�"Ben's school versus the local rivals, but Ben had stayed behind to speak with college reps. He was quickly approaching the finish line of high school and it was time to begin to look at colleges.

He was able to quickly pull out and drive one mile to the nearest fast food joint. Speeding through Wendy's he picked up half a dozen burgers and three large fries to be split between him and his father. The grease was seeping through the paper bag, but Ben didn't care, he placed it on the passengers seat anyways.

He arrived in his driveway and opened the truck door. He decided to leave his sticks in the rear until morning, but to grab the food and take it inside. His father was waiting for him in the kitchen.

“Atta boy! Wendy's�"my favorite,” Mr. Roads called from the dinner table, looking up from the paper. “Thanks, son!”

Ben planted the burgers and fries down on the granite counter top, ripping open the paper and sinking his teeth deep into the greasy bun. Within seconds, the food had disappeared.
“I'll be in the garage,” Ben said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. His dad nodded, still reading the headlines.

***

Valentia

The days came, the days passed. They wouldn't pass quick enough, they dragged on in their sluggish ways.

At first, it was just the little things. The mumbling under his breath, “Stupid girl,” or calling her names. But it got progressively worse; every word and every threat became like a rope around her neck, squeezing her dry. And the worst part was that she didn't even notice.

Within a few months, not only had Rob moved in but he had become controlling and dominating, and Valentia's mother chose to ignore his behavior. In fact, she treated him the same as always. This left Valentia, only fifteen years old, to endure his abuse like forcing poison down her throat.

Desperately, she discovered ways to avoid him. She became preoccupied with the mind game that evolved between them, constantly trying to get the upper hand. It became an obsession.

Too much emotion trapped inside. Too much confusion, too much to deal with. She could not contain it any longer... the pain, it exploded. It erupted on her bedroom wall.

The black paint was intended for a project in art class, but she did not think twice before cracking open the jar and scooping out a drooping handful. Scratching at the wall, slapping on layers and layers of paint, not caring what it looked like, Valentia wiped away the tears forming at her eyelids. She was trapped in her head and no one could hear her.

Ben

The garage smelled of gasoline and motor oil. Ben had been working on his car for hours now, the radio streaming around him. However, he had not made much progress and it was getting late, so before long he decided to call it quits. Tidying up the garage, he leaned down to unplug the radio. Yet, as soon as he did, something caught his attention: a noise. It sounded as if someone was sobbing.

He searched for a few seconds, his eyes straining to see in the night. It took a minute, but finally his eyes rested on a figure across the street. She was sobbing quietly, as if she did not want anyone else to hear her. Standing behind the van parked in her driveway, her eyes searched her surroundings, like a deer before the gunshot.

His instincts told him to help her. She looked so afraid, so helpless. But what could he do?

Without thinking his lips parted. “Are you okay?” He asked, taking a few steps toward the street.

He could see her lift her head. She saw him, the hunter. What would she do now? Surely she was frightened.

Ben hesitated. “Are you okay?” He repeated again, louder this time. Still no response. She stood frozen, immoveable. He waited a few more minutes before jogging across the street to see if she was alright. Halfway across the street, however, he made a connection. He knew this girl...her chocolatey eyes, her long, curly hair, her tan skin. He knew this girl, and that made it so much worse.

Four years earlier:

It was sixth grade and they had been in the same class at school. A boy with hair the color of snow and a girl with smooth, dark skin. It was lunchtime on the first day of school.

Pulling out the food from their lunchboxes, they began to scope out the premises in hopes of trading. A peanut butter sandwich, a slice of leftover pizza, a bag of chips, an apple. The bartering began, and no one asked Valentia to trade.

Opening her container of fried potatoes and shrimp, many other kids stopped and stared. Only one, a peevish boy with freckles, had the courage to criticize.

“Why do you have weird food, Valentia?” he said, his own ham sandwich in hand. “It looks disgusting.”

The girl looked down at her plate and then glanced around the table. Why doesn't any one else have rice or shrimp? She thought. Mami cooks this all the time.

“It smells bad,” another boy chirped in, dramatically plugging his nose. “Get rid of it.”

Valentia reddened. “It's really tasty, actually,” she began. “You can try some if--”

“Go back to Mexico!” a voice interrupted. It was the boy with the white hair.

The words sliced straight through her, sharply, and she flinched. “Wha--”

“You heard me. Go back to Mexico!” The table erupted with laughter. Valentia's heart sank. It was the first time she realized how much words could hurt.

***

“Valentia?” he said, shaking his head, “is that you?”

Her eyes lit up, immediately recognizing her old classmate. “Ben?” It was then that he noticed the droplets of tears on her cheeks.

“Are you alright? Do you want to talk?”

“I�"I don't know...”

“Please?”

How can I talk? She told herself, shivering in the warm, early summer air. The words...they're supposed to stay inside, aren't they? Can I speak? Should I speak?

Before she could stop herself she said one simple word that would change her life: yes.