1

 

I press my pen down on the application. Name, last, first, middle initial. “Haven, Jill M” I print neatly, in total concentration. Date of birth, dd/mm/yyyy. My favorite. I like to add the required zeros to the short numbers. Address. Another good one, it was nice and long. I love filling out random applications and forms. Whenever I go anywhere, I make sure to grab applications, forms, sign up sheets, anything I can get my hands on. Especially the forms with the small squares for each letter, because it requires deeper thought and perfection.

            I don’t really like my mind to wander…I think it is better to stay in the present, or at least it is easier. Career. That one is a disappoint to fill out, no career, yet. Unless you count high school as a career. 11^th grade. Career, no. Not really.

            I love to grab my forms, take a pen, and walk down to a special place I have. I live in a bland, homogeneous neighborhood…suburbia at it’s best. But, lucky for me, my house is on a corner, by a creek. The creek is a very small one, I love to watch it swell when it rains. So I walk along the side of the creek, I count my steps. I always count my steps. 587 steps to my destination. If I am ever off, it really upsets me. I don’t know why, but it does.

            587 steps take me farther down the creek, into a woody area. There is a big tree that is rooted right on the edge of the land before it drops off into the creek. The roots spring out and branch over the water, very sturdy roots, as thick as the trunk. 11. 11 roots that branch over the water. I like to sit on the roots and dangle my feet over the sluggish water, while I fill out my previous applications.

            I finish an application, and move it to the pile of completed forms. 56 forms completed. I look up and watch a leaf float along on the water. A seconds pass, and I start thinking about things….my mind wanders ever so slightly.

            I look up. Bethany is sitting next to me on the sturdy seat. I love everything about Bethany. She is a warm tan, with blonde hair, blue eyes, she is really everything I am not. I am very thin, with stringy black hair to my shoulders, always parted in the middle, and freakishly large eyes. Cat shaped green eyes. I am very pale.

            Bethany looks over at me, I see tears in her eyes, sparkling against her pretty eyes, the color of the ocean waves. 3 tears. 3 tears trickle down her flushed cheek. She wraps her long arms around herself and sighs.

            Bethany is my only friend. I don’t have friends. I don’t know why….I just don’t really talk to anyone at school. Bethany is just there. She is always there if I feel like I might need help. Bethany has no others friends. I am her best friend, and she is mine.

            “My mom has been in a coma today for exactly 1 year.” She says. I knew Bethany’s mom had been in a severe car accident…. Her eyes gaze upon her fingernails, bit down to the quick, stubby, bleeding. 365. 365 days that her mom has been absent, I think. Absent. What an odd word choice.

            “So of course, Dad took it out on me. He ordered me, go make dinner Bethany! Of course, I do what I am told. I cracked a few eggs in a skillet and started to scramble them. By then, Dad was getting really drunk.” He sauntered into the kitchen, staggering, while clutching a beer bottle in one hand. “He just stared at the eggs, and then his face started to get really red…..”

            I intensely watched her facial expressions. Anger, sadness, fear.

     “He was angry. Dad says eggs are not dinner. I ask, too quickly, what he suggests I make instead. He doesn’t like that. He starts to push me around. I noticed a tear rolling down his cheek. But then he started slapping me and punching. I tried to fight back. It hurt. But things got worse, and he grabbed the skillet off the burner and hit me on the head with it.”

            I stare in disbelief.

            “It was hot. Really hot. Man, I hate him. I hate him so much. But I love him. He doesn’t mean it…but sometimes that isn’t enough.” She traces a finger around a bruise on her thigh, then her arm and shoulder. She lifts her blonde bangs up and unveils the burned bruise from the hot skillet. 6. 6 bruises and injuries on Bethany’s body.

            “But you know how it is…right?  I wait for his good mood swings, but they don’t come... I hate him. I hate him.” She drops her grasp of bangs, hiding her bruise.

            I am thinking about my own family. Just me and my dad. My mom is gone, and for some reason, I can’t remember where she is. Maybe she is dead, or something. For some reason, I just do not know. And I would never ask my dad. I don’t know why.

            My dad is okay though. Sometimes he doesn’t make good choices. But he is happy. He likes to buy things for me. He bought me a car. I think he impulsively buys things for me. He seems kind of lonely, the kind of lonely I can’t fill.

            Bethany sees that I am gazing off, and so she changes topics.

 “A few girls in my World Geo class were being mean about you today.” She tells it to me as a fact. I blink. Really? Oh.

“I was annoyed with them, so I stood up for you. I told them to screw off, and one of the girls wouldn’t stop, so I slapped her for you.”

            I smile. I don’t have to worry about anything. She takes care of me, more than myself…more than anyone. I don’t mind. Bethany knows everything. 45,686 things that she knows, things I don’t even know about myself.

            We hear footsteps coming from behind. A burly tall man is slowly but surely walking towards us. I feel myself flinch, Bethany at the same time. It’s Bethany’s dad. He looks angry.

 “What the heck are you doing’ over here, talking to yourself? Get home, you have chores. I need dinner.” He stares angrily at her, and defiantly Bethany glares at him.

            “Don’t tell me what to do Dad. You are just tired, and it isn’t my job to make you dinner.” Her eyes narrow as she waits for a response.

            “GET UP!” He shouts and kicks a tree stump. His big hands clamp Bethany’s small arm and clench tightly, blood rushing to his evil grasp. He pulls her up and onto the land, roughly pushing her home.

            5. 5 angry welts on her arm. 1. 1 smack on her arm. I walk along home with Bethany and her father. He doesn’t seem to notice that I am there. Another smack. For some reason, every time Bethany is hurt I feel a dull pain in the same spot on my body.

            But I don’t know why.