“Nah, don’t tell me you’re sorry about how I grew up. He tucks the photograph back in his wallet. There’s even a high school graduation picture of me in our guest bathroom across from the toilet, and no matter how many times I’ve begged Ma and Pop to take it down, insisting no one wants to see me while they poop, they refuse to take down my “shit picture”. I recall all the pictures of me and my brothers around the house. I stare at it and chew on my bottom lip, searching for something to say. Don’t know why I keep it, but I can’t seem to throw it away. “The church we attended did one of those free portrait things for our directory. They just didn’t expect me to be added to their new family, you know? Plus, they didn’t have much, and there I was…taking up space and eating their food.” “I know what you’re thinking when you look at it, that I didn’t fit in, and I didn’t, but my aunt and uncle weren’t unkind. He doesn’t meet my gaze, just stares at the photo. He’s a proud person I can tell by the hard, set planes of his face right now. I could say, You look lonely, and if I’d been there, I’d have been your friend, but I don’t.
I look up at him, my eyes skating over the chiseled face that looks like nothing could ever penetrate the surface. His hands are clenched tight against his legs, as if he’s holding himself as still as possible. His eyes…they’re squinted with a faraway look, his face flat. The little girls are sweet, their faces round and adorable-but Blaze stands apart from them, just a little. His uncle must be the man with his arms around a petite lady holding two babies in her lap while an older child hugs her leg. Worn out sneakers are on his feet, but it’s his face that gets to me. He’s wearing a baggy blue dress shirt and high-water jeans that show the edge of white socks. It’s a family portrait with him as a skinny boy, tall for his age even then. They’re a mess.” His lips curve up as if he’s thinking of them in particular, and I suck in a breath, afraid he’ll turn that megawatt grin on me. “I was eleven here, I think, and had only been with them for a year. He reaches back, pulls out his wallet, and shows me a picture. “My dad’s brother and his wife raised me.” They’d both been in and out of jail for one thing or another.” A resigned look settles on his face. “I was ten when it happened, old enough to know everyone in the whole town despised them. My dad lingered on life support for several days until my uncle pulled the plug.” His mouth twists.
0 kommentar(er)
