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  Emerge –Lila Felix

  Emerge

  By Lila Felix

  Copyright @Lila Felix 2012

  This publication is protected under the US Copyright Act of 1976 and all other applicable international, federal, state and local laws, and all rights are reserved, including resale rights: you are not allowed to give or sell this book to anyone else.

  Any trademarks, service marks, product names or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if we use one of these terms.

  Editor: Jennifer Nunez

  Cover Model: Miranda Reynolds

  To my Husband:

  I love to tell this story,

  Of how you and I became us,

  How me and you became we.

  To those who inspire me:

  Shelly C. who is probably the humblest, kindest, and most supportive person I know. She is the jelly to my peanut butter.

  Amanda C. who heard this story over chimichangas and exclaimed: “You have to write that story!”

  Georgia C. who made a comment that one day I needed to write a book.

  Mandy A. who puts the rock in rockstar.

  Gloria G. who is the sweetest of the sweet.

  Thank you.

  Chapter 1

  I stood outside of the house, squirming on the crumbling concrete steps trying to still my quivering heart and my nerves in preparation for what was inside. I was sweating like a pig even though it wasn’t summer yet in California. My poor Chucks were losing their soles as I twisted on my toes back and forth in haste. If it was Mrs. June Cleaver waiting for me inside, I could let out that anxiety and panic in one “whoosh” of breath and enjoy the day. If it was Medusa, there was nothing I could do but to cower and jump when she said jump, trying to keep my sanity intact. I know; I’m a wuss. But I survive. I continued to stand there, cocooned in my own anxiety attack, picking at the strips of peeling white paint from the neglected side door. Maybe I could just walk really fast inside and hide for a minute. Maybe it was a good day.

  My Mom, Miranda Rouse was a complex creature, fickle to the core. She could be the Mom, or Mrs. Cleaver who cooks and cleans and acts like she cares, but always with a touch of resentment. She looks at me like she despises my very existence. She resents that I was ever born and ruined her life. She says she had so many dreams and hopes and they were all crushed when I came into her life. She claims that the only reason she actually had me was because my Dad begged her to keep me. She could also be Medusa. Medusa Mom can make you agree with her abhorrence of your existence and beg for an end to your life.

  My Step-Dad, Wallace, was just ridiculously angry all the time. It was probably because he was always on pain killers or drinking beer or both. And he always complained that we never had any money for anything. But I had never seen him work, not once, ever.

  They both hit. They hit each other and when that has gotten old or when they get a wild hair in their cracks, she hits me. It’s like the Three Stooges reality show. It happens more often than I’d like to admit, but not often enough that I can’t deal with it until I can get out of here.

  I turned the stubborn and reluctant door knob and opened the door with my breath held and my stomach in knots. I had to kick the door a little bit at the bottom where the door meets the jamb to rustle it loose. I passed the laundry room, wasn’t much of a room, filled floor to ceiling with laundry silently pleading to be handled. The kitchen was small, filled with broken white cabinets and not much in the food department. It was towards the end of the month and we were out of food stamps so food was in high demand and short quantity. I would have to go to the food bank if my paycheck didn’t last.

  The well worn floor creaked beneath me as I snuck through the tiny kitchen and my toe caught on an upturned plastic tile. “Crap!” I whispered to myself. Unwashed dishes were in the sink from last night…not a good sign. I passed through the dining room, slowly craning my neck around the corner in search of the doom or joy which awaited me.

  Through the living room, to the right, the cornflower blue carpet was halfway cleaned and the lonely vacuum stood dead center, still plugged into the wall, waiting for its master to resume the job. Again…not a good sign. But the house was quiet as I crept towards the hallway which lead to two bedrooms and a bathroom. So far, so good. I tiptoed like a cat burglar into my bedroom, which I shared with my four year old sister. We both had twin beds shoved in separate corners of the tiny room. My window had been shut. I tried to keep it open so that my sister and I didn’t have to constantly smell like the nasty, cheap cigarettes my step-father chain smoked. It was those very cigarettes that were sometimes more important that electricity, more important than water, more important than his daughter eating.

  Still, I heard nothing. I took the opportunity to use the bathroom in peace. It was wall to wall pink tiles, not a nice pink but that mauve-y kind of pink. It made me think of what flamingo puke might look like. I went to wash my hands, but of course we were out of soap. I managed to slide a slimy sliver from the shower and wash my hands the best I could. We were always out of some necessity…always. I stealthily snuck down the small hallway. I gained some courage and slipped my head around the corner into their room. No one was there. But the car was in the driveway.

  I went through their bedroom which connected to a sun porch type room, the only way out to the backyard through the house. I carefully managed three small steps down toward a huge backyard filled with flowers and brick pathways. It was weird for people who didn’t have food most of the time to have this brilliant garden. I swore that they stole plants to put in there. I heard sounds coming from the garage/office. Why people who don’t work have an office was beyond me. The door flew open and it was at that moment that I knew who I was to keep company with that day. It was Medusa. I could practically see the invisible snakes rearing up and hissing at me, piled high on her head. I was surprised that my toes didn’t slowly begin to turn to stone at her angry stare.

  She almost flew out of the garage/office with my sister on her hip.

  She said, “Jenna, ugh, finally. She has been driving me nuts all day. We are going…um…to handle some business. You’ll have to watch her tonight. And get some cleaning done for God’s sake.”

  Don’t say hello or anything, I thought to myself.

  But, I didn’t dare say a word. If you said something to her in this state, your face might have a really quick and hard meeting with the back of her hand. But business… really? Neither one of them worked, so this must be some serious business…not. Every day that I didn’t have to work, they had “business.” So I took my sister and turned towards the house. They went through the gate and started the car and peeled out like there was a demon on their tails.

  I turned to the sweet girl in my arms and she said, “Sissy, I’m hungry.”

  “Have you eaten today?” I asked her, knowing very well the answer.

  She looked around to make sure they were gone…smart girl. “No.”

  It was almost 3:30 pm and they hadn’t fed her. They probably just woke up at 1 p.m. Not unusual, but shocking all the same. The shock never seemed to wear off.

  We moved to California near the end of my sophomore year for a “big financial opportunity”. We intended to move in early June so that we could be settled in time for school to start. We ended up not moving until early August because…they were lazy. We stayed at grungy motel after nasty motel and were technically homeless for over six months.

  We lived off of my Step-Dad’s father’s credit cards that he had ‘borrowed’ and was going to pay them off after he got a job in California. When he handed them to my Step-Father with the agreement that they were going to be paid back I wanted to shake the elderly ma
n and call him an idiot. They were never going to get paid back. I knew it and so did they.

  I didn’t get enrolled in school until January and had missed an entire semester. And the only reason they did was because my real Dad had called the police and reported my truancy to them and told them where to find me. That went over well.

  I made up for it the next summer in summer school but I was still angry over the whole thing. I mean, let’s face it, they weren’t the best kind of parents to begin with, but homelessness and truancy were all time lows for them. We finally settled in a tiny blue rental house right next to the busiest freeway in Santa Monica, California. They still had not gotten jobs but were always searching. They paid the first month and last month’s rent with a cash advance from the old man’s credit cards. It had been 18 months since we moved here and they were still unemployed. Not that they were ever employed before. My hope had fizzled out a long time ago.

  So little May and I walked back through the house, hand in hand up the small steps into the lonely home next to the busy freeway. She was cute as a button and the very opposite of me. She had curly tendrils of blonde and the bluest eyes known to man, well, to me. I on the other hand had not wavy, but not straight brown hair with reddish highlights and these weird hazel eyes which changed colors depending on what I was wearing. We first found the bar of soap I hid in my closet in case of “soap emergencies” and headed to wash her grimy hands and face. After drying her off with a semi-clean towel, we headed to see what I could muster her to eat.

  She ended up having pork n beans with the last hot dog chopped up in it with mashed potatoes. It wasn’t much, but she ate it like it was the good stuff. I washed the dishes while she ate convincing her that I ate a really good school lunch of spaghetti so she could have all of it…Even though I didn’t touch that school cafeteria junk. Mostly it was the embarrassment of telling the lady in line that I got a “free lunch” that kept me from the cafeteria. I had some pride, not a lot, but some. Thankfully, the water running while I did the dishes overpowered the growling of my stomach. I finished the dishes; hers included, and cleaned up the kitchen. Then I found some necessary laundry for May and I and started a load. She went to watch a t.v. show since she couldn’t watch t.v. all day with them. They didn’t like to hear the kids’ songs, they were annoying. They were never to be inconvenienced. Our very presence was inconvenience enough.

  I finished the vacuuming because it looked kinda strange to have one half clean and one half dirty. I put the vacuum up and made sure not to disturb the carefully hidden stack of bills that my Mom hid from my Step-Dad in the front closet. It would be her fault that they weren’t paid; even though neither one of them worked. I shut the door to the closet and went to close the door to their room. Eeewww Their whole room smelled like a big pack of cigarettes. He’d even offered me to smoke one when I was thirteen but my Mom intervened. She had been Mrs. Cleaver that day.

  May was watching Caillou as I did my homework and though I had to listen to the silliness, I didn’t mind. She was content as she watched that little bald kid. I kept all A’s in school, because I had to and because it distracted me from my life. I studied and paid attention in classes so that I didn’t have to think about what and who awaited me at home. It was a win-win.

  May had a bowl of Ramen and played outside before her bath. I made sure she was dried and in her pajamas before I went to take my shower. After I finished, I combed out my hair, brushed my teeth and looked into the face that my Mom hated. She hated the way I talked. She hated the way I looked. I had a round face, like a full moon and I was told that if I didn’t wear make-up I looked like “Death warmed over.” I didn’t see that I was ugly, but I was not pretty either. It was awesome for my self-esteem. Once she got some random settlement check and said she was taking me to a plastic surgeon to do something about my face. Because she couldn’t’ stand for me to live the rest of my life ‘looking like that’. She ended up spending that money on a get rich quick scam.

  I did the best I could and brushed my wavy hair up into a ponytail. Then I hid my bar of soap in my closet and when I looked, May was fast asleep to the tune of some kind of dragon song. I turned off her t.v., tucked her in and went to my own corner of the room. I consoled my soul with a book about people with supernatural powers and let it be my lullaby. Later that night I heard the car come into the driveway, the doors slam, and they piled into their bed. Whew, one day down.

  The next morning I woke up at 6:00 am and got ready for school. I got the clothes out of the dryer and put them on quickly. I was a jeans and t-shirt kind of girl and I didn’t care if anyone liked it or not. I threw on mismatched socks and my favorite thrift store Chucks. I put concealer under my eyes and powdered my face. There, that should help with the uglies. I put some quick mascara on, grabbed my backpack and headed out the door.

  I walked the four blocks to the bus stop. I swear I was the only Senior who rode the bus. I wasn’t allowed to get my driver’s license. My Mom was afraid that I would pull the same pranks that she did when she was a teenager. But that was ok. More time away from home. The bus driver was an elderly lady who did not enjoy driving a bus. Either that or that sour look was just her face. But she was nice enough and always winked at me when I stepped up those three steps to the front seat. The bus huffed and puffed back to life and I was officially out of my reality and into my solace. I took my book out of my bag and again used it to scab over my woes.

  The day went pretty much the way most days went. I listened to the teachers, took notes, said “Hi” and “Bye” to people who sat by me. I knew people at school, but none who I would consider a friend. I was nice and smiled and pretended as Mona Lisa did. Then I remembered that I had been transferred, because of a too packed classroom, and was to endure Drama as my English substitute class. It was my last class of the day. I groaned to myself in protest, and reluctantly dragged myself into the classroom. AP Calculus and AP Physics, I could handle no problem, but Drama? Gag. Let’s face it. I blushed sometimes when I said my own name.

  The first person I saw was the teacher. He was an odd one. He had beady black eyes and the absolute worst looking comb-over I had ever seen. He had one of those pocket protectors in a plain white button down with khakis. He hid his beady eyes behind these overly large glasses with silver rims. He smiled at me and told me to pick any seat as he moved to greet the next student entering the class.

  The windows were all open and the sun shone through the bleak classroom. The seats were in a circle and I picked one on the other side of the room. I waited for all of the other students to file in and find their seats. The teacher introduced himself as Mr. Escobar and then dramatically introduced us to what we would be doing in Drama. He didn’t take roll as we were responsible to come to class and we were old enough to know that. Of course, we would be performing a play in front of the whole school…Nice. I looked around the classroom to gauge the impact of his announcement on the other students wondering if any of them shared my sentiment about the whole thing. One girl looked absolutely disgusted, one boy looked like he might puke and one boy….flatline. My lungs instantly failed me.

  This boy just looked interested and intrigued and was the most attractive guy I had ever seen in my life. He was wearing a button down navy blue shirt, rolled up at the sleeves which revealed cut forearm muscles and smooth skin. His skin was the color of caramel and cinnamon mixed together. It was brown and red simultaneously and my fingers twitched in admiration and want to run my fingers along its perimeters. On his hands was a tattoo, which curved around between his thumb and pointer finger. I couldn’t read it, but it was writing…a word? He had jeans on, ripped at the knees which at the bottom overlapped a pair of burgundy Doc Martens. His knee was bouncing in eagerness or boredom, I couldn’t tell, but I yearned to find out. I allowed my gaze to drift back to his face and studied his features. His hair was cropped short and jet black and met his forehead at the greatest widow’s peak. He had long thick eyelashes and a goatee
which even though was black, held several reddish hairs which I wanted to study closer. And his lips, God those lips…They were full and soft and it was all I could do not to leave my desk and test out those waters in front of all of these strangers.

  I begged my eyes to obey and look away before I made a fool of myself, having no idea what the teacher had just said, but he was now holding some papers and handing them out to everyone. Each one was highlighted differently. What the heck? Oh, crap, these are my lines. I furiously turned the pages mentally calculating how much I would have to speak in this thing. Not bad, only about twenty lines. I could do this. I think. After I closed the script, smirking to myself on my lack of lines I allowed myself to glance back to the boy who still held my attention in the back of my mind only to find him smiling at me.

  It was in that smile, this melt my heart, stop my breath, the world stopped turning and stood still on its axis smile, that I knew this boy would be the end of my life as I knew it and I welcomed the end. Actually, I knew he would be the beginning. His smile reached his eyes and told me so many things. It wasn’t a perv smile. It was an “I adore you. I’ll make you smile, too. I’ll take care of you smile.” It said all of the things I had never been told. It told me all the things I never dared dreaming of hearing and read about other girls hearing in books. The emotion in his eyes matched his grin and I instantly blushed and my brain swarmed with thoughts of belonging and safety and…love.

  I was snapped back to reality by literal snapping. The rest of the class was doing some kind of applause by snapping and I rolled my eyes at their theater culture. I crossed and uncrossed my legs. My blush decided to stay at full attention for the rest of the class. It was official, I was a nut job. I, apparently, had decided to test this theory out today. The class seemed to last forever but when the bell rang I was disappointed. I picked up my stuff slowly and methodically trying to time my walk out of the classroom with his. But as I looked up in the midst of my planning, he was already gone.