Warning: Abuse
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Picking up a stick, I struck it across old Emily Simpson’s white picket fence. The noise was sharp and loud and would most likely be heard. Smirking, I kept walking, trailing the stick along behind me. A low growl sounded and I turned my head. Sure enough, a huge, brown and white mutt crawled out of the dog house, bearing his teeth and snarling. I tossed the stick to my left, away from the fence, and turned away into the street.
The weather was nice – warm and sunny, with just a light breeze to make it comfortable. There was not a awan in the sky, which seemed to stretch on forever. Glancing both ways, I darted across the street. I didn’t have a particular place to go, but I was too angry to stay utama and deal with my mother’s tirade. Besides, it was too nice a hari to stay indoors.
A silence had settled heavily over the small town, as it always did on this date. Today was the ten tahun anniversary of the Hospital Bombing. Everyone was down in the cemetery, speaking to Lost loved ones and crying over closed coffins. My mother had wanted me to go pay my respects to my grandmother. Originally, I’d agreed. I’d put on a pretty dress, and curled my pretty blond hair. My mother, half-sister and I were all ready to go, until Mother realized that I wasn’t wearing shoes. After refusing to wear any, she’d called me a tramp, struck me across the face, pinned me to the ground, and struggled to force them on my feet. I’d wriggled away, and ran from the house, Mother screaming after me.
My musings brought me to the cemetery, ironically. It wasn’t a particularly big piece of land, but it was pretty. ceri, cherry Blossom trees, Willow trees, and Oak trees were scattered, covering certain plots. In the spring, it was exceptionally pretty to watch as the ceri, cherry Blossom trees Lost their petals and the wind scattered the merah jambu Bunga across the lush, green grass.
Gleaming in the bright sunshine, the headstones always looked freshly polished, even in the dead of winter. Most of the headstones had carved, stone angles perched atop them, their wide wings spread elegantly, their perfect faces and blank eyes focused on visions in the distance only they could see.
Wandering intently, trying to find the grave of the only women who ever cared for me, I dodged town folk. Mostly, they didn’t notice me, so intent were they on their rituals, but, occasionally, one would try and talk to me. I blew them off, not wanting to speak about Mother’s and my problems.
Buried beneath an old, sprawling Willow tree, my grandmother was buried seterusnya to my grandfather. Although the old man hadn’t passed in the bombing, I still paid my respects at the same time as my grandmother. Pausing in front of the two plots, I bowed my head. Visions of cookies, warm arms, wrinkled blue eyes and deep laughter played in my head. I missed my grandparents.
A movement caught in my peripheral vision and I turned my head slightly. My grandparents were buried in the far back of the cemetery – as was the Johnson family – and hardly anyone came this far back. The figure was blurry and I was forced to turn my head fully to see who it was.
Elliot Johnson was the only dairy farmer in town. Clad in a black dress baju and pants, his broad shoulders appeared slimmer and his tan seemed to have lightened. He was not a social man, sejak any means, and he’d become a hermit after his wife had been killed in the bombings, only leaving his utama to attend church and purchase supplies for his farm. They’d had no children and, from what I’d seen in my daytime wanderings, his farm was slowly decaying.
At that moment, his head was bowed making is black and grey hair fall into his face, and his shoulders were slumped. He looked defeated, as if he’d just Lost a long fight against evil. Perhaps he had, I thought. It could not be an easy thing to live in an empty utama every day. Mr. Johnson was a strong man, but there were only so many things strength could get anda through.
Unlike the other cemetery visitors, Mr. Johnson did not speak to the cold earth beneath him. He did not cry out in anger atau pain at the gods for taking his wife away. He did not cry at all, nor did he speak of how much he obviously missed his wife. No, unlike the others, Mr. Johnson simply stared. Stared and cried.
He knelt on the ground and for the first time I noticed that he was cradling a bouquet of flowers. I saw a flash of color as he laid the petals on the ground. When he pulled away, I saw that he’d brought merah jambu and yellow lilies and white roses. It was a strange choice: most people just used red atau white roses. As he straightened, I saw that he’d indeed been crying. There were long, tear tracks trailing down his weather worn face. They stood out sharply against the tan of his skin.
Hours later, Mr. Johnson finally turned to leave. His face was twisted into pain and grief – a grief I hoped I would never have to go through. I’d been hurt before, but I don’t think that my face had ever shown as much pain as that man’s had. It looked as though someone had sent in insides on fire.
Deciding that I’d spent enough time among the passed, I left too. Although several people still stopped to talk to me, I noticed most people kept their distance. I knew why – Mother complained to anyone who would listen about what a “horrid” daughter I was, how I “never listened.” I’d been pegged as the “unruly child.”
Struggling to decide what to do next, I stepped out onto the street. This small town had nothing for me to do: I’d explored every farm, every barn, and every shed. The woods held much lebih interest, but it was getting late and I was terrified of getting Lost at night.
“I’m not an unruly child,” I berkata to no one in particular. “I’m just bored.”
Deciding getting Lost in the woods at night was far lebih preferable than going home, I turned in the opposite direction I’d been facing and started off. I walked slowly, reveling in the feel of rough, fresh dirt beneath my feet. I inhaled, loving the cloying smell of Bunga from the graveyard, and the wet, heavy smell that I associated with spring. The birds chirped happily from their perches and squirrels darted across my path. I felt happy, peaceful even. Mother could take almost anything from me. Eventually I knew she’d take my freedom – lock me up in the house and force me into shoes and ball gowns – but she could not take this. The smell, sounds, sights of the forest. The peaceful feeling those things brought about.
A snuffling caught my attention and I paused in mid-step. The snuffling grew faster and melted into a growl. I whipped my head around, trying to decipher where it had come from. I didn’t have to wait long – the Simpson’s mutt slunk from the bushes, its black eyes locked on me and its teeth barred in a ferocious snarl. Saliva pooled in it mouth and dripped unto the ground. He raised his hackles and crouched down, getting ready to launch himself at me.
“Heh, heh,” I chuckled nervously, and backed away slowly. “Nice doggy. Nice mutt . . .”
He lunged, jaws snapping at the hem of my dress. Screaming, I spun around and ran full out. I could hear the dog pounding along behind me, growling the whole time. I leapt blindly over a fence, feeling it catch slightly on my hem. I gave one good tug and stumbled forward. There was a dull thump and I knew the dog had jumped too. Desperately, I raced around; trying to find somewhere the dog couldn’t find me. I jumped three lebih fences, crawled under prickly bushes and jumped creaks. A small, paint-chipped farm house came into view and I dashed forward. Even if someone wasn’t home, I could slip into a shed atau bangsal until the stupid dog went home.
Hearing the pounding of the dog’s feet on the dirt, I ran forward, finally having spotted a small storm cellar that I could use. I wrenched open the doors, and climbed down the ladder, letting the doors fall shut behind me.
~*~*~*~
Having no need to pay attention to where I was going, atau having any time in which to be there, I walked utama slowly. Glimpses of houses flashed in and out of my peripheral vision and I recognized each one instantly. I had grown up with these people, gone to school with them. Most of them had been Friends with Annabelle.
I passed a large jagung field and paused at the worn down, wooden, perpecahan, berpecah rail fence. This was where Annabelle first held my hand. I remembered that she had teased me about the difference between the Smith’s farm and my own.
“This farm is so very much lebih beautiful than yours, Elliot,” she had said, smiling brightly up at me while her blue eyes sparkled mischievously. “It’s so yellow and smells nice too. Your farm smells like cow.”
I knew she’d been teasing me but it stung all the same. To compensate, she’d reached out and grabbed my hand. I knew then, at sixteen, that I loved her.
I shook my head and my hati, tengah-tengah twisted painfully. Remembering her was always the hardest, but it was unavoidable. The memory of her haunted my dreams and waking thoughts. Her smell, her taste, her laugh. I could recall everything about her in perfect detail and it only served to fuel to pain, only served to be a painful reminder of what I had lost.
I continued walking, trying to keep my eyes way from things that prompted such memories. Failing, I caught sight of the abandoned bangsal at the end of Farwoods’ farm, where we shared our first kiss. We’d gotten caught in a thunderstorm and had taken refuge under its caving roof.
Clenching my jaw, I turned away and continued on home. I felt painfully hollow inside, like someone had taken a pitch fork, stabbed my innards, and pulled them out from my naval. It was a feeling that, after ten years, I was becoming accustomed to.
Paused at the end of my driveway, I cast my gaze around my home. The bangsal was on the point of collapse, the house was in desperate need of fresh paint, the weeds had literally taken over everything. It hurt to see it like this because I knew how meticulous Annabelle had been about keeping everything neat. I, personally, found the sight very fitting. It was like a physical manifestation of my inner turmoil: my hati, tengah-tengah was slowly, painfully, being strangled to death, just like my home.
I was unable to summon the will to fix it all. After all, what was the point? I had no children, no wife, and no friends. No one cared what my utama looked like, they only cared that I get them the susu on time.
I frowned and glanced around again. Something seemed off. There! To the left of the house was a tiny storm cellar, something I had rarely used throughout my lifetime, but had always remained unlocked in case of emergencies. The doors, which I knew had been shut when I’d left that morning, had been opened during my absence. Who ever had opened them had not shut them properly.
Gritting my teeth in frustration, I stomped over to the cellar. Normally, no one bothered me. I was the scary, old, solitary man who would just as soon whip anda as scold you. I liked it this way. I had my privacy and no hooligans destroyed my property. To have this blatant disregard for the rules was frustrating, and a little unsettling. What kind of person would want to trespass on my home?
I wrenched open the double, wooden doors and peered down into the darkness: very, very faintly I could just make out the silhouette of a small child. I felt my stomach tighten. It was a little girl that was sitting down in my cellar.
Still thinking that this was some practical joke, I snapped down at the girl, “What are anda doing?”
Her voice was polite as she replied, “I’m sorry sir. I – I just had nowhere else to go.”
“Get out of there,” I snapped, glaring down at her.
She nodded at me, and obediently began to climb back up the ladder. As she came into the light, I saw that she was covered in dirt and her long, red hair was one Tangled mat. She was wearing a simple, shapeless dress –very odd for such a young girl – that was torn around the edges. Shaky, and skinny, she stumbled on the last ring. I reached out, almost unconsciously, and steadied her.
“Thank you, sir,” she berkata quietly, staring at me with large, bright green eyes. Pulling away, she attempted to straighten out her dress and her hair. A long, jagged slice ran down the side of her pale face.
“What happened to you?” I asked, indicating the cut.
Lightly running her fingers over it, she blushed and replied, “It’s nothing, really. I was just running through some bushes.”
I wanted to send her on her way – obviously now that she was caught, she wouldn’t want to stick around – but a little voice in the back of my head stopped me. It’s was Annabelle’s voice, scolding me for turning loose an injured rabbit I had once found in the barn. Only the word ‘rabbit’ had been replaced with ‘small child.’ The lecture had made me feel extremely guilty then, and had the same effect now.
“Well,” I said, gruffly, “come inside and let me tend to that cut. Then anda can scamper on home.” I turned away, and headed into the house, watching out of the corner of my eye as the little girl followed me.
For the first time in a long time, I felt embarrassed sejak my kitchen. The chairs were scratched and worn and the yellow paint was peeling off the walls. She didn’t seem to mind though. She gratefully took a kerusi, tempat duduk sejak the grimy window, watching me with those large eyes as I gathered the necessary supplies to clean her up.
“What did anda mean,” I asked, running a wet cloth over her face, “when anda berkata anda didn’t have anywhere else to go?”
The girl looked familiar to me, but I could not, for my life, place her. I was beginning to get a very bad feeling about this: very few parents let their children run all over town.
“Oh,” she pulled back slightly, looking surprised sejak my question. “The Simpson’s mutt was running loose and chased me. “
I stared and, after a while, she looked away. “So, anda saw fit to hide in my cellar?” I asked. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe her story – I’d heard several people at church complain about the mutt – but I was still surprised at her reaction to my question.
This time, she pulled away completely and glared at me, instantly on the defensive. “It was the only place I could think of to hide, Mr. Johnson. I’m sorry to be such a bother. I’ll be leaving.”
She stood up quickly – too quickly. She swayed slightly on her feet and reached out a hand to steady herself. Gripping my shoulder tightly, she didn’t seem aware that it was I she had grabbed onto. It shocked me and touched me a little. Although I knew it hadn’t been a conscious decision, it gave me a warm feeling to think that she was not so intimidated sejak me to hold on to me for support.
As she opened her eyes and regained her balance, her face clicked in my mind. I recognized her now – at least, recognized whose daughter she was.
Mary Truent was a shady girl who very few people could stand – Annabelle included. She always complained about her only daughter: she was too outspoken, too curious. At twelve years old, she was useless, never contributed to the house hold. She hated to be punished and ran away every time Mary tried. She had wild, un-tamable red hair and hated shoes.
“You’re Sarah Truent, aren’t you?”
She glanced at me, her green eyes searching my face as if trying to gouge my tone. “Yes.”
I nodded once, trying to keep my face impassive. “I didn’t see your mother at the service today. Where was she?”
Still keeping her eyes on my face, she replied, “At home. We got into a fight this morning, so I went to the cemetery myself.” She looked away.
Feeling uncomfortable, I fidgeted in my seat. I knew the type of woman Mary was and there was no doubt in my mind that there had been a physical fight, but I was at a loath to bring that up. I was also at a loath to bring up the fact that Sarah could not stay here – she had to go home.
However, she seemed to understand my uneasiness. Blushing, she muttered, “I really should be going, sir. Mother’s not going to be happy about my wandering.”
I nodded. “Well, Sarah, if you’ll permit me, I’d like to escort anda home.”
She forced a smile, revealing brilliantly white, straight teeth. “Thank anda very much, sir.”
I was not entirely sure why I was walking her home. Lord knew she could do so herself. Partly, I wanted to speak to her mother. I was jealous that she was willing to throw away this girl, a girl who Mary repeatedly called ‘unruly’ but who was actually just headstrong, when there were people who had been unable to menanggung, bear children – like Annabelle – who would gladly have taken her.
I had expected Sarah to be silent during the walk home. Not many people were comfortable around me, children especially. But, just as she had all morning, she surprised me. She prattled nonstop about useless drivel: her Cinta for all animals, except the Simpson’s mutt; school; swimming in the lake with her friends. She told me about how Mary had shut the air-conditioning off to save money, and the house was now unbearably sweltering.
Feeling that the constant chatter was lebih to ease her nerves, I let her go, making the right komen-komen when necessary. I was actually enjoying her company and desperately wished that she did not have to go back to that hell-hole she somehow managed to call home.
Her mother was standing on the front porch steps, smoking a cigarette when we arrived. Her bushy brown hair was pulled back haphazardly from her face. She wasn’t wearing any make-up and her plain sundress and brown boots showed that she wasn’t doing as well financially as she liked everyone to believe. She looked surprised to see us and promptly put out the cigarette. She met us half-way down the driveway, all the while her expression melting from surprised, to furious. She reached her daughter, her expression lebih malicious then ever and smacked her, heard, across the face.
Her head snapping to the side painfully, Sarah cried out.
“Miss Truent!” I exclaimed, grabbing for Sarah and steadying her.
“You little cretin!” Mary snarled. “What do anda think you’re doing, bothering up-standing citizens like Mr. Johnson? I’ve bet you’ve been a great bother to him haven’t you? Prattling away about stupid nonsense, getting under his feet while he tries to work –“
“She hasn’t been a bother, Miss Truent,” I cut across her sharply. “On the contrary, I’ve rather enjoyed her company.”
Mary snorted in un-lady like way. “Right. anda don’t have to lie, Mr. Johnson. I know what kind of girl I gave birth to.”
I felt disgusted. This terrible excuse for a woman was allowed to do this, to hit her child and call her names, because . . . Why? What possible reason did she have to do this? I’d seen for myself that Sarah was not as Mary had always described her to be.
“You’re lucky God’s telah diberi me so much patience, anda little brat,” Mary snapped. She reached out a hand and wrapped it strongly around Sarah’s upper arm. With a pull stronger that I would have thought possible, Mary pulled Sarah from my grasp. “If he hadn’t I would have drowned you! You’re going to the orphanage, anda are! Let them deal with anda because I can’t anymore!”
“No!” Sarah cried, struggling against her mother’s firm grip. “No, please!”
Mary slapped her again.
Until that point, I had been stunned into immobility. After hearing the echo of the final strike, I mentally shook myself.
“Miss Truent,” I said, trying to sound firm, “Stop this dreadful behavior at once!” She glanced up at me shocked, but lowered her hand. “There is no need to send Sarah to an orphanage,” I said. “There are plenty of people around town who would gladly take her in.”
Snorting, she challenged, “Like you?”
I paused. I knew that I would not be a good fit for Sarah. I had become far too comfortable being alone and, besides, I knew nothing about children. Just before I berkata no, Annabelle’s voice drifted through my mind, sounding disgusted: How could anda do that?
Swallowing thickly, I replied icily, “If need be.”
Sarah turned to me; her green eyes – made so much lebih prominent sejak the red mark on her face – were wide, pleading. “Oh, would anda Mr. Johnson? Please? Please can I come live with you?”
I was still sorely tempted to say no, to tell her that she could find a much better family, but the sight of those wide green eyes, and Annabelle’s disgusted voice, forced the words to die on my lips.
“Yes, Sarah,” I berkata in a low voice. “Yes, anda can come live with me.”
Straightening up, Mary glared at me with contempt. “Fine, Mr. Johnson. Fine, take the brat,” she spat. Turning on her heel, she marched back up to the house, her nose in the air. Her boots crunched ominously on the gravel drive.
Sarah lunged ke hadapan and wrapped her arms around my waist. “Oh, thank you, Mr. Johnson! Thank you, thank you! I promise, Mr. Johnson, I won’t get under your feet. I’ll let anda do your work; I’ll even help if anda want me to!”
Reaching down, I patted her awkwardly on the shoulders, and wondered what kind of trouble I’d gotten myself into.
“Can we go utama now, Mr. Johnson?” Sarah asked, her eyes brighter than ever.
I looked down at her. Home. I was going home, and I wouldn’t be going alone.
“Yes, Sarah, we can go utama now.” For the first time in a decade, I didn’t dread going home. For the first time in a decade, I wouldn’t be going utama alone.
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Picking up a stick, I struck it across old Emily Simpson’s white picket fence. The noise was sharp and loud and would most likely be heard. Smirking, I kept walking, trailing the stick along behind me. A low growl sounded and I turned my head. Sure enough, a huge, brown and white mutt crawled out of the dog house, bearing his teeth and snarling. I tossed the stick to my left, away from the fence, and turned away into the street.
The weather was nice – warm and sunny, with just a light breeze to make it comfortable. There was not a awan in the sky, which seemed to stretch on forever. Glancing both ways, I darted across the street. I didn’t have a particular place to go, but I was too angry to stay utama and deal with my mother’s tirade. Besides, it was too nice a hari to stay indoors.
A silence had settled heavily over the small town, as it always did on this date. Today was the ten tahun anniversary of the Hospital Bombing. Everyone was down in the cemetery, speaking to Lost loved ones and crying over closed coffins. My mother had wanted me to go pay my respects to my grandmother. Originally, I’d agreed. I’d put on a pretty dress, and curled my pretty blond hair. My mother, half-sister and I were all ready to go, until Mother realized that I wasn’t wearing shoes. After refusing to wear any, she’d called me a tramp, struck me across the face, pinned me to the ground, and struggled to force them on my feet. I’d wriggled away, and ran from the house, Mother screaming after me.
My musings brought me to the cemetery, ironically. It wasn’t a particularly big piece of land, but it was pretty. ceri, cherry Blossom trees, Willow trees, and Oak trees were scattered, covering certain plots. In the spring, it was exceptionally pretty to watch as the ceri, cherry Blossom trees Lost their petals and the wind scattered the merah jambu Bunga across the lush, green grass.
Gleaming in the bright sunshine, the headstones always looked freshly polished, even in the dead of winter. Most of the headstones had carved, stone angles perched atop them, their wide wings spread elegantly, their perfect faces and blank eyes focused on visions in the distance only they could see.
Wandering intently, trying to find the grave of the only women who ever cared for me, I dodged town folk. Mostly, they didn’t notice me, so intent were they on their rituals, but, occasionally, one would try and talk to me. I blew them off, not wanting to speak about Mother’s and my problems.
Buried beneath an old, sprawling Willow tree, my grandmother was buried seterusnya to my grandfather. Although the old man hadn’t passed in the bombing, I still paid my respects at the same time as my grandmother. Pausing in front of the two plots, I bowed my head. Visions of cookies, warm arms, wrinkled blue eyes and deep laughter played in my head. I missed my grandparents.
A movement caught in my peripheral vision and I turned my head slightly. My grandparents were buried in the far back of the cemetery – as was the Johnson family – and hardly anyone came this far back. The figure was blurry and I was forced to turn my head fully to see who it was.
Elliot Johnson was the only dairy farmer in town. Clad in a black dress baju and pants, his broad shoulders appeared slimmer and his tan seemed to have lightened. He was not a social man, sejak any means, and he’d become a hermit after his wife had been killed in the bombings, only leaving his utama to attend church and purchase supplies for his farm. They’d had no children and, from what I’d seen in my daytime wanderings, his farm was slowly decaying.
At that moment, his head was bowed making is black and grey hair fall into his face, and his shoulders were slumped. He looked defeated, as if he’d just Lost a long fight against evil. Perhaps he had, I thought. It could not be an easy thing to live in an empty utama every day. Mr. Johnson was a strong man, but there were only so many things strength could get anda through.
Unlike the other cemetery visitors, Mr. Johnson did not speak to the cold earth beneath him. He did not cry out in anger atau pain at the gods for taking his wife away. He did not cry at all, nor did he speak of how much he obviously missed his wife. No, unlike the others, Mr. Johnson simply stared. Stared and cried.
He knelt on the ground and for the first time I noticed that he was cradling a bouquet of flowers. I saw a flash of color as he laid the petals on the ground. When he pulled away, I saw that he’d brought merah jambu and yellow lilies and white roses. It was a strange choice: most people just used red atau white roses. As he straightened, I saw that he’d indeed been crying. There were long, tear tracks trailing down his weather worn face. They stood out sharply against the tan of his skin.
Hours later, Mr. Johnson finally turned to leave. His face was twisted into pain and grief – a grief I hoped I would never have to go through. I’d been hurt before, but I don’t think that my face had ever shown as much pain as that man’s had. It looked as though someone had sent in insides on fire.
Deciding that I’d spent enough time among the passed, I left too. Although several people still stopped to talk to me, I noticed most people kept their distance. I knew why – Mother complained to anyone who would listen about what a “horrid” daughter I was, how I “never listened.” I’d been pegged as the “unruly child.”
Struggling to decide what to do next, I stepped out onto the street. This small town had nothing for me to do: I’d explored every farm, every barn, and every shed. The woods held much lebih interest, but it was getting late and I was terrified of getting Lost at night.
“I’m not an unruly child,” I berkata to no one in particular. “I’m just bored.”
Deciding getting Lost in the woods at night was far lebih preferable than going home, I turned in the opposite direction I’d been facing and started off. I walked slowly, reveling in the feel of rough, fresh dirt beneath my feet. I inhaled, loving the cloying smell of Bunga from the graveyard, and the wet, heavy smell that I associated with spring. The birds chirped happily from their perches and squirrels darted across my path. I felt happy, peaceful even. Mother could take almost anything from me. Eventually I knew she’d take my freedom – lock me up in the house and force me into shoes and ball gowns – but she could not take this. The smell, sounds, sights of the forest. The peaceful feeling those things brought about.
A snuffling caught my attention and I paused in mid-step. The snuffling grew faster and melted into a growl. I whipped my head around, trying to decipher where it had come from. I didn’t have to wait long – the Simpson’s mutt slunk from the bushes, its black eyes locked on me and its teeth barred in a ferocious snarl. Saliva pooled in it mouth and dripped unto the ground. He raised his hackles and crouched down, getting ready to launch himself at me.
“Heh, heh,” I chuckled nervously, and backed away slowly. “Nice doggy. Nice mutt . . .”
He lunged, jaws snapping at the hem of my dress. Screaming, I spun around and ran full out. I could hear the dog pounding along behind me, growling the whole time. I leapt blindly over a fence, feeling it catch slightly on my hem. I gave one good tug and stumbled forward. There was a dull thump and I knew the dog had jumped too. Desperately, I raced around; trying to find somewhere the dog couldn’t find me. I jumped three lebih fences, crawled under prickly bushes and jumped creaks. A small, paint-chipped farm house came into view and I dashed forward. Even if someone wasn’t home, I could slip into a shed atau bangsal until the stupid dog went home.
Hearing the pounding of the dog’s feet on the dirt, I ran forward, finally having spotted a small storm cellar that I could use. I wrenched open the doors, and climbed down the ladder, letting the doors fall shut behind me.
~*~*~*~
Having no need to pay attention to where I was going, atau having any time in which to be there, I walked utama slowly. Glimpses of houses flashed in and out of my peripheral vision and I recognized each one instantly. I had grown up with these people, gone to school with them. Most of them had been Friends with Annabelle.
I passed a large jagung field and paused at the worn down, wooden, perpecahan, berpecah rail fence. This was where Annabelle first held my hand. I remembered that she had teased me about the difference between the Smith’s farm and my own.
“This farm is so very much lebih beautiful than yours, Elliot,” she had said, smiling brightly up at me while her blue eyes sparkled mischievously. “It’s so yellow and smells nice too. Your farm smells like cow.”
I knew she’d been teasing me but it stung all the same. To compensate, she’d reached out and grabbed my hand. I knew then, at sixteen, that I loved her.
I shook my head and my hati, tengah-tengah twisted painfully. Remembering her was always the hardest, but it was unavoidable. The memory of her haunted my dreams and waking thoughts. Her smell, her taste, her laugh. I could recall everything about her in perfect detail and it only served to fuel to pain, only served to be a painful reminder of what I had lost.
I continued walking, trying to keep my eyes way from things that prompted such memories. Failing, I caught sight of the abandoned bangsal at the end of Farwoods’ farm, where we shared our first kiss. We’d gotten caught in a thunderstorm and had taken refuge under its caving roof.
Clenching my jaw, I turned away and continued on home. I felt painfully hollow inside, like someone had taken a pitch fork, stabbed my innards, and pulled them out from my naval. It was a feeling that, after ten years, I was becoming accustomed to.
Paused at the end of my driveway, I cast my gaze around my home. The bangsal was on the point of collapse, the house was in desperate need of fresh paint, the weeds had literally taken over everything. It hurt to see it like this because I knew how meticulous Annabelle had been about keeping everything neat. I, personally, found the sight very fitting. It was like a physical manifestation of my inner turmoil: my hati, tengah-tengah was slowly, painfully, being strangled to death, just like my home.
I was unable to summon the will to fix it all. After all, what was the point? I had no children, no wife, and no friends. No one cared what my utama looked like, they only cared that I get them the susu on time.
I frowned and glanced around again. Something seemed off. There! To the left of the house was a tiny storm cellar, something I had rarely used throughout my lifetime, but had always remained unlocked in case of emergencies. The doors, which I knew had been shut when I’d left that morning, had been opened during my absence. Who ever had opened them had not shut them properly.
Gritting my teeth in frustration, I stomped over to the cellar. Normally, no one bothered me. I was the scary, old, solitary man who would just as soon whip anda as scold you. I liked it this way. I had my privacy and no hooligans destroyed my property. To have this blatant disregard for the rules was frustrating, and a little unsettling. What kind of person would want to trespass on my home?
I wrenched open the double, wooden doors and peered down into the darkness: very, very faintly I could just make out the silhouette of a small child. I felt my stomach tighten. It was a little girl that was sitting down in my cellar.
Still thinking that this was some practical joke, I snapped down at the girl, “What are anda doing?”
Her voice was polite as she replied, “I’m sorry sir. I – I just had nowhere else to go.”
“Get out of there,” I snapped, glaring down at her.
She nodded at me, and obediently began to climb back up the ladder. As she came into the light, I saw that she was covered in dirt and her long, red hair was one Tangled mat. She was wearing a simple, shapeless dress –very odd for such a young girl – that was torn around the edges. Shaky, and skinny, she stumbled on the last ring. I reached out, almost unconsciously, and steadied her.
“Thank you, sir,” she berkata quietly, staring at me with large, bright green eyes. Pulling away, she attempted to straighten out her dress and her hair. A long, jagged slice ran down the side of her pale face.
“What happened to you?” I asked, indicating the cut.
Lightly running her fingers over it, she blushed and replied, “It’s nothing, really. I was just running through some bushes.”
I wanted to send her on her way – obviously now that she was caught, she wouldn’t want to stick around – but a little voice in the back of my head stopped me. It’s was Annabelle’s voice, scolding me for turning loose an injured rabbit I had once found in the barn. Only the word ‘rabbit’ had been replaced with ‘small child.’ The lecture had made me feel extremely guilty then, and had the same effect now.
“Well,” I said, gruffly, “come inside and let me tend to that cut. Then anda can scamper on home.” I turned away, and headed into the house, watching out of the corner of my eye as the little girl followed me.
For the first time in a long time, I felt embarrassed sejak my kitchen. The chairs were scratched and worn and the yellow paint was peeling off the walls. She didn’t seem to mind though. She gratefully took a kerusi, tempat duduk sejak the grimy window, watching me with those large eyes as I gathered the necessary supplies to clean her up.
“What did anda mean,” I asked, running a wet cloth over her face, “when anda berkata anda didn’t have anywhere else to go?”
The girl looked familiar to me, but I could not, for my life, place her. I was beginning to get a very bad feeling about this: very few parents let their children run all over town.
“Oh,” she pulled back slightly, looking surprised sejak my question. “The Simpson’s mutt was running loose and chased me. “
I stared and, after a while, she looked away. “So, anda saw fit to hide in my cellar?” I asked. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe her story – I’d heard several people at church complain about the mutt – but I was still surprised at her reaction to my question.
This time, she pulled away completely and glared at me, instantly on the defensive. “It was the only place I could think of to hide, Mr. Johnson. I’m sorry to be such a bother. I’ll be leaving.”
She stood up quickly – too quickly. She swayed slightly on her feet and reached out a hand to steady herself. Gripping my shoulder tightly, she didn’t seem aware that it was I she had grabbed onto. It shocked me and touched me a little. Although I knew it hadn’t been a conscious decision, it gave me a warm feeling to think that she was not so intimidated sejak me to hold on to me for support.
As she opened her eyes and regained her balance, her face clicked in my mind. I recognized her now – at least, recognized whose daughter she was.
Mary Truent was a shady girl who very few people could stand – Annabelle included. She always complained about her only daughter: she was too outspoken, too curious. At twelve years old, she was useless, never contributed to the house hold. She hated to be punished and ran away every time Mary tried. She had wild, un-tamable red hair and hated shoes.
“You’re Sarah Truent, aren’t you?”
She glanced at me, her green eyes searching my face as if trying to gouge my tone. “Yes.”
I nodded once, trying to keep my face impassive. “I didn’t see your mother at the service today. Where was she?”
Still keeping her eyes on my face, she replied, “At home. We got into a fight this morning, so I went to the cemetery myself.” She looked away.
Feeling uncomfortable, I fidgeted in my seat. I knew the type of woman Mary was and there was no doubt in my mind that there had been a physical fight, but I was at a loath to bring that up. I was also at a loath to bring up the fact that Sarah could not stay here – she had to go home.
However, she seemed to understand my uneasiness. Blushing, she muttered, “I really should be going, sir. Mother’s not going to be happy about my wandering.”
I nodded. “Well, Sarah, if you’ll permit me, I’d like to escort anda home.”
She forced a smile, revealing brilliantly white, straight teeth. “Thank anda very much, sir.”
I was not entirely sure why I was walking her home. Lord knew she could do so herself. Partly, I wanted to speak to her mother. I was jealous that she was willing to throw away this girl, a girl who Mary repeatedly called ‘unruly’ but who was actually just headstrong, when there were people who had been unable to menanggung, bear children – like Annabelle – who would gladly have taken her.
I had expected Sarah to be silent during the walk home. Not many people were comfortable around me, children especially. But, just as she had all morning, she surprised me. She prattled nonstop about useless drivel: her Cinta for all animals, except the Simpson’s mutt; school; swimming in the lake with her friends. She told me about how Mary had shut the air-conditioning off to save money, and the house was now unbearably sweltering.
Feeling that the constant chatter was lebih to ease her nerves, I let her go, making the right komen-komen when necessary. I was actually enjoying her company and desperately wished that she did not have to go back to that hell-hole she somehow managed to call home.
Her mother was standing on the front porch steps, smoking a cigarette when we arrived. Her bushy brown hair was pulled back haphazardly from her face. She wasn’t wearing any make-up and her plain sundress and brown boots showed that she wasn’t doing as well financially as she liked everyone to believe. She looked surprised to see us and promptly put out the cigarette. She met us half-way down the driveway, all the while her expression melting from surprised, to furious. She reached her daughter, her expression lebih malicious then ever and smacked her, heard, across the face.
Her head snapping to the side painfully, Sarah cried out.
“Miss Truent!” I exclaimed, grabbing for Sarah and steadying her.
“You little cretin!” Mary snarled. “What do anda think you’re doing, bothering up-standing citizens like Mr. Johnson? I’ve bet you’ve been a great bother to him haven’t you? Prattling away about stupid nonsense, getting under his feet while he tries to work –“
“She hasn’t been a bother, Miss Truent,” I cut across her sharply. “On the contrary, I’ve rather enjoyed her company.”
Mary snorted in un-lady like way. “Right. anda don’t have to lie, Mr. Johnson. I know what kind of girl I gave birth to.”
I felt disgusted. This terrible excuse for a woman was allowed to do this, to hit her child and call her names, because . . . Why? What possible reason did she have to do this? I’d seen for myself that Sarah was not as Mary had always described her to be.
“You’re lucky God’s telah diberi me so much patience, anda little brat,” Mary snapped. She reached out a hand and wrapped it strongly around Sarah’s upper arm. With a pull stronger that I would have thought possible, Mary pulled Sarah from my grasp. “If he hadn’t I would have drowned you! You’re going to the orphanage, anda are! Let them deal with anda because I can’t anymore!”
“No!” Sarah cried, struggling against her mother’s firm grip. “No, please!”
Mary slapped her again.
Until that point, I had been stunned into immobility. After hearing the echo of the final strike, I mentally shook myself.
“Miss Truent,” I said, trying to sound firm, “Stop this dreadful behavior at once!” She glanced up at me shocked, but lowered her hand. “There is no need to send Sarah to an orphanage,” I said. “There are plenty of people around town who would gladly take her in.”
Snorting, she challenged, “Like you?”
I paused. I knew that I would not be a good fit for Sarah. I had become far too comfortable being alone and, besides, I knew nothing about children. Just before I berkata no, Annabelle’s voice drifted through my mind, sounding disgusted: How could anda do that?
Swallowing thickly, I replied icily, “If need be.”
Sarah turned to me; her green eyes – made so much lebih prominent sejak the red mark on her face – were wide, pleading. “Oh, would anda Mr. Johnson? Please? Please can I come live with you?”
I was still sorely tempted to say no, to tell her that she could find a much better family, but the sight of those wide green eyes, and Annabelle’s disgusted voice, forced the words to die on my lips.
“Yes, Sarah,” I berkata in a low voice. “Yes, anda can come live with me.”
Straightening up, Mary glared at me with contempt. “Fine, Mr. Johnson. Fine, take the brat,” she spat. Turning on her heel, she marched back up to the house, her nose in the air. Her boots crunched ominously on the gravel drive.
Sarah lunged ke hadapan and wrapped her arms around my waist. “Oh, thank you, Mr. Johnson! Thank you, thank you! I promise, Mr. Johnson, I won’t get under your feet. I’ll let anda do your work; I’ll even help if anda want me to!”
Reaching down, I patted her awkwardly on the shoulders, and wondered what kind of trouble I’d gotten myself into.
“Can we go utama now, Mr. Johnson?” Sarah asked, her eyes brighter than ever.
I looked down at her. Home. I was going home, and I wouldn’t be going alone.
“Yes, Sarah, we can go utama now.” For the first time in a decade, I didn’t dread going home. For the first time in a decade, I wouldn’t be going utama alone.
It's Funny, I Use To Be Popular. At First Some People Loved Me And Others Hated Me. Now Everyone Hates Me. Even My Old Best Friends. anda See, I Always Found A Flaw In Everyone And Used It To Hurt Them. Not Physicly Hurt. I Made Them Feel Horrible About Them Selves. I Was The Reason anda Cried On The Way Home. The Reason anda Fake Sicked. Of Course Karma Came And Hit Me Like A Ton Of Bricks. I Try Hard To Be Nice, But No One At School Pays Attention To Me. Except Teachers. I Even Tried Sitting With My Old Friends.
"Hey, Guys!" I Said
"What Are anda Doing Here?" berkata Lexi Illing
"I Just Wanted To Sit With You."
"Well, Their's No Room"
"Yeah, Right There." I berkata Pointing To The Empty Chair At The End.
"Well," berkata Victoria Khan Placing Her buku On The Seat. "Now It's Taken."
Everyone Laughed. Except Me Of Course. I Just Walked Away. Wishing, I Had Never Been So Cruel.
"Hey, Guys!" I Said
"What Are anda Doing Here?" berkata Lexi Illing
"I Just Wanted To Sit With You."
"Well, Their's No Room"
"Yeah, Right There." I berkata Pointing To The Empty Chair At The End.
"Well," berkata Victoria Khan Placing Her buku On The Seat. "Now It's Taken."
Everyone Laughed. Except Me Of Course. I Just Walked Away. Wishing, I Had Never Been So Cruel.