ii. saturday

part two of three of "the last weekend"

The morning started off less than ideal.  She was confused when she woke up–she forgot where she was and immediately started panicking.  When she reminded herself of the previous day’s events, she walked through the camper to find Him.  He was nowhere to be found.  She was hungry, but the cereal was on the highest shelf and she wasn’t tall enough to reach it on her own.  Her heart thumped akin to the pace of a hummingbird’s as she used one of the breakfast nook chairs to get to it.  She prayed with all her might that He wouldn’t return before she grabbed it.  She wasn’t ever supposed to stand on His furniture, but especially not in His absence.  

She felt the wooden edge of the chair press hard against her toes, and lifted her heels to grab the box.  With what felt like lightning speed, she dumped some into the plastic green bowl and put it back in its place.  She wiped the sweat that had pooled near her hairline; a vexing stickiness that threatened to fuzz her edges up.  There, she thought.  And all without a hitch.  

The day only got worse when He returned.  He was in a foul mood for whatever reason, and had done a one-hundred and eighty degree turn from the fun-loving and easygoing persona He embodied the previous evening.  Suddenly, the Girl was messy.  She couldn’t clean up after herself or get dressed fast enough.  She was being inconsiderate of His time, because He had plans for today.  She began to tell Him that He could do some of that without her, but one look from Him and the words died on her tongue.  She didn’t speak again unless He asked her a direct question, which ended up not happening often.  

For the past two hours, she had been forced to play with the children of His friends.  Their ever sticky fingers, snot-filled noses, and big, inquisitive eyes always made her fidgety.  She would’ve rather eaten hot cement than play with kids her age.  For one, they were always dumber than she was.  This wasn’t an attempt of hers to feel superior; it was a fact.  Like the sky being blue, or two times two being four.  Second, all of the girls wanted to play with Barbie dolls and all of the boys wanted to wrestle or throw a ball down the lawn.  Neither activity attracted her in the slightest.  Third? They asked too many questions.  

“Where’s your mom?” 

“How come you don’t live with your dad all the time?” 

“What does ‘divorce’ mean?” 

They asked her things she didn’t quite understand herself, and it made her feel subatomic. With each inquiry, she shrank an inch…two inches…three inches…until she became the size of an ant.  She tried to not let her discomfort show on her face, but she didn't think they would stop asking things even if she did.  She was half-heartedly walking her Barbie down the picnic table and pretending to listen to the other girl’s outlandish narrative when He waved her over.  She took a deep breath before she started walking, but she couldn’t remember ever letting it out.  

She looked up and around at all of the age-worn faces of the men He called friends.  They were clad in various shades of polo tees, khaki shorts, and brand-name sneakers.  Some were bald, some were in the process of balding, and only one still had a full head of hair.  Attempts were made to hide this through the use of ball caps and visors, but to no avail.  She knew what they were.  Even though they were smiling down at her, she had the strangest urge to burst into tears.  She felt His hand wrap around her shoulder and pat her proudly.  

“Here she is.” 

She gave a shy wave to the faces surrounding her.  One of them put their hand out to shake, and even though she didn’t want to touch him she did it anyway.  The man’s hand was clammy, and she fought the urge to rub her hand against her denim shorts.  She gave him what she thought was a smile, but it must’ve looked more like a grimace.  She was never good at acting like she was happy when she wasn’t.  Not like He was.  Before she could squeeze out another word, He began His stories.  Her grandmama told her that she couldn’t call Him a liar, because she was a child and children don’t get to call adults liars.  She complied, but that didn’t mean that this rule made any sense to her.  He was a liar.  Why should she act as if He wasn’t?

She kept her mouth shut as He began his tale.  He created fantasies about how well she did in school, how good she was at sports (she wasn’t), how good she was at being creative (she was), how many fictional awards she had won, and how many competitions she’d placed first in.  It was always such a sight for her to see Him in action.  She constantly wondered how He came up with the things He did, what little details He threw in there to make it more believable.  However, she was never entirely sure if His audience truly thought Him truthful.  They seemed, at the very least, to entertain His wild fantasies and abet his pride, and were always polite enough to stroke His ego for an adequate amount of time.  

When He was finished, she politely answered the shallow and useless questions from His friends, and was nonverbally excused to return to her rightful place with the other children.  Air pushed through her nostrils as she released the breath she’d been holding; her shoulders fell, and the temperature subsequently lowered. She was okay. She got through it.  

…

She’d done something wrong when they were in front of His friends.  Said the wrong school name, maybe, or let the wrong piece of information slip.  He wouldn’t say it to her face, but He let her know in other ways.  She felt it in the hardness of His gaze, the frigidity with which His body moved around her.  She’d done something wrong, she just knew it. 

After she was finally released from playing with the children, He told her their plans for the rest of the day.  They were going on a hike, then to dinner before heading to the game.  She knew she had done something He didn’t like because He started speaking in imperative sentences.  If He was in a good mood, He’d phrase things in questions to give her the illusion of choice.  He was more democratic when He felt good.  When He was in a bad mood, the reign of autocracy began.  He made commands. He gave direct orders. If she didn’t follow them, then…

She got dressed in three minutes flat—her fastest time yet.  She didn’t want to give Him a reason to make this last day and a half any harder than it had to be. Anyway, she thought, He’d definitely be in a better state of mind by the time they got to the game.  She needed Him to be.  The beginning of the trail was easy.  It was mostly flat, and the sun was out but there was a cool breeze that didn’t make the heat too stifling. She was keeping up with Him, even though his legs were three times as long as hers.  The inhaler her mama packed with her stayed unused in the front pocket of her black drawstring gym bag.  She surprisingly felt good about the way the day was going.  Maybe she’d be able to ease Him a little bit.  

She was wrong.  Towards the second half of the hike, the altitude increased, which meant that her lung capacity decreased.  She slowed down almost immediately, which she cursed herself for doing.  Stupid, stupid, stupid.  She fished her inhaler out of her bag, wrapped her lips around the opening, and pumped out the reliable magic called Albuterol that always made it easier to exist. At the sound of the device releasing the medication, she heard the turn of His New Balance sneakers crunch on the dirt path. 

“What are you doing? We’re almost done.” 

“I needed my inhaler.” 

He rolled his eyes at the statement, then shook His head in the customary combination of disappointment and mild annoyance. 

“Your mama has convinced you that you need that thing.” 

“But…I can’t breathe?” 

She didn’t mean for it to come out as a question, but her words always lost their certainty when they were spoken to Him. 

“Nobody can, sweetie. It’s the altitude. You can’t just…give up, or fall on a crutch when something is hard. You gotta learn how to move through it.” 

He huffed again in frustration as He stared at her, shaking His head with mock pity. 

“Your mama spoils you too much. What you really need is some exercise. Come on, catch up.” 

Before she could respond, He turned back around and continued to walk.  She took one last puff of her inhaler, then mustered up the energy to catch up to Him.  Just one more day, she said to herself. It was the only comfort she could give herself in the moment, and the only comfort she’d get at all for the remainder of the weekend. 

Dinner was worse.  She didn’t even get to look at the menu.  

“She’ll have a house salad with ranch, and the grilled chicken with brown rice and broccoli.  Thanks.” 

He snapped up the sheet of paper and thrust it towards the waitress without another word.  He was immersed in whatever was happening on His cell phone, His brows furrowed in concentration towards the illuminated screen.  The waitress, much younger than Him but also much older than Girl was, gave her a toothy grin as she pointed slightly to her t-shirt. 

“You goin’ to the game tonight?”

She nodded.  The woman smiled, the tattoo above her eyebrow lifting with the rest of her jovial features.  

“I went there.  Go Gators!” She gave her a fist bump, and headed over to take another table’s order.  Girl grabbed her glass of water and sipped silently.  He continued to ignore her for the rest of the meal.  

She still doesn’t remember the ride to the game, or the game itself, really.  Not who won, or by how many points.  She remembered the sour taste in her mouth, which definitely meant that she had thrown up sometime before or during.  Every time she tried to conjure up an image, her visions came up blank.  Whether that was more for His memory’s protection or for her own peace of mind, she still didn’t know.