Blade Silver: Color Me Scarred Page 5

"You're awfully quiet, Ruth."

  He's sitting behind the wheel, waiting for the light to turn green. I take a deep breath, force a smile for him. "Sorry."

  "Everything okay?"

  I shrug. "I guess I'm just worn out from the art fair and everything. Its been a long day."

  "Yeah. But I think it went really well tonight. Pollinni was sure happy with how many people showed up."

  "Yeah, he said we made some pretty good money, too."

  "And you can't be too disappointed about the awards, Ruth. You got more than anyone else."

  "You didn't do too badly yourself," I say, trying to sound like a normal girl.

  "Well, for the new kid anyway."

  "And it was cool meeting your mom," I tell him. "She seems really nice." His mom had shown up during the last half hour with sparkling blue eyes and a great smile.

  "Yeah, she's okay."

  But I can tell by the way he says "okay" that he really likes her. And I could tell by the way he introduced her tonight that he was proud to call her his mother. I wish I could've felt that way about inine.

  "Your parents seemed nice too." But his tone is unconvincing and I can tell he's just being polite.

  I sort of laugh. "You really think so?"

  "Your clad was pretty friendly"

  "Yeah, well, he had on his party face. Trust me, he's not always like that."

  "Your mom was pretty quiet."

  "She's had a hard year."

  "Oh."

  "But it's probably a good sign that she came. She hardly ever leaves the house." I sigh. "She wasn't always like that, Glen."

  "You mentioned how your dad kind of got to her last year, and that she kind of fell apart. But what happened exactly?"

  I really do want to tell him the details, and I wish I could just pour it all out. But where do I begin? I'm not even sure I know exactly what happened myself. "It's a long story," I finally say. "The short version is she's not herself anymore."

  "Is that going to change?"

  I shrug. "I don't know."

  "Is she getting help?"

  "You mean, like a shrink?"

  "Yeah, or counseling ... you know."

  "She did at first. But then our insurance quit covering it and my dad thought it was just a waste of time and money"

  "Oh."

  And here's what's weird. I don't tell Glen this, but I kind of sided with my dad on that one at the time. I thought, Why can't Mom just pull herself back together? Like, how hard can it be to get out of bed, do a little housecleaning, get some groceries, do some laundry? And while she does some of these things some of the time, Caleb and I do most of it.

  "Did I tell you my brother ran away last night?" I'm not sure if I'm trying to change the subject or just suddenly worried about Caleb.

  "Seriously?"

  "Yeah. He and my dad got into it pretty good. And then Caleb just walked out."

  "Do you know where he went?"

  "Probably a friend's house."

  "Is he going to be in trouble?"

  I slowly exhale as I consider this. "Yeah, you could say that."

  Glen pulls into my driveway now. "Well, hang in there, Ruth."

  "Thanks," I tell him. "And thanks for the ride."

  "No problem." He smiles. "Any time."

  "See ya." I hop out and head toward my house. I have no idea what will happen once I open the door, but I suspect it won't be good. I can hear yelling inside. I pause, trying to appear as if I have a key that I'm using to unlock it, but I'm really just giving Glen time to drive away. When he's gone, I slowly open the door.

  "What do you mean you're not coming home?" my dad is screaming into the phone. "You're fourteen, Caleb. This isn't your decision. You want me to call the police?" He pauses and I attempt to tiptoe past him. "You keep this up, Caleb, and you're going to end up in juvi court-and worse!" He slams the phone down and turns to me.

  "What're you sneaking around for?"

  I stop just a few feet from my bedroom door. "I didn't want to disturb-"

  "What is with you kids?" Dad yells at me. "Sneaking around, running away from home, acting disrespectful. What is wrong with kids these days?" And then he lets loose with word after word, sentence after sentence of ranting and raging. I don't even know how he can go on for so long. How is he able to come up with all this stuff? Most of his words go right over me. But some of them hit their target. Words like "stupid" and "loser" and "useless" seem to stick. Those are the kinds of words that come back and taunt me later.

  "You're just like your mother!" he finally screams. As if that should explain everything. "A useless squaw who's as cold as a fish. Get out of here, Ruth! I can't stand to look at you."

  And so I slink into my bedroom, silently close the door, and wait. It's not long before his pickup roars to life and then tears off down the street.

  This day started out so good. Everything was going so well. I really believed that I could get through it without cutting. Maybe I still can. Maybe if 1 just breathe deeply and think positively, maybe I can get through this.

  But after a few minutes, I know that I can't. It's like I'm going to burst. The pain is all around me-inside and out-and all I want is an escape. Just a little escape.

  I move silently to the bathroom and get out my razor blade. Just one more time. I lower the blade to an uncut space on my right arm. Then I'll get better. Just one more cut. I need some relief. I need to be able to breathe again.

  I slice across my arm. Perhaps a little more deeply than necessary, but it's high enough up that I'm sure I didn't cut any main arteries. The blood oozes out quickly and I have to scramble to grab a towel before it drips on the floor. I press the hand towel onto my wound and sink into a crouched position, leaning my back into the cold porcelain of the tub. At least I can breathe now.

  Maybe tomorrow. Maybe I can quit this thing tomorrow.

  eight

  "SO WHAT'S GOING ON WITH YOU AND GLEN?" ABBY ASKS ME ON THE PHONE the next morning.

  "I don't know." I turn on the dishwasher. It's Saturday and I'm trying to get all the chores done before my dad comes home from work, which is at one on Saturdays.

  "Come on," she urges as I wipe the countertops with the dishrag. "Tell me what's going on."

  "He's cool," I say as I scrub the stove top, careful to get the deepest grooves clean. My dad will check.

  "Yeah, I know he's cool. But is he into you?"

  "I really don't know. I mean, he's nice to me, and I think we're friends. But that's all I can say right now, Abby."

  "Are you into him?"

  I consider this as I rinse the dishrag in hot water, balancing the phone between my shoulder and head as I squeeze the excess water out. "I guess so."

  "Well, I think he's into you too," says Abby. "I saw him watching you last night. You were painting and he was just staring at you like he couldn't get enough."

  "Seriously?" I pause from wiping down the front of the refrigerator. "He was really watching me like that?"

  "Yeah. I think he really likes you."

  I feel a warm rush of excitement. But at the same time I'm almost afraid to get my hopes up. Like, what if Abby's wrong or just trying to be nice? I mean really, why would someone like Glen like someone like me?

  "So aren't you happy, Ruth?"

  "Yeah, I guess."

  'Yeah, I guess? Can't you do any better than that?"

  "What do you want me to do? Jump up and down and scream?"

  "Maybe. I'd like to see you get excited about something for a change."

  I don't respond to this. Instead I scrub even harder on the fridge, determined to make it shine.

  "Want to go to the mall with me today?"

  "Sure, but I can't go until I'm done with chores."

  "No problem. I don't plan on getting out of bed for another hour or two. How about I pick you up around one?"

  "Can you come a little before that?" I'd rather not be here when my dad gets home. Fin sure he's still really irritat
ed about Caleb's little disappearing act. The truth is, I'm irritated too. It means twice as much work for me.

  "Sure. How about a quarter'til? Does that give you enough time to make a safe getaway?"

  I kind of laugh. Abby knows me too well. "Thanks. I'll be ready."

  And so I have to kick it into high gear. It's about ten now and I still have to vacuum and dust and sweep and take out the trash and about a dozen other time-consuming things. At times like this, I really wish my morn would get up and help out. I know she does a few things while we're at school or in the middle of the night. But it's like she's afraid to come out if anyone is around. Why can't she get over it?

  I'm working so hard and fast that I've actually worked up a sweat by noon. I'm just heading for a quick shower when I hear someone coming into the house. Thinking it's my dad, home early, I feel a chill of disappointment run through me. But when I peek around the corner of the hallway, I see that it's just Caleb.

  "What are you doing?" I ask as I pull the belt of my bathrobe more tightly around me.

  "Just getting some stuff before Dad gets home."

  "Where are you staying?"

  Caleb scowls. "I can't tell you."

  "Why not?" I demand. "What if something happens? What if I needed to get ahold of you? Like what if Mom did something or-

  "Do you swear not to tell Dad?"

  I consider this. Caleb and I always take our promises to each other seriously. Even more so during the past six months. "I swear," I finally say.

  He studies me as if he's weighing my integrity.

  "Caleb," I say with impatience. "If you can't trust me, who-"

  "Yeah, yeah. Well, I'm staying with Grandma."

  "Grandma Wallace? I'd think she would've called Dad a long time ago."

  "Not Grandma Wallace. Grandma Donna."

  "Wow." I slowly nod. Grandma Donna is Mom's mom, and not always the most reliable sort of grandma. Although she's pretty interesting. "1 thought she moved to Oklahoma with her last husband."

  "Well, she's back. And he's not."

  "How'd you find her anyway?"

  °I called Uncle Rod. He told me where she was staying."

  "Where's that?"

  "Out on Ferris Road. She's got a trailer out there that her brother is letting her use. She doesn't have a phone, but if you really needed to reach me, I mean like a real emergency, you could call Uncle Rod."

  "You live in a trailer? Like the kind people go camping in?"

  "No, it's bigger than that. I guess you call it a mobile home."

  "What about school?" I don't remind him that his grades are low enough that he could be stuck in junior high for another year if he doesn't straighten up.

  "Grandma Donna's neighbor gives me a ride on his way to work."

  "How long do you plan to stay there?"

  Caleb frowns. "I don't know. All I know is I can't stand it here anymore. I'm afraid I'm going to kill Dad someday"

  "You're going to kill Dad?" I look at his slender frame. He's barely as tall as I am. And Dad probably makes up about two of him. Murder doesn't seem likely.

  "I imagine doing things," he says, "like maybe putting rat poison in his coffee or messing with the brakes on his truck or maybe throwing an electrical appliance into the shower while he's in there."

  "Oh." I feel my eyes widen.

  "For now I'm staying with Grandma Donna. Until I can figure things out."

  "Did you tell her about anything?"

  "A little. She doesn't ask too many questions."

  "I'll bet."

  "Well, I better hurry and get my stuff. My ride's waiting."

  I put my hand on his shoulder now. "I miss you, Caleb."

  "Yeah." He almost looks like he has tears in his eyes. "I'm sorry to leave you like this, I mean with Dad ... and everything. But I didn't know what else-"

  Then I uncharacteristically hug him. To my surprise, he doesn't resist, although I can tell we both feel uncomfortable when we step apart.

  "What is that?" he asks suddenly, pointing down at my arm where my bathrobe sleeve has come up to my elbow.

  I quickly push down the sleeve without answering him.

  But he reaches over and pushes it back up, exposing at least six scars of varying ages. "Ruth?" His eyes narrow. "What's going on?"

  I push it back down and look away. "Nothing."

  Then he cusses.

  "It's no big deal, Caleb-"

  "It figures," he says with real disgust. "This whole family is so messed up-I don't know why I'd think that you should be any different." Then he turns and walks toward his room.

  "Caleb," I begin, but I have no idea what I can say to him. I mean, what can I possibly say that will change what he thinks of me now?

  "I gotta hurry," he calls back in a husky voice. "I don't wanna be here when Dad gets home." He closes his door behind him.

  "You and me both," I mutter as I head for the bathroom.

  I pause by the drawer where my razor is hidden. Everything in me wants to go for it now-like a magnet I am drawn to its metallic pull. And why not? It'll only take a few minutes and then I'll feel better.

  But somehow I manage to just shake my head and go directly to the shower. I am not going to cut today. I am not going to cut. I say this over and over as I take a shower. My cut from last night is still throbbing and it burns when the water hits. It's starting to bleed again, so I have to put a fresh bandage on it when I get out. I have to stop doing this. It's not only hurting me but it's hurting Caleb now too.

  Caleb is gone by the time I am dressed. I peek into his room to see that it looks pretty much the same. Neatly made bed. Everything perfectly in its place, the way we've been trained. I check out his closet and a couple drawers. He's taken quite a lot of clothes. As if he plans to be gone awhile. And while I know it's not really my fault, I can't help but feel as if I am partially to blame for this. If only I were stronger, more together.

  Don't think about it. There's nothing you can do anyway. I decide to focus on my own life-maybe I can salvage something here and help Caleb later. And for some unexplainable reason, the possibility that Glen might actually like me gives me strength. And I think maybe, just maybe, if something can come of this relationship ... well, maybe I would get better, get healthy, move on. But what can I do to help facilitate this thing? How do I compete against all the other girls who might like to get their hooks into Glen?

  Finally, I decide it's time to clean up my act-to start acting, looking, and even dressing like a "normal" girl. In other words, it's time to do some shopping. And so I decide to take some extra money with me to the mall today. Okay, I know my dad would be furious if he saw me "robbing" my piggy bank, but it is my own money, after all. Some saved from babysitting and some from the meager allowance I'm given each week. But I should be able to use it how I like. Right? Well, if this were a normal family and if I were a normal kid, it would be right. For now, I just have to cover my tracks and hope my dad won't be checking up on my finances anytime soon.

  Now I'm thankful that I took the time to make my dad a nice big tuna-fish sandwich earlier. I wrapped it in plastic wrap and put it in an obvious place in the fridge. I just wish I'd had time to make chocolate-chip cookies or brownies. That might've helped to appease him even more. Then I leave a note, clearly saying what I'm doing (well, other than the spending money part) and who I'm with and when I'll be back. And, not taking any chances, I also mention the sandwich and make a smiley-face picture next to it. Yeah, I'm pretty desperate.

  It's getting close to one now, and I'm suddenly worried that Abby will be late and my dad will get here and figure out that Caleb's been here and, well, you just never know which way it might go from there. But then Abby is here, and I'm flying out the door, jumping into her car. With a heart that's pounding I tell her to hurry up and get out of here.

  "Free at last," I say, as she drives away from my house. I lean back into the seat of her Bronco and finally breathe.

  "Has Caleb
come home yet?" She turns a corner that takes a different route to town, one that does not pass by the tire store. I have to give her this much, the girl is thinking. So I tell her about his little appearance, not mentioning his unfortunate discovery, and I even mention that he's staying with Grandma Donna.

  "But you can't tell anyone," I say quickly.

  "Like I would do that." Then she laughs. "Grandma Donna. I haven't seen that woman in years. How's she doing anyway?"

  "I have no idea. I didn't even know she was living around here."

  "Remember that time when we went to visit her?"

  I nod. Of course I remember. How could I forget? It was the summer before seventh grade, and we decided to ride our bikes out to her place to pick cherries. Somehow we'd gotten it into our heads that we were going to make a cherry pie.

  "She was so cute," says Abby. "Trying to get all glammed up for her big date with-what was his name?"

  "Mike," I tell her, although I don't say that we later found out that "Mike" was on the lam-wanted for robbery, I think.

  Abby goes on, reminding me of how we helped Grandma Donna with her hair and nails and everything, and how she actually looked pretty good for an old lady. But then this Mike dude shows up and he's young enough to be her son and we both suspect that he's probably just using her. But my grandma doesn't even seem to notice. Abby thinks it's all pretty funny, but I mostly think it's pretty pathetic. Like my whole family Suddenly I feel angry at Grandma Donna too. I wonder why, since she's moved back to the area, she hasn't come around and helped with my mom during these past six months. I heard she visited Mom once in the hospital. But as far as I know that was it. Of course, my dad probably doesn't make her feel too welcome. Everyone knows he can't stand her, or any of my mom's relatives for that matter. We are such a freaking mess.

  "Earth to Ruth," says Abby in that obnoxious way of hers, like she thinks she's being clever.

  "That's getting old," I tell her. We're just going inside the mall now, but I have obviously not heard a word she's said since we left the car.

  "Well, so is your little space-cadet routine, Ruth. I was trying to ask you a question."

  "Sorry," I say. "I guess I kinda was someplace else."

  "No kidding. Anyway, I was just asking if you were hungry, like, should we get something to eat at the food court, or shop first then eat somewhere else later?"