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“My father worked for a rubber production company, a very successful one. He got a promotion that ended up being a completely different position and required him to be close to headquarters in California, so we moved.”

Drew’s eyes still haven’t left my face, and with each word I say, they burn into mine. I haven’t talked about what happened with my father to anyone, and at this moment, as I finally turn the wheel to the vault, the world feels dizzy. Everything around me is blurry except for Drew, focused in the center of my field of vision.

I keep going.

“He was very involved in his family and his church prior to the move. Everything was perfect, but about a year or two in, he started to struggle with the new position and had serious self-image issues due to the pressure he felt from the church to be the man of the household, and when he felt like he could no longer perform his patriarchal provider duties, he crumbled.”

I pause, waiting for Drew to say something, but instead, she puts a hand over mine and nods for me to continue.

I want to stop myself. Stop myself from doing the one thing Ivowed I wouldn’t do with Drew and oversharing. But the small, frustrating part of me that I can’t control takes over, and I continue against my better judgment.

“He just couldn’t handle it anymore, and you know, California is pretty open and liberal when it comes to drugs. He got involved with some bad people who gave him unhealthy, yet unfortunately very efficient, coping mechanisms. The drugs ruined him.” I feel a tear run down my cheek. I reach up to wipe it, and hopefully pretend it didn’t happen, but Drew beats me to it, caressing my cheek with the hand that isn’t holding mine. I’ve never been comforted like this before. Never had anyone who would listen to me like this.

“He started getting more involved with those stoner crowds and less with the church and with us, his family. Then one night, we got a call that he’d been taken into the county jail for assaulting and killing a prostitute.” I’m now on the floor, trying to hold it in the best I can, but the tears persevere until they’re practically streaming from my tear ducts.

“I think he was trying to turn himself around. Be more involved with the church. But the drugs had already gotten to him. He told the cops that sex workers were sinners. That he was protecting the state of California from them, I guess in his own twisted way.” Drew still doesn’t say anything, adjusting herself closer to me on the scratchy mulch, her hand still over mine.

“That’s why we’ve been church-hopping these past few weeks. My mother blames it all on the fact that he couldn't uphold God’s expectations of him, so he strayed from His path. She says if he were just stronger and resisted the urges and temptations of sin, and the drugs, he could have pulled through and seen God’s light at the end of the tunnel. I don’t know what I believe about my father, but I think that’s her way of coping with it all. And now we’re back here, in Georgia, running away from our problems and starting over. Kind of…”

I sniffle again, and the sudden panic sets in. “I’m so sorry. That was a lot, I don’t know why I just told you all of that. I’ve never told anyone before.”

“Don’t be sorry,” is all Drew says.

Then she holds me.

I’ve been trying to hold it in for so long that now the floodgates have burst and I’m ugly crying in the arms of a girl I barely know. I’ve always been Little Miss Perfect, always pressured to live up to the standards of my parents and now the church. But despite the limited interactions I’ve had with Drew, I don’t feel like I have to be that girl with her. With Drew, I can be messy and vulnerable and sad and broken. And she just listens.

She has listening eyes that reflect the moon’s light.

Eyes that make you feel you’re the only person in the world.

Eyes that beg to be made into art.

5

Drew

Ican’t stop thinking about that moment of vulnerability

Laine and I had last night. The evening plays in my head the whole way to school, and I can’t shake the sight of her breaking down in my arms. I hate that I panicked, not knowing what to say. All I did was hold her, but I should have said something to comfort her. I could have said anything, but instead, I said nothing at all.

The memory plays so vividly in my mind. Her breaking down on the ground in front of the swings. Her hair falling so perfectlyover her shoulders, even when her head was a mess on the inside. The way her lips puckered and pursed down when she cried, and her tears carried years of grief for a father she thought she once knew. It felt so raw, so personal. It was everything I felt about my dad.

I know our situations aren’t the same at all because my dad is still out there somewhere, living happily without me or my mom. But still, I understood perfectly her grief of losing someone she once cared for, yet I chose to say nothing. Nothing! How could I be so stupid?

I want to ask her about it today. I want to talk to her more about what she—no,we—are feeling. But the moment felt so intense that I’m afraid of prying too much and pushing her away. I understand now how our moms must feel with each other, having someone to relate to after losing someone you love. Suddenly, that whirlwind trip together next month makes a little more sense.

******

When I get to first period, Laine is already in her seat, shuffling uncomfortably and fidgeting with the zipper of her backpack. I contemplate going over to her and saying something—anything—about last night. About all the things she said, and all the things I wish I said. I muster up all my courage and decide to do it.

“Hey.” I give her an awkward wave after setting my backpack next to my seat and walking over to her desk.

“Hi.” She looks up at me, then quickly back down at her backpack, like she’s looking for something in there.

“So… last night-” She looks over at Thom and then darts her eyes back at me.

“What about it?”