Page 10

I wake up to the sound of someone frantically ringing the doorbell and pounding on the front door.

"Aria! Open the door! Open up!"

Tired and groggy, I stumble to the front door and peek through the side panel blinds. "Mama! What are you doing making all that noise? I have neighbors." I open the door.

She brushes past me, hyped and animated.

"See, I knew it when you didn't answer your phone last night.

Something wasn't right. I just got a feeling.

What's going on, Pickle?" She cradles my face with her hand and gives me a once over.

"I don't like this. Not one bit. What's going on with your eyes?

All puffy!" She looks at her watch, "You have twenty-five minutes to get ready.

Which leaves us with just fifteen minutes travel time.

Come on, we've got a graduation to get to!

" She rushes past me, heading straight for my freezer.

"Here, put this over your eyes." She hands me a bag of frozen mixed vegetables.

"The coolness should take down some of that swelling. Do you have any cucumbers?"

Yawning, I stretch as I struggle to keep my eyes open. "I don't think so."

She turns to me trying to assess the situation before asking.

"Let's take this to your bedroom. So, Cliff's Notes version, what happened?

" She begins rifling through my closet, making selections and throwing them onto the bed.

"Pickle, don't look so glum. Whatever it is, we'll get through it.

" She begins pairing the dresses she's chosen with coordinating shoes.

"Sebastian—"

"—That sneaky bastard. See, I knew I didn't like him for a reason! What did he do?"

"What didn't he do is the question."

"Convenient. He won't be at your graduation, will he?

He always seemed a little envious, with you graduating with honors and on time.

Hasn't he been an undergrad for seven years now?

Constantly changing majors, not knowing what he wanted to do with his life until he met you?

That dirty little fucker! I never liked him! "

"What am I gonna do without him? I know it's stupid, but I thought . . . I thought we'd get married," I confess.

"Look at you. 'What am I gonna do?' You're gonna live, Pickle!

You're young, beautiful, smart. You know yourself.

" Mama gets up and drags me to the full-length mirror sitting in the corner of the room.

"Appreciate your blessings. Look at you.

Just look! Take some time to appreciate what God gave you, then jump your butt in the shower.

" She sniffs the air. "You're good and ripe, girl.

" She leaves me alone in the room and closes the door.

Looking over my body, I realize there is much to be grateful for.

Running my hand across my high cheek bones, my skin feels soft and smooth and glows a honey caramel tone in the slivers of sunlight that pierce through my blinds.

My eyes trace my silhouette in the mirror.

The body of a dancer as Troy, my best guy friend, likes to say.

I always considered myself something of an athlete, running and yoga are my thing.

Staring into my somewhat large brown eyes, I love how the corners of my eyes point slightly upward.

I study my nose and laugh at the things that amused me as a little girl.

Dad called my nose his 'button.' He'd playfully push it with his finger like it was a real button and make random sounds.

I never knew what sound would come from his mouth, so every time he went looking for his 'button,' I'd come running and stand at attention.

It could be anything, a fart noise, a snake hiss, a dog bark . . . .

I miss him. My heart gallops to a finish line I know I'll never reach.

https://youtu.be/XjBwAYIxUso

"Don't Dream It's Over," by Crowded House was playing in the background. That was the third time in a row. It was one of Mama's favorite songs to listen to when she was lost in deep thought.

I sat by the front door, on the built-in, wooden nook we'd drop our bags on, whenever we entered the house.

This was our home, the four of us. He belonged here, too.

He was still part of the family. I sat there, waiting.

It must've been hours. My five-year-old mind had no real concept of time.

I just knew that I had been sitting so long, my butt was starting to get numb.

Determined to see him first, I stared out the window.

The kids playing outside looked so happy.

I wanted to join them, but I couldn't risk missing him.

He might stop by and forget to take me. The sunshine kissed their smiling faces as they ran through the sprinkler in our front yard.

It was one of my favorite things to do in the summer.

But there I was. Inside. Waiting.

Would he show up this time? I wondered. I sure hoped he would.

I was his squirmy little pickle. He'd chase me through the house with his creepy-crawly troll fingers, prepared to tickle me to death.

Sometimes he'd catch me, and I'd have to pay the price — a thousand tickles to cross his bridge, he'd belt out boisterously while beating his chest. I smiled at the thought of him catching me, of me trying to breathe through uncontrollable giggles, of my princess tiara and scepter falling to the ground as I surrendered to those laugh-inducing fingers.

Where was he? I missed him. Fiercely. The few times we talked on the phone, he sounded different, dull and lifeless, like he lost the sparkle in his voice. Just one afternoon with me would do the trick. I'd use my magic on him. I'd bring Dad's shiny words back.

By the time evening fell, my butt was completely numb.

Every time the phone rang, I jumped and ran to Mama asking if it was him.

Each time she regretfully told me no, she tried to fill in the gap suggesting other things to do.

She tried her hardest to distract me, but it was useless.

I needed to remind him I was still there.

"Won't you come sit next to Mama," she said, patting the couch cushion next to her.

Burying my chin in my chest, I shook my head no.

"Oh, Pickle," she sighed, looking exasperated as she brought a small pillow and throw to make me comfortable.

When I stayed on that nook past dinner, she brought a glass of milk and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. All the while, that helpless look of worry never left her beautiful caramel-colored face. I should've known then.

But, how could I? How could any of us know? A year younger, Mia wasn't as aware of what was going on, as I was. It was up to me to make sure we didn't lose the enchanted giggle-makers.

Mama sat on the phone, telling someone that Dad had abandoned the building. That he had left us but I knew different. He'd come back. He'd show up this time. I just knew it, I kept thinking as my eyelids grew heavy after eating the sandwich.

The next morning, when I woke up in my own bed, in my own room, and not wherever Dad was, I made a promise to myself.

I'd never stop waiting for him. Never. Even though it stung, worse than any bee could sting me, I'd never stop waiting for him to return.

I was strong. I could do this, no problem.

He needed me, needed his spark back and I was the only one that could give it to him.

No matter what, I'd always keep my family together, forever.

Nothing could ever separate us. Not if I could help it . . . .

"—Aria! Shower! We've got eighteen minutes! I'm leaving to get a cucumber. Be out the shower when I get back."

Mama's voice brings me back to the here and now. "OK," I reply, as the front door closes.

Why hasn't he come to see me in all these years? One minute I was his little girl. I could do no wrong. The next, I no longer existed to him. He just . . . forgot about me. He's missed whole chunks of my life. He's missing out on today. He'll probably miss out on the rest of my life.

I step into the steamy shower and welcome the water pouring down on me like tiny, smooth, hot pebbles.

This shower is life. It's bringing me back to a semblance of my former self.

I feel like I'm washing away two years' worth of dirt and grime.

Down the drain it goes. Down the drain goes the embarrassment and humiliation I felt yesterday.

Down the drain goes this monstrous miscarriage of a relationship and down the drain goes that inconsiderate bastard of a boyfriend.

I stomp the shower drain making sure he stays down. That bastard!

My irritation is so thick, it broods, hanging over me, even in the shower.

I'm not sure how this is even possible, but having no way to express myself, my fingers find their way down there.

With warm beads of water beating down, it feels soft, slippery, and super wet.

I place two fingers around my clit and massage it, gently at first.

My mind drifts to Sebastian pulling me close, reaching into my panties, and tapping me ever so lightly. Making me wet and sticky.

I rub faster. The slipperiness of the water allows my fingers to move at lightning speed. My clit swells and protrudes.

Flashes pop up of him staring deep into my eyes, as he slid his finger from my clit, plunging it deep inside me.

While inside, he teased me, gliding, pressing, pushing his finger in and out, giving me a taste of what's to come when he finally enters me.

He pulled his finger out, all sticky and wet with my love.

I remember him saying, "Look at that." He drove me wild when he licked his finger, slipping it into his mouth as if tasting a dollop of frosting from a piece of cake.

Leaning my back against the wall, I pull at my nipple and cradle my clit between my two fingers, rubbing harder and faster.

Suddenly, I'm on top. Riding.

I'm riding someone. It's not Sebastian. No.

This man is more muscular. He's sexier, more mature, more defined.

Ooh. He knows what he wants. That's so sexy.

This man wants me. Really wants me. I glance from his to-die-for abs, to his perfect pecs, to his toned arms and shoulders, to his ungodly gorgeous face.

Every part of me wants him. He grabs my hips, pulling me towards him again and again and again.

The massaging intensifies, my body tenses up, a moan escapes as I stand there in the shower. I lose control and come.

Hard.

To Phoenix, of all people.

I can't believe that just happened. What was that?

It was good. That's what it was. Hahaha.

But there's still a hole in my heart.

At least he gave you the release you so badly needed.

I get out the shower and dry off.

What was Phoenix doing in my private thoughts?

When I go back into my room, I put on a little black dress and black, strappy heels. It's perfect for the memorial service of my first relationship.

Mama knocks on the door and lets herself in. She reaches out, gently touching my face in that familiar, comforting way of hers. She always touches the top of my forehead with her thumb and traces her hand down one side of my face.

I let out a long sigh. It feels like home.

"Here, let these cucumber slices rest on your eyelids for a few minutes. Lie down." She fluffs the pillow and sets it back down on the bed.

"Yes, ma'am." I do as she says.

Sitting next to my bed in the chair against the wall, she places a cucumber slice over each eye and caresses my forehead as we wait. "Tell me what happened."

Without thinking, I blurt it all out. Everything. "I was humiliated yesterday and they laughed! They laughed at me, Mama!" Reliving it brings back tears.

"That son-of-a-bitch!" She calms herself down and proceeds to tell me, "You know.

There's a reason you stayed at that party that long.

You stayed, and you let him do that to you, Aria.

It's how you deal with relationships. Always have, since you were a little girl.

The reason you held onto that relationship, even when you knew it was over, is your father.

Said he couldn't handle the pressure. He was a free spirit.

Left me with two young kids. It didn't affect Mia as much, with her being younger but it cut you deep.

You waited for him, for years, Pickle. Every Sunday you'd wait by the front door with your My Little Pony purse filled with little trinkets but he never came, not once.

In the beginning, he'd call to cancel, then the calls stopped coming altogether.

Still you waited for years after that." She pauses.

"You know, you are a remarkable young woman.

The dedication it took for a child that young to stay steadfast in the unwavering belief that her daddy would return.

It's incredible. Your love for him was unconditional and it's the same in your relationships.

Your staying power is amazing. No matter what, you will tough it out but you gotta learn when to turn it off.

Some people don't deserve that kind of devotion, Pickle and Sebastian is one of them. "

I hear her getting choked up.

"Let that idiot lie in his own mess. He'll miss you. Mark my word, he'll come back, begging to be with you." Taking the cucumber slices off each eye, she lifts me up out of the bed. "There you go. You look better already."

Mia walks in pointing to her watch. "We've got eight minutes to get downtown."