Page 5 of Mended Hearts

ECHO

Starting school tomorrow has my nerves all over the place. I’m supposed to be working on my room, emptying the rest of my boxes, but instead, I fall onto my bed and let the afternoon sunshine warm my face. I think about Dustin and how cute he is. I spotted him when I was singing on stage, a boy I haven’t seen this whole month we’ve been here. I haven’t really seen any kids my age yet. That’s why I was so eager when I saw him. While everyone was watching me, I only took notice of his eyes on me. Leaning forward, he was intently watching me with fixated eyes. It made me feel something I hadn’t felt since I first started singing on stage—butterflies.

“Ugh,” I groan. “Knock it off, Echo,” I tell myself as I roll onto my stomach. “The last thing you need is to start getting boy crazy. That’ll have your dad pulling the plug on everything.” I remind myself. I don’t need to step into the danger zone from the get-go.

But on the other side, I’ve been hoping to make at least one new friend at church who could help me not feel like such an outsider the first week of school. At least, I finally made conversation with someone who looks close to my age the day before school starts. A cute someone, that is. While he seemednice and funny, he’s merely just an acquaintance at this point. An acquaintance that surely won’t take me under his wing and show me the ropes. I’ll be going in blind. Going into unknown territory where I know no one, but they all at least know who I am. Not to mention, there’s usually a stigma that comes from being the preacher’s daughter. I will either be instantly classified as a goody-goody or a rebel in disguise. I’ve learned that small towns usually have their cliques set in place since grade school. Heck, since their parents were in grade school. It’s like a pact they’re all born into.

Trying to squeeze into one of those this late in the game can be almost as impossible as trying to beat Timmy Tyler at Red Rover back in fourth grade. All I can say is I gave it my all. As in, my left incisor that had been holding on for dear life was finally defeated when I did a flip over his arm and landed face-first on the ground. Despite that, Timmy still didn’t loosen the death grip he had with his teammate Alex. The teacher literally had to say game over for that to happen. At least the Tooth Fairy took pity on me and left me five dollars under my pillow. Who’s the real winner now, Timmy? I wonder where Timmy would be if he had taken scholastics as seriously as he did Red Rover. I mean, he was already rocking his second year of fourth grade. He had to excel at something. Being a human brick wall, it was.

At least I’ll have softball.I think as I roll out of bed. I have to start practicing soon. It’ll be my escape.

A much-needed escape from my overbearing father.

THE AROMA OF dinner fills my room and summons me to the kitchen. I walk in just as my mom sits the pan of pork chops on the stovetop and shuts the oven door with her foot.

“Do you need any help?” I ask, moving quickly her way to assist.

“Everything is done in here. Could you set the table?” She gestures to the plates and utensils she has sitting out on the kitchen island.

I grab the items and walk through the archway that leads to the dining room. The area is naturally bright with the curtains to the double windows pulled to the side. I begin humming as I set the table, taking the extra time to place everything just right. Although I’m nervous about this new beginning tomorrow, I’m also excited. I’ve learned over the years that it’s all about your mindset. I know I have a perma-grin plastered on my face, but it’s hard not to be giddy when everything seems to finally be lining up for me.

My mom sets the last item on the table. “I think we’re ready. Honey,” she hollers, “dinner’s done.”

“Yeah, honey.” I snicker as my dad rounds the corner. He looks my way, a smile barely crossing his face. “It’s okay to smile, Dad. I’m pretty sure the Lord would approve,” I say as I pull my chair out, knowing I just poked the bear.

I try to keep my thoughts to myself because they never get perceived correctly, but as I get older, it’s getting harder to remain tight-lipped. I glance at him and regret it. While the Lord might approve, my dad does not. Sometimes I wonder what made him become such a stick in the mud. Thankfully, he doesn’t voice his disapproval. He takes his seat at the far end of the table and blesses the food. My mom then gets up and fixes his plate like she does for every meal before sitting back down to make hers.

“Why are you in such a cheerful mood?” my dad asks, seeming to imply that I’m not usually cheerful.

“School, softball, new beginnings. Life in general. You know, the things I’m usually happy about.” I shrug to play off my annoyance at his question.

“I’m sure it has nothing to do with that handsome boy who was at church this morning. I saw you two talking after service.” My mother snickers, giving me a quick wink. I wish I could kick her foot under the table without getting reprimanded for it.

“Better not have anything to do with some boy,” my father warns, adding, “And don’t be encouraging that, Donna.”

I glance at my dad, watching him take a bite out of his roll. Wrinkles are beginning to fill in around his mouth. His once dark brown hair has lightened over the years. It’s even thinned out some. His brown eyes dart my way, catching me studying him.

Caught off guard, I stammer. “It doesn’t. Okay?” I push around my green beans with my fork, no longer hungry.

“Oh now, Eric,” my mother chides.

My eyes focus on her perfectly manicured nails as she cuts her green beans.Who cuts green beans?

“It’s perfectly natural for teenagers to have crushes.”

I sigh quietly. My mother is always trying to smooth things over, but she can try all she wants. We all know her say is never the final one.

“You know how kids are these days, Donna. They just can’t be trusted,” Dad says matter-of-factly around his mouthful of food.

I drop my fork. The metal hitting my glass plate gains their attention.

“Oh, so now I can’t be trusted.”

My dad swiftly angles his head in my direction, and I unrelentingly hold his stare. His eyes are filled with disdain, lacking the compassion I long for.

“Don’t take my words out of context, Echo Dian.” He shakes his head, dismissing the tension, and goes back to cutting his pork chop. Unbothered as always. I could argue and point out how I didn’t take his words out of context, but it would be useless. I’ll always be wrong, and he’ll always be right. Seemsto be the ongoing theme. Sometimes I just wish he’d be quiet. Listen to absorb, not listen to reply. He’s so used to people going to him for answers that he forgets to be a safe harbor for his own family. I’ve become rather observant being an only child. My mom is loving as can be, but sometimes I wish she’d toss the June Cleaver act and say what she’s really thinking. She might be fine with being a pushover, but that’s something I’ll never be.

“Can I be excused?” I drop my napkin onto my plate and scoot my seat back. The wooden chair legs squeak, sliding across the linoleum flooring.

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