Page 55 of We Redeemed the Rain

Words are powerful, but they are limited—only able to give us a taste of reality, a tiny drop against the ocean of experience. And the thing about words we forget to account for is how they are received. The reader has to believe them.

And sometimes, when I read back over my words, I myself can’t accept them as real.

My story isn’t like yours, Strings. Not even remotely similar.

But I want you to know me a little better. I’ll share what I can the best way I know how. Thank you for being patient with me as I’ve dodged thisconversation. You’re always so open and real, even when I’m not. I’m working on being more like you.

If you ask follow up questions, I promise I’ll answer.

I never met my dad. My mom claims she doesn’t know who my dad is. If he’s like the other men my mom dates, I’m better off not knowing him.

The closest thing I’ve ever had to a father figure is Judd. Everything I know about animals, I learned from him. He’s kind to me even though he has his own kids and family to take care of. He isn’t afraid to lay into me either when I’m being stupid. In fact, a few times when I smarted off, he grabbed the nearest thing and whacked me with it hard enough to leave a mark. No one else was there to set me straight, so Judd did. He still does. I like working alongside him. He inserts a lot of life lessons into what we do here at the ranch.

Cooper and I are half-brothers. He likes visiting the ranch during the summer, but he was devastated to move away from his dad, Greg. Greg lived a few minutes from mom’s house and stopped in now and then (not nearly enough). Coop lived for those visits. He knew once we went to the ranch, he would probably never see him. Greg was awful, and I didn’t understand why Cooper craved time with him so much.

A few weeks before we moved, Cooper got a cigarette burn on his arm after spending the day with Greg. He tried to hide it from me, but it hurt too much to cover, so it was only a matter of time before I saw. I asked if Greg did it. Cooper defended him, and told me Greg “dropped” it on accident. It was a perfectly round mark, and layers of Cooper’s skin were burnt through. Any doubts about Greg’s intention evaporated when Cooper burst into tears. But he refused to talk to me about it. That was years ago, and Cooper never mentioned it again.

As I predicted, Greg hasn’t seen Cooper since we moved out here and he eventually stopped calling, too. As much as it’s hurt Cooper, I’m glad he’s out of our lives.

The drama with Greg has made me glad I don’t have a dad in my life.

My mom’s name is Janice. She’s currently in prison thanks to her drug addiction. When I lived with her, she worked as a waitress in a cafe a few minutes from our house. She was gone a lot and always claimed she was working, but we never had any money or food to show for the “long day on her feet.” Our power was cut more times than I could count.

Her absence left me in charge most of the time. I cooked meals for Cooper, got him ready for school, and helped with his homework. I walked him to the market to get groceries when there was money. When there wasn’t, we lived off school lunches, food pantries, and the kindness of strangers. That part of my childhood—the hunger—is really hard for me to think about, so I won’t write too much on that right now.

I’ll never regret coming to the ranch. At Mom’s, I couldn’t sleep. Every little noise had me on alert. During the night hours, she was usually drinking. I felt like someone needed to stay aware. Every little noise would send me through the house, checking windows and doors and slowly walking through the dark with my baseball bat poised and ready. They were just house sounds playing tricks on a kid’s mind, but I took every threat very seriously.

We’ve been at the ranch over four years now. I wish we would've come sooner. It all started because one of my teachers realized how hungry and unfocused I was in my classes, and she reported it to our school counselor.

The counselor called CPS, obviously. And a very long story short, we got placed with the only family willing to take us—Gran. We had been spending summers at the ranch since we were three and seven years old, so it made sense for us to stay permanently.

Gran was the perfect candidate at the time. She was healthy for her age, had some money, a stable home. But all that’s changing. Strings, she’s going downhill so fast. I know I told you about her forgetting the chicken in the pot pie, but it’s everyday now I’m finding weird or dangerous thingsshe did or didn’t do. This is a whole topic in and of itself, so I’ll tell you more about it some other time.

I’ve told you about my panic attacks, and the one I had in the hayloft the night we met. For some reason, tough conversations with Mom or Cooper send me into a dark place. That day, Mom called me from prison. She never did that. We only talked for a few minutes. She seemed distracted and didn’t even ask how we were doing. She complained about the food the whole time instead. It hurt.

To cope, I kept busy with dirty work, but the stress caught up with me after bedtime. As tough as it was, I wouldn’t change anything that day. If it never happened, I wouldn’t have met you.

Can you believe it’s already been three years? Time flies.

Speaking of time flying. Your fifteenth birthday is next week. Any big plans? I'm making you something, and I promise it will be better than the pressed bluebonnet I sent you last year. I won't give you one single hint, so don’t bother pestering me.

Update on the bracelet: The yellow string is the color of mud now. I’ve had to fix it once and tie a new knot twice, so I doubt it’ll make it to my birthday, but we’ll see. You can always make me another, right? I like wearing it.

How is practice for your summer recital coming? Do you still want to strangle Achille-Claude Debussy or are you friends now?

Your pool day sounded like a lot of fun. Reading about the game Stell and Ben play with their friends made me laugh. I don’t think I’ve ever pretended to be an orphan hiding and swimming away from mean orphanage workers (never occurred to me), but the game sounds riveting. Ha ha. I think I’d prefer to sit next to you and read a book or play volleyball, but I’d be entertained, no doubt.

Last time I went swimming with Cooper in the pond, I remembered your love of murky water. Moss and grass tickled my toes, and I couldn’t see my hands moving beneath the surface. Afterward, my skin smelled like a mix ofmildew, mud, and manure. When I pulled a leech off of Cooper, I thought “man, Strings would eat this up, wouldn’t she?” If you ever come to the ranch again, you’re swimming. And, yes, that’s a promise.

Alright it’s taken me three days to finish this letter.

Please don’t stop sharing happy things about your family with me just because my family’s history is sad. The stories you tell make me smile and laugh. I love reading them. You and your family…especially you, Strings…make me believe there is still love to be found in the world. And some days I really need that reminder. I’m serious. Don’t stop. Promise me, alright?

Thinking of you.

Scribbs

SEVENTEEN

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