Page 101 of Keep Me Safe

My eyes widen, and my brows shoot up. What is she talking about? Noticing my bewilderment, she continues.

“Kira, you are the only person who cares about this place as much as I do. It’s been growing, so much so that I can’t do it all by myself anymore,” she tells me, her eyes soft. “Now, when can you start? I know school is coming up, and I don’t want to take you away from that, but you can work as many hours as you’d like. You can also do school work here during your downtime.”

I probably look like an idiot, my mouth opening and closing like a fish. This is my dream. To be able to co-own a pottery studio in Traverse City, it’s everything I’ve ever wanted.

“Um, I just have to give Rob a two-week notice, but I can see if he’ll let me leave sooner,” I tell her, still uncertain.

“Perfect, now I have to go. I wasn’t lying about those errands. Are you good to handle the store for a little bit?”

I nod, unable to keep the grin off my face.

Darla is gone for a little over an hour and a half, and in that time, we get four more customers. I’m pretty confident in the checkout process now, and all I can think about is how this is my new reality. Darla takes over again for me, and I wander to the back of the studio.

It’s still on the shelf where I left it. I take the piece down and set it on the cool metal table in front of me, removing the plastic bag I used to keep the sculpture moist. The hand grips the tiny bird, holding it in place. I stare at it, feeling the same sense of wrongness wash over me. The bird looks powerless, the fingers pinning its body down. It’s trapped.

Images of that night flood my mind: his arms lifting my bodyas I try to scream, his weight on top of me, the way he caged me in. He took my power from me, and I let him, even after that night. I let myself believe it was my fault, that I did something to deserve what happened to me. I listened to my mom and the detective, and who could blame me? I was fifteen, and they were people that weresupposedto keep me safe.

I read somewhere that one in five women report having been sexually assaulted. That’s tens of millions of women in the United States alone. Tens of millions of women that had their power taken from them. A familiar anger burns deep within me. It’s a distinctly feminine rage, and I let it consume me. I didn’t deserve what happened to me, and neither did any of those other women.

I’m taking my power back.

I look at the sculpture, the bird looking up at me as if asking for help. I oblige. My fingers dig into the soft clay, a renewed purpose guiding my hands.

It still needs to be fired and then glazed, but I’m content with my progress as I place the piece back on the shelf, sans bag this time. I say goodbye to Darla before leaving the studio, and the air is cool as I step outside. My car is parked only about a block down, so I take my time breathing in the city as I walk. This is one of my favorite times of year here. Summer is still hanging on, but there are hints of fall in the cooler nights and shorter days.

I look at all the shops, passing the bookstore that Noah and I went to together.

It’s surprisingly quiet for the city tonight, with only the sounds of cars passing by as I walk. There’s a gallery nestled right next to it, and I study the paintings through the windows. They’re beautiful, and I admire the talent it takes to create masterpieceslike that. I’ve tried painting, and it is not for me. Something about a blank, flat surface causes my brain to short-circuit.

I’m so enchanted by the artwork that I almost miss the small paper taped to the window.

NOW ACCEPTING NEW ARTISTS

We have two open spots and are now accepting new submissions of two-dimensional and three-dimensional pieces.

The new artists will be featured at our fall gala the first weekend of October!

There’s no way they would pick me, but something is telling me I need to do this. Opening up my mail app on my phone, I type in the email provided on the flyer.

Here goes nothing.

chapter thirty-two

noah

The pale yellow oil slides down the funnel as I pour the remainder of the quart into the engine. It’s surprisingly warm for an October afternoon, and the breeze from the open garage door brings in the fresh autumn air.

Kira’s gala is tonight, and I want everything perfect for her. Hence, the black dress pants and button-down shirt, which make me feel like I’m going to prom all over again. The Nova is getting similar pampering to ensure she’s ready for the event, and the routine brings me back to a memory from almost ten years ago.

“Hey Jared, buddy, can you come help me with something real quick?” I call, my body hunched under the hood of the car.

Astampede of footsteps comes rushing in from the hall, and a head peeks around the corner. Bright green eyes find mine.

“Do I have to?” He whines, pushing his bottom lip out in a pout.

I don’t know what happened. It seems like just yesterday, he was begging to work on the car with me. I guess he’s getting to that age.

“I can help if you want, Mr. Keller,” a small voice says from behind him.

---