Page 3 of Surviving the Break
At eight years old I was still too young, but later I would learn that Hayden was never my Robin.
IWOKEup like I did every morning. Alone. My hand went in search of the familiar warmth that should have been next to me, but instead came up empty and cold. My eyes opened then, and the same undisturbed space greeted me. The one that persistently taunted me.
I rolled to my back, dragging both hands down my face. “Fuck.” I knew what came next, no matter how hard I tried to resist it.
Sitting up and swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I watched the nightstand drawer like one would an enemy, deafened by the goading from within.
Opening the drawer—if only to silence the noise and start my day—I pulled out the familiar square, timeworn wooden box with the lid that only partially closed.
Setting it on the bed beside me, I shuffled a few knickknacks that had belonged to Granddad out of the way and retrieved the frayed, folded square sheet of paper, once white but now beige.
Unfolding it with care and running a finger over the Scotch tape keeping it together, I waited for the pain to strike.There it is…Hitting right in the center of me, sharp and unforgiving, splitting me down the middle. The most reliable thing in my life. I rubbed at the spot on my bare chest as my eyes roved the familiar scene depicted in my drawing. In a park under a tree stood two yellow men kissing while an orange baby boy sat excited in his stroller.
At the sound of Pluto trudging down the hall, I took my mind off a future that would now never be and sealed my pain away to be revisited on schedule the following day.
Seeing me awake, Pluto rushed over, resting his front paws on my bare knees and stretching up to lick my face. I rubbed at his golden flanks and scratched behind his floppy hound ears. “We’ve got a big day today, Pluto. It’s the unveiling of the dance studio at The Center.”
He barked. Pluto loved being down at the community center. Justin, the guy that owned the house behind ours, decided to return to town after living in the city for some years. He’d danced ballet professionally, so I convinced him to take the dance instructor position.
My cell phone flashed with a voicemail indicator. My mother. The screen lit up with another incoming call from her. Guilt, regret, and remorse collided to form a perfect storm of self-loathing. A storm that would only increase in scale whether I engaged or ignored the call. I looked away from the flashing light. I’d deal with it another day.
That’s what you always say.
Showered, I stepped into the closet, heading for the shelf with my folded pile of work jeans, stopping at the dry-cleaned plum-colored blazer hanging on the rack. The one that was left behind by the gray-eyed doctor I’d met in a bar. The one I ended up going back for. I fingered the cuff, mind straying to that night. To how he made me feel with his prying eyes and his subtle but unnerving need for more. That need was why I kept it hanging in here instead of returning it to its rightful owner. I had no more to give to anyone. It didn’t explain why I hadn’t donated or tossed it like he’d suggested.
After food and some house chores, Pluto and I left out to pick up Pete before driving over to The Center to meet up with everyone else.
Pete was one of The Center kids, and if anyone ever accused me of favoring him, they’d be right. One of the main reasons I’d pitched the idea of teaching at The Center to Justin was because it would mean the world to Pete. Losing the ability to dance a little over a year ago, after his mother stopped covering his dance tuition at his stepfather's encouragement, really took Pete down to the bone. I’d do anything to build him back up again.
Pluto sat on the passenger side of the pickup truck, his head out the window, taking in the warm spring breeze. Even on such a beautiful day, close to afternoon, the suburban neighborhood remained quiet except for the calls of nature streaming from the woods and the sprinkler systems moving like synchronized swimmers across the rolling manicured lawns.
Pete lived about a twenty-minute drive from my neighborhood. Pulling into his driveway, I threw the truck in park and waited, knowing he would’ve heard my engine. Sure enough, moments later, Pete’s long, lanky frame, all knobby knees and elbows, exited the front door. Pluto got into the cab of the truck, and with his shoulders curled inward and his head downcast, Pete got in. I ruffled his shaggy mop of brown hair. The same chestnut shade as mine. “Took you long enough,” I joked, and his eyes shot to mine in alarm.
“I...I came out right away.”
I placed a comforting hand on his arm. “It was a bad joke, Pete. And for the record, I would gladly wait however long it took for you.”
He buckled in and turned his gaze to the window until Pluto, with his head now poked between the two front seats, demanded his attention. Pete smirked in spite of himself and shifted to place one knee on the bench-seat to get under Pluto’s droopy jowls.
I backed out of the drive, and we were on our way.
“You know, if you ever get tired of picking me up, I can ride my bike.” Pete had a thing about being a burden, having felt like one in his own home and, even worse, his own skin.
“It’s no trouble. It’d take you hours to get to The Center on your bike.”
He hid his relieved smile behind Pluto’s head.
“Hey, remember when you’d hide behind that tiny fern tree across from The Center’s construction site? The one with the bark as thin as a rail?” I laughed as I merged onto the expressway. Pete was a boy of few words. I made it my business to encourage conversation with him in the hopes that it’d help bring him out of his shell.
He stared pointedly at me, but indulged me anyway. “It wasn’t a fern, and the tree is still standing by the way, so I can prove it. It kept me hidden well enough.” His voice cracked near the end, not knowing from one minute to the next if it wanted to remain on high register or drop low. One of the many signs of his transition in progress.
“Well enough, you say?” Keeping my tone playful. “Is that why I spotted you every time?” My construction company built The Center, and most days, Pete would sit and watch from his place behind that tree. He’d snuck off a few times with items from the cooler we kept near the trailers, so I took to leaving meals there for him. Just sandwiches and bottled water. And he always wore the same stained pink sweatshirt and matching jeans, so I began leaving other essentials as well. Pretty soon, he’d sit in front of his tree and watch.
“You’re just nosy,” he said.
When I chanced a peek at him, color had risen to his face, and the corner of his mouth twitched. I smiled and turned my gaze back to the road, grateful that he no longer felt the need to run away from home. “How are you feeling?” I asked pointedly.
“The acne’s coming back.” He pushed his hair out of the way and touched the pebbled dots along his hairline. “And all my pants are too short.”
