Page 77 of Touch the Sky
She seems to teeter on the edge of smiling at the compliment, but before I can give myself a pat on the back, a shadow crosses over her face and her chin droops down towards her chest.
“I just wanted to be good for Thanksgiving,” she mumbles.
“Oh?” I prompt.
She pulls her knees up to her chest again. Her blank stare across the room is back too.
“For my dad.”
The loft seems to get a few degrees colder. I shiver and fight the urge to curl up into a ball myself.
“He plays the drums,” she continues. “He used to be in a band when he was a teenager. He always says he should make a new band, and I…I thought I could be in it.”
The first thing I think is that of fucking course Baron Von Shitstick plays the drums. I can just picture him showing off some dumb little flippy stick trick to Shel after he’s narrowly missed picking her up for a visit.
The second thing I think is that even though I’ve only known her a couple months, I would do anything to take away the pain and hopelessness of the little girl beside me.
“Of course you can be in it!” I urge. “I am sure yourpapawould love to have you in his band.”
She shakes her head.
“I’m not good enough. I tried to play him a song at Thanksgiving, and I justsucked.” Her voice cracks, and her eyes begin to turn shiny. “I couldn’t remember anything, and I just sat there, and everyone was watching me, and…and…I felt like anidiot.”
She lowers her voice, and I get the sense that ‘idiot’ is another word on the forbidden list.
It would be cute if what she’s saying wasn’t making me feel like all my ribs are cracking.
“I just want him to notice me. Sometimes I think he forgets I’m even there.” She pauses to sniffle again and swipes at her eyes. “He forgets a lot. He’s late all the time, and he doesn’t know my favourite books or my favourite shows or what music I like. He doesn’t even remember to call me Shel and not Shelby anymore, even though I’ve told him, like, a million times.”
I had no idea her full name was Shelby, but even if I had, I can’t imagine calling any kid a name they don’t want to be called.
The thought of someone doing that to theirownkid makes me ball my hands into fists while something hot shoots through my bloodstream. I take a few deep breaths through my nose so I don’t end up punching the hay bales.
Thankfully, Shel doesn’t seem to notice. She wraps her coat tighter around herself and buries her face in the collar. I have to lean in a little closer to hear what she says next.
“I don’t know if he even likes me.”
She gasps, and then the tears really start pouring again. Her body shakes like it’s too tiny to hold the force of her sobs.
I feel like the floor is falling out from under me, and all I can do is hold my arms out for her.
She tips over and lands in my lap like an exhausted kitten fished out of a river. I pat her on the back and stroke her pink-tinged hair out of her face while she fights to catch her breath.
“Oh,chérie,” I murmur.
My throat has gone thick, and the edges of my vision are blurring, but I manage to hold myself together. She doesn’t need me crying, even though I can feel her pain like an echo of my own.
It’s a few long minutes before she’s moved on to hiccupping and dabbing at her face with the tissue. I’m pretty sure there’s a large puddle of snot seeping into my jeans, but I don’t care. If I need to be a human Kleenex box for her, I’ll do it.
She sits up and lets out a shuddering sigh. She looks more tired than any ten year-old should have to be.
I know the feeling. I know that weight.
“I’m gonna tell you something, okay?”
She looks up at me, a flicker of something between hope and desperation in her eyes.
I hesitate.
