Page 2 of Kaya's King

“I noticed that a few weeks ago,” he replied, a blush staining his cheeks at my excitement. “You’re welcome, I know how much you enjoy drawing. I think you’re the best in the school.”

“Probably not, but it’s definitely something besides reading that I can do to keep myself occupied.”

“No, I think you’re the best. I heard the art teacher is planning to enter some of your drawings in the county fair,” he stated.

“Really?” I’m somewhat shocked because I draw for myself, no one else.

“Honest to God. Come on, I’ve got some money left from cutting the grass, let’s walk up to the corner store and get some sodas and chips then watch a movie.”

Despite the somberness of the day, I find myself smiling several times at the comedy Foster found for us to watch.

Kaya, age 17

I’m so close to graduating I can’t see straight. Foster already graduated and has been working at a warehouse in town. While I don’t love him like I think I should based on the books I’ve read, he’s my best friend. He promised once I graduated, we’d start over, create ourselves a new beginning by finding a place of our own away from this town and its bullies, and we’d finally be able to begin our lives together. Granny is still down at the factory, but now, instead of her remaking clothes to suit me, I do them myself since the owner gifted her a sewing machine, and she taught me all of her secrets.

Workwise, I started an apprenticeship at the local tattoo shop. It all started because one of the artists saw my drawings one day and approached me about buying some of them so they could display them in their book and offer them as tattoos. The first time I saw one of my designs on someone’s skin, I was hooked. Right now, I only do flash art pieces on walk-ins, but next week,one of the regulars is coming in to have a back tat done that’s my design and he wants me to ink him! Right now, I’m using one of Gordon’s old guns, but I put every cent I make aside so that someday I can buy my own.

Not going to lie, I was almost a teenage statistic in that Foster and I had a pregnancy scare two months ago. It would figure that the first time I ever had sex, which was underwhelming to say the least, I would be late the very next month. While it wasn’t explosive or anything to write home about, there’s a certain comfort in being with my best friend. At this point, I think the romance books I’ve read are full of shit when it comes to the euphoric aspect of sex.

“Granny? I’m home!” I call out as I enter our rundown trailer, tossing my backpack unceremoniously next to the front door as I slip off my shoes.

“Back here, child,” she replies from what is now our sewing room. After Mom passed away and all of the medical equipment was returned, she and I converted the room so that we could sew to our heart’s content. When I’m not sketching, working at the tattoo parlor, or with Foster, I’m in here, creating“something from nothing”as Granny likes to say.

“Oh, I like that,” I state, moving toward the quilt rack where her latest creation is stretched out. “Are you entering it in the fair this year?”

“Absolutely. I’ve also been working on some of those covers for e-readers for us to sell.”

“I can help you if you’d like. You’re doing a booth again? What else do we want to make?”

“I’ve got placemats, e-reader covers, hand towels, tablecloths. Maybe some doilies if I have time to crochet them.”

Nodding, I head back into the kitchen to grab myself a snack and a glass of lemonade to drink. As I’m pouring a glass of Kool-Aid, I remember that special gift I received from my grandmother that I think would be of interest to our town. Carrying everything back into our sewing room, I set it down then go over to the shelves where scraps of fabric are neatly stacked. “Granny? What if we make some of those purses like what you gave me years ago?”

A smile graces her face, and she nods. “I’ve got the pattern in the filing cabinet. If you want to cut some out, you’re welcome to get started working on those.”

Soon, the only sound heard is the steady, rhythmic thumping of Granny’s machine, along with the soothing noise of the scissors as they glide through the fabric as I cut out the simple purse pattern. I push thoughts of my future, graduation, Foster, all to the side and immerse myself in the simple task.

Kaya, age 18

“It’s perfect, Kaya!” Foster exclaims, waving the papers in his hand around. “You can stay with your grandma while I’m out on the rig, then when I get shore leave, we’ll get one of those extended stay hotels or something.”

I take a deep breath, then another. “So, we’d be married but live apart?” I slowly question, unsure how that makes our lives better.

“Just for a few years, baby,” he replies. “I’ve gone as far as I can at the factory, but working on the rig will bring in more moneywhile you go to art school and continue tattooing. I know we’ll be apart, but I’m doing this forus.”

“If we’re going to be apart from each other so much, why even bother getting married now then?” That’s what I don’t understand. Plus, I’m quite sure that I don’t love him the way I should in order for us to be married. Yes, he’s my best friend and lover. But I feel as though there’s more, so much more that I’m missing out on. I feel guilty for feeling this way, which is why I’ve kept my mouth shut and have loved him to the best of my capability. He’s always been my rock which is why, regardless of my feelings, I’ll be his too. No matter what I have to sacrifice as far as my fantasies go, I’ll do it. He deserves that loyalty from me.

“Because then I can put you on my insurance, Kaya. You won’t have to worry if you get sick about how you’re going to pay for it, you can just go to the doctor!”

He’s wearing me down, something I never thought would happen. I briefly recall the small stack of bills I’m paying off thanks to a two-day hospital stay last winter for pneumonia. Thankfully, Miguel, the owner of the tattoo shop I’m apprenticing at, has allowed me to pick up as many shifts as possible. Plus, I’ve started selling things I’ve crafted online. Seems my unique style is something others want to emulate, which is helping. But the words the doctor said that are on almost constant repeat in my head seal my fate. Because I had it once, I’m far more susceptible now to developing pneumonia whenever I get sick. Remembering how hard it was to breathe, how Granny, me and even Foster had to scramble to get the money together to get all my at-home prescriptions filled has me nodding my head.

“Okay, Foster, you win. Let’s get married.”

He swoops me up, swinging me around, his excitement bleeding over to me. We can have a good life, right?

Kaya, age 20

Being married, yet alone, sucks sometimes. As I get ready for another shift, my mind is on Foster’s last leave, almost two months ago. He calls as often as possible, but I’ve got news to share that I want to do in person. “If he doesn’t hurry and get another leave pretty soon, I won’t have to say a word by the time he makes it back home,” I murmur, caressing my still-flat stomach.

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