Page 30 of The Way We Are

Ryan

My hand rattles when I grip the jewelry box my mom keeps stuffed in the back of her closet. I knew she would have kept Savannah’s letter. She doesn’t throw anything out. Not even a piece of paper that would have torn her heart to shreds.

It has been six days since Savannah told me about the letter she wrote.

Six days of texting back and forth between class.

Six days of hour-long conversations every night.

Six days of building up the courage to seek answers to the questions I don’t feel comfortable asking.

Six days and, in all honesty, this week has been the longest week of my life.

I watched Savannah from afar like I always have, but this week was different; this week I knew better. I know the sneaky smiles she shelters with her golden locks are for me. That the faint wiggle of her fingers when she slipped into the passenger seat of Axel’s car after cheerleading practice Tuesday afternoon was for me. And that the sketch I found under my windshield wipers this morning was from her, because it was a drawing of the red rose I left in her car yesterday afternoon.

Six days of flirting.

Six days of reminiscing.

Six days of regretting she is still his.

After glancing over my shoulder to ensure I’m alone, I place my mom’s family heirlooms back into the far corner of her closet, then move to sit on the edge of my parents’ bed. There isn’t anything overly valuable in the worn wooden box my mom hides like a treasure chest, but she cherishes it more than her own life. It's the only object she has from her past. A reminder of who she was before she fell in love with an abusive man.

God—I wish she would leave him. I'll give her everything I have if she wakes up tomorrow morning and decides she’s had enough. I'll even drive her to the bus stop myself. She has done all she can do here. She raised my brother and me, and although we have an alcoholic father who abuses our mother, we turned out alright. We don't need her to sacrifice any more than she already has. She did her best, and now it’s time for her to move on.

I’ll even forgive her for keeping Savannah’s letter from me if that’s what it will take for her to see there's an entire population who doesn’t believe backhanding is a way to thank someone for the meal they slaved over for hours. If he's stupid enough not to know pea and ham soup recently removed from the stovetop is hot, how is that her fault?

I sit on my parents’ bed, staring down at Savannah’s letter for several minutes. In all honesty, I don’t know if I want to read it. It may make matters worse instead of better. I love my mom, but I’m furious she kept this from me. She saw the anger I amassed with every month that ticked by in silence. She witnessed me cut down the ladder of my treehouse when Savannah’s dad came to pick up her bike the weekend following her thirteenth birthday. She knows how gutted I was, but because she constantly puts my dad above anyone else, she added to my misery instead of easing it.

If I didn’t love her so much, I would have said that makes her just as abusive as my father.

Breathing out my anger, I carefully pry open Savannah's letter. Dried-up rose petals fall to my feet when I unfold the tightly wrapped document. The thought of Savannah stealing a rose from Mr. Wilson's garden makes me smile. She plucked one every time she walked the cracked sidewalk at the front of his residence neighboring mine. That was a minimum eight to nine times a week.

After giving myself a lecture on not being a pansy, I drop my eyes to Savannah’s letter. The first two sentences sucker punch me in the guts.

Dear Ry-Ry,

Our parents are having an affair.

That's just like Savannah. Straight to the point.

The remainder of her letter is the ramblings of a broken-hearted thirteen-year-old girl. Although she apologizes time and time again for placing the blame on our shoulders instead of our parents, the undertone in her letter can't be denied. She was hurting—badly.

I can only imagine how bad her pain got when I failed to reply to the last paragraph of her letter.

I miss you, Ryan, so much. I can’t breathe without you in my life. If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I’ll be waiting for you Saturday night at Roach Park. My curfew is 5 PM. I’ll wait for you until then.

Please come...even if it’s only to hear my apology in person.

If you don’t want to see me again after that, I’ll understand.

Anna-Banana xx

While folding Savannah's letter back into a tight bundle by using its original creases, my eyes catch sight of the alarm clock on my parents’ bedside table. It's 4:55 PM. If I had received the letter as Savannah intended, nothing would have stopped me meeting her at the park on the corner of Milvine and Router. I would have sprinted the entire three miles if it was the only way I could reach her.

Although there are plenty of parks nestled between our houses Savannah could have chosen, I know why she picked the one she did. It's the only one with our names engraved in an old oak tree that shades a set of swings.

While Brax and I waited for Chris to sneak out of his family home half a block from the park, I scratched a pointy stick against the tree. Before I knew it, I had engraved Savannah's name into the tree trunk. I thought I was doodling, but that afternoon proved she was continually on my mind, even when she wasn't with me.

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