Chapter Text
Please picture me
in the trees
I hit my peak at seven feet
Betty
I blow the candles out of the cheap cake Mom bought me. Wow! Seven! That’s so much more mature than six. Mom told me that this morning.
I grin at my mother’s rosy cheek smile, she turns her head to try to hide the fact that she’s definitely crying. My mom is the strongest person I know, you have to be, living in a house that’s like mine. But, she’s also the biggest crybaby.
I run from the room so Mom doesn’t have to feel embarrassed and I slow in front of my room. This is it. I am going to open the door and look in the mirror and I’m going to be bigger and stronger than I was at six. I turn the doorknob slowly and walk into my room. My room is plain, I’m not allowed any decorations or anything nice like my other friends. Their rooms are littered with stuffed animals, books, and posters. There isn’t a single toy in mine and only a few books. The walls are plain white, as is my bedsheet. I don’t even have a nice fluffy rug.
I step into the room and face my mirror. I don’t look any different. I don’t look stronger, I just look small. Timid. Too small for my age. A hand-sized bruise covers the right side of my face still, for some reason I thought it would go away on my birthday. As if birthdays are magical. I’m seven. I’m untouchable. I’m no longer afraid. Except I am. I’m terrified of him. So is my mother.
I promise myself this year I won’t break down, I’ll be strong.
My smile drops as I step off the bus. Today was good. I wasn’t allowed back to school until the bruise on my face healed, and today it was gone! I got to see my friends and they showered me with love, after all, I’m seven now. But now… now I have to go home And, face everything. The past few days of waiting for my wounds to heal have been hell. If I wasn’t huddled in my room, my hands stuck in my ears so I couldn’t hear the fighting, I was consoling my mother. Nothing sucks more than seeing your mom upset, she’s supposed to be the adult but I’m the one who mainly takes care of her. I guess I am mature for seven.
A young girl about my age also steps off, I haven’t seen her before. She has light brown hair that is cut short and blue eyes that meet mine as I stare at her. “Hey, I’m James!” She says loudly. I would get yelled at for talking this loudly at home.
I blink and respond a moment too late. “I’m Betty.” My voice is quieter and it almost seems smaller. “James is a weird name for a girl.” I blurt out without thinking.
James’s eyes widen. I shrink away prepared for the blow that will surely follow my unkindness. But, James just starts laughing. “I hear that a lot. Where do you live?”
I consider her, her laughter surprises me a lot. How can a person laugh after an insult? I decide I like James immediately. Something about her is so interesting. But, do I like her enough to tell her where I live? Mom always says not to tell strangers that. “I can’t tell you.” I say giving James a blank stare.
“Why not? I’m not a murderer, I swear I won’t kill you and your family! I just want to walk you home.”
I smile finally and nod. Honestly, I would go anywhere right now with James. I don’t have many friends and a new one excites me.
James and I are walking side by side up the big hill that is before my house. We’re talking animatedly. We just click. She’s like everything that I’ve been looking for in a friend. Of course, I still have my doubts, I’m not the easily trusting type but James seems alright. More than alright.
We reach the top and James stops. “Can I come over for a bit? Both my parents work late so it will be just me at home.”
“No!” I say too quickly and James steps back clearly hurt. Wow, ten minutes in and I’ve already screwed it up. I mess everything up, that’s what my father says. But, I just don’t know how to explain to James that if she comes to the house my dad will lose it. He will lose it at me and my mother even though it isn’t her fault. “I’m sorry. My parents don’t allow people to come over.”
James nods like she gets it, I doubt that she does. Not many people get it. None of my friends' families are like that, in fact, no one that I’ve ever known has an angry father like I do. One that uses violence instead of words. And the words that he does speak are cruel and unkind, ones that make you feel hollow on the inside. Like, someone has scooped out your insides and left you the shell of a person that you once were. You look the same, but inside everything's messed up.
I don’t want to leave James. I can tell she doesn’t either. We both stand on the hard cement staring at every house, and tree like we’ve never seen it before. Finally, I rush forward and wrap my arms around James quickly then dart back before she responds. Hugging people is terrifying, it’s too scary to wait to see if they’ll hug back so I end it before they can even consider it. I learned this a long time ago. When I used to hug my father and wait for a couple of seconds hoping he would wrap his arms around me as well. He never did, just pushed me away. Hard. So, I stopped waiting for it.