the butterfly effect
By luie™
"but the memories that hang heaviest are the easiest to recall. they hold in their creases the ability to change one's life, organically, forever. even when you shake them out, they've left permanent wrinkles in the fabric of your soul." - Julie Gregory
BEFORE
the image of the back of the bleachers is crystal clear in my head.
the image of blackbear is even clearer.
the words "did they see you?" escape his lips.
"no," i tell him.
"good girl." he kisses my ear and slips the small Walgreens bag of overly powerful and addictive "prescription" drugs into his sweatshirt pocket, the 1990 chicago bears one he had always let me wear.
it's still in my closet, reeking of the sweet smells of cigarettes and cinnamon sugar. i have never had any intention of ever giving it back.
i remember the last day.
"i have to leave," i remember saying. he looked at me with sad eyes and a monotonous expression. i was leaving pacific grove and moving to center city, minnesota, for rehab. it was supposed to be one of the best in the country.
"why?"
"my--"
"let me guess, your brother, right? isn't he an alcoholic?" he questions like it's an ordinary conversation starter. my heartstrings had tugged slightly.
"h-he is. but it's not for my brother. it's.." i remember not knowing how to tell him i got caught with drugs and i was moving for rehab.
"it's, uhm, for mom. her and my dad are trying to get back together."
liar. he was already visiting. he gave you bruises when doris told him about the drugs.
blackbear's expression had softened, if i'm remembering right.
"sharkey, i know he's visiting. i drive by your house every morning on the way to school. i've seen his car."
i swore because i knew he was right. we lived only a block apart and my street was the only road to our school. i had bitten my lip, trying to avoid the obvious.
i was positive blackbear was suspicious.
he took my arm, gently. i couldn't have fought him off even if i wanted to, due to the exhaustion that had overcome my body at that very moment. slowly pulling up the sleeve, he touches the bruises he sees softly so he wouldn't hurt me. he brings my hand -- my left one, with an ugly greenish bruise right below my third knuckle -- to his lips and presses a small kiss to it.
"come back to me, miss sharkey. don't make me miss you too much."
i swore that i would. i swore.
i came back, but he was gone.
Author Notes: sOoOoO...
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