Page 28 of Misguided

TEN

Mel

Laughter drifts across the vast expanse of the backyard as I sit with my back to the boundary fence and watch the illuminated shapes inside the clubhouse rejoice the end of another week.

The Lincoln members and their families drifted in over the course of the afternoon, filling the place with the sounds of a tight-knit family. The banter and the laughter are the sounds of my youth. Fort Worth does the same thing every weekend. It’s a bonding exercise of sorts, a reminder of what we have to live for.

What I had.

Barely anyone paid mind as I slipped out the doors and tracked my way here to the relative quiet of the yard, away from the masses. Seeing the old ladies shepherd their kids around, the men playfully taunt each other, and the unity of the club? It hurt. It hurt because I don’t have even half of that anymore.

All I want is to knock bottles with Daddy and listen to him recount tales I’ve heard a hundred times before. To watch my sister dance, the center of attention as she loses herself to the heavy beat that pumps from the speakers. To shake my head as my brother accepts yet another drunken bet he can’t win.

To look across at Mom as she sits with the other women, happy and smiling while she watches those she loves.

I want my family. And I’ll never have that again.

Lights flick on upstairs, the pale orange glow like that of a child’s picture, faded and smudged at the edges. I pull the hooded sweater I pinched from Dog’s drawers over my legs and huddle in the dark, my chin resting on my knees.

Living in solitude changed me. I used to crave the limelight, to be the center of attention, to feel the buzz as people sought me out. But the forced isolation pushed that urge aside and made way for a part of me I never gave time or space to—the philosophical side.

There’s something deep about the silence of the world without our disruption in it, the space to take a deep breath and appreciate the gift of what is all around us.

All those little miracles we take for granted when there’s a ready distraction before us: our phone, the pressures of keeping up with our peers, of ensuring our chores are taken care of. Push all that aside and you see things that remind you how small and insignificant your problems are in the grand scheme of things: the stars at night, and the sun as it crests the horizon in the morning. Even the plight of a mother bird trying to feed her babies. All things that remind me there’s so much to still be grateful for.

Even if my heart is broken, it still beats, it still bears the gift of life, and that is something I should never stop being grateful for.

I pull in a deep breath as a shadowy figure drops off the side of the deck. From the swagger, I know it’s male, yet the backlighting from the clubhouse hides their identity until the dull glow of the outdoor light on the shed to my right picks up on the ends of his blond hair: Dog.

He strides straight for me; a beer in one hand, and a lit cigarette in the other. The pyramid studs on his belt reflect the glow of his smoke as he drops it to his side, the buckles on his boots noisy in the relative quiet of the yard.

“Been lookin’ for you,” he mumbles.

I tip my head back to take him in as he stops beside me, pulling a long draw of his smoke. His eyes squint a little as he points toward me with the neck of his bottle.

“That my hoodie?”

“Yeah.” I smile, tight-lipped and hopeful. “That okay?”

He shrugs. “Guess so.”

Dog sets his beer in the grass and then drops to the ground beside me. He stares over at the clubhouse as he takes another pull of the smoke, the end crackling, bright and hot.

“Did you need me for something?” I slip my legs free of the sweatshirt and sit Indian style.

He swings his gaze my way and smiles. “Hadn’t seen you for a while is all.” His eyes drop down to my body. “Got me a little worried.”

“Yeah?”

Those rich chocolate pools flick higher again. “Yeah.” He looks away as he stamps his smoke out under his boot. “Why did you come out here?”

“It felt weird being inside,” I admit. “Like the loner of the party, you know?”

“Not really.” He chuckles.

True. He’s become the life of these things, loud and rowdy as he makes his way around the room.

“You can go back inside,” I say. “I’ll be fine.” He’s probably got at least a dozen suitable girls lined up already.