For You(6)
Author: Mimi Strong

Shivering.

Couldn’t get warm.

“Hey?”

Sawyer was still holding the drawing out to me. We were in the bar, and I’d just blanked out, lost in a past I was running away from. What was the point of moving if I packed it up with me in my mind?

I took the paper gingerly.

“Thanks.”

“I’m not going to ask for a smile, because I don’t like rejection, but maybe you could look at something I’m working on and give me your honest feedback.”

“Sure.” I nodded at his book.

“Oh, not in here. It’s bigger than this. Six feet by nine feet. Do you know anything about art?”

“I’m really busy.”

He leaned back, resting one arm across the back of the empty chair next to him. “Did I ever tell you I’m a great pool player?”

I took a small step back, craning my neck around for an excuse to leave but finding none.

He continued, “You keep looking over at that pool table. After what happened, do you think you’ll ever play pool again?”

“I don’t know.”

“You could hustle people for a little extra cash. I can’t make you a champion, but I can bring your skill up so you don’t embarrass yourself.”

My whole body felt tense, prickling with an all-over sweat.

“Thanks, but I’m going to stay away from pool. And guys who play it.”

“You have to get back on the horse.” He frowned down at his hand, which I could see now had some lacerations on the knuckles. “That’s a bad expression, but I mean you should play a game with someone you trust, so it doesn’t become a traumatic block.”

“I’m fine. I swear.”

“Maybe you should play a game just for fun, then.”

“Listen, I thanked you last night. I’ll buy you a beer today. Can you do me a huge favor and never mention what happened again?”

“Deal. But only if you still look at my art.”

Looking over my shoulder, I muttered, “Not this week.”

“I’m surprisingly patient,” he said. “I can stare at something beautiful for hours and hours.”

Rolling my eyes, I walked away from his table.

Chapter Three

At the bar, I poured Sawyer his pint and handed it off to one of the other servers to bring out, excusing myself to the washroom. My nerves were on edge and I needed a few minutes without other people looking at me.

Sawyer was really sexy, which was why I didn’t want to be friendly. When everyone you’ve ever counted on eventually lets you down or betrays you, you learn to protect yourself by keeping a safe distance. The distance doesn’t need to be a chain link fence and razor wire. Even a white picket fence will send a message. The boundary line is here. I’m on this side, you’re over there.

Good fences made good neighbors, and the wedding band was supposed to be my picket fence, except lately it wasn’t working so well.

In the staff washroom, I pulled the gold band off my ring finger and gave it a scrubbing with the nail brush and hand soap. The ring still looked dull.

I usually avoid the mirror, because for a long time seeing my reflection made me angry. No matter what expression I made, my mother’s eyes stared back at me. She didn’t even leave a note. I could understand her haste, given the hellish situation, but she could have gotten in touch if she’d wanted to. She could have at least apologized.

Tucking my long, wavy brown hair behind one ear, I leaned in to examine the chronic light acne at the edge of my scalp. Yet another reason not to look in the mirror. My purple-haired coworker Lana said the bumps looked like more of a chemical reaction than acne, and gave me a bottle of the shampoo she used. I couldn’t be sure, but the rash seemed less noticeable now.

I pulled back and looked at myself as though we’d just met. Average height, scrawny build. Brown wavy hair that looked decent if I bothered to straighten it, which I never did. Dull blue eyes, on the small side and made smaller by thick lines of black eyeliner. No lipstick, ever. Not even tinted lip gloss. Too sexual, like an invitation I didn’t want to give. Sometimes I applied concealer around the edge of my lips to make them small like my eyes.

The pain from my memories was a dull ache, making the overhead light uglier and the edge of the counter sharper. My tooth was bothering me again. The rot hadn’t stopped or receded on its own, but was digging its way deeper into the nerve. With money in my pockets, I had no excuse now to not get my tooth taken care of.

Seeing someone who was going to look into my mouth and see how bad I’d let things get was the last thing I wanted to do on my day off, but I was ready to let go of the pain.

I couldn’t remember a time I didn’t have pain and fear.

When I left the dentist’s office and walked out into the late afternoon sun, my head was light from the freezing, and my chin and tip of my nose felt strange. I’d never had Novocaine before, and the sensation was fascinating.

The dentist had been terrifying. But now the all-day ordeal of waiting for an appointment at the teaching college and then getting a root canal was over. The dentist and staff had been very understanding, making me feel like everything was going to be better now.

I’d not been looking after myself these last few years, which was bad. It broke my heart how little I valued myself, but only when other people noticed.

But I had taken a step forward.

My jaw still hurt, but it was a different type of pain, not as big as the whole world. My pain was now small enough to fit in my hand.

As I rode the bus back to my neighborhood and then walked up the steep hill home, I heard birds chirping in the trees overhead. Had they been there the whole time and I just hadn’t noticed?

When I got back to the apartment, it was empty. My grandmother had picked Bell up from school, and she’d left a note that they’d eaten dinner already and gone for ice cream and the park.

I sat down at the table and opened my purse to pull out the frog drawing Sawyer had given me.

Where would you put a frog tattoo? Nowhere. The idea was ridiculous. Maybe on my shoulder blade, or just inside my hip bone. No. Ridiculous.

I got up and pushed around Bell’s colorful artwork on the fridge, then added the frog drawing to our collection. Putting a drawing on the fridge seemed like such a normal thing to do—something regular people did, living their regular lives, with outings for ice cream, and groceries in the cupboard.

As I admired the fine lines on the drawing, I wrapped my arms around myself and hugged my shoulders. Sawyer Jones. First I’d agree to look at his art, and then there’d be some other thing—getting a bite to eat together. And he’d put his arms around me, and then he’d lean down, his breath hot on my face. I’d tilt my chin up and let him kiss me.