If I'm Good For Anything, K.B.F. [new ebook reader .txt] 📗

window, and knew he was up. Finally, I gave in trying to be silent for his families sake, and began to yell.
“Let me in!” I pleaded for what had to be the tenth time. The door flew open.
I was taken aback to find that Nolan’s eyes were red, his cheeks were flushed. He had been crying.
“Do you ever stop?!” He screamed at me. “Do you live to create drama? To torture me?”
“I love you.” My voice barely audible.
“That’s pitiful.” He smirked.
By this time I was drenched. Reluctantly he let me in. I considered insisting he forgive me. Telling him I deserved to be angry about the call. I knew it would never work. I started trying to formulate the best possible apology when Nolan interrupted my thoughts.
“She has been my friend for a long time.” He sighed as if telling me this took all of his energy. “I know that when I was young, I had feelings for her. I was in the seventh grade. I had feelings for every girl that bothered to acknowledge me. By the time high school rolled around I lost interest in her in that way. You have to understand, she is just a friend.”
“A friend that wanted to be more.” I added. Before I could question my judgment on relaying that information he responded.
“I know.”
“What?”
“I knew she loved me.” He admitted. I was beginning to feel the anger swell inside of me again.
“She told me she wrote me a letter, and gave it to you. I never told her I didn’t receive it. I wanted to protect you, save you from the anger, the stress.” He looked at me with those green eyes again. They were asking, pleading for me to understand.
I had no words for Nolan. My fears subsided, my jealousy, and worries washed away. I gave in to his gaze. We didn’t talk until the next morning when he woke me up to breakfast. Unlike the silence that had once separated us, this was a quiet that brought us closer together. I never questioned Nolan’s fidelity to me again. He had a chance with my greatest competition. Nolan chose me.


Chapter ten
A blonde child with bright blue eyes skips in front of me laughing. He looks back every few steps to make sure I am still there. The sun is shining. It is warm, and I can feel the tall grass brush me as I run after him. He is going faster and faster. Suddenly, I cannot move. I call to him to stop. He cannot hear me. The sky ahead of him looks dark and I am afraid. “Stop!” I try and yell, but the words will not escape my lips. “Come on mommy,” He waves at me to follow. I begin to cry. He is now far away, lost in the darkness that lie ahead of me. I‘m awaken by my own voice. This recurring dream still leaves me breathless. I raise my head to find that I am still on the beach. The storm has not yet passed. The sky groans, and rumbles loudly. Sometimes, when you come to the end, you feel nothing. Sadness for me no longer brings tears. I am not done, and the weather has become life threatening. I must move again.
I was awaken to a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I chalked it up to nervousness, and late night studying for finals. This was until it reoccurred seven mornings in a row, five of which ended in vomiting. I would like to say there was no denying the fact. I did anything and everything possible to make myself believe otherwise. Thirteen weeks into the sickness I gave in. I was pregnant.
You would think there would be a lot to say about a pregnancy at the age of nineteen. That’s not really so. The irony about the South is that it is a land of shunning and name calling, all done behind a persons back, of course. Everyone is doing things they aren’t supposed to, and repenting on Sunday morning. I wasn’t the first in the family to commit this mortal sin, only the first one to get pregnant while doing so.
The news wasn’t taken lightly by anyone, but life went on. With time the pain, resentment, and sadness wore off. Then, love and strength grew with my son. I became more than just a girl hunting for a temporary high. I had become a woman with a purpose. When I woke up in the morning, it was for Charlie. When I waited tables until my back broke, it was for Charlie. When I went back to school, it was for Charlie. He was my world, and my light. When I laid my head down at night, I smiled. I prayed to God, and for the first time I did it out of thankfulness.
Balancing school, work, and a new baby was no piece of cake. I began to learn selflessness, and what the real meaning of responsibility was. I was forced to make decisions I had never fathomed. Studying became a reward, and sleep was impossible. It was difficult to watch my friends continue a life I knew I would never again lead. But when I looked my baby boy in the face, I almost felt sorry for everyone else. They could never imagine the joy I experienced from that single glance.
My emotions became a whirl wind. One moment I could cry out in elation, the next in sorrow. Everyone began to tip-toe around me, afraid of my next move. I was exhausted from work, no sleep, test, and teachers. At times I felt I really couldn’t go on. Then, from somewhere deep down inside of me I knew I could. Not for myself, but my angel.
Time passed, and soon enough Charlie was one. I quickly recognized that my childhood had been a blessing. I was grateful for everything my parents had handed to me in life. I wanted that for my son. I was appreciative for the love, and understanding they had given me all those years. Mostly, I was happy that even now, in my adulthood, they were behind me just as they had always been. I only hoped to be a fraction of what they were for my own child. I believe this is the first time in my life I really comprehended the love that surrounded me. Love in it’s true, raw form. To look at my son, and know that I would always love him. To imagine that not just someone, but two people felt that for me was enough to keep me going for the rest of my life. No matter what road lie ahead.
The quirk of fate, is that when you are a child, you are too stupid to realize that you have it made. When you are a teenager, you are too busy wishing for adulthood to know you are experiencing the most free era in your life. In adulthood you long for your childhood. Everyone is wishing for something they don’t have, believing happiness is something that will be found, instead of focusing on how it can already exist. Striving for the best riches, and materialistic standings is a goal predominant in Southern social circles. Who has the most, and knows the most becomes a reason for carrying on. Who has seen the pyramids in Egypt? Tried a burger in Europe? Not me. When one comes to the end of life, that is when they know the truth. It is the moments by the river in your two dollar flip flops, and camping with your true love. It is the time in the back of your Grandpa’s truck when you laughed so hard you peed your pants, and the first few seconds you spend with your new born child. It is when your dad told you that microwaved cookies were the best, because the insides got soft while the edges stayed crunchy, and you both laugh knowing he is referring to old age. These are the times you will think of when you get to the end. These are the times that shape you, and mold you. That is better than any foreign beef in my eyes.


Chapter eleven
I am beginning to feel less than grateful as the cold rainwater causes me to shiver. The drafty atmosphere shatters my bones with what feels like millions of tiny needles. The thunder rumbles loudly, and the waves are crashing so hard some of the water reaches my face. My eyes burn with salt. All in an instant the beach has become my enemy. I curse at the wind. I am the only soul left here for miles. I prayed to be alone all morning, and now the irony of it all is almost to much to handle. Slowly I stagger, and trudge over the now hardened sand. My heart skips a beat when I notice a person standing a few yards in front of me. I call to them for help, only to realize my potential hero is a broken umbrella, and tattered beach chair. My legs collapse under me. I am too weak to fight the wind and rain for shelter. My head spins, my eyes burn, and I feel as though these could be my last moments.

The Georgia heat mixes with rain to create a film of slop on everything. It causes my thighs and armpits to sweat profusely. Even laying in bed is uncomfortable. Charlie and Nolan are asleep. I decide to walk down the street for some eggs.
We are now living in downtown. Turns out Mr. Richards, in addition to being beneficiary to Crayfish Lodge, was also a profitable real estate owner. His self proclaimed “Godly” parents informed us of his subsidized building after hearing of our, “eh hm situation” as it was referred to. This is an hour away from our parents, and a decent grocery store. Two Mexicans bump into me while cutting in line. One is getting her paycheck cashed. It happens again, this time a black lady. She is buying, no lie, some hot wings. When it is finally my turn I hand over the eggs, and keep my eyes to the ground. This Chinese lady, I have learned, does not smile. I walk away before she can hand me the receipt. She yells something as I walk out the door, and the line of people that were behind me laugh. I am not really affected by this. Except, I wonder why I