Amira carries the blankets in her arms as I take the basket from the ground. Then, placing my hand on the curve of her spine, I nudge her forward, letting her lead us to the spot she wants to rest under.
Her feet don’t stop until we reach the second gate, this one blocking us from entering the lake.
“Wanna stop here? Or do you want to keep going?” I ask, leaving the decision up to her.
I want her to decide to move forward, regardless of the consequences.
Amira hasn’t lived one day of her life. And it’s time she fucking starts. But my angel, the good girl she is, drops our stuff where we are, not willing to go any farther.
Falling to my knees, I start pulling out the food I packed for us while Amira unfurls the maroon fleece blanket.
“Did you make all that?” She points to the spread I have laid before us.
“I did… not,” I admit, staring at the cut-up turkey and cheddar sandwiches arranged neatly in one container and the others full of potato salad and diced honeydew. “But, I did make these.”
I hand her an opaque box, fidgeting with nerves and excitement as she takes it from my hand and opens the lid.
Her inhale of breath and beaming smile tell me I did good.
“Oh my God, Roman! I forgot all about these!” she squeaks, digging into the container of chocolate-covered oranges.
“How could you forget? These were our late-night snacks.”
The scent of whiskey is extra potent tonight, and the string of slurs dad throws at the television only becomes more creative as his intake of alcohol increases.
On nights like these, it's best to stay away, so I’m cutting up some food to hide in my backpack before I leave for Amira’s.
“What are you doing?” Tommy asks, stuffing a handful of graham crackers in his mouth, letting crumbs fall onto the floor I just finished cleaning.
“Just making a snack,” I respond, hoping he doesn’t care enough to question why my backpack is strapped around my shoulders.
Turning, I offer him a slice of ham when I notice he’s dressed to go out.
“Going out?” I ask, noticing the time on the clock switching to five past eleven at night.
“Yeah. I’m gonna go see Layla for a bit. She’s been bitching at me for not spending enough time with her.”
God… Layla is a clingy bitch, but so far, I haven't met any seventeen-year-old girl who isn’t. Thank fuck Amira isn’t like that. I mean, she’s only fourteen, so she has time, but something tells me she’ll never be that type of girl.
“Aight! I’m off! Make sure dad doesn’t drown in his vomit, yeah?” Tommy says, saluting me on his way out of the backdoor.
I honestly don’t give a shit if that drunk fucker kicks it, and I won’t even be here if he does, but I give Tommy a two-finger wave anyway, only dropping it when he rides off on his bike down the street.
“Son!” I hear shouted from the living room. Dad’s probably screaming so I can hand him another bottle of whiskey, but I’m not his fucking slave, and if he wants more alcohol, he’s going to have to get off his ass and get it himself.
“Roman!” he shrieks once more, only this time, the slur in his voice doesn’t mask the rage I hear simmering underneath.
Quickly, I shove all my shit into my backpack and clean my mess. I can hear him muttering threatening words under his breath as he rises from the recliner. Dad is slow on his feet when he’s under the influence, so I take my time walking out the door, not worried about him grabbing me by my hood to drag me back inside and whoop my ass for ignoring his hollers.
Unlocking my bike from the rail on the side of my house, I take off down the road, hoping to get to our log before Amira.
I dash down the dark and empty road, throwing my head back and shouting into the night sky, wondering if God can hear my excitement as I hurry to see the only person who makes living in this fucking town bearable.
Peddling over onto the forest floor never gets easier. It doesn’t matter that I make this trip almost three times a week, my legs still burn as I bike over the rocky, foliaged terrain.
To my utter surprise, Amira is nowhere to be seen as I come to an abrupt stop beside our fallen log.
With the back of my hand, I wipe the sweat from my brow and plop onto the rotting wood, leaning back to watch the bugs circle in the moon’s glowing light while I wait for her to show up.
