I harden my features, not allowing my emotions to come through. I don’t know what he’ll say if I openly admit that, yes, she’s the reason for my visit and interest in Gauntlet Sundays, especially when everyone who knows her is aware of her lifestyle.
If people aren’t talking about her incessant need to be high twenty-four-seven, they’re seeing her traipsing through town on one of her daily missions.
He notices the powerlessness in my gaze and nods. “Time has changed since the last invite,” he tells me. “We throw down at ten sharp. You want to wager, bring your pocketbook.”
“Who are the fighters?”
“You might recognize a face or two from around the gym.”
“Got it. Thanks for this, Llewellyn.”
“Whatever murk your mama got you in…when you get out of it, stay out, Colson. You’re a good kid and don’t belong in that life.” Don’t I know it. “Sometimes the only way a person learns is if they’re forced to clean up their own messes.”
I nod, understanding what he’s laying down, but it’s much easier said than done. Janie is a burdensome person, and she’salways loved her addiction more than she’s loved me. Hell, she proved that time and time again when I was a kid, but who else does she have?
Aunt Bess isn’t around as much, and their parents passed away many years ago. My own grandfather didn’t know how to lay off the booze and eventually succumbed to liver disease. His wife died of a broken heart soon after, but they did leave their kids a sizable life insurance policy, one that’s kept the house in Harrison Heights running.
Still, it’s not like mom or I have access to it, and there’s no way that I’ll ever ask Aunt Bess to tap into it even if it would make paying Finn back a cake walk.
FIVE
VIOLET
Dad:Let’s plan for Alessandra’s for lunch.
Violet:Let’s not.
Dad:Ah, she finally answers.
Dad:I know you’re angry with me…but I miss you. Mom does, too.
There wasa time my body wasn’t so apt to bending or folding, but with mindful practice and the conscious breathing I’ve paired with it, I’ve managed to strengthen it in ways I never thought possible.
I stretch into my pose, trying to ease the overwhelm by starting with beginner moves. When things took a turn for the worst this summer, I put a wall up, and while I was behind it, I fell in love with yoga. I picked up a class at a local studio not far from my parents’ house and went twice a week. I liked the way it felt to stretch in new ways. I left that first class with a smile onmy face, not thinking about what was going on at home. Soon, it felt like a drug, and I needed it to get through my days.
I’m in my favorite spot at the campus gym, overlooking Chatham U’s quad as I stretch and move my body in ways that’ll provide relief through the weekend.
When dad and I toured this campus my senior year of high school, it was overwhelming. There were students coming and leaving class, the cobblestones connecting each of the buildings packed, and the quad in the center of it all overflowed with students who were no doubt studying and working on assignments. With its size comes beauty, all its criss crossing paths bordering a plot of land that rivaled any other campus we visited.
Sprawling white and scarlet oaks reach for the sky, their branches full and offering coverage where people sit, read, and hang out. The walkways are meticulously cared for, along with the grassy areas and flower beds. Wide, spectacular buildings with symmetrical windows and columns edge it all. Impressive arches and the most detailed crown molding in all of Georgia with grand entrances made of brick add to the charm. It's a campus I’ll be proud to graduate from next year.
I stand tall, slowly curving my spine as my fingers inch down my legs. My hands crawl forward until I’m in downward dog and, for a full minute, I breathe through the way it pulls at my muscles. It stretches my hamstrings, and God, does it feel good when my body elongates into the pose. I make sure not to lean too much and remember to keep my weight in my legs and feet as I slow my breaths.
The piano meditation music in my headphones drowns out the noises going on in the open gym on the other side of the wall; the clanking of weights lifting and falling, shoes smacking down on treadmills, the lively music that pumps people up and keeps them motivated to keep going.
My mind gravitates back to Colson and the way he brushed me off the other day. One minute, we were sitting there, and the next he was on his feet, running in the opposite direction.
Okay, maybe he wasn’t running, but he sure as hell was trying to get away from me as fast as he could.
I thought I misspoke, but when I think back on our conversation, I can’t pinpoint anything that could have offended him. I simply offered my phone, and he wanted nothing to do with that.
Why?
The question floats in my head like a balloon, drifting and floating but no answer comes. I can make assumptions but is that fair? Sebastian didn’t share Colson’s reason for moving in with him and the guys. As curious as I am, I’m not going to poke and prod.
How would I feel if someone did that to me? If my friends knew something went down this past summer and they nagged me for answers, would I like that?
I wouldn’t.
