“Cadence, she was trying to leave me behind. She did. You can’t possibly think she was thinking about me? I’m just glad I was rescued.”
The pain in his voice cuts me deep but he’s trying to play it off like it doesn't matter. Something I’ve usually been good at is reading someone’s emotions and being able to tell when they’re hiding them. Especially Zach’s. I’ll admit, he’s better than most at disguising it, but I’ve known him for almost five years now, I am starting to figure out his tells, and right now I can tell that he’s masking his pain.But he's right to feel that way. The validation in his feelings are the facts of the matter; his mom left him. Who knows how long he'd be trapped in that apartment if the neighbors hadn't heard him. Who knows if he would have even survived.
My heart cracks some more, thinking about this pain he's been holding in, this burden. He's just been carrying it around with no one to talk to about it, and to think of how much he’s gone through already with Sophie, his little sister, and who knows what else he's had to endure. But this is a start. It's an entry into learning more about the type of person Zach is when he's not masking his heartache and his trauma.
He continues to explain the rest of his story to us. How he missed the deadline for kindergarten registration as a result of him being moved around so much while trying to find placement in foster care. But not long after that, he finally met his parents who decided to officially adopt him. They got him into kindergarten the next year but when it was time to move on to first grade, the teacher explained that she did not think he was ready.
“I still wasn’t talking and I guess I kept having accidents. I wasn’t really on track with all the other kids and what they were capable of doing so they held me back for a second year of kindergarten. I felt so out of place going into kindergarten nearly two years older than everyone else,” he admits which continues to bring more tears to my eyes. "It was kind of embarrassing."
A silence falls between the three of us, no one really knowing what to say. He didn’t have to explain this to us, he could have just kept that part of his life to himself and regardless, I know that neither Bray or I would ever judge him for it. But maybe he needed to get it out. Maybe it's just as much for him as he thinks it's for us. I'm sure he doesn't have many people to talk to about these kinds of things.
“I’m so sorry, Zach," I start, wanting to reach out and grab his hand or something, but I refrain. "You know you can talk to us about this or anything else, whenever you need someoneto listen,” I say and he smiles at me, but I can’t help but feel the heartbreak I know he’s trying to avoid feeling.
“But look at it this way,” Bray tries to say as optimistically as he can muster. “If none of that would have happened, you would have never found us.”
I see the slight crack of a smile adorn his face, accentuated by his ridiculously cute dimples.
And not long after, the coaches finally approach us, walking right up to Zach with his parents not far behind and ask him if he’s ready to play. He doesn’t hesitate to fix his posture, fit his gloves back over his hands and he walks right onto the field as if nothing ever happened.
I twist the beaded bracelets around my wrist. One of them is a friendship bracelet that matches one of Ryen’s; something we made back in the sixth grade. The other is made up of yellow and white beads with a little sunflower charm hanging from it. I never take it off, and I zone out on it for a second, phone still in my hand, as I recall the day that Zach told us his story.
I still remember that day like it was just last week. They ended up winning that game; thirty-one to zero. A bittersweet moment for everyone given the mess that took place beforehand, but it was an extra satisfying victory for sure. It was also one of the only times I heard raw emotions bloom from Zach’s words. He usually does a good job keeping his feelings and emotions incheck, not wanting people to see him for things that most people consider flaws or weaknesses. I think it makes him stronger.
His story explains why going to a new school in fourth grade caused him to disassociate a bit. He was likely nervous to get made fun of because he was so much older. He also probably didn’t want to risk meeting new people who would just later leave him. It explains why he always used to struggle with speaking, because his voice wasn’t heard when he needed it to be heard the most. Because he didn’t want to waste his words on people who wouldn’t understand. And knowing now that all of that was pretty much just the beginning of what he would go through growing up really does explain why he is the most mature person I know to this day. He’s had to endure a lot more than most had at his age. It’s one of the things I truly admire about him.
“Cadence!” I jump at the sound of my mom’s voice, breaking me from the thoughts I seemed to have drowned in.
“Yes?” I shout back as I look down at my phone and realize that I accidentally liked one of Zach’s Instagram photos during my zone out.
Panic courses through my veins as I look at the hearted photo in horror. I always creep on his pages, but NEVER have I liked anything.
“Dammit,” I berate myself, quickly deciding to reverse the like by pressing the red heart. I watch it disappear under his post and hope to everything mighty that he didn’t see that. I close out of the app and sigh, wondering how the hell I was so reckless just now.
“I need you to come help with dinner, I have to jump on a call real quick!” My mom responds and I push myself away from my desk where I was supposed to be doing the homework my calc teacher handed out.
“Coming!” I yell through the hall but right as I go to set my phone down, it chimes in my hand.
It’s Zach. My whole body freezes when I see his name, panic rising in me once again when I realize that he must have seen the Instagram notification and is coming to confront me on it.
Apprehensively, I open the message.
I hope you’ve had a good day at school.
I read the text and as usual, my heartrate starts to kick up. It never fails to flutter violently when he’s around, and now even when I’m just texting him.
I have to respond to this one. I know I can’t keep putting off talking to him when clearly he’s making an effort to initiate some sort of conversation. So I type out a reply.
Thank you. I did. How about you?
I just got home from practice. But I had a decent day today and school’s been school, what are you up to?
I look at the time. I hadn’t even realized it was that late. That means Bray must be home and that I spent entirely too much time zoning out over Zach’s social media and recalling old memories. I head down the hall to get to the kitchen, typing out a response to his message.
I was working on homework. Teachers already loaded me with stuff.
It’s kind of a lie. I haven’t done a single math problem because I was distracted which I realize will bite me in the ass because now I have to stay up late to get it done.
Yeah, same. But you’re smart enough. I’m sure you’ll breeze through it.
