Ugly Page 2

  I get off the bus and Trent is waiting for me again. He’s got a cute dimple in his right cheek as he smiles at me, holding a different flower for me, a lily this time. I can’t help but smile when I see him waiting.

  “Hi,” he says, as he takes a step toward me.

  I look down at his shoes and keep my eyes focused there.

  “Hi,” I say in a small voice. I start walking home, my bag to my chest, the way I always hold it.

  He offers me the flower, but I shake my head. His eyes look to my book bag, then he turns and watches the footpath as he walks with me. “May I carry that for you?” he asks.

  “No, thank you.”

  We walk in silence for about fifty yards when Trent starts singing. It’s a soft song, nothing I can recognize, but I don’t have a radio or anything else to listen to music. Dad’s television is in his room, and he keeps that locked when he’s not home. I don’t really know any artists or bands.

  We keep walking toward my house with Trent singing and not talking to me. “So, are you going to tell me your name?” he finally says when we round the first corner.

  I take a huge breath and gulp down the golf ball clogging my throat. “It’s Lily,” I finally say after a long silence. Trent chuckles and I peek at him to see he’s shaking his head. “What’s funny?”

  “I think you and I are meant to be friends, Lily,” he says, as he holds the flower up to me. “This flower is prettier than the one from the other day. As soon as I saw it, it reminded me of you and I had to get it.” He casually holds the flower out, trying to give it to me again.

  We walk a few more yards before I take the flower and bring it to my nose to smell it. The aroma coming from the flower is sweet and subtle, nothing too overpowering.

  “Thank you,” I whisper. I keep my eyes trained on the sidewalk as we continue to walk.

  “Can I take you out to the movies?” Trent says. His tone is leisurely but controlled.

  I sneak a look at him over my right shoulder, and his light brown hair is flopping to the side. “To the movies?” I ask. I haven’t ever been to the movies. I don’t know what it’s like. I wonder if it’s scary. I’ve heard the kids at school talk about it, but seeing as I’ve never been, I really don’t know what to expect.

  “Yeah, you know the big screen. Sharing a popcorn, watching a movie?” he says, as if I should know what going to the movies is like.

  “Popcorn?” I’ve heard of that, too, even seen some kids eating it. But I’ve never had any, so I don’t know if I’ll like it.

  “Popcorn. Made from corn. Popped with loads of butter and salt.” I simply shrug and shake my head slightly. “Wait, you’ve never had popcorn before?” I shake my head again. “Ever?” he asks, as he stops walking and gently grips my arm.

  “No,” I say in a small voice. I lift my head to look at him, and now I know he thinks I’m stupid. Well… more stupid then I am.

  “Really?” His eyebrows knit together. “You’ve been to the movies though, right?” His voice breaks in surprise when he asks.

  “No, never.”

  “Wow.” He chuckles and turns to keep walking. “I’ll have to fix that problem. Tomorrow night, I’m taking you to the movies,” he says so confidently.

  “I’ve got to ask my Dad. I’m not sure I’ll be allowed.”

  “You need to ask your Dad?” he repeats back to me. I nod my head but keep walking, head down, not looking at him. I can only just imagine what he thinks of me. Here’s this ugly, stupid girl who needs to ask her Dad’s permission. Why bother, when he can go find a cute girl who’ll cause him less trouble? “You know, that’s cool. I respect that. Can I have your number and I’ll call you later tonight?”

  “My number?”

  “Yeah, you know your cell number.”

  “I don’t have a phone,” I say.

  “That’s cool, I’ll friend you on Facebook.”

  “I don’t have a computer either, so I don’t have Facebook.”

  “You don’t have a computer, and you don’t have a phone?” I turn to look at him and he’s got a surprised look on his face. “I’ll just meet you at the bus stop tomorrow. Say about five? We’ll go have dinner first.”

  I purse my lips together. I’m not sure what to say to him. I’ve got no money, how am I supposed to pay for myself. “Um,” I say, struggling with how to say no to him. I want to go, ‘cause he seems like a nice boy, but I don’t have the money to pay for anything.

  He must be sensing my trepidation, my absolute unease in this entire situation. “I mean what type of gentleman would I be if I asked a lady to dinner and a movie and expected her to pay her way? I’ll meet you at five at the bus stop. If you’re not there by ten past, I’ll take it to mean you couldn’t come.”

  I stop walking when we round the last corner to my house. “Okay,” I say looking up into his kind, brown eyes. “I’ll be there at five.” I look down at my shoes, then back up at Trent.

  “See you tomorrow,” he says. Trent smiles then turns to walk away, “I hope you can come.”

  I walk home, and for the first time in years I feel something happening to me. My face feels different. Suddenly, I feel the rays of the sun touch my skin, warming me and guiding me to possibilities.

  As I get closer to home I see Dad’s car isn’t in the driveway; which means for now, he’ll still be at work. He works at a mattress factory, on the production line. He hates it there, but he hates being near me more.

  When I open the front door, I’m met with the same sterile, cold silence I’m used to. Nothing inside the house has any life to it. Nothing has an air of living, it’s simply dead. A lot like I usually am…but not today. Today I was asked out on a date. And I can actually feel the warmth creeping back inside of me.

  My stomach rumbles, and suddenly I’m reminded how hungry I am. Other than the half orange I ate yesterday, I haven’t had anything else to eat. One of the kids left their half-eaten sandwich on a table in the cafeteria today, and if there weren’t so many kids around I would’ve eaten it. But someone picked it up and put it in the trash, so I had to go without.

  I go into my room and throw my old bag on the bed. Just as I swing it from over my shoulder, the strap breaks and my books go flying across the room. Slumping my shoulders, I know I still have a couple of months left before the end of the school year. And considering I’ve had this bag since the second year of high school, I know Dad won’t be getting me another one.

  Right now though, my tummy takes precedence over the bag. The rumbling is so loud, I’m sure the people down the road can hear it. I go into the kitchen and stand looking at the empty fridge. I check the cupboards in case dad brought anything home, but he hasn’t.

  Walking into the family room, I take all the cushions off the sofa and dig my hand down to see if there’s any loose change. I find a quarter and just as I think there’s nothing I can buy with a quarter, I find a scrunched up twenty dollar bill.

  I feel my eyes widen as I look around me, clutching the twenty in my hand close to my chest. I sit still for a few moments, making sure this isn’t a trick. I look around again, I’m even super quiet to make sure no one saw me steal the money.

  When I know this isn’t a trick and I’m safe, I jump up and run out the front door down toward the small corner store, three blocks away.

  I run as fast as my legs will take me, knowing soon I’ll have something in my belly. Reaching the door for the small store, I pull it and go inside. The store is small, but has some basic food staples and fresh fruit and vegetables. With my twenty dollars I get three bananas, three apples, a loaf of bread and some non-refrigerated milk. I’ll hide the groceries and when I’m really hungry, I’ll eat something and not show Dad. He’ll get angry at me because I have them, but he’ll be angrier at me for not giving it to him. I know the money is his, and technically I’m stealing it, but I’m so hungry.

  Walking home from the store, I eat a banana and open one of the milks. At first I drink it super
-fast, but I know I’ll need to slow down or I’ll end up being sick.

  Taking the bags inside, I hide the fruit and the milk in my room. There’s a closet in my room that holds the few clothes I do have and an extra blanket for when it’s really cold in winter. Dad has a space heater in his room. I have two blankets. When it snows here, it’s freezing. The winter before this one, I had to go to a thrift shop and beg them for a pair of socks. The ladies were really nice to me, and could tell I needed the help. They gave me a coat, a pair of boots, three pairs of socks and a thick sweater. Dad got angry at me and told me it made him look like a bad parent. Maybe he is.

  But I got through winter with those clothes, and I’m hoping I’ll be able to get through next winter with them too. I hide the food in the pockets of the coat, the shelf milk in the boots and close my closet door. There’s still a few dollars in change, and I hide that in the other boot, in case I get hungry again.

  Sitting on my bed, I begin my homework when I hear the front door slam shut. Holding my breath I wait for Dad to come into my room. Hopefully he’s in a good mood, although that hasn’t happened much lately.

  I sit on my bed, looking toward the door. Please let him be in a good mood. Please let him be in a good mood.

  Dad pokes his bald head into my room. He looks at me sitting on the bed and snarls at me. “I’m going out,” he says, with anger clear in his voice.

  “Okay,” I answer, not really able to say anything else to him.

  His heavy footsteps disappear down the hallway and I let out the breath I was holding. Looking down at my advanced math book, I do the work set and more. As I’m lost in a calculus question, I hear Dad lock his bedroom door then his footsteps start up the hallway again.

  He stops at my door, and he’s dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. He just looks at me, and I watch his features change. For a split second I think he wants to tell me something. And hopefully, that something is him begging for me to forgive him. Because I would, in a single heartbeat. He’s the only Dad I’ve got, and somewhere deep inside the anger, deep inside the hard man he is – he loves me. I’m sure of it.

  “I won’t be back until Monday,” he says, squashing any dream I may have of him being a good father.

  Today being Friday means I’ll have to go without food for the entire weekend. It’s common for him to go and leave me with nothing in the house. The ladies at the thrift shop had said to me, if I ever needed anything to go to them, and thankfully, they’ve fed me a couple of times. But I’m sure I’ve worn out my welcome at the thrift shop. I’m grateful I found that twenty, and have some food to see me through the weekend.

  “Okay,” I answer Dad. There’s not much I can say. At least I know when he’s not here, he can’t yell at me, or tell me how ugly or stupid I am.

  Dad takes a step into my room, and I brace myself for whatever it is I’m about to encounter. “Here,” he says taking his wallet out of his pocket. The beautiful leather wallet is fat and holds a big stack of bills. I simply keep looking at him. “Get something to eat, I know I haven’t had a chance to go shopping yet.” He hands me fifty dollars and keeps looking at me.

  Have I missed something? Is this a joke? Is he going to snatch it back and yell, Gotchya?

  I keep looking at him, not reaching for the note, because I’m sure there is a part of him getting angry at me. “Here,” he says, thrusting the fifty closer to me.

  “Thank you,” I say, hesitantly taking the money.

  “You know,” he begins to say, and I stop breathing, waiting for the hook. “You need to learn to suck cock, because you really are ugly and stupid, and you’re not going to be able to make it in this world without some dumb fucker taking care of you.” And there it is. The insult, the belittling, the sure-fire way to keep me so far down I’ll never see the light again.

  “Yes, Dad,” I answer.

  “When you finish high school, I want you out of the house. I don’t want to feed you anymore. Or clothe you or even have to worry about you,” Dad says, and walks out of my room. Worry about me? Is this how he shows he ‘worries’ about me?

  My shoulders slump and I can’t help but feel like nothing more than the dirt on his shoe he can’t scrape off quick enough.

  “Yes, Dad,” I murmur, as I fall to my knees and cry.

  High school is almost finished for the year.

  What the hell am I going to do? I’m so scared. I’m so dumb, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to get a job. Who’d want someone as stupid as me?

  “Hi,” Trent says as I walk toward the bus stop. “You look beautiful,” he adds, looking me up and down. My jeans have a hole, my shoes are old and my blouse was something I found at the thrift shop this morning. It smells like moth-balls, but I bought some deodorant with the change of the twenty and sprayed it making it not smell so bad.

  “Thank you,” I say, even though I want to laugh at him. I really must be stupid. Because for a split-second, when he smiles at me, I believe him, I believe I look beautiful. What a fool I am to think I’m anything but what I really am.

  “I was thinking there’s a nice pizza place near the movies. What do you think?” he asks.

  I shrug my shoulders and nod. I’ve had pizza before. They served it at school and I had found some coins in the sofa. It added up to enough for me to have a slice of pizza at school. God, it tasted awesome. I think I had it when I was little too, but I’m not sure.

  “I think that sounds fantastic,” I answer Trent, excited about having pizza.

  “Then pizza it is. And what type of movies do you like? There’s a few new ones out. Do you like sci-fi or comedies or maybe a drama?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe something to make me laugh.”

  We sit and wait for the bus together. Trent moves closer to me, and my automatic reaction is to flinch away. He catches the sudden jerk, I can see out of my peripheral vision how his eyebrows knit together. “I’m not going to hurt you, Lily.”

  I nod, acknowledging his words, though my defenses are high, just in case he tries to do something to me.

  “I go to the private boy’s school across town. Where do you go?”

  “Public school,” I answer, while I keep an eye out for the bus.

  “When do you finish? I finish this year and have been accepted into college to study accounting. What will you be doing?”

  “I finish this year too. I’m not sure if I can even go to college. I think I’ll have to find a job. I’m going to the supermarket to see if they need anyone tomorrow.”

  Trent knits his eyebrows together again, and his face morphs into question. “Why?”

  “I have to move out soon, and I need money.”

  “You have to move out?” he asks, his voice full of query. “I don’t understand why you have to move out. Are your mom and dad going through a tough time?”

  “My mom’s dead,” I say with no feeling in my voice. Or even in my body.

  “Aren’t you living with your dad?”

  “Can we just not talk about my dad or anything like that please? Tell me about your family. Do you have brothers or sisters?” The bus pulls up and Trent and I stand to get on. With his hand to my lower back, Trent guides me on the bus ahead of him. He is such a gentleman, allowing me to go first.

  “Two please,” he says, handing the bus driver money for our fare. “No brothers or sisters. But my dad comes from a huge family and said he never wanted more than one child, because he didn’t want me to have to fight with anyone.” I look at him and nod before he finds us seats.

  The bus trip is spent with Trent sitting beside me and me looking out the window. We’re quiet because there are a lot of people on the bus, and trying to talk will only be drowned out by the incessant happy chatter of the people around us.

  “We need to get off the bus now,” Trent says, gently nudging me out of my study of the buildings we’re passing.

  “Okay,” I say as I stand, we move to the front to get off when it stops.

  “L
ily, would you mind if I hold your hand?” he asks sweetly. I’ve never had anyone hold my hand. Not when I’m awake. In my dreams sometimes Mom holds my hand as we walk through a tall, field of bright yellow flowers. Dad holds my other hand and they count to three then swing me up in the air. A little boy is always running ahead, looking back at us and giggling.

  “I’d like that,” I say to Trent. When his fingers link with mine, it feels different. He’s so warm. As his skin touches mine it sends a small shiver up my spine, but I can feel a smile tugging on my lips.

  Is this how kids feel when they’re touched by their parents? Do they smile because they know their moms and dads want to hold them, embrace them, and protect them? Is this the feeling I’ve been missing out on all these years?

  “We’re here,” Trent says, as he opens the door to a small pizza shop. The smells coming from inside are fantastic. I don’t think I’ve ever smelled anything as savory and delicious as the aroma coming from the ovens.

  “Hi, table for two,” Trent says to the waiter.

  The place is small, fourteen booths and a few scattered tables in the center. The waiter leads us to a booth where I sit, then Trent slides in opposite me.

  I look around at the walls and they’re painted in fresh blue and red colors. Pictures of Italy adorn the walls, a huge painting of an Italian flag is on one of the walls, and lots of knick-knack items are on shelves everywhere.

  “I’ve never been here before,” I say, appreciating the quirky environment.

  “You haven’t? It’s been here for so long, I used to come as a kid with my mom and dad. And my mom used to come here when she was younger. Mom says it’s never changed. Everything is the same. There’s a lady who makes the pizza sauce; Mom said she’s about eighty years old. She still makes it, but now her kids run the business.”

  “Really?” I ask, as I lean my elbow on the table and cradle the side of my head as I look at Trent.

  “If my mom said it, it must be true.” He laughs, and I smile.