Gravity (11 page)

I run
into my house, still holding back
what fiercely wants to come out. I pass my mom feeding my two
younger siblings.

"Dash, are you
alright?"

"Feel sick,"
I
barely manage to say it
without a shaky voice. The closer to my bedroom I get, the more
painful my throat feels.

Closing the
door and I let go.

I sob because
I'm angry. My self-worth shrinks into a microscopic nothing;
reminding me of how alien I really am; a piece that does not fit.
Reaction was never my strong suit. Knowing how to act, what to say,
what to really feel, isn't part of me. People are expectant of me,
too cruel to understand and too in-with-the-crowd to empathize with
an alien like me.

I punch
the wall making a fist size hole. I
stare at it, listening to my shallow breathing. My head is still
pounding. I look around my room for something—anything to break. It
has to be something I love. I look at the computer, I would shove
it off the desk but it’s isn't good enough. My telescope—I would
throw it out the window, but it's not enough to really hurt. I want
the pain to punish myself for being this way; for being
weak.

My
back
pack. I rip it open,
snapping the zipper off its track. The drawing pad, I'll rip each
page out. Tear each one in half.

That will hurt.

I sob uncontrollable as I await my own
punishment for being so different. Opening the pad I rip the first
page out. The beautiful scenery I've worked on for days is torn in
half in seconds. The sound makes my hands shake. The next page
again, and it hurts my chest to do it. I break with every rip and
tear. My head throbs as I do the next page and the next. This is
what I get for being this way.

The page I drew of my Goddess, a line across
her face, her eyes still not complete. I stare at her eyeless face.
Without them, it’s a face without a soul. My hands pull at the
paper’s edge.

I
can't do it.

I grab
a pencil from the floor and start to
erase the deep imbedded line that scars her. She'll be okay. The
motion of the erasing makes my breathing even out. Wiping my wet
face and sweeping the eraser shavings away, I soothe her,
"it'
ll be
okay
."

Taking my glasses off to clean the tear
stains, I see the blurry image of her. This allows me to see her
differently. It always surprises me the way things look without my
glasses. I glance into the full length mirror leaning against the
wall. Without my glasses, I see a blurry mess—just the way I feel.
Placing them on, I sees myself. Light brown hair flopping over my
face—I'm in dire need of a haircut. My olive green eyes look brown
from the distracting glasses. I'm not even born to see in this
world the way others do. Ironic I'm legally blind. Life looks like
a Monet painting; shapeless colors blending together like it's been
raining all my life. Lots of people have glasses, but I'm sure I
can fix myself. I promise that one day my eyes will match the mind
behind them and see a new world. Right now everything is
broken.

“Hey, you feelin'
okay?"

My
older brother, Cedric removes his
shirt and leaves it on the floor adding to the eyesore that is his
side of the room.

“
The laundry
basket is just inches away.” I admire my brother’s body and wish I
was more toned. I'm nothing more than a bag of skin and
bones.

“Yeah, you're fine. I
thought I was walking in on another one of your dramatic fits.”

My face heats
up.
So what if I'm
sensitive.

"Well, I guess I just
missed it." Cedric points to the hole in the wall. "Dad's gonna
freak when he's sees that hole."

"No he won't.
He hasn't step foot in this room since I was eight."

Cedric digs out
another shirt in the clean folded pile our mom placed for us to put
away but we never do. The pile eventually shrinks until our mom
demands our dirty clothes and I have to collect my brother’s things
because he’s never around to do it himself.

Cedric sees the
torn pages littered around me. He picks up a half torn page of the
owl I worked on earlier. “This is awesome. Did you show Mom and
Dad?”

“Why would I show
them? They’re too busy.”

“
Yeah.” Cedric
takes a tack from a playboy poster and pins the two pieces of the
owl together. “It’s pretty sweet, Dash,” he smoothes out the
wrinkles.

My cheeks flare
up again
. It's not often
anyone sees my drawings, unless it was stolen from under my
mattress or taken out of the garbage. My brother is the only one
that's ever sees my work and compliments me.

Cedric begins to
scavenge for something under his bed.

“Hey, I was wondering
if maybe you and I could—"

“Have you seen my
wallet chain?” Cedric says, pulling out more clothes from under his
bed.

“Yeah, it’s on the
dresser. Um, I was wondering if we could talk. I kind of need
someone—"

“
I was supposed
to tell you something.” Cedric eyes squint. “Oh yeah, Mom said
dinner’s up if you’re feeling it. If not she’ll bring it up for
you.”

“
No, I’ll go
down
stairs. Where are you
going?”

“
Out.” Cedric
loads his pockets with a few items from what I like to call
the
sex
draw
. “And no you can’t
come.”

“I wasn’t going to ask.” I collect my torn
pages off the floor.

“But you were
thinking it.”

That's true.
I've hung out once but only because Cedric was too drunk to notice
he dragged me into his friend's car. I got to ride around town with
his friends while Cedric made out with his slutty girlfriend,
Charlotte, in the back seat. I saw her boobs. It was the best night
ever. “Is it Charlotte?”

“Nope. Don’t worry
I’ll tell you about it when I get home.” He smirks.

Cedric always
says that, and I'm always asleep when he gets in. Sometimes I wake
up to find Cedric not in his bed at all. No one ever seems to
notice but me. It must be his way of dealing with a big
family—disappear.

Cedric opens the
window and climbs on the sill.

“Hey Cedric? You
didn’t hear anything weird happening at school, did you?”

“I don’t know. I cut
today. See ya!” He disappears and leaves the window open.

My
stomach growls while shutting
Cedric’s escape door. I brush my finger over my goddess before
putting the drawing pad under my mattress. Too many kids in the
house means things that I don't want discovered get discovered. I'm
lucky to have the room to myself most of the time because Cedric’s
never around. It’s the only sanctuary I have, but even being alone
takes its toll.

I
head down stairs and see dinner
started without me. I'm adopted along with my six siblings. My
parents have two of their own, plus one on the way. I'm the second
oldest son out of the three girls and three boys; all adopted. The
table is always crowded and noisy at dinner. With everyone talking
all at once, no one ever pays any attention to one another. I have
nothing to share. Even if I did, no one would listen. My parents
have their hands full with their lifelong dream of a big family. An
extra chair for Cedric isn’t placed, like they forgot he even
exists.
I wonder if I didn’t
come down for dinner would my mom forget to bring dinner up for
me.
Cedric is the lost son and
I'm the invisible one.

Sta
ring at my dinner
plate, I don't feel so good. My sister is shouting at my younger
brother across from me. Dad is laughing at a joke I didn't hear
while feeding the baby who is throwing food at another sibling, who
then cries that her new skirt is ruined. Mom is super pregnant
yelling across the table at someone or everyone.

My
chicken is dry and cold; I've waited
too long to come down for dinner. There’s nothing to drink and my
corn is half eaten by someone else.

Imagination
takes a lot of focus around a noisy family. But I've learned the
art of tuning them out. The
corn kernels change from buttercup to canary yellow. The blue
budded flower design on the plate blooms. Pollen floats out to
season my potatoes. At least it looks real. I swear that sometimes
I make things happen. Like school today, the windows imploded and
the lights flickered, the lock and my locker moved without me
touching them. I did those things. I've done it before.

I wish
it to be quieter, but I can’t will
everyone to disappear.

"Put it away."
My sister tells my twelve year-old brother, Brian, as he tucks a
book under the table. The wire spirals look familiar. I reach over
the table and grab the notebook. Brain tugs it away.

"Were you in my room
again? This isn't yours, Brian."

"Dad! Look what
Dash drew! There are naked girls in it." He waves the book around,
opening it to one of my nude sketches.

"Ew!" My
younger sisters say in unison.

"It was for
class." I blurt out.

"Your face is
red, liar,
" Brian
shouts.

"Shut up, Brian."

"Dash, we don't
say 'Shut Up'!" My mom shouts.

"Ha! Ha!" One
of my
sisters
sings.

My
baby brother Lucas laughs with them,
splashing gravy all over the place.

"There's nude
models in class?" My dad takes the drawing pad and adjusts his
glasses.

"Uh—um.."

"Busted. You're
a perv,
" Brain
says.

"Shut—" I
hiss.

"Dash! What did I
just say? Brian, stop instigating."

"Daddy like
naked girl." My sister Ashley points.

"Oh, my God!
Put that away." My mom shoos the notebook away like it's the most
hideous thing she's ever seem. My dad's still eyeing the sketch
like he's never seen a naked woman before.

"Boobs!"
Ashley, points to the picture on the reverse side. My dad flips it
over.

"Dad, j-just
close it." I beg.

"The good
stuffs on the other side, Dad," Brain smirks.

I
stumble my way to my dad before he
turns the page. Ashley tugs at my shirt and Baby Lucas smear gravy
on my arm.

But it's too
late.

"Oh my Lord!"
My dad shuts the notebook. "What kind of class let's their students
watch—"

"Dad, the
notebook. I'll put it away." I stretch out my hand.

Mom wipes the mess
off baby Lucas' face. "George, they don't have classes like that in
school. Your son is just at that age."

"
My
son!
Well, I don't remember
being this...
imaginative
at
sixteen."

"Maybe Dash is
just horny as hell," Brian chuckles.

"Shut up you
little asshole." I shout across the table.

Brian stops
laughing. Baby Lucas stops crying. Ashley's mouth forms an 'O'.
Everyone is staring at me.

"You go to your
room without finishing your dinner," my dad clears his
throat.

"That notebook
goes in the trash," my mom says. I don't bother watching her dump
it into the garbage. It doesn't matter how beautiful I think the
female body is; how much time and effort I put into those pages;
how much
imagination
it took to
draw the acts depicted. Humans have sex not just to have babies. My
parents should know that.

I run upstairs
and slam the
door imagining it
rocking the entire house. If it were an earthquake it would take
out the entire block. The door shuts and nothing shakes—nothing but
my body. How embarrassing. They think I'm just a horny teenage.
They're so wrong about those drawings.

I lay on my bed and think of my Goddess.
Thank goodness the drawings of her aren't in that book. I wish I
can make her come to life. She'd come over and come up to my room.
I'll show her my telescope; the stars; Saturn is out, and the moon
will be full and bright, lighting my bedroom enough to make each
other out. We'll kiss. Oh God, what would that feel like? A real
kiss.

Dash

She's sitting on Cedric's bed. Her face is veiled by shear fabric,
only her pouty red lips are noticeable. Her dress is so long, it
covers the entire floor of the bedroom. I can't help stepping on
it. She's waiting patiently for me. I'm supposed to be prepared. I
go to Cedric's dresser and pull the sex-draw out. There's nothing
in it, but candy wrappers. I glance back at my Goddess waiting for
me. I can't do it without protection. I close the draw, thinking
maybe I really don't need one. I love her so it shouldn't matter. I
kneel to the floor and I gather enough of her dress to slip my
hands under to feel for her feet. She smiles when I slide my hands
up from her ankles. Shoving aside the dress material I slide my
trembling hands up her leg. I've never touched a girl before. She's
soft. I'm getting hard. I reveal her shapely legs and lacey
underwear.

"Hurry," she says. "I
have to go soon."

My
hands reach for her panties, but it's
not any material I've ever felt before. It's cold and hard like
metal but it looks like cotton. I try pulling them off, but it
seems glued to her.