Текст книги "The Ever After of Ella and Micha"
Автор книги: Jessica Sorensen
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 14 страниц)
Chapter 5
Micha
Four years old…
I love spending time with my dad, especially when he works on cars ’cause it’s the only time when he really talks to me and does stuff with me. He’s working on the Challenger while I play with my toy car, driving it really fast back and forth across the Challenger’s bumper.
“Micha, can you hand me that wrench?” my dad says with his head tucked underneath the hood. It’s a really old car that he’s working on fixing up, but it seems like it’s taking him forever. I don’t know why he just doesn’t drive it the way it is now. I think it looks pretty fun and all the sides are different colors.
I jump off the bumper and dig around in his toolbox near the back end until I find the wrench and then I walk to the front and hand it to my dad.
“Thanks,” he mutters and goes back to working on the engine.
I get a juice box out of the cooler, lean against the fender, and stare at the next-door neighbors’ house. It looks a lot like mine, but there is a lot of trash and car parts are everywhere and it looks like nobody ever cleans up.
I’m about to head back to the trunk when the door swings open and the girl who lives next door steps outside. She looks like she’s going to cry, but she looks like that almost every time I see her. She’s got hair that’s the same color as our red mailbox and every time I talk to her, her eyes remind me of leaves. Her name is Ella and she always has tears in her eyes. I’m not sure if it’s because her mom is yelling at her all the time or because they make her take out the trash every day. Whatever it is, she always looks like she’s gonna burst into tears. I asked my dad once why the neighbors were always yelling and he said it’s because they are a messed-up family.
I grab another juice box out of the cooler and wave to her as I step out of the garage. She doesn’t wave back, but she’s usually shy at first, like she thinks I’m the boogieman or something. With her head tucked down, she wipes the tears out of her eyes and walks down the steps. She doesn’t have any shoes on and the cement has to be hot under her feet.
“Hey, Ella,” I say again, walking up to the fence between our houses.
She stands at the corner of her house with her arms crossed, staring at the ground. She barely talks, and half the time, even when she’s talking, she looks down at her feet or the ground or at the trees.
I hear her mother yelling in the house, telling Ella she needs to come clean up the dishes. My mom says I’m too young to help with the dishes, even though my dad says I should be helping out more.
Ella keeps wiping her eyes with her hand as her mom yells from inside the house and I wonder if she’s hiding from her mom. Finally, the yelling stops and Ella dares to look at me.
I hold up one of the juice boxes, offering it to her, hoping she’ll come over to my house for once. “Do you want one?”
She looks at me for a really long time and then she slowly walks toward me. She pauses at the grass, looking like she’s scared to come closer, so I reach my arm over the fence. She stares at the juice box, then runs up and takes it.
“Thank you, Micha,” she says quietly, stepping back as she pokes the straw into the juice box.
“You’re welcome,” I tell her, as she starts slurping on the straw.
I feel bad for her. I don’t think her parents take care of her because she always seems really thirsty and hungry every time I offer her a snack. I’ve tried to get her to come over and play a few times, but she always says she can’t.
“Micha, get in here,” my dad calls out from the garage and he sounds really mad. “I need your help.”
Ella instantly steps back, her eyes widening. “Bye, Micha.”
“You should come over,” I call out and hold my toy car through the hole in the fence. “This is my favorite one, but I’ll let you play with it.”
She eyes the car and then glances back at her house. “I think my mom might get mad at me if I do.”
“You can just come over for a little bit,” I suggest. “Then when your mom comes out looking for you, you can climb back over the fence. Besides it’s really fun watching my dad work on the car.”
She glances back and forth between the house and the car in my hand and finally she hurries back toward her house. I think she’s going back inside, but instead she grabs a plastic box that looks like the thing I keep all of my toy cars in. She drags it over to the fence and steps up on it. She takes a gulp of her juice box and then she hands it to me and I step back as she climbs over the fence. She falls down on her knees as she lands and cuts one of her knees a little.
“Are you okay?” I ask her.
She nods, looking like it doesn’t hurt at all as she wipes the dirt off and stands back up. She grabs the juice box and toy car from me and I smile as I walk back toward the garage with her, happy I finally got her to climb over the fence.
Ella
Six years old…
I like my next door neighbor Micha a lot. At first he was kind of scary because he was so nice and no one’s ever been that nice to me before. But now he’s not too scary. He always shares his juice and cookies with me at school and when Davey Straford pulled my hair and told me I was icky because I had holes in my clothes, Micha shoved him down and told him he smelled like rotten eggs.
The teacher got mad at him and then his dad got mad at him when we got home from school. He couldn’t play with me for three days ’cause his mom and dad said he was grounded, but it’s been three days and now I can go over again.
It’s a really hot day, so I get two Popsicles out of the freezer before I head over. My shoes have got holes in the bottom of them again so I don’t even bother putting them on. My mom yells at me to take out the trash as I walk out so I have to go back and haul it out of the trash can. She’s always yelling at me to take out the trash and do the dishes. It makes me sad sometimes because I get tired, but my dad says she’s sick and my brother and I have to be nice to her and help her out because he has to go out at night to “clear his head and take a break.”
The garbage bag’s really heavy and leaves this gross slimy stuff on the kitchen floor as I drag it out, slide it off the steps and toss it into the bigger trash can. I put the lid on and skip down the sidewalk and then climb over the fence.
The sprinklers are on and the grass is all wet and kind of muddy, but I splash in it anyway, getting the bottom of my jeans wet and some mud gets stuck in my toes. I skip up the sidewalk, making footprints on the cement all the way to the side door of Micha’s house
I’m about to knock on the door when I hear someone crying from inside the garage. The door is open and Micha’s dad’s Challenger isn’t inside and it’s always parked in there, so it’s weird. Micha’s dad is always working on it and getting mad at it. When I get inside the garage, I find Micha sitting where the car used to be parked, with his back turned to me. It sounds like he’s the one crying, which makes no sense. Usually I’m the one crying and Micha is the one smiling.
“Micha,” I say and the crying stops.
“I can’t play today, Ella,” he says quietly and it looks like he’s trying to wipe tears away.
I walk around in front of him, but he won’t look up at me, so I sit down on the floor. He tucks his arms onto his lap and I can only see the top of his head, because he’s looking down at the ground.
“Micha, what happened?” I ask, the Popsicles cold in my hand.
He shakes his head and then his shoulders begin to shake as he starts crying again. “My dad took the car and left.”
“I’m sure he’ll be back soon,” I tell him, not understanding why that’s making him cry. My dad leaves in his car all the time.
He shakes his head and looks up at me. Micha’s eyes are this really pretty blue color that I saw on these beads once that I used to make a bracelet in school. His eyes are really wide and shiny right now like the beads and he looks so sad. It kinda makes me feel like crying, too.
“No, he’s not coming back,” he tells me and tears roll down his cheeks and fall onto the ground. “Ever. My mom said he ran away and he’s never coming home.”
I don’t know what to say to him. My dad ran away once, too, at least that’s what my mom told me, but then he came home that night and my mom said it must have been because he couldn’t find anywhere else to go. But sometimes she tells stories that I don’t think are true.
I scoot closer to Micha, not sure what to say to him, so instead I hold out a Popsicle. He keeps crying as he looks at it and then he finally takes it from my hand. He peels the wrapper off and I peel mine off and then I sit there with him while he cries because it always makes me feel better when he sits with me when I’m upset. Eventually his tears stop, long after the Popsicles are melted in our bellies and Micha finally gets up and wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. I get to my feet, too, and I search for something to say.
“Do you want to do something?” I ask.
He glances at me, still sad, but then he nods. “Yeah, what do you want to do?”
I smile and take his hand. “Whatever you want to do,” I say. He’s usually doing stuff for me, but today it should be about making him happy.
He considers something and then there’s the slightest sparkle in his eyes. “How about hide-and-go seek?”
I nod and then we play until the sun goes down, turning a sad day into a decent one because we’re together.
Chapter 6
Micha
Later that day, I rap my hand on the doorway as I walk into my bedroom. Ella is lying on the bed on her stomach with the journal opened in front of her. I really wish she’d stop reading that thing. As much as I know it’s good for her to have something that belonged to her mom, I can see in her eyes that whatever’s in there is bringing her down. She hasn’t been on her medication for a while and hasn’t talked to a therapist in a few months, at least that I know of. She’s been doing fine and I want her to stay that way, but I also don’t want to be the asshole who tells her to quit reading her dead mother’s journal.
So I keep my mouth shut and instead check her out. She’s beautiful, her auburn hair pinned behind her head, wavy curls framing her face, and she’s wearing a black-and-red dress that hugs her body and black stilettos on her feet.
“God, you’re so fucking hot,” I say, adjusting myself as the urge to slam the door and take her from behind tries to overpower me. But people have started to arrive at my house for the party, so I control myself.
Ethan is letting everyone in but he wasn’t too happy about the party to begin with, although I have no idea why because he used to enjoy parties back when we were younger. It was our thing and we probably threw more at my house then we actually went out to, since my mother never cared just as long as we cleaned up afterward. I had to laugh at Ethan when we were driving and chatting about what’s been going on in our lives for the last six months or so. I guess when he and Lila go back to Vegas they’re packing their stuff and hitting the road to try and live out his dream of being a mountain man. It’s strange because Lila doesn’t seem like the type, at least when I first met her, but now she seems different. She seems less preppy and I hate to say it but at first I thought she came off as a spoiled rich brat. But she’s not though. She’s actually really nice.
Ella glances up through her long eyelashes, her gaze skimming over my black jeans, my studded belt, and my Pink Floyd T-shirt, and then she bites her lip. “You look good, too.” She closes the journal and sits up. “Trying to impress anyone in particular?”
I roll my eyes and kick a shirt out of the way as I stroll into my room. “Only you.”
“Yeah, I might know that.” She looks down at her hand as she flexes her fingers in front of her and the diamonds and black stone of her engagement ring sparkle. “But unlike me, you don’t have a ring on your finger branding you as taken.”
“You could always give me my ring,” I tell her. “I’ll wear it.”
She shakes her head, climbs off the bed, and tugs the bottom of her dress down, a dress that looks a lot shorter now that she’s standing. “No way. You’re not going to see that until the wedding.” She pauses, putting her hands on her hips. “It doesn’t matter anyway. If any girl hits on you, I’ll just kick her ass.”
“That’s my feisty girl.” I give her a deep kiss and then hold up a finger as I get an idea. “I got it.” I back toward the door. “You go out and start having fun and I’ll take care of the ring problem.”
She looks perplexed but follows me out of the room. She joins the small group gathered in the living room as I head to the door. I slip on my jacket as I step out onto the porch and into the snow. Christmas lights flash from the house across the street and I can hear the thumping of music from somewhere down the street. I trot down the stairs and hurry into the garage, flipping the light on. I pull a box down from the top shelf and set it on the counter. As I’m sifting through the car parts, my phone rings from my pocket. When I take it out, my producer’s name, Mike Anderly, flashes across the glowing screen. I press talk and put the phone up to my ear.
“It’s a little late to be calling,” I tell him, balancing the phone against my ear as I rummage through the box.
“I know, but I couldn’t wait until morning to call you and tell you the news,” he says, sounding way happier than he normally does. Usually, he’s all business and kind of cranky.
“What news?” I pick up the metal ring from the box, smiling at my clever idea.
“That you got on the tour.”
I nearly drop the ring. “The Rocking Slam Tour?” I ask. It’s the tour I’ve been trying to get on for months, the one that has a ton of my favorite bands, musicians I idolize. The one where I’ll have to be on the road for three straight months.
“That would be the one,” he says cheerfully. “So get your ass over here so we can celebrate.”
My mouth turns downward. “I can’t. I’m in Wyoming, getting ready to get married. I told you this last night.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot.” He sighs. “Well, hurry and get that taken care of so you can get back here and celebrate. You leave in just a few weeks anyway and we have to finish recording.”
Shit. “Yeah… I’m not sure I can go.”
“What the hell do you mean, you’re not sure you can go!” he exclaims. “We’ve been trying to get you on this tour for months.”
“I know that,” I tell him. “But I didn’t really think it was going to happen, and now I’ve got stuff going on.”
“Well, it did and you’re going,” Mike says sternly.
“Look, I’m not saying I won’t. I’m just saying that I need to talk to Ella first. She needs to be okay with my being gone for that long.”
“And what if she says she’s not?” he asks, astounded. “Then what?”
“Then I won’t go.” It hurts to say it, but it’s the truth. She’s more important to me than anything, and if she doesn’t want me to be gone during our first few months of marriage then I won’t. It’s that simple.
Music starts playing from inside the house and I quickly slip the metal ring on my ring finger, which will hopefully alleviate some of Ella’s worry. “Look, I gotta go. I’ll call you in a week when I get back in town.”
“You better not say no,” he grumbles and I hang up the phone before he starts ranting, something he does a lot.
Tucking my phone into my back pocket, I go back inside the house, wondering how Ella is going to react to the news. I can see her pretending like she’s okay with it but deep down not really wanting me to go. She hides her feelings well so if I’m going to do this I need to make sure she’s completely and utterly okay with it. Any doubt and I’ll stay. Besides, as much fun as the tour would be, our little life in San Diego is good and why ruin a good thing?
Because being part of this tour is my dream.
Frowning at the thought, I shut the back door behind me as I step inside the kitchen. Ethan is sitting on the table, drinking from a red plastic cup and Lila is laughing at something he says while she pours herself a drink over at the counter. There’s another couple chatting in front of the kitchen sink. I used to go to school with them, but I can’t remember their names. I wave to them when they say “what’s up” and then I head for the living room.
“Bottoms up.” Ethan lifts his cup as I pass by him, toasting to something, and then he throws his head back and guzzles the drink.
“Are you wasted already?” I ask. “Because you’re supposed to play the drums in, like, ten minutes or so.”
“Nah,” he says, but his bloodshot eyes suggest otherwise. “I’ve got this. Besides, I can play the drums when I’m drunk perfectly fine.”
“Micha, do you want me to make you a drink or pour you a shot?” Lila calls out with a bottle of orange juice in her hand.
“No, thanks,” I tell her, scooping up a beer from the cooler near the doorway. “I have to stick to beer.”
She nods knowingly as she sets the juice down on the counter beside the row of vodka, tequila, and Bacardi bottles and a stack of plastic cups. Ever since Ella called me out on my asshole drunken behavior about a year ago, I take it easier on getting trashed, usually sticking to only a few beers. It was hard at first, but now it’s comfortable.
I pop the top off as I stroll into the cigarette-smoke-filled living room, letting the wonderfully potent smoke settle in my lungs. Even a couple of years after kicking the habit, minus a few slipups, it still gets my mouth watering.
Earlier, Ethan and I shoved the couches aside to make room for his drums, which we picked up from his house during our drive back from the grocery store. My old guitar is leaning against a taped together microphone stand. There’s also an amp and a bass guitar in the corner beside a small plastic Christmas tree decorated with red and sliver ornaments and tinsel. I haven’t figured out who’s going to play the bass yet, but I put it up there just in case. I know a lot of people who play the bass and it’d be nice to have a good sound even if it’s just a party. I sort of feel like I’m saying good-bye in a way because in a few days I’ll be married, my life with Ella will finally start, and this life can hopefully become a memory of everything we shared that got us to that point.
I start to go over to my guitar when I spot Ella sitting on the back of the sofa with a red plastic cup in her hand. A tall, scraggily looking guy whose name I think is Brody is standing in front of the sofa, staring at her legs and cleavage while yammering about something. I walk over to her and hop up on the back of the sofa beside her. Then I drape my arm around her shoulder. I know I’m being territorial and I know she’d never do anything with anyone but it doesn’t mean that I’m going to let some guy look at her like he could eat her up. He’s lucky I don’t punch him. Ella’s mine and he needs to walk the fuck away.
“Hey, where’d you go?” Ella asks me as Brody gives me an uneasy look and then walks away without saying a word.
“To get this,” I reply, holding up my fingers.
She takes my hand and runs her finger over the metal ring. “Did you seriously put an O-ring on your ring finger?”
I dazzle her with my most charming smile, the one I know makes her stomach somersault. “Now everyone knows I’m taken.”
She takes a sip of her drink and then licks her lips. “Such a shame. I was looking forward to kicking all the girls’ asses who hit on you tonight.”
“I bet you were,” I mumble as I lean forward and lick a drop of alcohol off her lip. “Bacardi, huh?”
She shrugs and angles her head back to take a large swallow. “I thought I’d have fun tonight. Get a little drunk.”
I eye her over warily. “I’m not sure I like that. Drunk Ella can sometimes be mean. And horny.”
“Hey.” She restrains a smile as her hand clamps down on my thigh, squeezing hard. “I’m not a mean drunk.”
I waver as I sip my beer. “I can remember a certain tantrum over a lost poker game. One where you drunkenly threw a chip at me.”
She narrows her eyes. “Only because you were being smug.”
“Smug because I won and got to see you naked.”
“Well, maybe I’ll get drunk enough tonight that you can see me naked. Just as long as you quit saying I’m a mean drunk.” She hops off the couch and my arm falls from her shoulder. “And by the way, you can be the same way when you get drunk.”
“What way?”
“Horny and mean.”
I raise my beer up and point a finger at it. “That’s why I’m sticking to these.” I slide my feet off the couch and stand up. “So what song do you want me to play tonight?”
She taps her finger against her lip and there’s a playful look in her green eyes. She’s already buzzed, which means I’m going to have my hands full tonight. “How about the one tattooed on your ribs? The one you said you wrote for me but I’ve never heard you play before?”
I automatically touch the side of my rib where the tattoo of the lyrics is hidden underneath the fabric of my shirt. “I’ve never sung that one out loud for anyone. And I’m not ready to.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” I pick at the damp beer label. “Because I wrote it for you.”
“Okay…” She frowns, confused. “Then play it for me now.”
I glance at the room packed with rowdy and drunk people. “I don’t think I can right now.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s personal.” Because it means so much to me and the last thing I want to do is sing it to a room full people when I haven’t even sung it to her. Besides, I’m a little nervous to sing it for her because it’s intense.
She gives me the most lost look and I sigh, because I know I’m acting strange. “It’s just that when I wrote it, the lyrics kind of threw me off because it was the first time… that I realized I thought of you… like that.”
“But we both know how you feel now,” she says, looking at the metallic O-ring on my finger.
“I know that.” I stroke her cheekbone with my fingers. “And when I play it for the first time, I want it to be just you and me.”
“Like later tonight,” she asks, hopeful.
“Or maybe on our honeymoon,” I tell her and smile when her jaw drops. “What? Did you think I didn’t have anything planned?”
“But the wedding has been pushed back.” She cranes her neck and looks over her shoulder as more people enter the living room. “So if you had one planned, then how’d you move it?”
“Because I had it planned for a few weeks after yesterday, when we were supposed to get married.” I suddenly realize that if I go on tour my honeymoon plan has gone to shit. And I saved money to book it, skipping out on eating fast food and instead bringing my lunch—shit like that to get extra cash. A three-day cruise, which is a simple, normal kind of honeymoon and perfect for us since we didn’t really do simple or normal for most of our lives.
“So where are we going?” she wonders, intrigued, tucking in her elbow when a guy who I think is named Del walks by wearing a Santa hat and singing “We Wish You a Merry Christmas,” drunk off his ass and completely off key.
“No way. It’s a surprise,” I say, ushering her toward the front of the room when Ethan waves me over. Standing beside him is Jude Taylorsen, a pretty good bass player so I’m guessing they’re ready to roll. “I have to go play now.”
She clutches the cup as she stands in the crowd. It’s getting louder and smokier by the second. I know if it gets too packed in here furniture is going to get broken. I didn’t use to mind, but now I feel guilty and I make a mental note to kick everyone out before it gets to that point.
“And play that one song,” she shouts out as I back up toward where Ethan is chatting it up with Jude. “The one you played at the coffeehouse when I first came back from Vegas.”
I smile charmingly at her. “The one where you got all possessive on me?”
She sticks out her tongue. “Kenzie is a skank and a bitch. You should be grateful I saved your ass from that.”
I press my hand to my heart. “You were jealous. Admit it.”
She glares at me, but her lips itch to turn upward. “I was a little bit.”
“I know you were.” I wink and start to turn around.
“And if you want, you can play the cover for that song that was playing in the bathroom earlier,” she says. “I like that song.”
“Like the song?” I question, looking back at her from over my shoulder. “Or like the memory the song’s linked to?”
“Both,” she says simply and throws her head back to down her drink. The curves of her cleavage peek out of the top of her dress and I shake my head, knowing I’m not the only guy in the room staring at her. But then I smile, knowing I’m the only guy in the room who gets to be with her.
She lowers the cup from her mouth and gives me an accusing look, like she knows I was just staring at her breasts. I blink my gaze off her and head over to the microphone. I set my beer down on the floor next to the wall, pick up my guitar, and slide the strap over my shoulder, running my fingers along the initials I carved in the back. I got the guitar when I was thirteen at a yard sale for, like, five bucks. It was my first guitar and even though it took a bit to get the hang of it, I loved playing it. There’s something about music and lyrics that helps me express myself, even when it’s hard.
I was playing the first time I realized I had feelings for Ella, feelings that ran much deeper than just friend feelings. She was in the crowd dancing solo like she did a lot, her hands in the air, her hips rocking to the beat. I couldn’t take my eyes off her and I found myself wishing I was down there with her, touching and kissing every inch of her. It was that night I went home and wrote the lyrics that I eventually got tattooed on my ribs because it was the kind of moment filled with emotion and the lyrics I created about her needed to be marked on me forever.
It was the moment I realized I loved her, even if I wasn’t fully aware of it at the time, but only because I didn’t fully understand love yet. Looking back, though, I know the moment I penned the words there’d never be anyone else.
Ella was my one and only.
