Finding Hope in Texas (14 page)

“Did you know him beforehand, before the Iraq
war?”

He nodded. “He was one of my students, a
pretty good kid. Raised on and off between a mother and
grandparents, I think. He wasn’t the greatest of students but he
tried, and usually that’s half the battle with us teachers getting
students to do anything,” he quipped. “Anyway, I know he was
wounded, got the Purple Heart, some shrapnel in the leg, of which
you probably noticed his limp. But, even worse than that, when he
came back, he was distant, practically lost. Something changed him
over there.” We both stared at Jason in the distance as if he was
some piece in an art gallery that we were trying to wrap our minds
around. By Mr. Peet’s own account, Jason was hurt, definitely
physically, but perhaps emotionally as well. I could feel my facial
expression change with this news, my mouth beginning to droop,
saddened by what he had to endure in some far away land. What had
happened to him in that devastating war?

With a quick flip of his wrist, Mr. Peet
snagged the check from my hand and proceeded to the counter to pay
both of our bills.

“Hey, really, I have enough money to pay.
It’s not that big of a deal.”

He didn’t know how good I was with money, how
much was in store for me because of my own tragic loss. I didn’t
even fully understand all of my parents’ dealings and assets
myself, but knew I had led a comfortable life before and could
probably do so for a very long time. Compared to my aunt, working
for a friend in their antique shop, and Mr. Peet, the high school
history teacher supporting a daughter, I was going to be very
wealthy when I turned eighteen. I hated that he was paying for
me—someone who, with a few quick text messages, could have paid for
all of the meals without batting an eye. I tried to take the slip
of paper back before he placed it on the counter, but it was no
use.

“Miss Kilpatrick, can you just accept that
I’m going to do something nice for you?” he said and smirked. The
idea stumped me for a moment. Was I really so broken, so shut off
that I was unwilling to accept a nice gesture? I was virtually
alone in this world and yet the few people willing to be kind to me
were turned away or held at arm’s length. The observations made me
feel sick as I relented, allowing Mr. Peet to slide forward and pay
my share.

As we walked out the entrance, Mr. Peet and
Mike carried on a conversation about the upcoming reenactment,
discussing what had to be done before the actual event. Much more
planning went into it than I imagined. I thought it was just a
bunch of people with guns that showed up and started shooting at
each other. But their conversation carried into tents, extra gear,
maps of the location, anyone needing rides, campsite, and more. As
they continued, I noticed Lizzy speaking to Hunter on the corner
sidewalk, waiting for their parents to end their conversation. They
smiled at each other as she stepped forward, running her hand down
his arm, a classic move of interest for women that even I picked up
on. Hunter smiled at her, continuing to talk and laugh, and I only
hoped he was not oblivious to her flirty actions. Lizzy was showing
interest in her fellow reenactor, indicating that Mr. Peet was
wrong about his daughter. Not that she was boy-crazy like everyone
in high school seemed to be, with not enough brains and too many
hormones, but maybe she was looking for the right kind of boy and
Hunter was it. And why not? He was a nice looking young man, just a
few inches taller than her, a little on the husky side with short
blond hair. Still, he had nice features, a cute smile that brought
out his dimples, wide shoulders, and he just seemed to be an
all-around kind person. You could really see aspects of his father
in his appearance.

“Hey, Hope,” Lizzy called me over, “I just
wanted to formally introduce Hunter.” He stuck his hand out and I
shook it. “He goes to Northside High, one of our rivals,” she
grinned.

“Yeah, we kicked the crap out of y’all in
football this year.”

“I think I could beat our football team,”
joked Lizzy, a smile spreading across her face that I had never
noticed before in any of our conversations, even when she was
ripping Jody, which was quickly becoming one of our all-American
pastimes. This was not the Lizzy surrounded by her own little
protective bubble at school, not the girl that was playing with the
six-year-old inside. This Lizzy was vibrant and flirtatious. She
was like a chameleon, interweaving her colors to her surroundings,
like she was doing with Hunter here. I guess in some way, shape, or
form we all did that in life, making ourselves to fit in place,
going astray when caught acting differently than what was expected
of us. There wasn’t anything wrong with it; it wasn’t like we all
were selling out. It was just easier for some than for others, and
I was part of the others. I couldn’t change on a dime like my
fellow teenagers, mad one moment, smart the next, funny or sexy
after that. And since the tragedy and the move to Texas, I really
was stuck in place, not able to move forward with my emotions, my
responsibilities, or my life. It was like waiting in purgatory,
waiting to be prayed out and sent on to heaven, but I wasn’t sure
if there would be a paradise for me anymore, a time where I would
be back to my normal self, where I would be happy again. There was
no light at the end of my tunnel that I could see. Right now in my
life, I was on the road to die a hermit and be eaten by my
seventeen cats. I was still stuck in my cave without a Tom Sawyer
in sight.

Looking down the street, Jason had already
started his engine and was backing his motorcycle onto the road,
his black helmet visor blocking any sight of his face. He raised
his legs and took off again, not staying around until the last
moment to make small chat with the others.

“There goes James Dean,” Hunter
wisecracked.

“Yeah,” I said with a sigh, hearing my own
smitten-like sound for the rebel without a cause. Or maybe he did
have one? Was what he went through during the war making him as
introverted as me? What had this poor boy witnessed or done that
was tearing him apart? The question saddened me. Jason couldn’t
have been over twenty. Why did he, or anyone, have to go through
something like that at such a young age?

Mr. Peet walked up and looked at our little
teenage ensemble. “Oh, no, nothing good can ever happen when you
get three or more teenagers together. I’m sure you’re planning
global domination or something just as evil.” He glanced at Mike.
“Is your boy polluting the minds of my young ladies over here?” He
nudged him with his elbow.

“God, I hope so,” he jeered.

“Don’t worry, Captain, they’re in good hands
with me.” Hunter leaned forward and gave Lizzy a big hug, one which
she accepted and returned, a smile on her face, flushed with
embarrassment.

“Hunter, that’s what I’m worried about. Now
unhand my daughter before I go get my Remington from the truck,” he
said and smiled. Hunter released her and backed away, his hands in
the air as if he was about to be arrested. Mr. Peet patted him on
the shoulder. “Girls, are y’all ready to go home, away from these
hoodlums?”

“Sure, dad. Goodbye Mr. Matlock,” waved
Lizzy. “See you around, H-Dog.” She leaned in and gave Hunter
another hug before retreating away with Mr. Peet and me towards the
car. He smiled at her but didn’t say bye, watching our little group
head toward the car. Piling in once again, we were off, this time
heading east, back across DFW, back home.

The mood was somber on the way home, more
like we were leaving a funeral than a parade. Lizzy was quiet,
which in turn made me quiet as well. Mr. Peet asked a few
questions: Did we have a good time? What did I think of the parade?
Of course, my answers were short and concise as usual. There was no
need to over-embellish anything with him, anyhow. Other than that,
little was said. It might have been that we were tired from getting
up so early in the morning then going on a two-mile hike around the
city of Ft. Worth, either of which was not the norm for our usual
Saturdays.

Mr. Peet pulled into Mags’ driveway just past
three o’clock and both he and Lizzy began to unbuckle and proceed
to walk in with me.

“Oh, that’s okay. You really don’t have to
walk me to the doorstep or anything.”

“Nonsense. We brought you outta the house and
we are going to take you back in,” said Mr. Peet. They escorted me
up the walk and just before we reached the porch, Mags opened the
front door, this time wearing blue jeans and one of her cute little
pink T-shirts, all of which were a little more appropriate than the
PJ bottoms she would’ve probably stayed in all day if she knew she
wasn’t going to have company again.

“I’ve returned her safe and sound, Margaret,”
said Mr. Peet as he smiled up at her.

“Thank you very much.” She nodded, looking at
him then at me, casting an eye over the costume that I still wore.
“Hope, why don’t you come inside and change so you can give them
back their dress.”

“Okay.”

“We can get it back later, Hope,” explained
Lizzy. “As long as it’s before Madisonville. They always have a
nice little dance under a big tent and I’d like to wear it
then.”

“Yeah, that’s not a problem. Then I’d have
time to have it dry cleaned for you, if that’s okay.”

Lizzy shrugged. “Sure, that’s fine. Thank
you, Miss Kilpatrick for letting Hope go with us today. We had an
excellent time.”

I didn’t want to point out that legally Mags’
name had about four other variations, but it wasn’t a big deal
since she wasn’t hitched at the moment.

“You’re very welcome and thank you,
Mr....Mr...”

“Peet,” I whispered embarrassed.

“Yes, Mr. Peet. Thank you for taking Hope.
She needs to get out a little more and spend less time with her
nose in her books.”

I didn’t say anything, but could feel my
blood brewing underneath my skin. If this was going to be a time to
poke fun at me, then we needed to get inside the house as quickly
as possible.

“
Oh, it was my pleasure. You should’ve
gone with us. Three southern belles are always better than
two.”

“Maybe next time.” Mags voice was polite, but
impatient.

“Well, we’d better get going.” Mr. Peet’s
hands fell upon Lizzy’s shoulder as if he was signaling to her that
it was time to say her goodbyes. “Hope, thanks again for coming
along. Margaret, it’s a pleasure meeting you. You have a good kid
there.”

“Thanks for going, Hope. It wouldn’t have
been as much fun without you.”

“Thanks for inviting me, Lizzy. See you at
school on Monday.”

“Will do.” Lizzy waived as they took an 1860s
stroll back to their 2005 SUV. Mags and I waived one more time
before we withdrew into the house.

“Well, did you have a good time?” Mags asked
as we entered the living room.

“I guess so,” I answered, content.

“Good,” she answered and smiled a bit as she
made her way into the small kitchen to make her a cup of coffee,
giving me a portentous feeling that she was hiding something from
me.

“What is it?”

“Oh, nothing,” she mused.

“What? What happened?”

Mags walked back into the living room and
curled up on the sofa next to me, making sure not to sit on my hoop
as she did. “I saw you on television,” she snickered.

“What?”

“Yes, I watched the parade and they had a
close up of you in that get up.” The floodgates opened as the
laughter spilled into the room.
Why was my humiliation so
funny?
I didn’t know what to say, but just sat there with my
mouth ajar. Mags must have realized that she’d hurt my feelings for
she cut off her mirth quickly. “Oh, honey, I’m sorry. I just
expected that the first time I’d see you on T.V. would be by curing
cancer or feeding a bunch of starving children or something, not
dressing up like Scarlet O’Hara.” She gave me a pat on my shoulder
as if to say everything was going to be all right. “Come on, why
don’t you change out of that outlandish clothing and we will go
rent a movie or do something fun?”

I sighed. She was probably right. I didn’t
fit in with a bunch of Civil War reenactors, just like I didn’t fit
in with most the students at school. Even Mags and I were total
opposites, sharing the same blood. My cohesiveness had always been
with my family, my real family. They were my rock, my centerpiece.
Everywhere else I stuck out like a sore thumb, a drifter in and out
of people’s lives, but never living my own. How long would it last,
or better yet, how long could I endure it lasting?

With another sigh, I lifted myself off the
sofa to go change. Mags may have gotten her entertainment of the
day watching me make a fool of myself as an 1860s southern belle,
but maybe I could rectify the rest of the weekend before school on
Monday.

School! Holy cow!
How many of them saw
me on the stupid television?
What can of worms had I opened?
Crap!

Chapter
Six

The weekend was over before we knew it. Mags
and I did enjoy a couple of movies on the sofa together and a lazy
Sunday to boot.

Oh Jeez, another Southern saying
.

Mags had to go back to work on Monday, but I
was able to stay home with it being Martin Luther King Day and all,
finishing a little homework and reading a couple chapters for
history. I wonder what King would have thought about the hobby that
I’d dipped my toe into over that weekend? Did they have Civil War
reenactments going on in the early 1960s as the centennial
celebration of the Civil War rolled around, the same time that
African Americans were boycotting buses and having sit-ins in
restaurants to earn their freedoms in the same country? The thought
just didn’t seem right, promoting a war over slavery that killed
hundreds of thousands of people while those same freedmen, twice or
three times removed, were struggling again for their own liberties.
Jeez, only in America.