Tattooed Soul (2 page)

Rebecca

The
dream always ended the same. I heard the male’s voice beckoning me to wake for
the day. “Rebecca, is it time to get up now?”

As with most mornings, I woke up feeling
relaxed and refreshed. Last night, I had one of my favorite reoccurring dreams.
My mystery man visited with me again in the early morning hours of my slumber,
and I longed to lay my head back down to meet him again.

In my dream, he held me close to his body
and pressed his lips to mine. Our kiss was full of passion, and my body ached
for more. I closed my eyes to try to bring him back to me, but just like
countless nights before, he was gone.

Now, the world awaited me, and my father
would be up to see that I was ready for school at any minute. I slowly made my
way out of bed and shivered when my feet hit the cold hardwood floor.

As always, I raised my window and tried
to greet the day with a smile. Leaning my head out the window, I tried to catch
my first, and often only, glimpse of the sun. If I was being completely honest,
this was the only time of the day that I felt whole. There was a connection I
had to this moment of each day that brought me joy. It was almost as if I could
feel a presence around me, like a protection from the chaos in my life. I
hesitated as long as I could, allowing the sun to fall around me in an almost
loving embrace.

With a sigh, I returned to my life, if
that’s what you would call my existence. I lived day to day with my father,
Richard. He was the pastor at the local church, and for the most part was a
decent man, if you were on the outside looking in. He was devoted to his
followers and was always there to lend a helping hand to the people of his
parish.

The reality was not so brightly lit. I
got to see the inner demons of Richard Hunter, and there were many.

To be fair, he fell apart soon after my
mom left with another man. She told us both that she didn’t want to be a part
of this life anymore. She never wanted kids, and she didn’t want to be tied
down in a small hopeless town like Ryder. Dad was broken. I was numb, but if
the pain could have stopped there, we would have survived.

A few months after leaving, my mom
called. She and Richard talked for hours. I remember sitting on the stairs,
listening to him cry and yell. Each tear broke my heart. Mom said she was
sorry, that she made a mistake. She wanted to try again and be a family with
us. She was pregnant. Although she was unsure if the baby belonged to Richard
or the other man, she knew that Steve would never be a father like Richard had
been.

When she broke the news to him, Steve
accused her of cheating and threw her out. So at 12:52 am on September 13th, I
found out that my mom was coming home.

Once the phone was again hanging on the
wall, Dad did not move from his chair. He rested his head on his hands as if
trying to keep his brain intact. I sat and stared at him for what seemed like
hours.

Dad never moved. I studied his chest to
see if he was breathing. Finally, I got the courage to try to help him, and he
reached out for me. Just as we were going to lean on each other for support,
the phone rang again.

By 2:43 am, we knew the fate of our
lives. Mom had been killed in a car crash while trying to return to us. By
three o’clock, my father turned to the bottle instead of his only daughter for
support. Mom was never coming home, and my dad was lost to me, too.

That was ten years ago today. Ten years
ago, I was an eight-year-old with a mother, father, and a future full of
dreams. Today, I was turning eighteen, and the brightest part of my life was
the five or ten minutes that I could hang out my bedroom window in the morning
and feel the sun against my cheeks.

That was it.

That was all the time I had to reflect on
the past. I gathered myself, got ready for the day, and put on my ‘fresh face.’
I never let anyone in. It was too hard and embarrassing to explain my home
life. Most would never believe that the man they looked up to every Sunday
morning was living a nightmare. I could barely reconcile the difference between
the two men, and I saw him on a daily basis. 

Mom died, and Richard checked out of the
‘Dad’ position, and I learned to never rely on people again. So I have learned
to put on my Becky ‘fresh face’ in front of everyone. No one knew the real me,
and I keeping people out meant I never let anyone into my heart again.

Quickly, I descended the stairs and
started to make breakfast. Richard was asleep on the recliner, but I didn’t
worry about waking him up. I could tell by the number of bottles around him
that he wasn’t going to be up for some time. Richard took to sleeping on the
recliner since the night of my mother’s death. The bed they shared has remained
untouched, but he still makes me change the sheets once a week. We went through
three different chairs, but he refused to throw them away. They sat out in the
shed in the back, silent reminders of his memories of the pain.

Just as I placed Richard's breakfast of
toast, egg whites, and a slice of tomato in the microwave, he stirred. I tried
to quickly make my exit for school, but like most times, he caught me.

“B-B-B-Becky, that you? Why the hell are
you slamming things around down here?” he demanded with a scratchy voice.

I steadied myself and replied in the most
loving daughter voice I could muster, “I had to make breakfast for you,
Richard. It's time for school and work. I left yours in the microwave for when
you're ready.”

I turned to leave and realized my mistake
too late. “Damn it! I told you to call me Dad. How many times do I have to
remind you that you live with
me
, and if I want you to call me Dracula,
then you will?” He tried to get up, but his recliner wouldn’t fall back into
place. “God damn this piece of shit!”

Thankfully fate was on my side this
morning. Maybe it was my one birthday present of the year from the gods. I
quickly grabbed my backpack and headed for the door. “I’m sorry, Dad. I just
have a lot on my mind this morning. You have a great day. Love you.”

I sicken at those words. It wasn’t that I
didn’t love “a” Richard; it just wasn’t this one. I loved the memory of the man
who would play catch with me and took my mother and me camping. This “waste of
space” Richard made me sick. I barely heard him mumble something else, but I
made it to my car. In a rush of air, I let out the breath I was holding and
laid my head on the steering wheel, trying to get my nerves under control
before I headed out for school.

As I backed up, I noticed his truck
sitting in the driveway. If the town of Ryder took the time and realized what a
drunk they had for pastor of their precious church, they would probably be at
our house with pitchforks and bats, demanding that he resign. That was not how
the world works.

Richard was a part of the “Good Ole Boy”
society, which in turn gave him many 'Get out of jail free' cards. People saw
him out drinking, but it was always chalked up to him 'having a good time' or
'letting off steam.'

I had heard women at the local grocery
store say that he deserved a drink now and again for having been left by ‘that
woman’ and having to raise a daughter by himself. He would get a pat on the
back, and sometimes a friendly ride home after a long night of drinking with
the guys. No one ever called him out on it or noticed the vodka-smelling water
bottles in his truck. Ignorance was bliss.

I pulled up in the parking lot of Ryder
High School and immediately spotted Caleb. He was standing by his latest
creation. His father owned the auto shop in town, and Caleb was well known for
his skills as a mechanic. I strolled up to his side as he was explaining to a
group of boys about the work it took to rebuild the engine in his new classic.
I could have cared less, but I feigned interest because that was what ‘fresh
face’ does.

“Hey, Becky, there you are. I was just
showing the boys my beauty here.” He leaned over and gave me a kiss, and
although I wasn’t much into public displays of affection, I accepted it.

Caleb and I had dated off and on for
about a year. He was a good boyfriend, I suppose, but I often felt like I was
having a threesome with him and his cars. I was proud of his drive and
determination in doing what he loved. If truth be told, I was jealous. I didn’t
have any dreams for myself. My only desire was to make it from this day to the
next.

I watched other girls with their
boyfriends, but I never felt like the giggly high-schooler with a crush.  With
Caleb, I never felt anything. When we kissed, there was never that ‘feeling’
that all the girls talk about. When he reached for my hand, I didn’t feel goose
bumps. It just felt rough and calloused from all his work on engines.

In his own way, I knew Caleb cared for
me.  Part of me always felt he liked that I wasn’t too clingy.  When
he was not around, I didn’t even miss him. Being with Caleb was just part of
fitting into the mold of things. It was my way of doing what people think I
should do; if I fit the mold of typical high school girl, the facade was left
intact, and my secrets were safe.

“So, me and the boys are going to be
working late on John’s new truck tonight. Is that okay with you?” Caleb asked.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me,” I said,
giving my standard answer.

He kissed me again in the forehead like a
child. “Thanks, babe,” he said as he turned to leave.

I followed behind him for a while, but
ducked into the bathroom before we made it to first period. I looked in the
mirror and told the strange girl staring at me, “Happy Birthday, Becky.”

I put on some lip gloss and went to
History.

History was always weird. I sat next to
Marcus Roberts. Unlike the other people in school, I didn’t mind sitting with
him. I was not unaware that he acted strange and seemed happy trying to be
invisible. That didn’t bother me because that was something I understood. 
I didn’t have the courage to pull off the same antisocial behavior, but I
definitely understood solving problems with keeping people from knowing the
real me.  The problem I had with Marcus was that he
never
talked to
me.

For some odd reason, I wanted him to
acknowledge me.  Sadly, I didn’t even think he liked me, and that made me
uncomfortable. I've tried to carry on a conversation, and even tried just
asking him questions about the assignment that we were working on in class. The
most I ever got from him was a shrug of his shoulders. I have never even seen
his eyes. He always kept them covered. Covered with his hair, a jacket, and
that hat. That damn hat.

I heard a rumor about stupid Todd Johnson
yelling at him about taking the hat off in the school. Todd said it was out of
respect. What a laugh. What would Todd Johnson know about respect for anyone or
anything but himself? It was the talk of the school for many days. In fact, I
had a bit of a scuffle with Kelly Young over it in gym class. As usual, she
would not stop running her mouth about Marcus having to kiss Todd’s ass, or
something like that. I didn’t know why I did it, but I told her to quit, and
threw a ball at her head. Truthfully, I was aiming for her ass, but she turned
at the last minute, and I have horrible aim. I got my point across, though.

It was funny, the one time I show my true
feelings, it was about a boy who either didn’t know I existed or hated me so
much he pretended I was invisible.

Either way, there was just something
about him. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I was beginning to think I was
almost envious of his reclusive ways. I wished I could hide. I wished I could
blend into the background. I was drawn to him. He quickly became my obsession,
and I found myself watching him in secret whenever he was around

The few things I knew about him wouldn't
fill a cocktail napkin. He moved here about two years ago, he lived with a foster
family, he made good grades, he had beautiful handwriting, and he smelled like
heaven. When I was sitting next to him, I felt… better. I really couldn’t
explain it more than that.

His presence just calmed me, which was
odd since he was extremely unapproachable. There was a part of me that saw
something was just as broken in him as it was in me. I wanted to get to know
him. I wanted to help him. I needed him to help me.

I pretended to drop my pencil so I could
get a good look at the boy sitting next to me. Marcus Roberts was a mystery,
but he was my mystery. As with most times I dared to take a look, he was
hunched over his book either reading or sleeping.  Other students would
think he was just weird, but I knew that he just wanted to be invisible. 

I caught a glimpse of him as he exited
the classroom at the end of the day.  For just a second, I thought I saw
him looking back at me from under the hood of his jacket, but it was over
before my stomach could even drop. 

I started for home as soon as school was
over. Seeing as I planned on spending the afternoon with Caleb, I wasn’t sure
what I should do with myself. If I went with him, that meant lounging around at
the Smith’s Garage and Auto Shop in town. I had gone with them on occasion, but
I could only talk about the ‘awesomeness’ of a carburetor for so long.  It
didn’t matter in the least if I was there are not.