The years passed and at thirteen I gave Ella the talk, tampons, and a
taser. I lived in my apartment but I visited Ella every day. She was my angel. I
developed a begrudging respect for Chantel since she was her guardian. I
painted the house yellow and changed every single appliance. Slowly, everything
within the house was replaced. Hard wood replaced the wine-stained carpet. A
soft couch replaced the one with the broken springs. The wood-paneling was
removed and Ella and her friends painted spiraling flowers on the walls. The bitter
and sharp memories were dulled by Ella’s laughter and 100-watt smile. She was
growing into a fine young woman. Chantel was chopping a watermelon with a
wicked large knife while Ella and her friends played in the yard. I was fixing
their kites. The girls ran around and I let the warmth of the sun make a home
in my skin. I gave Ella her electric blue kite.
“Thanks Daniel,” she said.
I smiled as the kite melted into the sky. I was more than Ella’s friend.
I was a parental-figure. It was times like this I wished I could tell my former
friend that he was wrong. He scared me for no reason. Just because he was a
bitter and cynical person didn’t mean I had to be. I had stopped drinking. My
fingers still twitched for cigarettes so sometimes I had one or two. I stopped
being scared of being a bad parent and “messing up”. My former friend could rot
in hell. Ella’s sparkling eyes were all I needed. Her faith in me as a good
person was the only constant in my life. She had pulled me into her orbit and I
wasn’t leaving. She was bright and cheery and loved the real me. Beyond
the leather, smoke, and electrical tools, she saw me. I loved machines but I
loved Ella more. Her sunlight filled the gnawing void within me. She made me
feel human.
Chantel called the girls inside for watermelon and cake. The glow of
Ella’s face in the candlelight was so cute. Her friends got her perfectly
suited gifts: notebooks, colored pencils, and washi tape. She was a budding
artist. With the proper teachers and tools, I was sure she would have a gallery
someday. I would support her in whatever she wanted to do. I would give her the
support and protection I never had. The sound of ripping wrapping paper faded
and transformed. My former friend gave me a gift once. I still had it. It was a
small carving of a Thunderbird. I got it the day my mom ran away from home. He
told me he saw the image of the Thunderbird within me. I didn’t know what that
meant. A few years later, I looked it up. In the urban darkness of 3 a.m.
insomnia, glowing words illuminated the relationship between my friend and I.
He cared about me. Years after our relationship had soured, I couldn’t forget
the gift he gave. Sometimes I thought I should apologize to him. Sometimes I
thought he should apologize to me. I sighed. The Thunderbird was the only gift
I ever got. Today, Ella had thirteen presents. I went to the kitchen to help
Chantel chop the rest of the cake.
“You looked like you had fun today,” Chantel said.
“I did,” I said.
“My little Ella is growing up. I can’t believe she’s officially a
teenager,” Chantel said.
“I was thinking of enrolling her in art lessons with your permission, of
course,” I said.
The chef’s knife cleanly cut the cake. “Yes, that would be good for
her.”
Ella’s laughter rang throughout the house as she chased her friends. I
was glad Chantel and I agreed on Ella’s wellbeing. We had an unspoken
agreement: whoever failed Ella would die first. Chantel and I had similar
features. We were both forged by liquid spirits and inducted by the
intoxicated. We knew the rules. Ella would not face any disappointment, fear,
stress, or danger. The most important rule, adhered to more than any zealot,
was no alcohol. A single drop would not get near Ella. We would make sure the
liquid poison never touched her lips. I was worried. She was thirteen. I did
some crazy shit at that age. Chantel probably did too. Luckily, her friends
were clean. Mine weren’t. How long would it take for her to lose her innocence
and childish ways? Then again, maybe she already had. She wasn’t an idiot. She
grew up in this house with Hersh Waters. Her worthless, cheap excuse for a
father. The man who threw bottles and beat up her mother. Chantel put the cake
in the fridge. Ella ran to me.
“Daniel, there’s someone at the door for you,” she said.
Who could be here for me? I followed Ella. Darkening the doorway of my
new life was my former friend.
Graycen.