Ink & Interruptions

            I stood in the driveway for another moment, running through all the words Kyle had said. What was all of that? Had he been mad I had a date? Well, I mean I didn’t have one, but still. I shook my head. There’s no way. I released a sigh and pushed away my thoughts for later. Today was about Uncle George, not Kyle and his weird attitude. I pulled my shoulders back and made my way up the stairs, each step felt heavy as I forced my mind to still. I reached the door and glanced down at my watch. One more minute. I felt my heart rate increase—the intensity seeming to pick up with each second that passed. I closed my eyes, willing myself to steady my breaths and lift my hand. I can do this. It’s just Uncle George. I took a deep breath. And Kyle. Why did my mind keep bringing him up like that? Yes, Kyle would be there, but Kyle was always there. Is he? I mean he wasn’t the past few months, but that didn’t matter. Does it? I shook my head dislodging myself from the swirling thoughts holding me captive and reached across the space slamming my knuckles into the door.

            The sound and force of the knock caused me to wince. I was in the process of talking myself out of running when I heard voices. Seconds passed and the voices became more distinguishable as they neared the door. Every nerve in my body came alive as I watched the doorknob begin to spin.

            “Dad, seriously, calm down.”

            “Son, I am calm. I’ve never been calmer in my life.”

            “Riiiight.” I could feel Kyle’s eye roll as the doorknob finally made a complete turn and the door swung open.

            Uncle George was standing in front of me—the smile on his mouth stretched so wide that I swore it wrapped around his head. I felt my own mouth stretch out as it worked to mirror his, but my eyes drifted from his smile, and the rest of his face came into view—the sight causing the corners of my mouth to falter and my breath to catch—hooked somewhere between my lungs and the rest of my body.

            His cheeks were caved in slightly; the bones protruding, creating sharp angles where there should have been softness. My eyes tracked up his face, clinging to the way his eyes set further in, surrounded by bags speaking of long nights and little sleep. His brown hair, which typically spilled over his ears and down his forehead were now whisps of air that hung in odd places. My heart took a nosedive through my chest, not slowing until it crashed into the floor. My mind continued to reel as I took in the rest of his body. His shirt hung loosely, no longer snug against his skin, and his pants looked hollow as they flared out around his legs. He wobbled slightly as he grasped the door more tightly, brows furrowing for a moment as he forced his body to stand still. As I struggled to place the man before me, his other hand reached out, pulling me into a hug—his knuckles too pronounced as they pushed against his skin.

            “Evie!” His voice warmed every inch of my skin—the familiarity of it calming my nerves as it surrounded me like a worn blanket.  

            “Uncle George,” I sighed as I wrapped my arms around his waist, my breath hitching as my hands collided with each other against his back.  

            “I’ve missed you so much.” He placed a kiss to my forehead, and I felt the tears begin to burn behind my eyes.

            “I’m so sorry I haven’t been by. I—”

            “Oh, don’t be silly,” he said, cutting off my apology. He patted my back twice, the impact threatening to dislodge the tears clinging to my eyes, before stepping back and releasing me. “You’ve been busy.” A soft chuckle fell from his mouth as I moved past him and into the hallway. “I used to be young believe it or not.” He pushed the door shut behind me as he moved his other hand to an entryway table that practically ran the length of the wall heading towards the dining room.

            “Uncle George you were never young,” I said, forcing the joke from my lips, searching for a way to make this moment normal. I tried to scrape my heart off the floor as I watched him struggle to catch his breath, but as Kyle moved toward him, Uncle George shook his head—the small movement all but burying my heart, removing any possibility of it making its way back into my chest today. Kyle tensed, and I ached as I watched him take a breath and force his feet to move back—away from his dad. My shoulders sagged as I watched Kyle choose between his need to help his dad and allowing his dad to choose for himself. Uncle George took a deep breath and pushed himself off the table, standing upright.

            “Ah, still able to wound me I see.” He clasped his heart and stretched his smile even wider as he made his way down the hall, staying close to the table.

            I caught Kyle’s eyes, a question burning in mine, but he simply shook his head and followed behind his dad, his hand outstretched—a security blanket I didn’t know if Uncle George even knew he had. I stood watching the two of them, each shaky step sending a wave of shame over my body, and every steadying hand pressed against the table like a knife twisting in my gut, carving out space for my guilt.

            I should’ve been here. I should’ve known, could’ve helped. I took a step towards them, following the progression towards the dining room, pushing back the thoughts that threatened to overwhelm me and fighting to blink away the tears that were still lingering in my eyes. Me crying and blubbering is definitely not what Uncle George needed today. Kyle had said he was excited—me acting like the world was ending would probably put a damper on that.

            I pulled my shoulders back and swiped at my eyes, swallowing the lump in my throat as the motion cleared my vision and allowed it to snag on the photos that followed the table. My breath hitched as I took in each captured moment. Kyle and me as babies, our eyes closed as our foreheads met and held each other’s heads up. Us as toddlers—the pack-in-plays side by side, my tiny arm stretched over the edge, searching for his outreached fingers. Us at five and six and seven and eight. Each photo holding some version of Kyle and me.

            Nine-year-old me holding up three medals while Kyle’s arms were overflowing with trophies—both of our faces barely big enough to contain our smiles.

             Kyle posing in his first Basketball uniform at eleven—my eyes on Kyle as I clutched the red and black pom-poms Aunt Julia had insisted I hold, discomfort written in the space between my eyebrows, but my smile still firmly in place.

            Me, at thirteen, blowing the tassel that hung from my cap out, the photo snapped at the exact moment the strings brushed Kyle’s face—his arm around my waist as his shoulder pressed into mine.

            Us at fifteen—clinging to one another, as our clothes looked like they were painted onto our skin, soaked from the rain that was still falling. I paused at the picture, struck by the smiles on our faces. The joy radiated from the frame, engulfing me in the memory.

            Kyle was bragging about being the fastest person ever, and my cheeks had been close to exploding, as they fought against the laughter that was pouring from me—the sound driving Kyle mad as he insisted it was true.

            “How can that possibly be true when I can beat you?” I said between breaths as I worked to calm myself.

            He’d puffed up his chest, looking just like his dad as he placed his hands on his hips.  “I challenge you to a race, then.” He stuck his finger out, swirling it around like a wand. “But don’t get mad when you have to eat my dust.”

            I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “We can’t race today, dingus. Aunt Julia said a storm was coming and to stay in the yard.” The wind blew my hair out of my face, thunder booming in the distance. “See,” I said, dragging out the end of the word.

            Kyle shrugged his shoulders. “Guess that just means you’re slow because I can definitely outrun some puny storm.” Thunder sounded again as if to bite back against Kyle’s words.

            “You cannot.”

            “Can so.”

            “Kyle, it’s physically impossible to outrun a storm.”

            “Says the slow poke too afraid to race me.” He snorted and pulled his foot up behind him, beginning to stretch his muscles.

            “I’m not afraid to race you, but your mom—”

            “If you need to use my mom as an excuse to back out of the race, that’s fine. But I’m going to run to the end of the block and back before a single drop of rain falls.” Another round of thunder echoed through the yard; the noise close enough to vibrate the air around us.

            “I’m not using your mom.” I looked around, the sky dark grey with thick clouds hanging just above the earth. “But the rain is literally going to start up any second.”

            “So? Be faster than it.” He dropped his foot and picked up the other one. “Or can you?”

            I knew what he was doing, but even as I told myself to turn around and walk to the porch, leave him out here to get soaked and humiliated, I could feel myself beginning to prepare for the race—my heartrate picking up as the anticipation began to bubble beneath my skin. I could beat him. I knew I could, and that thought drove my feet away from the porch and towards the front gate.

            “Don’t you want to stretch?” His voice betraying his surprise as he followed close behind me.

            “Don’t need to.” I shrugged my shoulder and felt my smile spread as I reached the gate and spun towards him. “To the end of the block and back. No cheating.”

            “How do you even cheat in a race?” He said, his eyebrows scrunching together.

            “I’m not going to give you tips.” I scoffed. “Nice try though.”

            “Wait, what? I wasn’t trying to… you know what never mind. Let’s race.”

            I jumped up and down on my toes as the sound of thunder blasted between us. “Just remember not to be too sad when your dreams come crumbling down around you.” I smirked and let out a laugh as his smile grew.

            “Yeah, yeah, whatever. On three.” He came up beside me, and I settled next to him—the thrill of my victory already racing along my spine. “One.” I took a deep breath, steading my feet and squaring my shoulders to face the track in front of me. “Two.” One more breath. “Three.” His voice rang out like a bullet from a gun, and I pushed against the ground as hard as I could, propelling my body forward as Kyle did the same.

            I was flying down the path, and each time my foot hit the pavement, I pushed harder, forcing all of my weight into each step as I tried to thrust myself further. I could hear Kyle’s breaths beside me, but I didn’t dare look, afraid that one moment would cost me. Another clap of thunder; this one so close, the sound caused me to flinch. I freaking told him. As if on cue, rain started to fall, each drop soaking through my shirt, but I kept going, keeping pace with Kyle as we neared the end of the block.

            As soon as my foot hit the curb, I spun on my heel and used the momentum to push myself back towards the house. A flash of lightening ran across the sky followed by a crack of thunder—the sound so loud it split the sky in two, as sheets of rain slammed into our skin. Kyle’s breathing turned to laughter as our steps met the already pooling water, splashing it up and onto each other, soaking our socks and shoes. His laughter ramped up, and the sound caused my own to tumble out—the loss of air forcing me to slow my pace as I reached out for Kyle’s hand.

            His skin met mine, the warmth contending with the chill racing along my skin as the wind continued to drive the rain into us. I glanced over at him; he was looking at me smiling as water poured from his hair and down his face. I felt my own smile spread as the gate to the front yard grew closer. Kyle’s hand tightened around mine, and his eyes shimmered as he pushed harder, pulling slightly in front of me. I watched his back, my grin never faltering, and as he moved to step across the threshold and into the yard—securing the win—I drug my arm down, yanking as hard as I could and freeing my hand in the process. The sudden movement caused Kyle to falter as he pulled to a stop just outside the fence, spinning around to make sure I hadn’t fallen. I splashed water into his face and laughed as I jumped around him and into the yard, my hands held high as I spun around, basking in my victory.

            Seconds later, Kyle was beside me, panting, staring at me in disbelief.

            “See. Told you.” I said between my own labored breathing. “Twice.”

            “Twice?”

            “We didn’t beat the rain, and I won.”

            Before he could respond, the creak of the front door swinging open caused us to freeze. My shoulders tensed and I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for Aunt Julia’s lecture.

            “Who won?” The gravelly sound caused me to spin around, and relief tore through my body as I found my dad and Uncle George standing on the porch.

            “Well, me. Obviously.” I said, tossing my hair over my shoulder, praying the water hit Kyle in the process.

            “Yeah, well I’d win too if I cheated,” Kyle said; his eyes bright as he bumped his shoulder into mine.

            “I would never.” I clutched my heart and worked to stifle the giggle that was working its way up my throat.

            “Well, we better get a victory shot.” My dad said, as he pulled his phone out of his back pocket. Kyle smashed me into his side, and I swung my arms around him—our clothes squished together, the noise causing another round of laughter as my dad yelled “winner, winner, chicken dinner,” and the rain kept falling.

            Our laughter floated around me, distant echoes, as I stared at the photo—digging for the moment when that changed—when the smiles turned into a performance and Kyle became the bars of my prison instead of the boy I grew up with.

            “You do know that race doesn’t count.” Kyle’s voice pulled me from my thoughts as he came up beside me.

            “Says the loser,” I said as I moved away from the table, pulling back from the rest of the memories—part of me afraid of what I’d find if I kept looking.

            “I literally can’t be a loser if the race was rigged.”

            “Rigged?” I gave a soft chuckle as I moved towards the dining room, Kyle walking beside me. “Now that’s a little dramatic. I told you; I tripped at the end.”

            “Mmhmm. And the water that just so happened to be thrown in my face?” I turned my head to face him—his brown eyes shimmered as they held mine.

            “I don’t know.” I shrugged and pulled my gaze from his—the air in the room suddenly too hot as it clung to my overly sensitive skin. “Must have been a strong gust of wind. You’re the one who wanted to have a race during a thunderstorm.” 

            “Kyle, are you still pestering her about that race she won.” Uncle George said, and I couldn’t stop the laughter that burst from me.

            “Dad, can’t you ever just be on my side.” Kyle called back as he stepped in front of me, brushing against me as he moved into the dining room.

            “Why would he want to do that?” I laughed again. “No one wants to be on the losing side.”  

            “See, Evie gets it.” Uncle George said as he worked to slide the chair back from the table—tilting each leg to the side little by little, the movement causing the chair to shift further away from the table an inch at a time.

            Each tug was followed by a huff of air, and I looked at Kyle. I found him frozen, his eyes pinned to his father, the pain of this moment etched into every feature. His eyebrows were pulled low, his jaw tense, and his hands balled into fists at his side. His anger pulsed from him in waves, crashing against me, but I wasn’t sure who his anger was for. Aunt Julia? Uncle George? Himself? What would happen if he didn’t have his dad anymore? As the thought crossed my mind, Kyle’s eyes snapped to mine, and the heartache laced in them stole my breath.

            I offered him a small smile as I tried to ground myself in the moment—focusing on who Kyle needed me to be. I held his eyes, pushing every ounce of strength I had into my gaze as I sucked in a deep breath and exhaled silently, making the movements deliberate as I willed him to do the same. I saw his chest rise, and as it fell, he closed his eyes, his fist unfurling as he did. There. See, I’m helpful. As Uncle George began to settle into his seat, I began to move towards the chair to Kyle’s left—my body shifting to auto-pilot as my feet dragged me to where I belonged.

            “What do you think?” Uncle George asked before I made it around the table. The question pulled me to a stop, and I shifted my body to face him, my eyes catching on the food for the first time. I inhaled sharply as my brain finally registered what I was seeing.  

            “What is this?” I asked, my voice high as I found Uncle George’s eyes—his smile already pushing against the edges of his mouth.

            “What does it look like?”

            “It looks like all my dreams coming true.” I squealed as I ran back around the table and threw my arms around him. “How did you do this? I thought the restaurant closed.”

            He chuckled as he reached up and patted my arms. “They did, but I know the guy, and he owed me a favor.”

            My heart lurched. Why would he use it on me? I thought as I released my hold on him and slid into the chair next to him—Aunt Julia’s chair. My skin tingled as it made contact with the wood. She should be here—in this moment, holding his hand, holding Kyle. At that thought, all of the oxygen in the room vanished. My eyes started to burn, and I reached out and placed my hand over Uncle George’s, drawing his gaze to mine.

            “Thank you.” My voice broke, but instead of saying anything, he just reached over and placed his other hand over mine. I lingered for a moment, Aunt Julia’s ghost dragging the past into the room, and my skin prickled as it settled around us.

            Uncle George chasing Kyle and me up and down the stairs while Aunt Julia shrieked for us to be careful. Aunt Julia singing as she twirled around the kitchen—the smell of baked goods wafting through the rest of the house. Mom, dad, and me coming over for family dinners. Every dinner the same—Uncle George, Aunt Julia, Mom, Dad, Kyle, Me—each one of us playing our designated roles, following the script and moving the storyline along its predetermined path. My eyes snagged on the living room window, the view of the front yard and driveway painted inside the frame, and for a moment, I could still see the snow swirling around the glass and hear the thump of Uncle George’s feet hitting the floor.

            The squeak of Kyle’s chair being pulled away from the table drew my attention, and I slipped my hand from Uncle George’s, standing back up and using the movement to clear my head. I moved back around the table, but as I drew closer to my chair, my stomach churned. My eyes bounced between Kyle and the seat beside him—the expectation hanging in the air between us. My heart began to pound as I passed the head of the table, and before I knew it, I’d pulled the chair back and sat down, the sudden impact of the seat pushing a breath of air from my lungs, the sound coming out in a huff.

            The corner of Uncle George’s mouth ticked up, and I squinted my eyes at him. What was he up to? I slung my purse over the side of the chair and then lifted out of my seat to reach across Kyle to grab my plate. As I pulled myself back into my seat, I caught Kyle’s stare, but I couldn’t make out what it meant. Was he relieved I’d broken routine? Mad that I’d chosen something else? Gah, I really should have paid attention to Aunt Julia’s lessons.

            I shrugged off Kyle’s gaze, settling back into my chair. “Let’s eat. I’m starving,” I said as I shot Uncle George a smile. I reached for the closest platter, but a knock at the door stilled my hand.

            “Oh, good!” Uncle George said, his face becoming animated as he placed his hands on the table, steadying himself. “They said not to wait, but I’m glad they got here in time.” His breath was already becoming shallow as he began to work himself back out of his seat.

            “Dad, please.”  Kyle held up his hand and rose from his chair, easily sliding it out from behind him.

            “Oh, fine, but its only because Evie’s here.” Uncle George’s shoulders were stiff, but I could see the exhaustion in his face. Kyle nodded and moved away from the table. I looked up as he passed me, and a chill ran down my spine as he shot me a stiff smile.

            “I’m glad other people are coming,” I said with a soft chuckle looking towards Uncle George. “I was a little concerned about the magnitude of leftovers.” I spread my hands out, spanning across the table that was lined with platters full of food. “Unless, of course, Kyle’s opinion of the food has changed.” I arched one of my eyebrows.

“Nope, his tastebuds are still as dull as ever.”

            I laughed as I shot a glance at Kyle’s spot, the movement allowing me to note the other place settings as well. I really need to practice my observation skills. I counted them, and outside of Aunt Julia’s spot, there were only two more, each resting in front of the chairs mom and dad had sat in during family dinner nights. Just like old times.

            “Evie!” My dad’s voice boomed from behind me, and I banged my knee under the table scrambling to stand up. I rounded the chair just in time to feel my dad’s arms wrap around my shoulders as he pulled me into him. I breathed in the familiar smell of his cologne and tucked myself against his chest.

            “Dad?” I asked as I tried to pull back, but my movement only caused him to tighten his hold, the pressure forcing all of the air from my lungs. “Dad, seriously, let up,” I said grunting.

            “Oh, fine.” He loosened his hold on me. “But you owe me at least one more before you leave.” He placed a kiss on my head. “And you’re lucky I’m not charging you interest.” He winked at me and then moved towards Uncle Geroge, who was trying to stand up from the table again. I heard their voices, but the words fell away as my brain scrambled to put the pieces together. Uncle George. Kyle. Dad. One more placemat. I turned, the movement feeling too slow as I shifted around until my body was facing the door and the table was pressing into the back of my legs.

            “Evelyn.” My mother’s voice reached me as she stepped around Kyle and moved up the hallway.

            “Hey, mom.” My voice was hollow, as I tried to push more words out. Anything. But nothing came—I stood frozen in her gaze—waiting for her.

            Kyle shut the door, and then moved quickly up the hallway, the movement causing my eyes to snag on him. The smile from earlier flashed in my mind. He’d known. He knew she was going to be here. Why hadn’t he told me? I could feel anger beginning to build, the sudden heat searing my skin as I stared at him. Mom finally stepped into the room and pulled me into a hug—the movement robotic, stiff but still practiced and expected—each part doing what they were built to do. Her arms tightened, and I lifted mine around her, but I never took my eyes from Kyle. Traitor. His eyes roamed the room, sticking to everyone and anything other than me.

            Mom released me and pushed back, holding me at arm’s length. She took in my outfit, lingering on my hair and snagging once again on my skirt. Sweats. Should have worn sweats. She looked up and smiled at me—the sight made my heart ache, but I knew she wasn’t smiling for me.

            “George, this looks absolutely wonderful.” She held my gaze for a moment longer before releasing me and moving towards Uncle George. I forced myself to relax. Everything is okay. I took a breath. Just focus on Uncle George. Eat and laugh and then go home. No biggy. I pushed away from the table and moved to sit back down, pulling the seat out further to avoid damaging my knees again.

            “Evelyn Mercer, what are you doing?” My mother’s voice brought my movements to a halt—my hands clammy as I tightened my hold on the chair. “You’re sitting in the wrong spot.”

            As my mother bent down to move my things, I cut my eyes to Kyle; his head tucked close to his chest as he moved his fork from one side of his plate to the other. Coward. He’d known, and he’d let me walk into this blind. I pressed my teeth together as I fought the urge to scream.

            “Not to worry. I will fix this right up.” My mother hummed under her breath as she moved around the table, never once looking back to see if I was following—her expectation clear in the tone of her voice.

            I glanced back down at the now empty table space. I could sit back down. I could draw the line in the sand. I could say no this time, but as the thought crossed my mind, I heard Uncle George laugh at something my dad was saying, and the sound caused the ache in my chest to swell again—the pressure from it threatening to suffocate me. Not today. Not here. I’ll say no next time. I closed my eyes for a moment, searching for a way to ground myself before following my mother around the table and settling back into the past, my elbow knocking against Kyle’s. I took a deep breath, steadying myself. Next time, I’ll say no.