Chapter 9: Seejay.
Loner.
Vagrant.
Crazy.
Hopeless.
Pathetic.
A loser.
So many adjectives that time and again get attached to my name. And i can identify and even accept some of them. I am a loser – what kind of a boy has no friends and no interest or ability in making them? I am a vagrant who time and again has to move from one place to the other, no real place i can call home, always having to hide from some deep secret or the other. It has come to the point where I am hiding from my own skin, forever shying off to the extent where i have no idea of my real feelings. I am Crazy and desperate – desperate to be alone and to live this life, hopeless to the thought of something new, brighter and different.
But I'm not a loner. Or at least I wasn't alone. Not really. Not like I am right now. So completely and utterly, so devastatingly alone.
My dad hadn't been the best that I could get. Most of the times I was the one taking care of him. Feeding him, clothing him, treating him – it all bought a strange sense of family to me. Even if these things weren't traditional, even if i was the one most of the time on the receiving end, still... there was a sense of togetherness in it. Of him needing me - someone needing me. And it fed a need within me to belong.
I belonged to him, just as much and just as surely as he belonged to me.
And now I belonged to no one. I ceased to exist the moment he ceased to breathe.
The Gun, the cold hard metal that lay casually in his hands as he pointed it towards Mr. Atwood was all my eyes could see. I ran towards him, afraid he would make the biggest mistake of his life, of both of our lives. All my attention and my focus was getting it out of his hands. My shaking hands gripped the metal just when things seemed crazy and I just knew that he wouldn't fire at me. Even in his most desperate attempts I recognised that somewhere deep within him there existed a human being that loved me. And I knew he wouldn't fire. I don't know where the shot came from. It all just blurs, but the next thing i knew was that I was holding the gun. The coldness and the fire, it all just amalgamated as I watch my dad fall, watched the whole thing end. The sirens were distant, but I couldn't process, couldn't breathe and for one split second I looked accusingly at Mr Atwood. Till I saw the same accusation directed at me. I looked down and was almost surprised to see the smoking gun in my hand. Had it been me? Was it? Had I killed my dad? And then i remember nothing. The next thing I remember is waking up in a cold hard cell, the realization as striking as it was painfully true. It had been me. I was the one who had done it. Picked up a cold hard piece of metal and ended it all.
I had killed my dad.
"No." I whisper. "No." A strange guttural sound escapes from my lips, a half cry, a half sob. The dancing peripheries of my consciousness recognize my shaking body, the liquid on my cheeks as tears. And then two small hands are shaking me, and I wake up with a start.
"Seejay..."
It takes a while for my eyes to adjust, even more time for my mind to understand where I am as my subconscious still lives in that cell, surrounded by the knowledge that it is where i belong, a place for criminals and killers, killers of their dad. I see in front of me.
Flopped on my bed like it's the most natural thing in the world, no guile and no judgement in her clear blue innocent eyes, Grace Atwood is shaking me. "Wake up... breakfast is ready."
My hands fly across my face trying to clear my mind, rid it of what I had seen, pinch myself so that somehow the reality doesn't sink in, even if i recognise it a futile process. She is pulling me now.
"Come on. We are going to be late and miss all the best pancakes."
"I just.." I am at a loss for words. What do I explain to this four year old? I cant eat pancakes, or eat, period, when everything around me screams that I am guilty.
And then she stares at me taking in the state of my clothes and the perspiration that stains my face and what I presume to be fear in my eyes. Her innocent, blue eyes turn questioning – "You had a bad dream?" She asks, sitting down beside me and cocking her head to one side. Her blonde curls dance in the incoming sunlight. "I have it too, many times. I just go to my mom and she makes me feel better."
I sigh defeated wanting to tell her that nothing will make it better, that no amount of hugging is going to change it. But somehow this four year old child gets it better than me. Her small delicate hands wipe the tears that stain my face. "You don't have a mom?" she asks, and when I shake my head, her hands go around me to my neck, her small body fitting into the part of my chest that beats, her baby soft smell comforting and light. "My mom hugs me to make it better, so i'll do the same." She pulls away from me a little bit.
And then she smiles, grins actually - A toothy kind of a grin, the kind that shows small broken teeth and the lightness and the love in her heart. The purity of that smile affects me deeply, the guilelessness and the freedom of the thought beckons me to it and a corresponding childishness and innocence lights up within me.
"Are you feeling better?" she asks.
"Yes." I manage.
I am a little stunned for a second, having been unable to recognise the emotion. But it is potent nonetheless, as I freely smile back, the darkness in my heart receding. And then she is back to being a child as she pouts up at me.
"I'm hungry."
"Give me a second." I whisper. "I just need to brush my teeth."
"Okay." She flops back on my bed cool as you please, her attention diverted greedily at the remote which switches the TV on. I am sure there are some restrictions to her watching the TV. "Can I watch cartoons till then?" she pleads.
"Of course" I take the remote, switching the TV to the appropriate channel regardless of what her mom might permit. Her attention completely diverted, she turns her head to the TV, laughing at the Tom and Jerry that runs on. I stop the impulse to run my hands across those curls that are dancing on her forehead as she laughs. The emotions that i feel in my heart, the protectiveness and the wonder and the love are foreign and new. I shake my head and go to the bathroom. She is clueless as to what she has ignited in me, the kind of release she has given me by a simple act of kindness. But the darkness already seems so far away. In her innocent presence i cant think of a world that is marred by killings, drugs and abuse. She makes me believe in the perfect world that she lives in. And in that moment i realise, that i can be myself around her. No questions, no judgements, no answers. She doesn't demand any. All she needs is someone to play with. And i feel a sense of relief in that. Just for a few minutes life is as simple as watching cartoons on the television or dreaming of beautiful, hot pancakes.
When I come back she is exactly where i left her, sitting cross legged on the bed, making faces and smiling at whatever is on the show.
"I thought you wanted breakfast."
"Oh I forgot." She claps a hand on her forehead like she has forgotten the most important thing in the world. "Pancakes are my very favourite and Jason will eat all."
"Then let's go." I offer her my hand and immediately she clasps mine. I easily pick her up in my arms as i walk out of the pool house towards the kitchen. For a moment, I stare at the scenery in front of me. The beautiful infinity pool, the expanse of Newport than can be seen from here and the pristine whiteness that everyone takes for granted. I take a deep, hollow breath.
"It's beautiful."
"Wait till you see my room."
"Okay." I nod. "I am sure it's the best."
"It is." She answers, and then spotting her dad she jumps out of my embrace and runs towards him as in one fluid motion he picks her up. My eyes clash with his, a guardedness in him as he sees me with his precious daughter. We stare at each other for a while, and I wordlessly try to tell him that she is safe with me. I would never do anything to harm her. And then they change as somehow I know that he believes.
...
They all seem in a rush – hands flying, picking things and pulling stuff hurriedly as they assemble together at the table. He has his back to me, as he flips one pancake after the other, his shirt rolled up to his arms showing the working of those sinewy muscles. She looks perfect – standing beside him, her blonde hair straightened to fall in golden waves, her body clad in a one piece suit, a coffee mug delicately balanced in her hands as she absently looks through a magazine – she should have been a model. Jason sits beside me with a ball in his hand absently playing as he waits for his breakfast and Grace bangs her spoon on the table. They seem oblivious to the noise, like its the most natural thing in the world. It certainly seems natural at their breakfast table, a daily occurrence for sure.
"I can't believe that Football seasons over." Jason groans.
"You just don't like that you won't be getting any attention from those fan-girls anymore." Marissa teases him as she ruffles his hair.
"Mom.." he chides. "Please don't say fan-girls."
"So what should I call them? Groupies?" she taunts.
"Dad... make mom stop."
"Okay, okay, I give up." She sits in front of him and Mr. Atwood, Ryan (i'm still getting used to saying it like that) brings a plate full of pancakes and places it in the centre of the table. He takes one off it and flops it on my plate giving me a smile. I can't. I shy and hurriedly look the other way.
"Me too. Me too. Me too." Grace chants, apparently at the end of her patience. Rolling his eyes, he pulls her chair towards him, cutting a pancake neatly into pieces and placing it on her plate. She whines. "No daddy, you have to feed me."
"Grace.." he warns.
"Daddy..." she pouts. "Please. I want to eat with you."
He picks her up and places her on his lap finally giving in and sighs. Forking the pieces he dips it gently into the sauce and feeds her. With his other hand, he displaces the curls that come in the way and places a soft kiss on her cheeks.
"You are going to make me late, baby." He doesn't seem to mind it much. Instead I see a satisfaction in him, a pure contentedness and happiness at spending this time with his daughter even if it curtails and makes him late. I get jealous. I am jealous of these moments because I know I will never have them. My dad is dead. I killed him and the darkness washes over me once again. I look down and burry my face in my plate, afraid of what they will see in my eyes.
Marissa gets up a short while later. "Okay guys... see you tonight." She bids. Jason gets up with her. "Mom can you drop me at Michael's place?" He asks. "I've got to collect a book. I've got an early history period today."
"Jason, you promised you'll wait till Rosa gets here."
"I know mom, but I'm sorry. I can't."
"Well then what are we supposed to do?" she looks at him in exasperation. "you're dad's got work and so do I. How am I supposed to leave grace back?"
"I can look after her." I shyly pipe in. I want to contribute even if it is in such a small way. And really I don't mind. All three of them suddenly look at me as Grace happily smiles back. "I mean... I'm free." I stutter.
"No you are not." Marissa looks at me, surprised. "You've got school."
"Uhh..." I look down. "I got expelled in view of my recent... I mean, so yeah. It isn't a problem, me staying back."
"You aren't expelled." Ryan says softly, looking closely at me. "At least not yet. I'm having an appointment with the headmistress today. We'll see if we can put your point across and get you reinstated."
"You don't have to do that." I blurt.
"But it's already taken care of." He answers. Gently placing Grace back in her high chair, he gets up, dabbing his mouth with the napkin as he places his dish in the sink apparently satisfied. "So you coming or what?"
"Umm me?" I'm still a little dumbfounded. Nothing is really sinking in.
"Yeah." he gently smiles. "I mean it's going to be hard convincing the principal to take you back without you being actually there, you know..."
I don't know what to say. I feel grateful and fearful at the same time, as i get up and mutely nod. Give me a second to change."
"Okay. And collect your backpack. We don't want to leave anything to chance."
Just then the bell rings and Rosa comes in. And it seems like everything is sorted out.