If I'm Good For Anything - K.B.F. (popular e readers .txt) 📗

J.R.?” I spit this out in a tone of disgust. He knew I wasn’t stupid.
Robby opened his mouth, and shook his head. He decided that actions spoke louder than words. He reached for the backpack. My muscles tensed. He dumped out a bundle of cash. The other hand held a picture. He took a step forward. I took a step back.
“Sometimes you got to see a scary part of the world to understand.” He sniffed, and blood began to trickle from his nose. “After the things I seen, the old times feel like a dream. This is how it has to be though.” I was confused, and speechless. I realized at that point, sometimes it’s better just to be quiet.
“Without people like me, there’d be nobody like you. That just wouldn’t be a place worth livin’. I’ll leave these here.” He emptied his hands on the floor. A tinge of shame surged over me for feeling like a hero.
That was the last time I ever saw Robby Dire. I sent flowers to his funeral two weeks later with a card. I didn’t really know what to write, so I just signed. Inside the envelope was the picture that he had left.
You could tell it was summer from the tan lines, and bleached out hair. There was a Kool-Aid stain on the little yellow dress my grandmother had made for me. My basket was overflowing with eggs, some even lay on the ground under my feet. I looked annoyed at whomever was holding the camera. Next to me, stood little Robby with a big smile on his face, and in his hand was an empty basket.


Chapter Thirteen
Through every trial in my life, I have found it most simple to blame God. To be the victim is all too easy. You will wonder many things throughout your life. One of which will most likely be, “God, Why me?” But, I will tell you. All things in our lives are the products of our own choices my child. This goes for all things, but this. Your father left because he was afraid. He, like myself, looked into your eyes and saw a pure, and innocent being. Someone with the world ahead of him, and all the promise for the future. He loved you so much he thought leaving would hurt you the least. This shows how little he thought of himself, and how much he thought of you. Don’t ever question how valuable you truly are, for someone once believed a good life for you, meant no life for him.

Sincerely,
Your Mother

By this point it is late spring, and I have missed two semesters of school. The stress of bills, and a child is weighing heavy on our relationship. I know I love Nolan, but he goes for days sometimes without saying the same. He is still working nights delivering bread, and we are still living in the tiny apartment downtown. The money that Robby left, all two-hundred and fifty thousand of it, still sits in the lock box under the bed. Spending it would be a crime, but I know keeping it there is just as corrupt. It is dirty money, and I feel dirty every second that I think of it being there. As time passes, this becomes almost every second that I am awake, which has been a lot lately.
“Do you know what we could do with that money?” Nolan starts in on yet another fight about spending it. I don’t feel bad for telling him it’s only ten grand right now.
“Do you know how long we would go to jail?” I throw back. I am pretending like I’m trying to sleep by turning my back.
“A nice wedding, or a house.” I’ve heard it all before. “You could go back to school.” He knows what means the most.
“Once again, it would be kind of hard to enjoy those things from behind bars.”
“I’ve been thinking a lot.” He forces me to turn, and face him, “We could do it a little at a time. You could even say you sold some of those photos you took.”
“I hardly believe anyone would buy the fact that some ol’ pictures of downtown sold for two hundred and fifty grand Nolan.” I am pissed.
“Well not just th… Did you just say two hundred and fifty grand?” This is one of those moments to hush, I thought. I sat silent as he rummaged through my things for the key.
Nolan and riches had always been an explosive combination. His sisters liked to say he had “Champaign taste on a beer budget.” I liked to pretend they were wrong. The jewelry Nolan chose for me, the houses he desired, the cars that made his mouth drop, and his palms sweat were all exceedingly posh. There was only one thing standing between Nolan, and a life of absolute extravagance, and that was money.
Now, with his eyes on fire, and his hands full of cash I watched Nolan turn into the boy I was once disgusted by in a broken down strip club. The stare of enchantment twisted his face, and the memory of that night caused a nauseating feeling deep in my innards. Then, it hit me. I remembered the guarders, stuffed full of bills. I blinked away the image, and stared in revelation. It hadn’t all been about the girl.
I fell asleep watching Nolan count money that night. I dreamed of black eyes, and white powder. Blurry images of men in uniforms dragging me away from Charlie caused me to toss, and turn until sunrise. When I awoke I expected to find Nolan gone, along with the box. He was there next to me, stacks of bills sat in meticulously even piles on his bedside table. I breathed a sigh of relief, and went to make breakfast.
When I returned to our room later that afternoon the bed was made, and the table was cleared.
“Where is it?” I didn’t hesitate to ask.
“I put it back.” He didn‘t take his eyes off his reflection.
“Why?”
“What else would I do with it?” He was shaving.
“Nolan, really?”
“Really really Babe.” He smiled, and cut me a look with his green eyes.
“See you when I get off. I love you.”
I needed to get out of the apartment, and away from the filth under the bed.
Before I could walk out the door Nolan had trapped me in his arms. He looked happy. For the first time in a long while, we kissed.
“I love you too.” He pushed the hair out of my face. My heart fluttered.
There was a yearning in my gut to have him beg me not to leave. All the times we had argued, and bickered these last few months had forged an uncomfortable void between us. This was something I hadn’t felt since that night outside of his parent’s basement. Not being close to Nolan was unnatural to me. It is like when your tonsils are removed as a child, and you can’t understand why everyone is OK with a part of you being cut off and done away with. His aloofness towards Charlie, and I was wearing me down, and creating an almost obsessive need to feel wanted.
I drove robotically to my parents house. It was nice being there. I liked to pretend there house was a vacation spot. While they played with Charlie, I would read by the pool, or watch television. These were both luxuries I could not experience in my shabby apartment. That evening I spent playing cards with my Dad, and laughing at my Brother’s jokes. When night began to fall, I reluctantly gathered Charlie’s toys, and kissed my Mother goodbye. I knew that the price of gas would most likely keep me away from here for a while.
“Do you need anything?” My Mom asked me again as I buckled my seat belt.
“No mom,” I lied. “We’re fine.” I smiled.


Chapter fourteen
When I was a little girl, I looked forward to a life I had sketched out in pink crayon in my Polly Pocket notebook. My timeline was full of doodles, and bubble text, hearts, and stick figures. When I got older, I made lists of goals to accomplish before I died.
1. Become the next Barbara Walters.
2. Get married.
3. Explore Africa.
During my early adulthood, the worth of life depreciated with every big ambition I failed to reach, and every small task I failed to manage. I began my days not hopeful for good, but eager for tolerable. This attitude made for a sad, and lonely life. I became terrified to open up, and I forgot what it felt like to be in love. I was a terrible mother, and an awful lover. I became fearful of failure, and I stopped taking chances. I did not become the next Barbara Walters, I did not get married, and I never saw the savannahs. It is because of all this, the most thrilling part of my story occurs within the first twenty-three years of my life. I think it is imperative that you learn why this is. If I am good for anything, it will be because I made these mistakes. Let me be the wrong in your life.
Earnestly,
Your mother

I sat in the window crying for twelve hours. Charlie was hungry, and had been screaming so loud the neighbor was pounding on the wall. The box sat empty on the bed where I had found it the night before. Nolan didn’t leave a note. It would have been a simple courtesy, at least for our son’s sake. At any rate,