I’ve watched Lyra, Jake’s daughter, since the day she was born. Though not his biological daughter, their bond is something I’ve marveled over. That tiny, little towhead brought the six-foot-something man to his knees with her first cries. Her smile and laugh are infectious, even on the worst days. She’s such a happy kid despite not having a mom for so long. Hell, she’s recovered from that crazy bitch of a mother kidnapping her better than I’ve recovered from any of the insignificant shit in my life.
Then Tyler came along. We didn’t know he even existed, but the first time I saw him, there was no doubt that mischievous smile and tousled hair belonged to my best friend. The moment Ryder found out about his son was the moment that kid became an integral part of our lives.
Calling him rambunctious would be an understatement. The kid is fucking awesome. He is fearless and excited and has so much energy it’s almost exhausting watching him. But more than that, like Lyra, he’s happy.
Watching them made me realizeI wasn’t a happy child. I had no reason not to be, but I remember, even when I should’ve been happy,I always felt—in the way. Out of place. I suppose it didn’t help thatit seemed likeI was the cause of so much contention between my mom and dad.
My behavior at school didn’t improve. I couldn’t sit still. The work, when I could focus, was easy. Once I figured something out, I knew it. Our family doctor believed the damage to my brain after the swimming pool incident played a part in the issues. My dad believed Ilackeddiscipline and structure. By the time I was nine, my momhad quit her job to teach me from home.
If my dad had known how Momma handled my education, he would’ve been irate. What she did was the opposite of structure and discipline. Unfortunately, my ability to concentrate was lacking. Momma navigated like a pro. She navigated around me instead of forcing me into a rigid format. It was the only timeI didn’t feel like I was struggling in my education.
The feelings of contentment wouldn’t last. They never did.
I pick up the pen and write about the day that everything truly started to go downhill.
Journal entry #2
April 2004
My routine—if you could call it that—began at 7:30 with breakfast. Half an hour later, I sat at the dining table with my work. With the exception of breakfast, Momma never started the day the same, but that day from start to finish will be forever ingrained in my mind.
That day started with math. Every twenty minutes on the dot, a new subject would begin. After the first hour and each subsequent hour, I’d have ten minutes to play, use the restroom, or do whatever I wanted to do.
In retrospect, I suppose that in itself was a structure but carefully crafted to meet the chaos of my erratic mind. And to prevent boredom from settling in too quickly. My momma knew me well.
At lunchtime, I sat at the counter eating the grilled cheese she made me. I can still taste it today. The buttery flavor with the melted cheese is seared into my mind. It was my favorite. I haven’t touched it since.
She leaned across the table with a bright smile on her face. It was the smile she always saved for me. One I always had to return. It was compulsion. “You have piano lessons today.”
I had different lessons every day. That day was supposed to be with Mr. Johnson. His specialty was Blues and Jazz stylings. Blues rapidly became my favorite. Three chords, twelve bars, and hundreds of combinations to pour your soul into.
“You’ve got a concert to prepare for, my little virtuoso.”
I beamed at the remark. I loved that she was proud of me. The one thing I felt like I did right was the piano.
“We should’ve gotten you a haircut.” She roughed my hair with a grin.
I pulled away, scowling. “It’s not that long. I like it.”
She laughed that tinkling, bubbling sound that I still hear when I close my eyes. I loved the way she laughed. It exuded pure joy. Happiness. Even then, I wondered how that felt. I had moments, but Momma seemed happy all the time. Even her fights with Dad never seemed to take away her cheer.
“It’s adorable on you, Madsy. You’re the most handsome little boy I know.”
“Even more than Chris?” I goaded with a sly grin. At tenyearsold, I looked up to my sixteen-year-old brother. He could drive, wasthe star of the basketball team, and had a smoking hot girlfriend.
I was ten, not blind.
“Christopher isn’t a boy anymore. He’s the most handsome young man I know.”
“Hmmm. Will I be that handsome when I’m older?” I pondered as any kid would.
“I can guarantee it,” Momma answered with a wink. “You look just like your father. Now, how about some water to wash the sandwich down.”
“Can I have a Coke? Please?” I batted my eyes with a grin.
I was such a manipulative little shit. Never afraid to turn on the charm to get my way. Something that has remained even all these years.
She scrunched her nose with a shake of her head. She pretended to be disapproving of my request, but I could see the twitch of her lips. I batted my eyes again until she couldn’thold back a chuckle. “Oh my, how am I supposed to say no to those bright blue eyes?”
