Day 8: playing catch up.

After that summer my whole life got a lot quieter. I don't think either of us really knew what had happened -- what we did -- out there in the woods. Or maybe we did, on some base level, but just weren't willing to acknowledge it. I think I'll only ever be able to use the word "it." I shudder to think.

But life coasted on, sometimes flowing slowly over the rocks, sometimes careening down the back roads. Mama got more and more reclusive, so I started taking over most of the housework, and some she'd never even bothered to do before, like dusting. She grew to resent that plenty quick, and instead of helping me try and keep house, she'd stand there making fun of me folding laundry, pointing out when I'd dropped one of the kids' socks or underwear on the floor. The first few times I'd broken down and cried, right in front of her, and run to my room. I'd hear her shuffle down the hallway back towards her bedroom and pause at my door, maybe to apologize, maybe to gloat, I never knew. But eventually I hardened to it, and stopped acknowledging her for the most part one way or another.

I can't tell you what was worse, though -- Mama, all broken down, trying her damnedest to pull the rug out from under me, or the rest of the kids, Sammy and Ruthie and Ronnie, resenting me just as much for tryin' to tell them what to do. They ran wild most of the time while I was at school, gettin' meaner by the day. I don't know what it is that makes a child feel entitled to a certain kind of life; God knows I learned quick not to ask for much. Maybe it turned out I was just too generous. But by the end of the day my heart was just almost black from resenting them right back. Everything I was doin' I was doin' for them.

Sammy was the worst of all. He had given up going to school at about 12 or 13. He was 16 by the time I was a senior in high school, and he'd already gotten real bad into drinking. Just like Papa. He'd be gone for two, three days at a time, then show up mid-afternoon and collapse on the couch. Generally I avoided him pretty successfully; we hadn't spoken in years.

[conversation between Sammy and Eva]

After that I knew I had to get out of that house. Funny, I was never worried for little Ruthie, who, by that point, was turning 11. Sammy had always treated her properly, like a real big brother, defending her from bullies and encouraging her to do her homework, the whole bit. Maybe it was cause she worshiped him from the moment she could talk. Or maybe 'cause she was a big tomboy, and tough for a kid - not feminine and naive like I was. What I really suspect though is that deep down Sammy hated himself bad for what had happened, and was tryin' to somehow right his wrongs by way of Ruthie. Even now I guess we were both victims, though the thought of him still puts me in a cold sweat.

That was my senior year in high school, as I'd said. There was no chance Papa would pay for any of us to go to college, let alone a girl. I'd only be graduating in the middle of my class that spring anyhow, so no chance for an academic scholarship. So about 3 months before graduation I started working at the pharmacy counter as a makeup girl, thinking somehow I could save up enough to start community college later that fall. Sure it meant I had housework piling up at home, but I was out of the house for a good 10 hours a day. It was like a dingy, faint beam of light after years of living in the darkness.

That's how I met Bram, a couple weeks after I started workin' at the pharmacy. He was 25 then, and hands down the most charming man I had ever met. A young doctor, just graduated from medical school a year before, and finishing up his residency. Even after everything that happened, my heart still flutters when I think of those first few weeks, meeting him and flirting with him. He came in to pick up a prescription from the pharmacy, and actually stopped by the makeup counter to pick up lipstick. Soon as he saw me he amended his story to say he had to get a gift for a friend, but I was so full of butterflies that he was even talking to me that I didn't really notice.

"Excuse me, I need to get some, uh, red lipstick?" I heard an impatient-sounding voice from the other side of the counter ask me. I was stocking the bottom shelf inside my little make up island and took a few seconds to finish up.

"I need..." he started. I'm sure my face was red from stooping over, and my hair was probably sticking out all over the place, but he must have liked what he saw because he faltered for a few seconds before continuing. "Hi there.... Eva? Uh, some lipstick, it's... can I have it gift wrapped?"

"Hello," I responded, a bit confused by his change in tone. What a handsome customer! But he seemed a bit older, and was buying lipstick, so... right, lipstick! "We have several different brands of lipstick. Was there one in particular you were looking for?" Did that sound too formal?

"Well, no... not really. She likes, uh... gee, I don't really know." He was scratching his head and squeezing his eyes shut, as if trying really hard to remember. "Which one is the most expensive? Or, the best quality, I mean." He opened his eyes and flashed me a goofy, dimpled grin.

"Let's see here." Now I was determined to be as helpful as possible. I rummaged through a couple of bins and laid several options out on the counter. "I'd say these here are our most popular." I knew he was looking at me instead of the lipstick; I could feel my face growing just as red. "These two here are brand new shades, very popular with some of the high school girls. And this one here is a classic, very versatile. And then this one here is probably our most expensive, supposed to be long lasting. Then the last few here are regulars for a lot of the ladies I see coming in here." I felt as if I had been talking without breathing for five minutes straight.

"Which do you use?" he asked. I don't think he'd taken his eyes off of me the whole time.

"Um, well, haha," I let a giggle slip out, "I don't usually go in for a lot of this stuff, but... if I had to pick, I'd say this one." I held up the one I'd referred to as "classic" earlier. Hell, I don't know.

"I'm sure my, well, my friend will love it. I'll take it. And I'll go grab some wrapping paper as well... could you tell me where that would be?"

I pointed him to the stationery aisle and he abruptly took off, almost like he had suddenly remembered he had to be somewhere. I was a little disappointed, but had enough work left to do stocking the shelves that I had more or less forgotten about this little episode by the end of the day.

I didn't see him again until about a week later, when I first arrived at work after being in classes all day. I walked over to the makeup station to relieve Joyce, when I saw him checking out some trifles over by the pharmacy counter. His back was to us.

"Ah, great, hey Eva." Joyce was a sweet woman, middle aged and a tad sallow, and loved to gossip. "Glad you're here finally - that guy over there won't leave me alone about you!" Cue the butterflies; Joyce was about to burst with secrets.

"Oh, uh... who?" I asked, pretending nonchalance while I tucked away my school stuff under the counter.

"Bram. The light haired fellow over there by the pharmacy. He was asking about you, wanting to know when you got in today. I imagine he's planning to ask you out!" Sweet Joyce. I don't think she'd ever been on a date in her life.

"Well. I don't think I've ever met anyone named Bram." I didn't want Joyce to know that I was absolutely thrilled, or she'd shout it to high Heaven. "Anyway, now that I'm here you can go ahead and clock out."

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Word count: 1,469