22: Friend

For a couple days I pretty much stay in bed, my leg propped up on a pillow, staring out the window. Reba and Kiara come to check on me every now and then, bringing food and continuing to help hone my English. They really care so much. I want to be useful to them.

As the sky begins to fade to orange and pink, I hear voices from downstairs. Perhaps I should at least try to do something useful. My stomach churns as I open the door. Why am I so nervous? I didn’t used to be this way.

Once in the hallway, I hear footsteps coming up. Then Kiara emerges from the steps, carrying a tray with a plate and glass of water.

She sees me and smiles. “Feeling hungry yet? I brought your supper. We’re having pot roast tonight.”

“Ah… I…” I mutter as she comes closer. She holds out the tray for me and I take it.

She pauses for a second. “Um… I know Mama already said this, but you can eat supper with us if you want. You don’t have to eat by yourself.”

Her words hit like an arrow in my heart.

“Only if you want to though,” she says. “Don’t force yourself.”

I glance down at the plate, unable to think of what to say.

“I’ll come back to pick up your tray. Let me know if you want seconds,” she says before trotting down the stairs.

For a long moment it’s like I am paralyzed, staring down at the plate. Another unfamiliar, yet tantalizing and warm scent wafts up from the pot roast as she called it. Meat with vegetables and chunks of potatoes all in a thickened sauce, accompanied by a small salad and bread roll. They have yet to bring me something that isn’t delicious and filling. I’ve started to anticipate what they might cook next. I feel rather spoiled.

My gaze drifts to the stairs. Should I eat with them? I am staying here now, but would they really want me to? Would it be okay? My stomach churns and I step over to the top of the stairs, peering down. Jeremiah tells some story from work, everyone laughing.

I swallow, my heart feeling like it is being wrenched. Do I deserve to sit with them and share a meal? Then again Reba has offered before and even just now Kiara asked me to. I am part of the family, right? Kind of? It’s been years since I had the opportunity to eat with family.

Clenching the tray, I take a step down. The water in the cup ripples slightly. Why am I so afraid? It is only dinner. I chose to stay here so I should be able to do this, right? The anxiety frustrates me. I can stare down an opponent as their gun is pointed at me without a thought, but can’t eat dinner with a nice family?

A few more steps down and my heart is pounding in my ear. I make it to the bottom, remaining frozen for a moment. If I am going to turn back, now is the time. My eyes return to the steps then back to the tray. How many times have they carried this up for me? My heart aches. I never realized.

Jeremiah’s boisterous laugh catches me off guard and I cringe a bit, listening as everyone joins in. Slowly, hesitantly I step into the light of the main room, my chest tight. Nicky notices me first, nudging Jeremiah who then catches sight of me. Suddenly, all eyes are on me, and the room is quiet.

I cringe back a bit, pulling the tray closer and stare at the floor. “Ah…” What do I say?

“There’s an empty chair if you would like to sit there,” Reba says, her voice gentle.

I glance up as she smiles at me. Extra chair? I then notice the empty chair next to Kiara, the side closest to the wall. The twins and Nicky share a bench on the other side. When did they do this?

Slowly, I go over to the vacant chair, Reba sitting catty-corner. As I set the tray down, they both stand, picking up the plate and glass to remove the tray before setting them back down. Then Kiara grabs a couple napkins, setting them out for me. I sit down as my heart pounds and so many emotions swirling I cannot make out what to feel.

Then everyone goes back to having their conversation and it takes all I have not to flee. This is a six-seater table, and yet they went and adjusted things to make room for me. Not even knowing if I would be joining or not, they still…

I slowly press my hands together and whisper, “Itadakimasu.”

Would it really be alright for me to get used to this family atmosphere? Do I even have the right to?

Kiara—

Mama helps me with the dishes while Jeremiah and Nicky put the leftovers away. Shyba was very apprehensive about eating supper with us for the first time. He kept his head down and ate quickly, leaving as soon as he could. I really wish I could make him feel more comfortable.

“Hey Mama,” Nicky starts, “are you sure about letting him stay here? What if like he, I dunno, is a criminal… or something? I mean, he’s violent and quite frankly I don’t think it’s a good idea. He’s obviously running from something.”

We both turn to him as he nervously cleans his glasses. Jeremiah gives him a weird look and shakes his head, Nicky averting his eyes from him. What was that for?

Mama is silent for a moment before letting out a deep breath. “I’m certain he’s done things he isn’t proud of and I’m positive he’s running from something… or someone. But we can see he wants to do good, and he isn’t violent on his own and without at least good intentions. I don’t think he wants to be violent.”

I glance up at her. “What do you think happened?”

She pauses. “I’m not sure, but he shows obvious signs of trauma. I’m not sure why or how, but I want to keep a close eye on him to find out. Yes, he probably did some bad things, and it sucks, but I don’t think he was in control of that. A lot of the scars on his body are years old, so I think whoever did this had to have started when he was young… and conditioned him.”

Her brows arch and she stares downward. “Ever since he first woke up here it’s like he doesn’t know what to do without someone telling him, like he’s waiting to be ordered around. He automatically assumes fault when something goes wrong. He believes he deserves to be punished even for things out of his control.”

My heart aches. What happened to him?

“He’s lost right now… and I want to help him find his way,” she says.

Everyone is silent for a long moment. “What do you think about his eyes?” Jeremiah asks.

“I’m not sure. I haven’t heard of a genetic disorder or anything that produces red eyes apart from one extremely rare one, but the children born with that disorder are severely deformed and don’t even live past a few hours and most often are stillborn,” she says.

She sighs. “For now, let’s give him room to settle in and not bring this up in front of him. It’s going to be a long time before he really starts to recover.”

At that, everyone goes about their business. As I sit here in my room my mind won’t stop circling. How do I help? I want him to feel secure, but so much has happened to him in the few weeks he’s been here, a place completely foreign to him. It must be terrifying to wake up in a whole other country without even your own clothes on your back.

I wish I could have salvaged his jacket at least, but there was no hope for it with half of the back panel missing. Thinking back on it I remember how faded it was and the frayed seams. He must have worn it a lot. Not to mention he kept reaching for his hood, only to come up empty handed.

Suddenly, it’s like a lightbulb goes off in my head. I quickly jump up and hurry to the attic. The next several minutes I rummage through trash bags full of old clothes that were supposed to be given away by now. Where is it?

Finally, I find the old hoodie that hasn’t been seen in years. My eyes rove over the gray fabric, finding a seam on the side had come apart. My heart rises. I can fix this.

Over the next couple hours, I get it stitched back together and washed. As I pull it out of the dryer, I find my stitching has held up well. Hopefully, he doesn’t mind the band logo.

I quickly hurry up to his room, clutching the still warm jacket in my arms. After knocking a couple times there is still no response. I look over, but the bathroom door is open and the light off. Maybe he’s asleep?

Then I look down, realizing the door is slightly ajar. There is no light coming from the room, so I peek in, only to find it empty. Where is he? I go downstairs, but he is nowhere in the kitchen or living room. Then I notice his shoes missing from the side of the doorway.

Quickly, I go out onto the porch, but he’s not there either. As I go around the side of the house, I see him sitting at the picnic table by himself, looking up at the sky. For a second, I watch him then look up at the millions of stars. The moonlight illuminates everything in a beautiful blue glow.

I wonder if he ever got to see them before coming here since he lived in the city all his life. My eyes return to him and my heart aches. Perhaps that wasn’t the only reason.

Then I remember my mission and go over. He hears me approach, looking back before lowering his head again. I smile, hoping to put him at ease.

“Mind if I sit with you?” I ask.

He says nothing but scoots over to give me room on the bench. I sit down and look over. “So, um…” What do I say? “Here.” I hold the hoodie out to him. That could have gone smoother.

For a second, he stares at it before taking it. “For me?”

“Yeah. I felt bad for having to throw your old one away and I remembered earlier that we had this. So, I found it and was able to fix it pretty easily since it had a tear and then I washed it for you since it was in the attic for, like, a thousand years,” I ramble, fiddling with my fingers. “My dad won it in one of those radio raffle things for some band, but the one time he wore it, it ripped. That was a couple weeks before the accident…”

I find myself drifting back to that time and quickly push the memories back down as far as they’ll go.

“It is okay I have it?” he asks quietly. “I do not want to make a problem.”

I give him a smile. “It’s okay. It was gathering dust anyway,” I tell him and look back out to the yard. “I don’t think he liked it to begin with.”

He pauses before pulling it on, zipping it up and pulling the hood over his head. After a second, he seems to relax a bit more, letting out a breath and his shoulders dropping lower than I had yet to see.

For a long moment there is silence as I don’t think either of us knows what to say. I watch his face for a moment, noticing the somber look as he gazes up at the moon as if not seeing it.

“You lost someone too,” I mutter, immediately beating myself up for talking without thinking, yet again.

He takes a breath, his brows arching, nodding once. He remains silent though and I wonder if maybe it is too painful for him to talk about. Should I say something?

“My older sister,” he murmurs. “She was all I had left and I…” He trails off and looks up at the moon with such a sorrowful face.

I am taken aback for a moment, seeing such a raw emotion from him for the first time. In his eyes all I can see is agony.

“She made up stories to help me sleep and always say the moon watches me to keep me safe,” he says. “When she… died… I wanted to believe she is now with the moon… And she can watch me too.”

“That’s really beautiful,” I mutter and look up to the moon, hoping she is up there watching him. “Is it okay if I ask what her name was?”

He pauses as if gathering the will to say it. “Yuna,” he mutters tightly.

We remain silent, gazing up at the moon for a long moment.

Yuna, if you’re there, please know that your brother is in good hands here.

I turn back to him. “Well, how do you like the jacket? It looks good on you.”

He stuffs his hands into the pockets. “It is warm.”

I giggle. “Yeah, I just pulled it out of the dryer.”

He turns his head a bit, looking up at me. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. What are friends for?”

“Friends?” he asks, his eyes widening a bit.

My heart flips. What am I saying? “Um… Well, yeah. Do you want to be friends? I mean, might as well since you’re staying here now. We’re going to be seeing a lot of each other.”

“I do not need friends,” he mutters, turning away.

My chest tightens. Is that what I sounded like to Mama and Jeremiah? For a moment, I don’t know what to say.

“I used to think so too… but it wouldn’t really be a bad thing, you and me being friends,” I say, glancing down before looking back up at him. “Would it?”

He pauses. “I do not know what to do with a friend,” he says quietly.

“Well, you learn quickly so I don’t see a problem with that,” I say. “And honestly, I don’t really have a lot of experience with friends either. Well maybe not close friends, but… maybe we can figure it out together.” He glances at me, and I smile. “What do you say?”

He looks back to the ground and for a second is silent. “Okay.”

My heart rises. “Awesome,” I say and hold out my hand to shake. Wait, do people shake hands when they become friends?

For a long moment he remains unmoving, glancing around. I slowly ease my hand back, my chest tight. “Um, just so I know… you don’t like being touched… do you?”

He stiffens a bit, turning his head and his breath a bit short.

I lean back. “It’s okay. I won’t touch you or anything. Just, uh, let me know if I do something that bothers you, okay?”

He looks back toward me, seeming to relax again, but not saying anything.

“Anyway, I should get ready for bed,” I say, standing. “Don’t stay out too late, okay? Have a good night, Shyba.”

My stomach churns as I head back into the house. I know I’ve touched him a few times already. Why didn’t I realize this before? I’m such an idiot.

As I lay on the bed, I mentally beat myself up for it. Still, he really liked the jacket. At least I was able to give him something to make him more at ease. What else can I do? I wonder how long it will take to see him open up and smile.