Read Online Southern Hearts by Katie P. Moore - Free Book Online Page A

she was leaning solidly against the trunk of the tree at her side. She curled her knees to her chest, then hugged her arms around them.
    I kept watching her intently.
    “Sometimes, no matter how on top of things you think you are, no matter how astute and conscious you think you have become, sometimes it’s all just a facade. I used to feel like I was decorative wallpaper hung over shabby plywood, warped and splintering and in desperate need of repair.” She stared blankly out over the water. “When I was younger, I always wanted to be that beautiful wallpaper. I always wanted to be so eye-catching that I was the first thing people saw when they entered a room. But the strange thing about it was, no matter how hard I tried,” she paused, looking toward me, “I was still that dilapidated wood just underneath. You can attempt to cover it up, coat it with paste and throw a few sheets of paper over it, but the wood underneath, the foundation is always the same.”
    Her eyes met mine, and my heart skipped.
    “I was seven when I realized that I never wanted to be looked at again...in any way. I’d sneak out of bed and into the bathroom, then I’d take the scissors that my dad used to use to trim his mustache and I’d open them up and run the blade over my arm.”
    My heart pounded inside my chest.
    “I never cut myself, not really. The blades were dull and barely broke the surface, and the lines looked almost like a cat scratch. But when my mom woke up one night and stumbled into the bathroom—stupid me, I forgot to lock the door—she went nuts. I think she thought I was actually going to kill myself.” She stopped, taking a long, deep breath. “Maybe it would have gotten to that point, I don’t know. I think I was just scared, and that sudden surge of pain as I ran the blade over my arm made me stop thinking of everything but that moment. The next day my mom sent me off to a hospital in San Jose. I think the farther away I was, the safer she felt.”
    “I’m sorry you had to go through that.” I didn’t know what to say. It hurt me that she had gone through something that painful at such a young age. I tried to submerge my own turbulent childhood, but hearing her story brought it rising to the surface. My eyeballs clouded with a layer of film and I held my breath, knowing that when I let it out the tears would rush down my cheeks. Finally, I let out a gurgle and flooded with emotion.
    “What is it, Kari?”
    “Nothing!”
    “It’s something. What?”
    Tears ran down my face. “My cousin killed himself.” I stopped. I had never said the words aloud although I remembered the images, replayed them over and over inside my head.
    Lani leaned into me.
    “I took out a can of trash to dump in the recycle bin in the garage. I remember my mother had told me not to take it out, to just leave it by the back door and that she or my father would take it out later. But I opened the back door and went across the lawn. The wind was blowing pretty hard, and when I started to open the garage door it banged against the outside wall. I yanked on the cord to turn on the light, and I saw him.” I took another breath, trying to keep calm.
    “My cousin was hanging there, his body jerking and convulsing, spit dripping from the corners of his month. I was frozen with fear. I wanted to turn and run, to yell...but I stood there watching him. His eyes fluttered between brown and white. It was terrible. I could have done something, gotten help, called out. I don’t know, something. But I picked up the trash, walked back to the house, and set it down on the back stoop.” I swallowed harshly. “I went back into the living room and never said a word about it. My uncle found him the next day.”
    Lani put her arm around me, and my body went weak, my head resting on her shoulder as I wept.
    “You were young, I would have probably reacted the same way at that age. It’s not your fault, he made his own choice that day. So don’t blame