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Authors: Karen Amanda Hooper
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stairs with his usual laid-back grin and a limp that made my heart ache. "Happy birthday, sweetie."
My birthday. I had almost forgotten. "Thanks! I'm officially an adult. You can evict me from the house whenever you like."
"I would never."
As I followed him into the kitchen, I tried to memorize every detail about him just in case I ended up being gone longer than Treygan said. All things considered, he looked pretty good for being in his sixties. He still had a head of thick, white hair. Most of his muscles had gone flabby over the years, and he walked with a limp because the dialysis made his legs cramp and his joints ache, but he kept a positive attitude. He always wore yellow. Whether it was bright, tropical shirts, Capri pants, or his garden gloves, almost every memory I had of him involved a garment in some shade of yellow. Uncle Lloyd was my own personal sunshine, even during the dark times.
He grabbed a cake box out of the refrigerator and set it on the table. Opening a kitchen drawer, he pulled out two packages wrapped in pink and green paper. One was flat and rectangular. The other was small and square.
"You didn't have to get me anything. You already give me too much." I recited the same line every year before I tore open my gifts, and every year he smiled and watched in silence. I opened the flat one first. A manila envelope felt like it held papers of some sort.
"What's this? A million dollar recording contract?" I puckered my lips and turned my chin over one shoulder—my best pose for an album cover.
"Unfortunately, no. However, your voice has sounded more velvety these last couple days. Maybe this adulthood thing is making you rock star worthy."
"Really? I sound different?" I tried to focus on the typed document in front of me to calm my nerves. My hair turning blonde, my voice changing; surely Uncle Lloyd would start getting suspicious of— "Oh, my God!" I blurted out, finally comprehending the words on the paper. "This is a deed to mom's house with my name on it."
"It's your home now. Free and clear."
This, along with a million other reasons, is why Uncle Lloyd was my superhero. "This is—it's way too much. I can't accept—"
"Yara, we both know my days are numbered. I haven't enjoyed forcing you to grow up so fast, but I need to make sure you'll be taken care of when I'm gone."
"You promised not to say things like that. They'll find a donor soon."
"Alright, then." He folded his hands in front of him. "How about stating the obvious? You earned the right to own that house a long time ago. You haven't exactly had a normal childhood, kiddo."
He had a point. My mother never cooked, cleaned, or did laundry. In fact, she never did much of anything. Some days she didn't get out of bed because she was too tired. She had a weak heart, which up until Uncle Lloyd set the story straight, I thought was my fault. Every night I would go to her room to say goodnight, and she would tell me that my father and I made her heart sick. I didn't remember much about my father. He died when I was three, but back then he and I were an imaginary team. Together, we made my mother sick.
After she was gone, my uncle explained that her weak heart was a medical condition. She was also heartsick—very different from a diseased heart—over my father's death and the fact that she couldn't give me a better life. I still questioned if his take was an accurate one.
For the first few years after I moved in with Uncle Lloyd, I visited my old house every day, hoping my mother would magically reappear. When I turned thirteen my uncle let me stay the weekends by myself whenever I wanted. At sixteen he let me live there alone full-time, as long as I checked in with him every day. It was our secret, and if anyone asked I had to say I lived with him. No one ever asked.
Now that I was eighteen it didn't have to be a secret anymore. A new secret took its place. One we couldn't share. I had to keep the truth from the man who had never
My birthday. I had almost forgotten. "Thanks! I'm officially an adult. You can evict me from the house whenever you like."
"I would never."
As I followed him into the kitchen, I tried to memorize every detail about him just in case I ended up being gone longer than Treygan said. All things considered, he looked pretty good for being in his sixties. He still had a head of thick, white hair. Most of his muscles had gone flabby over the years, and he walked with a limp because the dialysis made his legs cramp and his joints ache, but he kept a positive attitude. He always wore yellow. Whether it was bright, tropical shirts, Capri pants, or his garden gloves, almost every memory I had of him involved a garment in some shade of yellow. Uncle Lloyd was my own personal sunshine, even during the dark times.
He grabbed a cake box out of the refrigerator and set it on the table. Opening a kitchen drawer, he pulled out two packages wrapped in pink and green paper. One was flat and rectangular. The other was small and square.
"You didn't have to get me anything. You already give me too much." I recited the same line every year before I tore open my gifts, and every year he smiled and watched in silence. I opened the flat one first. A manila envelope felt like it held papers of some sort.
"What's this? A million dollar recording contract?" I puckered my lips and turned my chin over one shoulder—my best pose for an album cover.
"Unfortunately, no. However, your voice has sounded more velvety these last couple days. Maybe this adulthood thing is making you rock star worthy."
"Really? I sound different?" I tried to focus on the typed document in front of me to calm my nerves. My hair turning blonde, my voice changing; surely Uncle Lloyd would start getting suspicious of— "Oh, my God!" I blurted out, finally comprehending the words on the paper. "This is a deed to mom's house with my name on it."
"It's your home now. Free and clear."
This, along with a million other reasons, is why Uncle Lloyd was my superhero. "This is—it's way too much. I can't accept—"
"Yara, we both know my days are numbered. I haven't enjoyed forcing you to grow up so fast, but I need to make sure you'll be taken care of when I'm gone."
"You promised not to say things like that. They'll find a donor soon."
"Alright, then." He folded his hands in front of him. "How about stating the obvious? You earned the right to own that house a long time ago. You haven't exactly had a normal childhood, kiddo."
He had a point. My mother never cooked, cleaned, or did laundry. In fact, she never did much of anything. Some days she didn't get out of bed because she was too tired. She had a weak heart, which up until Uncle Lloyd set the story straight, I thought was my fault. Every night I would go to her room to say goodnight, and she would tell me that my father and I made her heart sick. I didn't remember much about my father. He died when I was three, but back then he and I were an imaginary team. Together, we made my mother sick.
After she was gone, my uncle explained that her weak heart was a medical condition. She was also heartsick—very different from a diseased heart—over my father's death and the fact that she couldn't give me a better life. I still questioned if his take was an accurate one.
For the first few years after I moved in with Uncle Lloyd, I visited my old house every day, hoping my mother would magically reappear. When I turned thirteen my uncle let me stay the weekends by myself whenever I wanted. At sixteen he let me live there alone full-time, as long as I checked in with him every day. It was our secret, and if anyone asked I had to say I lived with him. No one ever asked.
Now that I was eighteen it didn't have to be a secret anymore. A new secret took its place. One we couldn't share. I had to keep the truth from the man who had never
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