Read Online Undone by Elizabeth Norris - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elizabeth Norris
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enough to recognize how stiff he was. He hadn’t wanted to go.
I spent day four with my father. I hardly recognized him. He’d put on weight and more expensive clothing. He was happy to see me of course, but once I explained how I’d gotten back, we didn’t have much to say to each other.
Day five, I moved in with Derek.
Day seven, he got me a job at the garage where he worked. It was at the edge of downtown East Clemente City, and on our way home we stopped to eat dinner with our mom at the old house.
Days eight through twenty-one were the same.
I tried to trick myself into feeling like my life was normal.
Like this was the life I was supposed to have.
I was grateful to have my family back in my life, but I couldn’t help feeling out of place.
I’d fought so hard to get back here. I’d told Janelle I didn’t belong in her world, that I belonged here. And I did. Or at least I should have.
But I moved through every day with a sense of unease that didn’t seem to be going away. In fact it just seemed to be growing. I didn’t fit here, either. I had been gone too long.
On day twenty-two, something happened.
I woke up before Derek’s alarm went off. I reached under the couch and grabbed the small notebook and pen I found there. I’d started keeping a list of things to tell Janelle. I wrote them down whenever I had a chance so I wouldn’t forget them. Not just the obvious things, like how much life had changed here or how disappointed I was in the man my father had become, but the little details of life here that I hadn’t remembered. That everyone drank this cheap beer called Light Blue Ice and it tasted like it had been artificially sweetened. That instead of Roberto’s or even Taco Bell, the only Mexican food here was from this poorly named place called Refried Beans that had great tacos and beans, but not much else worth eating. That traffic lights were red, yellow, and blue.
That morning I just wrote: I miss you.
“Hey, you up?” Derek called. “Let’s go get breakfast at Mom’s. We’ve got time and I’m desperate for wafflecakes.”
Wafflecakes: really thick waffles, 2X the thickness of your waffles, sometimes with a jelly or cream center. Served with ice cream instead of syrup. They’re pretty amazing.
“Put away the diary,” Derek said with a laugh as he came out of the bedroom. “Let’s go.”
I did what he said and left the notebook on the coffee table so I could write more when we got back.
That afternoon, I was under a car, working on an oil change, when Derek’s favorite song came on the satellite radio. I recognized it by the weird arrangement of electronica tones that played in the beginning, and I wished I had some kind of noise-canceling headphones to wear. The music just felt foreign. It wasn’t just that I didn’t really know the song, it felt like the style was something I didn’t understand: grunge rock mixed with electronica beats.
I was trying to think of a good way to describe the music to Janelle, when military-style combat boots walked past me. I flinched. They were familiar: the style, the soles, the scuff marks on the left toe, the strange way they were laced up.
I slid out from under the car and jumped to my feet, ready to ask the owner of the boots what he was doing here. But whoever belonged to those shoes wasn’t there. I walked out of the garage, surveying the area, trying to place where he might have gone.
Derek came out of the office. “What’s wrong?” he asked, wiping the sweat from his face.
“Somebody was just here. A guy wearing combat boots,” I said. “Did you see him?”
Derek laughed. “There are thousands of guys in combat boots that come through here. They’re called the city guard.”
I shook my head, but I didn’t know how to explain. I had seen those boots before. Not just the style, which no matter what Derek said seemed different from the city guard. What really stuck out, though, were the laces. They
I spent day four with my father. I hardly recognized him. He’d put on weight and more expensive clothing. He was happy to see me of course, but once I explained how I’d gotten back, we didn’t have much to say to each other.
Day five, I moved in with Derek.
Day seven, he got me a job at the garage where he worked. It was at the edge of downtown East Clemente City, and on our way home we stopped to eat dinner with our mom at the old house.
Days eight through twenty-one were the same.
I tried to trick myself into feeling like my life was normal.
Like this was the life I was supposed to have.
I was grateful to have my family back in my life, but I couldn’t help feeling out of place.
I’d fought so hard to get back here. I’d told Janelle I didn’t belong in her world, that I belonged here. And I did. Or at least I should have.
But I moved through every day with a sense of unease that didn’t seem to be going away. In fact it just seemed to be growing. I didn’t fit here, either. I had been gone too long.
On day twenty-two, something happened.
I woke up before Derek’s alarm went off. I reached under the couch and grabbed the small notebook and pen I found there. I’d started keeping a list of things to tell Janelle. I wrote them down whenever I had a chance so I wouldn’t forget them. Not just the obvious things, like how much life had changed here or how disappointed I was in the man my father had become, but the little details of life here that I hadn’t remembered. That everyone drank this cheap beer called Light Blue Ice and it tasted like it had been artificially sweetened. That instead of Roberto’s or even Taco Bell, the only Mexican food here was from this poorly named place called Refried Beans that had great tacos and beans, but not much else worth eating. That traffic lights were red, yellow, and blue.
That morning I just wrote: I miss you.
“Hey, you up?” Derek called. “Let’s go get breakfast at Mom’s. We’ve got time and I’m desperate for wafflecakes.”
Wafflecakes: really thick waffles, 2X the thickness of your waffles, sometimes with a jelly or cream center. Served with ice cream instead of syrup. They’re pretty amazing.
“Put away the diary,” Derek said with a laugh as he came out of the bedroom. “Let’s go.”
I did what he said and left the notebook on the coffee table so I could write more when we got back.
That afternoon, I was under a car, working on an oil change, when Derek’s favorite song came on the satellite radio. I recognized it by the weird arrangement of electronica tones that played in the beginning, and I wished I had some kind of noise-canceling headphones to wear. The music just felt foreign. It wasn’t just that I didn’t really know the song, it felt like the style was something I didn’t understand: grunge rock mixed with electronica beats.
I was trying to think of a good way to describe the music to Janelle, when military-style combat boots walked past me. I flinched. They were familiar: the style, the soles, the scuff marks on the left toe, the strange way they were laced up.
I slid out from under the car and jumped to my feet, ready to ask the owner of the boots what he was doing here. But whoever belonged to those shoes wasn’t there. I walked out of the garage, surveying the area, trying to place where he might have gone.
Derek came out of the office. “What’s wrong?” he asked, wiping the sweat from his face.
“Somebody was just here. A guy wearing combat boots,” I said. “Did you see him?”
Derek laughed. “There are thousands of guys in combat boots that come through here. They’re called the city guard.”
I shook my head, but I didn’t know how to explain. I had seen those boots before. Not just the style, which no matter what Derek said seemed different from the city guard. What really stuck out, though, were the laces. They
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