If I'm Good For Anything by K.B.F. (books to read in your 20s female .TXT) 📕

Chapter five
The sun is beginning to grow hot on my back. The light reflecting off the water offends my sensitive eyes, and I am forced to stare at the sand. I entertain the thought of removing my clothing for a moment, and laugh. For the children’s sake, I settle for shedding only my sweater. The breeze tickles me through my t-shirt, and for the time being, I feel free. I could swear that the golden rays were healing my aching joints. I extend my legs into the lapping water and the crippling pain seems to subside, somewhat. Fleetingly, I am young again. Instead of hiding from the sun I stretch my arms behind my head, and lay back into the sand.

A very short walk through the woods and a one minute trek up the hill could bring me to Nolan’s house from my back yard. Our neighborhoods sat adjacent to each other less then three miles from the high school. I knew this pathway by heart. With the absence of Clay, Nolan and I both found a lot of free time on our hands. He began to call me nightly. Eventually, we took turns walking this trail from one house to the other. We spent a lot of hours swimming in my pool, eating ice cream, and debating who was to blame for the death of our beloved rocker Cobain. He learned all my favorite things. I memorized his face, his voice, his laugh. He was my best friend.
One night after Nolan’s football practice he gave me a call.
“Frosties?” He asked.
“Sure.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I’ll meet you at the park in your subdivision.” I said, and hung up.
Robby Dire was a child unhinged. He was vindictive, and devious. Although He was generally unintelligent, Robby had a way of knowing how to play with another’s mind. He was a thief, and a liar. Many believed it was the death of his parents. Others think it was a characteristic passed down from generations of criminals, his Vietnamese relatives learned the arts of scheming many years before. I am one of the few who feel as though he was the devil. Raised by two elderly parents, the boy was given anything and everything he could ever want for. This comfortable lifestyle taught him to be ungrateful and demanding.
“It must have come from his mother’s side,” I overheard Mom on the phone.
I was still standing in the doorway where she left me, my mouth wide open. Robby was coming to live with us. My mother’s name was in the will. Until J.R. Dire was to the age of 18, he would reside in my home. My chest hurt.
The park in Nolan’s neighborhood was an old one. Broken down in the middle of the woods sat two picnic tables and a disheveled looking playground. We went there late at night to smoke cigars and look at the stars. Tonight I was meeting him there to pout.
“I’m terrified of him,” I went on to describe Robby in detail.
“You can come live with me!” Nolan joked and nudged me to smile.
Despite my recent drama I couldn’t help but lose track of thought. Nolan was smiling at me. Everything suddenly felt okay.
“I want to kiss you.” I blurted.
Before I could cover by mouth in shame at the outburst, his lips touched mine. I pushed him away.
“There’s no turning back now.” He said.
I looked him in the eyes, “I don‘t know about that.” I replied.
I walked home alone that night.
It was that nature that became a pattern in our relationship. I would have a crises, and Nolan would make it better. As time went on, he became my punching bag. Through it all, it never occurred to me the damage it was beginning to have on him. I missed the old Nolan. I worried about him. He became the last thing I thought about before I went to bed, and the first when I woke up. I rarely told him how much he meant to me.
He began sleeping more. He didn’t seem so enthralled with my late night party stories any longer. His once lighthearted outlook on life became solemn, and uninviting.
“You look tired Nolan,” it was offered in more of a question than a statement.
“I am.” He said simply. I could tell there was a lot on his mind.
“I need to tell you something.” I attempted to look him in the eyes, but they were fixed on the ground.
“Yeah?” He began kicking the rocks in the road as we walked. “I’ve been meaning to tell you a couple things too.”
Before I could respond Nolan had come to a halt and grabbed my hand. It was growing dark outside, making it hard to tell, but I could swear there was a tear running down his cheek.
“I really care about you” His voice was soft. I pretended to be confused. I needed to hear more.
“I really care about you too,” I smiled. “Let’s go back to my house. There is some birthday cake ice cream waiting for us in the freezer.”
“Wait damnit!” Nolan finally looked me in the eyes. “I love you. I think I might have always loved you. I prayed that you would realize what a loser Clay really was. I prayed every night that you were thinking of me too. When you two broke up, I held you. I picked you up when you were down, every time you were down. My heart is acheing, and I can’t wait any longer.” He sighed.
“I don’t know what to say.” I attempted to cover my face with the shadow of my hair.
“I went to the doctor yesterday. She said I’m depressed. I’m not blaming you, just the situation.” He lifted my chin, my eyes finally level with his. “I’m tired of being a push over. I’m tired of hanging back, watching life pass me by. I need to know if we are in this together. I love you.”
He frowned. I could tell he felt as if he had already failed. I could feel the tears dribble down my cheeks. I smiled.
“I love you too.” My heart was exploding.
“There is no turning back now.” He said.
I kissed him, and took his hand.
“Iknow.”


Chapter Six
The sand has become unbearably hot. The beach is crowded. Children are pointing at me, their parents gawking just as rudely. I can tell they want me gone. More worried about me than the ocean creatures lurking at their little girls and boys feet. It is unjust, but a lifeguard approaches and asks me to move. I am humiliated, and hurt. I look around and feel as though I could belong, if I wanted to. Woman in there skimpy suits lie around laughing. Their husbands playing in the sand with the children, beer in hand. What is it that makes me different? Because I am dirty? My hair is not pulled in a neat pony tail. My nails are not done. I’m not prancing around in a string bikini with a cocktail, and sunscreen in hand. Before the burning sensation behind my eyes takes over me, I conjure an amusing thought. Maybe belonging feels much worse.

The truck had just pulled out of the driveway with the last of Robby’s things. He was standing there, his arms drooped to his sides with a lost look on his face. His shirt was ripped, and the sleeves were cut out. His basketball shorts were about three sizes too large, and they didn’t match. I could smell him. He prided himself in being a master of what he called the black bath. I remembered him saying this as he pulled a black metal can of deodorant from his pocket. He explained to me that with this particular product, he could skip six, even seven days of showering. He truly believed no one noticed. I certainly did.
Despite my endless temper tantrums, and screaming sessions Robby was going to live in my house. Not only were we to coincide peacefully, my mother threatened, but we were also going to share a bathroom. I almost puked.
I had not spoken to Robby since we were little kids. My cousins and I considered him to be a distant relative, and a weird one at that. It was because of this we always left him out of our annual hide and seek game at Christmas. At Easter, we would conspire to tell him all the wrong places to search for eggs, and during Thanksgiving we made sure to hide the extra chair to our table forcing him to sit with the adults.
His parents were old. As a child I knew it was different. While my parents were chatting it up about Def Leopard, and playing football with us in the yard his were laid back in lawn chairs with my grandparents reminiscing about when Coke still came in a glass bottle. Now, I realize the impact this fact has made upon his life.
Robby would be eighteen the following summer. Until then, he was my mothers responsibility, and my burden.
He was slow. Although I still believe a lot of his lack of intelligence was an act, Robby didn’t do very well in school. Because of this, he attended a technical high school across town. I was thankful for this. Over the past few weeks Robby had taken to calling me “Sis.” This made me cringe. I was concerned someone would find out.
Although I was his sister by day, I became an object of unusual affection by night. A