Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Life, I’ve learned at the age of ten, is half full of good shit, as Leka tries not say, and half full of actual shit.
“I’m ten. I can take care of myself.”
“Good thing you don’t have to. Now get the da—darned door,” he yells from his bedroom.
I get into my boxing stance, tucking my thumbs across my index and middle fingers like Leka taught me so long ago and stare at myself in the mirror in the front hall. I look tough and capable. Like I could take down anyone who tried to come after me.
That skinny white kid did it in Home Alone. No question that I could defend myself. Unlike that kid, I have access to real guns. Leka has a couple that he keeps in his bedroom. I’m not sure if he knows that I know he has them. I suppose he does. There’s not much he misses.
The doorbell rings and I drop my fists. Straightening, I go to the front door and throw it open.
“Hi, Mrs. Michaelson.”
The older lady leans down and gives me a peck on the cheek. Her lavender perfume assaults my nose and I rub it to keep from sneezing.
“Don’t sound so excited to see me,” she mocks. “I might get my feelings hurt.”
“Sorry.” I try to keep my pouting to a minimum, but I hate it when Leka is gone. And lately he’s been gone a lot. “It’s not you.”
“I know, dear. You miss your brother, but he’s only going to be gone for a few hours.” She bustles inside. A big bag knocks against her leg. I reach over to take it. A familiar excitement stirs at the sight of its contents.
“Is this the new Cat Girl?”
Mrs. Michaelson’s cheeks glow with pride. “It certainly is. I brought you one of the very first copies.”
“Oh my God!” I clap my hands together and then race to my bedroom to get my tackle box full of art supplies. Mrs. Michaelson’s daughter is a comic book illustrator and she sends me uncolored proofs so that I can see the art strokes and copy them. I intend to draw for a living when I get older, even though, as Mrs. Michaelson tells me, it doesn’t pay more than peanuts. Her daughter works as a barista in her full-time capacity and does the art work on the side.
I’d be cool with that. I don’t mind serving coffee in order to pursue my dreams. After all, Leka works at a restaurant. There’s absolutely nothing shameful about serving people. If it’s good enough for him, it’s good enough for me.
“You look happy,” Leka remarks as he meets me in the hall.
“Mrs. M brought a new proof from her daughter.”
“Cool. So does that mean you’re done being mad at me.”
I shake my head. “No. I can do two things at once. So when will you be back?”
The light in his eyes dims. “Not sure, Bitsy. You know I don’t stay away unless I have to.”
Immediately, I feel guilty. I drop my eyes at the floor instead of his face so I don’t have to see that I disappointed him. “I know. I’m sorry.” He’s so good to me. I throw my arms around his waist, the tackle box banging against the back of his legs. “It’s only that I’ll miss you.”
He returns my hug. “I’ll be home soon. Besides, five minutes after I’m gone, you’ll be knee deep in Wonder Woman and Batman and the Green Lantern and will have forgotten that I’m not here.”
“Whatever,” I mumble again, soaking in the pleasure of his arms around me.
He always makes me feel good. He peels me off of him and goes to greet Mrs. M.
“You look nice, Leka.”
“Thanks, Mrs. M. You look fine yourself.”
She blushes, as all the ladies do around him. He doesn’t even smile at them, but they love him anyway.
I’ve noticed this ever since I was a kid. Women’s eyes soften, their voices get huskier. They will tug on their clothes or flip their hair. They smile and touch him. I kinda hate it that even Mrs. M, who I like, gets all flustered and girly around him.
He’s mine, I want to shout at all of them. He’s mine.
The only thing that keeps me in check is that he doesn’t pay attention to any of them.
“I’ll be back in a few.” He stops and corrects himself. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Be good for Mrs. M, Bitsy.”
“I will.” This time I force myself to smile so that he doesn’t worry.
“Thanks again, Mrs. M.”
“No problem, dear. You take your time. Elizabeth and I will be fine tonight.”
And then he’s gone.
“Leka needs to find a nice young woman,” Mrs. M declares as she walks into the kitchen.
“Why?”
She turns to me. “Because he does. Doesn’t he seem lonely to you?”