Personal Evolution Through Outdoor Experience
Pacheco Falls
By Julie Anne Morley
Chapter One
Samantha
I slam the door behind me, push my back against the shaking wall and wait for the building to settle down. I watch the blade of my step-father’s machete swing on its nail through the last patch of today’s sunlight. I didn’t have a plan when I ran out of the house, but I do now. I step forward, even though the long knife scares me.
“You are just like me,” I say, making friends. “Sharp on the outside, kept in the dark until you can be used.” My mouth goes sour when I say the last word. As the machete slows down, my shoulders slump forward. Now, the edge of the shiny metal barely reaches the light. “Don’t give up,” I tell it, willing it to defy nature and stay in the warm sun. Instead it loses its energy, becomes just another tool on the wall. I nod my understanding and take a deep breath as darkness grabs the corner of the shop.
The handle feels smooth in my hand. It’s heavier than it looks. I pass it through the air in front of me, feeling new muscles. I smile and my face is surprised. If I slice my belly open, pull my guts out and drag them into the sun, I might be able to figure out what is wrong with me. I’m over feeling this bad, and I wonder what it takes to get someone to notice. As I stand in the middle of Aaron’s shop, my arms start to tremble and the handle slips in my sweaty hands. The tip of the blade lands an inch from my foot.
It’s not that I am a child of divorce. There are a million of us and there is nothing special about one more screwed-up teenage girl. But I’m sick of keeping everything in, and I bet I’m not the only one. A girl like me has a story. It’s not a fairy tale, so watch out. I’m just saying up front that someone might get hurt, and it would be awesome if it wasn’t me this time. It’s not that I have a new step-family, that I have to share a room with an eight-year old, that no one bothered to ask my opinion. It’s not that my real Dad can’t stand the sight of me or that he married a witch. These things all suck, but I am used to feeling bad about them. All I know is that I feel broken inside and I want to fix it. I will do anything to fix it, but I don’t have a clue how to do it.
The pile of tarps over my hiding spot looks different. I know I should have picked a better place, but I’m still a stranger here. I don’t know Aaron’s habits yet. My chest gets tight and I feel sick. I’m good at hiding stuff, but Aaron is different that any guy Mom has hooked up with. He keeps his eyes open, checks things out, pays attention. Everything is quiet, the only thing I hear is my heart pounding. When I yank the top tarp off the pile, the whole box falls over. The dirty backpack on the floor reminds me of things I don’t want to think about, but I press my lips together and grab it. Touching it makes me feel hopeless. I promised Mom that I’d never do this again, but look who taught me to go back on promises.
I need a coat this time. Being cold at night sucks. Aaron’s jacket is hanging against the wall. Feeling like a criminal, I snatch it off the peg and slip my arms through the sleeves. I pull it tight around me and pretend it went down different tonight, that I didn’t have to go. I’m seventeen now, so I’m not exactly scared. I’m tired. Footsteps crunch on the gravel outside. I search for a place to hide, but it’s too late.
The door opens. Cool air swishes in behind his hurried steps. His arm swings up and the bare light bulb comes on with a snap. The bright light blinds me at first. I can’t see his expression. When my eyes adjust, I see Aaron staring at me, but then he sweeps the room. He pauses when he sees my backpack, but doesn’t say a word. Being in the room with him confuses me. I step back and trip over the machete, onto the dirt floor, my legs fall open. I look between my knees and see the blade’s handle, wonder if I can reach it.
Aaron takes two big steps and grabs it. He looks concerned and my heart melts a little. He keeps the blade pointed down. It reminds me of Mom when she told me not to run with scissors. I don’t move anything but my eyes while he crosses the room. He hangs the machete on its nail and comes back toward me. He opens his mouth to speak, but reaches his hand out to me instead. I don’t know if I should take it.
Aaron pulls me to standing. He isn’t rough or mad. I rip my hand back, let him know that he lost his chance.
“Samantha, what is going on?”
“As if you didn’t know.” I say.
“Listen, Sam, let’s talk about this, okay?”
My faces screws up when he calls me Sam. His voice is too soft, too nice. It’s not fair. I wish I could say something smart, but I can’t think of anything. I’m burning up in his coat, my face is on fire.
“This is new to all of us, this blended family thing…”
“Oh please. I hate that word, blended. Someone just made that up so you guys can feel better when you mess with our lives.”
“I kind of like the word,” Aaron says, “It makes me think about a chocolate milkshake. One would be tasty about now.”
I roll my eyes. He’s good. Now I’m thinking about ice cream when I am trying to keep it together. I know how to handle being around a jerk, and this is throwing me off. I want to tell him what I think, what it feels like to be at the bottom of the blender, where the sharp blades chop stuff to bits and force it all into an unwilling mush. I want to tell him that I love milkshakes, but that I can’t drink one without guilt, because I will turn into one of those teenage fatties. I want to tell him that everything good has some bad part to it, and that this new life is better, but I’m too afraid to let myself believe.
I say nothing, but my silence doesn’t make him turn and walk away. He relaxes, settles into being with me. I can’t tell if it makes everything worse. I want to hate him right now and the memory of his rejection helps me get there. I shouldn’t, but I look at his face. My tears won’t stop and I need something to blow my nose on. I search around at my feet as if a box of tissues will appear out of nothing. Something bumps my arm and it takes a second to realize that Aaron is handing me a rag.
“It’s clean,” he says.
I blow my nose, sounding like some sick goose. I’m sure my attraction rating goes way up.
“Sam, I’m not sure what happened in there tonight, but I think we should talk about it…”
“I thought you liked me.”
“Of course I like you Sam. It is more than that now. I love you,” says Aaron.
“Then why did you blow me off? I don’t get it.”
“I love you like a daughter,” he says. “At first, I didn’t know what you were doing. That’s why I gave you a mixed message. I’m sorry if I confused the situation. What have I done to make you think I wanted you in that way?”
“It is the only way I know to be around a guy,” I say, not believing that I actually spoke the truth. “Now I feel stupid. You must think I’m such a loser. God, I wish I could just disappear right now.”
I feel Aaron get closer. He puts his arms around me and hugs me, keeping a space between our bodies. My snotty face burrows into his shoulder. After a few minutes, I step back. He puts one hand on the outside of each arm and takes in a deep breath. I can tell he wants to say something. I tense up and get ready.
“I know some of what you have gone through, Samantha, but I can’t even begin to pretend that I know what you’re feeling. All I can say is that we have a chance here, not just you and me, but all of us. I love your mother and I love you. Christy and Zach worship the ground you walk on. It must be hard to have to share a room at your age. I plan to add on to this place, fix it up, build you a room. All I ask is that you give it a chance, Sam.”
“It’s scary…”
“We’re all scared. I have an idea. It’s been burning in my mind for week now. I want to introduce you to someone who I think can help you…”
“I don’t want to go to another therapist…”
“I’m with you there,” he says.
But I’ve seen that look before and my expression must show it.
Trust me on this. Be ready in the morning, wear some jeans and shoes. We’ll get going about nine. For now though, let’s stow your pack back under the tarps. Then you’ll know right where it is if you need it.”
I nod, but neither of us move. I need a breath. Finally, Aaron turns me around and slips his jacket off my arms and hangs it on a hook. I watch him pick up the toppled box, brush the dirt off my backpack and stash it in the bottom. After he piles the tarps back over the box, he puts one arm around my shoulders and reaches around behind his back with the other. When he pulls the chain, the shop goes black. I feel his heart beating against the back of my shoulder. Monsters take shape all around the shop, his tools, the sawhorses, the gigantic workbench against the long wall. I want to go, but my feet don’t work.
“Let’s go back to the house,” he says steering me toward the door. I feel like a cross between a floppy doll and a rigid piece of wood.
We step out into the dark of night and he points to the sky. I tip my head back and see the Milky Way. It reminds me of the milkshake and I begin to hope that I have a chance to be happy. I look toward the house, my house now. Something moves in the upstairs window. I look again and see Mom pull the curtains closed. My guts twist up and my body goes tight. Aaron’s arm feels heavy on my shoulders. He lets it drop down as if he read my mind, but he takes my hand and squeezes it before he lets it go.
“Good night Sam,” he says. “It’s late. See you in the morning.”
I hold back, not ready to go inside yet. He disappears through the dark doorway and I am left to myself. I think about what he said, about loving me like a daughter, about the surprise tomorrow. Another light goes on in Mom’s bedroom. I imagine the two of them together, laughing, talking about secrets, being close. I wish it was me up there. Will I ever get the chance to be in love for real? The hope I felt minutes ago has already been eaten up by the monster that lives inside of me. I should have used that machete. I still can.
By Julie Anne Morley
Chapter One
Samantha
I slam the door behind me, push my back against the shaking wall and wait for the building to settle down. I watch the blade of my step-father’s machete swing on its nail through the last patch of today’s sunlight. I didn’t have a plan when I ran out of the house, but I do now. I step forward, even though the long knife scares me.
“You are just like me,” I say, making friends. “Sharp on the outside, kept in the dark until you can be used.” My mouth goes sour when I say the last word. As the machete slows down, my shoulders slump forward. Now, the edge of the shiny metal barely reaches the light. “Don’t give up,” I tell it, willing it to defy nature and stay in the warm sun. Instead it loses its energy, becomes just another tool on the wall. I nod my understanding and take a deep breath as darkness grabs the corner of the shop.
The handle feels smooth in my hand. It’s heavier than it looks. I pass it through the air in front of me, feeling new muscles. I smile and my face is surprised. If I slice my belly open, pull my guts out and drag them into the sun, I might be able to figure out what is wrong with me. I’m over feeling this bad, and I wonder what it takes to get someone to notice. As I stand in the middle of Aaron’s shop, my arms start to tremble and the handle slips in my sweaty hands. The tip of the blade lands an inch from my foot.
It’s not that I am a child of divorce. There are a million of us and there is nothing special about one more screwed-up teenage girl. But I’m sick of keeping everything in, and I bet I’m not the only one. A girl like me has a story. It’s not a fairy tale, so watch out. I’m just saying up front that someone might get hurt, and it would be awesome if it wasn’t me this time. It’s not that I have a new step-family, that I have to share a room with an eight-year old, that no one bothered to ask my opinion. It’s not that my real Dad can’t stand the sight of me or that he married a witch. These things all suck, but I am used to feeling bad about them. All I know is that I feel broken inside and I want to fix it. I will do anything to fix it, but I don’t have a clue how to do it.
The pile of tarps over my hiding spot looks different. I know I should have picked a better place, but I’m still a stranger here. I don’t know Aaron’s habits yet. My chest gets tight and I feel sick. I’m good at hiding stuff, but Aaron is different that any guy Mom has hooked up with. He keeps his eyes open, checks things out, pays attention. Everything is quiet, the only thing I hear is my heart pounding. When I yank the top tarp off the pile, the whole box falls over. The dirty backpack on the floor reminds me of things I don’t want to think about, but I press my lips together and grab it. Touching it makes me feel hopeless. I promised Mom that I’d never do this again, but look who taught me to go back on promises.
I need a coat this time. Being cold at night sucks. Aaron’s jacket is hanging against the wall. Feeling like a criminal, I snatch it off the peg and slip my arms through the sleeves. I pull it tight around me and pretend it went down different tonight, that I didn’t have to go. I’m seventeen now, so I’m not exactly scared. I’m tired. Footsteps crunch on the gravel outside. I search for a place to hide, but it’s too late.
The door opens. Cool air swishes in behind his hurried steps. His arm swings up and the bare light bulb comes on with a snap. The bright light blinds me at first. I can’t see his expression. When my eyes adjust, I see Aaron staring at me, but then he sweeps the room. He pauses when he sees my backpack, but doesn’t say a word. Being in the room with him confuses me. I step back and trip over the machete, onto the dirt floor, my legs fall open. I look between my knees and see the blade’s handle, wonder if I can reach it.
Aaron takes two big steps and grabs it. He looks concerned and my heart melts a little. He keeps the blade pointed down. It reminds me of Mom when she told me not to run with scissors. I don’t move anything but my eyes while he crosses the room. He hangs the machete on its nail and comes back toward me. He opens his mouth to speak, but reaches his hand out to me instead. I don’t know if I should take it.
Aaron pulls me to standing. He isn’t rough or mad. I rip my hand back, let him know that he lost his chance.
“Samantha, what is going on?”
“As if you didn’t know.” I say.
“Listen, Sam, let’s talk about this, okay?”
My faces screws up when he calls me Sam. His voice is too soft, too nice. It’s not fair. I wish I could say something smart, but I can’t think of anything. I’m burning up in his coat, my face is on fire.
“This is new to all of us, this blended family thing…”
“Oh please. I hate that word, blended. Someone just made that up so you guys can feel better when you mess with our lives.”
“I kind of like the word,” Aaron says, “It makes me think about a chocolate milkshake. One would be tasty about now.”
I roll my eyes. He’s good. Now I’m thinking about ice cream when I am trying to keep it together. I know how to handle being around a jerk, and this is throwing me off. I want to tell him what I think, what it feels like to be at the bottom of the blender, where the sharp blades chop stuff to bits and force it all into an unwilling mush. I want to tell him that I love milkshakes, but that I can’t drink one without guilt, because I will turn into one of those teenage fatties. I want to tell him that everything good has some bad part to it, and that this new life is better, but I’m too afraid to let myself believe.
I say nothing, but my silence doesn’t make him turn and walk away. He relaxes, settles into being with me. I can’t tell if it makes everything worse. I want to hate him right now and the memory of his rejection helps me get there. I shouldn’t, but I look at his face. My tears won’t stop and I need something to blow my nose on. I search around at my feet as if a box of tissues will appear out of nothing. Something bumps my arm and it takes a second to realize that Aaron is handing me a rag.
“It’s clean,” he says.
I blow my nose, sounding like some sick goose. I’m sure my attraction rating goes way up.
“Sam, I’m not sure what happened in there tonight, but I think we should talk about it…”
“I thought you liked me.”
“Of course I like you Sam. It is more than that now. I love you,” says Aaron.
“Then why did you blow me off? I don’t get it.”
“I love you like a daughter,” he says. “At first, I didn’t know what you were doing. That’s why I gave you a mixed message. I’m sorry if I confused the situation. What have I done to make you think I wanted you in that way?”
“It is the only way I know to be around a guy,” I say, not believing that I actually spoke the truth. “Now I feel stupid. You must think I’m such a loser. God, I wish I could just disappear right now.”
I feel Aaron get closer. He puts his arms around me and hugs me, keeping a space between our bodies. My snotty face burrows into his shoulder. After a few minutes, I step back. He puts one hand on the outside of each arm and takes in a deep breath. I can tell he wants to say something. I tense up and get ready.
“I know some of what you have gone through, Samantha, but I can’t even begin to pretend that I know what you’re feeling. All I can say is that we have a chance here, not just you and me, but all of us. I love your mother and I love you. Christy and Zach worship the ground you walk on. It must be hard to have to share a room at your age. I plan to add on to this place, fix it up, build you a room. All I ask is that you give it a chance, Sam.”
“It’s scary…”
“We’re all scared. I have an idea. It’s been burning in my mind for week now. I want to introduce you to someone who I think can help you…”
“I don’t want to go to another therapist…”
“I’m with you there,” he says.
But I’ve seen that look before and my expression must show it.
Trust me on this. Be ready in the morning, wear some jeans and shoes. We’ll get going about nine. For now though, let’s stow your pack back under the tarps. Then you’ll know right where it is if you need it.”
I nod, but neither of us move. I need a breath. Finally, Aaron turns me around and slips his jacket off my arms and hangs it on a hook. I watch him pick up the toppled box, brush the dirt off my backpack and stash it in the bottom. After he piles the tarps back over the box, he puts one arm around my shoulders and reaches around behind his back with the other. When he pulls the chain, the shop goes black. I feel his heart beating against the back of my shoulder. Monsters take shape all around the shop, his tools, the sawhorses, the gigantic workbench against the long wall. I want to go, but my feet don’t work.
“Let’s go back to the house,” he says steering me toward the door. I feel like a cross between a floppy doll and a rigid piece of wood.
We step out into the dark of night and he points to the sky. I tip my head back and see the Milky Way. It reminds me of the milkshake and I begin to hope that I have a chance to be happy. I look toward the house, my house now. Something moves in the upstairs window. I look again and see Mom pull the curtains closed. My guts twist up and my body goes tight. Aaron’s arm feels heavy on my shoulders. He lets it drop down as if he read my mind, but he takes my hand and squeezes it before he lets it go.
“Good night Sam,” he says. “It’s late. See you in the morning.”
I hold back, not ready to go inside yet. He disappears through the dark doorway and I am left to myself. I think about what he said, about loving me like a daughter, about the surprise tomorrow. Another light goes on in Mom’s bedroom. I imagine the two of them together, laughing, talking about secrets, being close. I wish it was me up there. Will I ever get the chance to be in love for real? The hope I felt minutes ago has already been eaten up by the monster that lives inside of me. I should have used that machete. I still can.
Julie Anne Morley's second novel in progress, takes place in the oak studded hills of Henry Coe State Park in California. Read the first pages below.