Page 110 of Seeing Grayscale

When I’m outside, unlocking my car, my heart is beating so fast I’m sure it’ll explode. I can’t get enough air into my lungs. My shaky fingers manage to spark a cigarette, but even that doesn’t seem to calm me. Frantically searching the private parking lot, I peel out of my spot and drive. I drive and drive, cigarette after cigarette.

My phone keeps vibrating in my pocket.

My world keeps spinning.

I’m going to crash andburn.

FORTY-FIVE

Ipassedthetest!I did it!

Doing a little shimmy, I triumphantly throw my arms up and whoop as loudly as possible. My smile is so wide it hurts my cheeks. I double check the results for the fifth time, seeing the bold, black lettering saying 87% andpassed. The email I made dings with an alert, and I see the message telling me I have my GED.

I can get ajobnow.

I can start working towards something better, and I did it.

Me.

Grayson Parker, the homeless guy who used to live behind gas stations.

Tears squirt out of my eyes while I cup my face, wishing more than ever I could tell my mom and dad. “I did it,” I croak. “I fucking did it!”

The only time in recent memory I can recall being this fucking proud was when I’d finished that art piece that Caleb stole. I glance down at my phone, trying towillHunter into seeing the text I sent a minute ago, and itching to call him. Would he be okay with that? Calling him at work? My finger hovers over the icon, so tempted, but I don’t do it. He’ll write back when he can.

Hunter has always supported this, but I can tell he’d rather I depend on him forever. And while the ideaistempting, I know that’s not a reality for me. Eventually, he’d come to resent having an essential leech living off of him.

No, I’m glad I’m taking these steps. It feels likefinallyI’ve got something good happening after a lifetime of nothing.Finally, I can get out of this fucked up greyscale and see some colors again.

“Momma?” I whisper. “Dad?” Wrapping my arms around my middle, I close my eyes and wish as hard as I can that they can hear me. “I’m doing something good. I’m going to make you proud, alright? And when I can, I’m coming home. I promise.”

I’ll get a job, save money, and hire a good lawyer to get the house that was always meant to be mine. I’ll find out who bought our storage unit so I can get my dad’s jackets and my mom’s favorite cast iron pan.

I can do this.

I’mgoing to do this.

Fuck, I’m so happy.

I made him dinner.

Look, I amnota chef, alright? But the least I can do is make Hunter something to eat because work has been so stressful, and he does so much for me. We usually order out, but I’ve been eyeballing those frozen chicken breasts and pasta for over a week.

So, I made fettucini alfredo.

It was easy to find a basic recipe online; thankfully, we had the ingredients. Not to toot my own horn, but it came out good.

But it’s cold now.

I put a bowl in the microwave and covered it like my mom used to when my dad was studying or working late. And then I waited.

And fuckingwaited.

My phone has been glued to my fist forhours.All the streetlights are on, the neighbors’ cars are in their driveways or garages, and I’m still waiting. My texts have gone unanswered, and I did try calling…once—when it was past 8 pm. Hunter was supposed to go to his parents’ after work, but he doesn’t usually linger. He gets in and out as fast as possible.

And he always texts.

My thumb is bleeding, but I keep chewing on it, pacing between the entryway and the kitchen. There’s a literal pain inmy ears from straining to listen. I’m crawling out of my skin, worried something bad happened, and I have no way to find out what.

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