Page 18 of Barefoot Dreams
Fuck it! I’m old enough to be real with myself at least.
There is nothingjustabout Julie. She isn’t just a silly little girl with flaming hair and all the rest of bullshit I fed my own brain.
She’s all the good in the world.
She’s the brightest sunshine and the warmest sunset.
She’s the hottest fire that kept you warm on the coldest of nights.
She’s someone who has taken all that hate from around her for years and still keeps on smiling. I never doubted she’d fight right through all of that. I knew her light would win over but seeing her happy and living her best life the other day, made something ache in my chest. Not a bad kind of ache. It’s the kind that makes you believe that anything is possible.
Shemakes you believe that anything is possible.
She is everything.
But she isn’t mine.
“Griffin, now you’ve done it.” Mom sighs with such exaggeration you’d think I’ve just spoiled the end of her favorite TV show.
“Done what?”
“Brought the bad juju to my knitting.” She drops the needles to the couch as she strolls away.
Great, no yarn-holding duty for me. It might be a small win, but I’ll take it.
“Griffin, honey, come to the kitchen.” The sentence gets my hackles up right away. Or more precisely, my stomach.
“Why?” I ask carefully, my tone laced with skepticism.
“To cleanse you off that bad juju, of course. I’ve got just the tea for that. Willa made it when I mentioned what a sour puss you’ve become.”
I tip my head up and silently cry out to the skies,“Why? Why me?”
“If I were you, I’d be halfway out the door right this second.” Dad’s voice catches me off-guard. I didn’t even know he was home already. Dad left early in the morning every day. Today it was for his tie-dye class. Yesterday, vegan barbeque class. The day before that, competitive sandcastle building.
I’m wondering if there will ever be a day these two just sit down and do nothing for longer than ten minutes.
It’s been like this since I can remember. My parents are always on the move. Always onto the next hobby, next adventure, next yoga class, next peace meeting…and so on and on and on. Much to their dismay, I wasn’t born with a hippy bone in my body and found their lifestyle too much. Too crazy.
But…they look alive.
Not in the age-wise sense, although both my parents don’t look a day over forty-five or so when they’re actually both nearing their sixties. No, they look alive on the inside. That vibrant energy just seeps out of them, while mine is barely enough to get me out of bed.
However, I’m not that far gone to try any of the teas my mom buys from Willa Loverson, the local bar owner.
Dad’s right, I should flee while I can. Before she brings out the half-baked cookies from last night. The only problem is…I don’t want to leave the house.
Yes, I’m a thirty-four-year-old hermit hiding in my parents’ house like a child. Sue me. Life’s been cruel and I just need a fucking minute to adjust, is that so much to ask for?
“Do you want the cookies or the casserole from last night?” Mom hollers, and with a shudder I decide that yes, yes, apparently it is too much to ask for.
I cast a look at my dad, who’s watching my inner struggle with silent amusement. Which to choose out of two evils. My own demons or Mom’s cooking.
Yep, my own demons it is. At least they won’t give me indigestion for the seventh day in a row. “You know what? It’s a great idea, Dad. See you…sometime,” I tell him and bolt down the stairs as fast as I can, but apparently not fast enough.
“Griffin? Where are you going?” Mom is hot on my heels, the cup with a stinky brew in her hands. “The tea is ready, I added an extra scoop of organic ashwagandha. It helps with low testosterone. Andrew!” Mom hollers while my brain is trying to catch up. “Bring the cookies, we’ll have tea downstairs.”
I stop dead. “Low what?” I squint.
