*****
But I had Marley. This amazing little human who was always smiling and laughing. I had someone to play with, someone to talk to, someone who liked things loud and silly. I had someone whose tears I knew how to stop, whose hurts I knew how to heal.
And I had a job. When my mom was screaming, or sobbing, or barely conscious, my dad would turn to me and say, "Take care of your sister." I would take Marley out in the wagon, or into the backyard, or even barricade us in my room while my dad talked my mom down off the ledge, or soothed her sobs, or coaxed her into eating and maybe taking a bath for the first time in days.
As I went through junior high and high school, my friends always ragged on me for being Marley's "manny," but it didn't bother me. I wanted to shield Marley from our fucked up family as best as I could. I wanted her to have someone who would always care about her happiness, someone who would put her first. I was determined that she wouldn't grow up the way that I did. She would get to be a kid.
So I took her to dance classes, and soccer practice, and friends' birthday parties. I watched every game, went to every recital. I listened to her stories and her jokes. I read to her at night. And it was all worth it, to watch her grow up happy and normal.
Of course, this meant that I didn't have a ton of time for my own shit, but that was fine. I had no big college plans and could easily make Bs and Cs without breaking my back. I hung out with my friends on the weekends, usually after Marley was asleep.
I didn't date much, but that was fine with me anyway. Jay, who always had a girlfriend (or four) on the go, constantly razzed me about my "square wheels". But I watched as he went through a hundred and twelve messy breakups: screaming matches at parties or on the quad, girls calling him or showing up at his house at all hours of the night, egging his car, or in one especially memorable case, setting a bunch of his shit on fire on his lawn.
I'd experienced crazy. I'd had more than enough of it for an entire lifetime. I didn't need any more bullshit drama in my life.
Then, in junior year, I met Jasmine. She sat in front of me in English, and I was mesmerized by her neat, perfect handwriting and her thick mane of dark, straight hair that always smelled like peaches. She was pretty, nice, shy and sweet, the kind of girl that nobody has a bad word to say about. She was just completely, wonderfully... normal.
Dating Jasmine was like getting dropped into someone else's life. When we were getting pizza or at the movies, I would actually forget to worry about my mom, or my dad, or Marley for a few hours. I couldn't believe that I was actually getting to be happy for once.
But of course, it couldn't last. One night, as I was driving her home from mini golf, Jasmine said something that absolutely terrified me.
"My parents want you to come for dinner next week," she said shyly, playing with a strand of her beautiful dark hair.
I froze. It was my first time formally meeting a girl's parents, but that wasn't what made my stomach churn in panic. I had met her parents in passing, and I was sure they were just as lovely as she was. It wasn't that at all.
I knew that if I went over there for dinner, Jasmine would expect a reciprocal invite. The thought of her coming over to my house, meeting my mom, made me freeze up in terror. I broke into a cold sweat and my clammy palms slid on the steering wheel as I stammered out some kind of excuse. My frozen panic turned to burning shame as hurt disappointment registered on her face. She jumped out of the car before I'd even fully stopped in front of her house. I could see her wiping away tears as she fumbled to open her front door.
It came as no surprise when she dumped me a few days later, accusing me of leading her on and not taking her seriously. I didn't argue, although it killed me to watch her cry. Anything was better than her knowing the truth.
I played it off like it was nothing, laughed in agreement when my buddies called Jasmine "clingy" and "crazy." I avoided her at parties, looked the other way when she started dating a nice, quiet senior. Deep down, I knew I'd been living a borrowed dream anyway. She deserved better. She deserved normal.
I didn't really date anyone else for the rest of high school. I would take girls out from time to time, maybe fool around with someone at a party here and there, but nothing serious. I couldn't risk anyone getting as close as Jasmine had gotten. Girls assumed that I was a player, took it as a challenge. What a fucking joke.
After graduation, I immediately started working construction full time. I hadn't applied to any big colleges or state schools. Instead, I took courses online and in the evenings at the local community college, working towards my contractor's license. I had one goal: to get myself and Marley the hell out of our house as soon as humanly possible. Finally, there was an end in sight.
Jay and a few of our buddies ended up at State, and they would often drag me along with them to frat parties and pubs where they didn't look too hard at IDs. I tried not to get too jealous of these glimpses into the carefree existence that would never be mine. I swallowed the bitterness that rose up whenever they would start to bitch and moan about their classes and professors. They said I was so lucky that my parents hadn't forced me to go to college, that I was making money hand over fist. They said that they wished they were in my shoes. Right. I laughed and played along, as if my parents were super cool and laid back, instead of too preoccupied with their own shit to care what I did.
There were perks to hanging out at the college events. After killing myself all week between work and school, it was nice to let loose and actually be eighteen. And the girls didn't hurt either. They were fun and pretty, and most importantly, not looking for a relationship, which worked out damn well for me.
That is, until I stumbled upon Sarah. It was St Patrick's Day, and we were in a godawful imitation of an "Irish" pub. I went up to the bar, ordered a green beer, and when I turned around, there she was.
Whenever Sarah and I tell the story of how we first met, I always say that I knew she was the one at first sight. Everyone sighs and says, "Awwww!" at that part of the story. They never ask what I saw in her that made me just know that I had to be with her. I guess they assume that they know the answer already. They don't.
So what did I see when I saw Sarah?
She was standing with a group of girls, many of whom were decked out with fully made up faces and slutty green outfits. By contrast, she was in a green t-shirt and jeans, without a stitch of makeup on. Her long blond hair tumbled loose across her shoulders, falling into her face. She joked and laughed with her friends, no posturing for attention, no casting her eyes about for a guy to latch on to. She wasn't the hottest, or the most flirtatious, or the wildest girl in the group. But my eyes stopped on her, and I couldn't look away. My heart caught in my throat.
I saw someone who was carefree, sweet, beautiful, innocent. I saw someone who was so full of light that it seemed to radiate from her. Mostly, I saw someone that was absolutely nothing like my mom. Someone who promised something different, something better. That's how I knew.
This is the girl, I thought to myself. Don't fuck it up.
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