Tonina

I sat very still as my mother, Tonina, expertly applied my make-up.  She was almost buzzing with happiness at my decision to venture down to the boardwalk tonight.  I knew how much she wanted me to be able to enjoy doing all the things I used to do.  I think I saw her heart break every time I would crumple up and cry in my room, submerged in waves of fear, of abandonment, of the injustice of it all.  Sometimes she even cried with me.  

I knew if I backed down now it  would disappoint her, so I didn't say anything as the wisps of drat started threading through me.  A cricket perched on the windowsill at my shoulder.

It chirped in my ear, "Don't go."

I felt my eyes widen.

"You're too weak now.  You hurt too easily."

I couldn't speak back to the cricket without Tonina hearing, so I shot it a dark look.

"You're safe here.  You can't handle yourself alone."

Despite myself, my knees started knocking in anxiousness.  Tonina noticed and smiled at me.

"You look so pretty, sweet pea.  You'll be just fine."

I smiled back, but "looking pretty" didn't make me feel any better.  Sure, the make-up worked great, but what if another boy ever wanted to get close?  Could I ever be held again?  Wouldn't he feel the rigidness of my fingers if he held my hand?  Wouldn't he wonder why I was so light, so waif-like?  What if he expected more, needed more from me than a puppet girl could give?

I repeated Tonina's words in my head as I walked the short distance to the boardwalk.  It was lit up with twinkling Christmas lights and smelled like sweet bread.  I was only a few minutes from home, but already I felt the invisible tug of strings; back to my room, back to the Charles Dickens novel waiting for me on my bed. 

No.

I locked my knees tighter, and walked with longer strides toward the first attraction I saw.  It was a skee ball booth, with plump pastel colored bears strung up along the ceiling.  Next to that was a cotton candy machine, where a woman stood with a paper cone, making a treat for the howling toddler clutching to the hem of her dress.

The further along the boardwalk I got, the louder the music was; the more vibrant the lights.  A boy on a neon green bicycle whizzed past me, nearly knocking me down.  My breath started to come faster and faster.  Panic was setting in.

"I can't do this." I muttered to myself, and spun around to flee, forgetting I was not as graceful as I once was.  The tip of my shoe caught on a protruding board, and I stumbled onto my knees, tears springing hot in my eyes.

A hand clutched me by the elbow.  I looked up and saw his startlingly blue eyes before I took in the rest of him.  He was a boy that looked to be around my age, wearing a powder blue suit and gripping the neck of an acoustic guitar in his free hand.  His hair stood up in brown tufts, and illuminated against the boardwalk lights he looked like a 50's era angel.

"Are you okay?" he asked, pulling me upright.

"I have to go home." I said, continuing my frantic pace down the boardwalk.  But his grip on my elbow didn't lessen, and his footsteps kept time with mine.

"Okay I'll help you.  Let me walk you.  Breathe slower, you'll make yourself dizzy."

"I don't feel good.  I want to go home."

"I'll get you home.  I promise."

Something in his voice calmed me, and I slowed down some.  I turned and looked into his face, open and concerned.

"Here, hold my hand.  You'll be fine."

I reached out for his outstretched hand and squeezed, too shaken to care what my hand might feel like to him.

"Okay," I nodded, still moving, "Okay.  I live this way."