She was asleep soon after her head hit the pillow, drifting away on country lyrics.
That night was full of the restless sleep that accompanies awful, vivid dreams. Steamy bathrooms with Hunter asking Wannadomeafavor over and over until Ashlynne bolted awake, shaking and clammy. One dream cast her naked in the locker-room, another in the shower at home. Still another was set in an unfamiliar bathroom. It was clean, with matching, embroidered towel sets and a bear-claw bathtub. In the most vivid dream of the night, Ashlynne – no more than six years old – wanted to take a shower, but couldn’t reach high enough to adjust the dials on the wall and make the water warm instead of scalding. Thick steam filled the small room. Sweat ran down her tiny body, mixed with the scalding water. Why didn’t she just step out? A hand reached into the shower to adjust the temperature; a body stood outside the shower stall, watched as she cleaned herself, handed her a towel when she stepped onto the wet floor. Hunter’s wavy hair – he’d let it grow almost shoulder length during his junior year. His voice velvet smooth wanna do me a favor? His last word echoed favor, favor, fa-vor, fa-vor, fa-vor; a piercing cadence.
When Ashlynne bolted awake from this last dream, her alarm was blaring, flashing six forty-five. She had fifteen minutes until it was time to catch the bus.
She shed her pjs and pulled on a fresh bra and panties from the pile at the end of her bed. She had a shelf high on one wall in her room, made to store a few clothes, but she was terrified of disturbing a spider and being bitten. She preferred to hang bras on a bedpost and keep pants and panties folded at the foot of the bed. Shirts hung in the closet, wrinkle-free, like a normal teen with a normal house. A normal life.
Ashlynne rushed into a clean pair of jeans and grabbed a T-shirt from the closet. The one with a rose across the front, faded from repeated washes. It was deliciously soft, delicate, and comfy. She slipped into flip-flops, grabbed her towel and gym clothes from the dryer and shoved them in her backpack, then headed for the bathroom. A glance at the clock showed she had seven minutes to be at the bottom of the lane. So much for breakfast.
She scrubbed and dried her face, brushed her hair, and swabbed on deodorant. Makeup could be applied on the bus. A couple minutes to go, she opted for mint gum instead of brushing her teeth. It would help placate her empty stomach, too. She peeked in the kitchen and saw last night’s dishes still out. Grabbed the key off the counter to return to its hiding spot on the porch, locked the door, and slammed it behind her.
She headed down the lane just as the school bus came to a stop. Old brakes emitted a shrill squeak as the metal box came to a halt.
She jogged as well as possible in flip-flops – never liked anyone having to wait for her – to the bottom of the lane, then climbed the steps into the bus. Smiled in response to the bus driver’s “good morning,” and sank into the first available seat toward the back. I didn’t realize at the time that it happened to be the seat right in front of Colt.
Before long Ashlynne felt someone’s knees pushing against her through the back of her seat. A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed that Colt was telling Ashlynne good morning in his own slightly-annoying way. Ashlynne felt terrible about her behavior yesterday, but wasn’t sure how to apologize without creating an awkward moment. So she just smiled slightly and offered a quiet “good morning” before turning forward again, thinking she should do her makeup before she forgot.
Colt leaned over the back of Ashlynne’s seat and bumped her elbow as she applied foundation, so it smeared a little. “Don’t girls normally spend a lot of time in the bathroom doing that kind of stuff?” he goaded.
Not turning around to face him, she concentrated her compact and replied, “Most girls, probably. I woke up about fifteen minutes ago. So I’m doing it now.” Most of the time Ashlynne only wore foundation and mascara; occasionally blush and eye shadow or a little slick of lip gloss.
“I don’t know why you even bother with that stuff,” Colt muttered as he nudged Ashlynne’s elbow again when she reached for the mascara she’d stuck in her backpack. At least Colt isn’t letting yesterday’s craziness make him feel uncomfortable giving you a hard time. Ashlynne left the mascara where it was, replaced the foundation in the same pocket, deciding her eyes would be safer if she waited to accentuate her eyelashes until they reached the school.
“I may have over-slept today, but I still don’t wanna look like shit, that’s why.” Ashlynne leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes. She felt like she hadn’t slept more than two hours last night.
Colt chuckled and sat back. Ashlynne thought she heard him say something about being lucky enough not to need makeup, and she chuckled. Thinking about Colt wearing foundation and mascara almost made her giggle.
A few stops down the bus route Ashlynne felt something tickle her neck, right behind her ear. “Cut it out,” she responded sleepily. Despite Colt’s protests that he hadn’t done anything, Ashlynne figured he had a feather or something with him. The tickles moved from behind her ear to lower on her neck. She tried to ignore it, but exhaustion made it difficult. “Really, please stop, Colt,” she tried again. She twisted so her back was next to the window, pulling her knees to her stomach, hoping maybe he’d relent if she moved further away from him. She kept her eyes closed and tried to rest.
Then something mortifying happened. Ashlynne felt Colt lean over the seat again and heard him say, “Look! She’s got a cockroach on her!” She opened her eyes and saw him pointing at her.
“I do not!” came the automatic rebuttal, but she automatically swatted all over herself and wondered if the tickling she’d felt had been Colt teasing me, or if she really did have a nasty little critter crawling along her neck. She sat up, moved away from the window, tried to flick it off, all the while hoping it wasn’t really there.
“Gross! It just crawled out of her ear!” he continued. The other kids on the bus snickered. Pointed and outright laughed. Crap. Colt could, of course, been right. Ashlynne hadn’t checked her bag before she moved it from the chair by the front door to her room last night. There was every possibility that a roach had wandered its way into the bag and decided to crawl out when she ran to catch the bus.
Then she saw it. Crawling on the seat beside her. It wasn’t one of the largest ones she’d seen. Not that there were giant hissing cockroaches in her house, by any means. They ranged in size from pin-head to thumb-nail. The one on the seat next to Ashlynne, crawling away, was about the size of her pinkie nail. She brushed it quickly off the seat into the aisle, hoping no one saw it.
Of course, the other kids saw it. As they stopped pointing at Ashlynne and started pointing at the aisle instead, their laughter was replaced with groaning and cries of “Gross!” and “Nasty!” Ashlynne looked at Colt. Met his green eyes with her watery brown ones, tears about to overflow. “You’re a jerk,” she whispered before getting up and moving a few seats closer to the front of the bus. The exclamations of the other kids turned into whispers and Ashlynne felt their eyes on her back as she made her escape.
In her new seat, Ashlynne huddled close to the window, rested her cheek against the cold glass. Watched the fields pass by like flip books – the water running down the corrugations in contrast to the dark brown earth where corn and wheat peeked out – and tried to slow the tears that trickled past her damming eyelids. The cool window helped suck the heat from her face.
Lost in the serenity of flip-book fields – thank God for farmers and country life; always good for a distraction or lighthearted entertainment on an uncomfortable drive – Ashlynne was startled when the seat next to her sank as someone sat down. His voice was soft when he apologized. The antagonizing banter was completely gone when Colt almost-whispered, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything.”
Ashlynne lifted her head from the window long enough to turn in his direction, her eyes still watery, but holding the tears back now. Meeting his eyes, seeing true remorse there, knowing he meant what he said and wasn’t just apologizing in case she told Ethan about what happened – her dam threatened to break again. She turned back to the window to wait for another flip-book field. Unfortunately, the bus stopped to wait for an early elementary kid to run from his front door to the bus. He had to go back after making it halfway; had to give his mama one last goodbye kiss. Lucky little kid to have a mama at home to see him off to school Ashlynne thought. She imagined his mom made pancakes for breakfast. No Little Debbie snacks for that cute kid.
Colt’s hand was suddenly on Ashlynne’s leg, just above her knee. He startled away the thoughts of how different she wished her life was, how she’d rather see her mom for more than just dinner and Primetime. How different Ashlynne might be if Kaitlynn hadn’t had to leave her kids to their own hands – or someone else’s.
“I killed it,” Colt said. “The roach,” like he could have been referring to anything else. “In the aisle. I stepped on it. It’s dead,” he stammered. Ashlynne looked at his hand on her leg. He showed no intention of moving it. He leaned a little closer and continued, “We have them, too.” Ashlynne’s eyes widen when he shared this. She’d never told anyone what her house was like. She figured everyone knew from the outside appearance that it wasn’t anything real great on the inside, but she never felt the need to provide fodder for people’s imaginations. Colt kept talking, and Ashlynne met his eyes. “It’s okay. It didn’t come out of your ear like I said. I don’t know why I said that. It was stupid.”
He moved his hand now, brushed Ashlynne’s long hair away from her eyes. Her eyes darted around the bus. Colt wasn’t acting like Ethan’s ornery friend anymore. He was being decent. Nice, even. Despite how she treated him yesterday. He put his hand back in his lap, leaning forward with his arms on his knees. When Ashlynne looked away from him and out the window again, he blew out a deep breath and said, “I didn’t mean to make you cry.” Um, you could say ‘thanks,’ came that snarky voice in Ashlynne’s head, but she was afraid she’d cry if she tried to speak. Ashlynne nodded her head slowly, hoping Colt would let that stand in place of a proper “thank you.” Just a couple more stops until they reached the school. Colt moved his hand to Ashlynne’s knee again, smoothed his thumb back and forth a couple times. “You okay?” he asked.
Ashlynne turned and looked past his shoulder. “I’ll be fine,” she said quietly. Above-whisper but not loud enough anyone else could hear. His thumb stopped moving and he squeezed her leg. Just a little. Ashlynne glanced at his hand above her knee again before looking at his face. Tears threatened to spill when she saw the tender look lingering in his eyes. His mouth opened to say something else, but she interrupted. “Please leave me alone,” her voice choked on the last word. The same request she’d made yesterday, only much more politely. Ashlynne’s gaze shifted to his mouth – would he say anything now? – then back to his eyes. They looked hurt. He squeezed her leg slightly before he stood up and headed toward the back of the bus. Ashlynne turned toward the window and the flip-book fields were all gone. The school was right up ahead.
When the bus stopped in the parking lot, Ashlynne bolted off and slipped quickly into the school. She dodged the other students, head down so they wouldn’t notice if her eyes were puffy or her cheeks were red. She made it into the bathroom and thanked God that no one else was in there. A few paper-towels soaked in icy cold water helped the puffiness in her face subside.
The bell rang, signaling five minutes till class started. Ashlynne stared into the mirror for a few minutes, smoothing her hair and looking for signs of lingering tears before touching up her foundation and applying a quick coat of mascara. When she thought most kids would be in their classes, she threw the wet paper towels away, left the bathroom, and headed to class. Colt called her name as she opened the classroom door. She saw him at the end of the hallway, bag slung over his shoulder, headed in her direction. She slipped into class and hurried to an available desk. As the door clicked closed, she told herself she’d ride at the front of the bus on the way home and hope that Colt wouldn’t be bold enough to bear the loud, bouncing elementary kids with her.
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