Easy

CHAPTER 1 It's two years ago, and I'm just about to turn twelve. At home things are just about to turn too. My mother spends most of her time crying in the bedroom or the kitchen, or wherever someone might hear. To get away, I'm in the woods near the house. Wandering. Suddenly he's there, walking toward me. His face blank. His breathing ragged, audible. I've seen him before. He's mentally retarded. The boy who never grew up. But he's different this time. There's something distant in his eyes, and strange. As he comes closer, I see why -- his fly is open and from it stands his erect penis. It's pale and fishlike, an alien thing. I take a step backward. He stares at me and says nothing. I turn and run -- Screeching brakes from a semitruck bring me back. I'm on one of my walks, waiting to cross the busy freeway. The driver is watching me and blasts the horn. He's maybe thirty years old, wearing a white tank top. He has blond hair and thick stubble. His window is rolled all the way down and his arm rests on the top. He sits up high, but he's close enough for me to see the sun glinting off the pale, short hairs on his arm. My eyes lock on his and he flashes a warm, friendly grin. There is something else in his eyes too. He's interested, admiring. My body fills with warmth, as though heat is seeping from the sidewalk through my flip-flops all the way to my face. I like the feeling, his eyes lingering on my small new breasts. I smile back. I reach into my pocket for my camera. "Hey, there," he says. Before I can take a picture, the brakes of the truck release, the gears shift, and he is gone. I watch after him, wanting something, wishing there were more. Wondering if his erect penis looks pale and fishlike. When I get back to my house, my sister Anne is sweeping the kitchen floor. "Hey," I say. I want to tell her about the man in the truck, but what would I say? She pauses a moment, looks at me, and pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. She's only two years older than I am, but sometimes she's like a middle-aged woman. "Where have you been, Jessica?" Mom is at the sink, sponging a counter. Her arm moves in quick jabs. She turns to frown at me. It's Dad's weekend with Anne and me, so Mom is starting her regular meltdown. Even though they divorced almost a year ago, she won't forgive Dad for the affair. "I took a walk," I say. "You wanted that expensive photography class, and then you don't show up." Oops. I forgot. When I signed up for the four-week class in June, it was all I could think about. I couldn't wait for the class to start. Mom turns around again so I can see only her petite back and dark hair. She is a bundle of darkness. "Who do you think I am? Your personal chauffeur? I'm supposed to wait for you? I have a life too," she says. I set my mouth so I won't blurt out anything. Mom misunderstands whatever I say. I go up to my room. The contest information sits on my desk. Ruth's handwriting is at the top: DON'T FORGET! She's been my art teacher since seventh grade. The big blue letters seem to mock me. "Forget" is my new middle name. Ruth's in charge at our school of this year's national high school art contest. The prize is five thousand dollars and a chance to show your work in the National Gallery in Washington, D.C., where thousands of people will see it. This is the first year I'll be able to submit my work. I just started my first year in high school. "You have a gift," Ruth told me once while sifting through photos I had just developed in the darkroom.Hoffmann, Kerry Cohen is the author of 'Easy', published 2006 under ISBN 9781416914259 and ISBN 1416914250.