Orilie Davis -- Chapter One

I love it outside at night. The air is crisper, the sky is clear, and I especially love the crickets. I laid inside the bed of my truck and stared blankly through the sky. Looking for what you ask? I suppose nothing at all. I always say when something is that beautiful, you don’t have to search for anything, just stare and take it all in. Momma of course just comes outside to flick a cigarette out in the yard and scoff at me. I think she actually thinks I care about what she does to me. I don’t. As I lay there the hard plastic started to irritate my back, so I inched to the back of the bed and sat against the window. I rested my head on the cold glass panel and I turned my head sideways towards Troy’s house. I remembered earlier that day when he started to walk towards me. Of course, I ran into the house before he could get ten feet from me.

It was around 1:00 A.M. when I tried to stand up and go inside. I had had enough silence for the night. Now all I had to do was open our rusting metal-screened door and creep past that oaf my mother calls, “sweety”. Eugh, he’s always in that recliner, my dad’s recliner. My momma was asleep and so was he. The volume on the T.V. was barely audible and the splashes of colors played across his body. It wasn’t a pretty sight, and once again I wanted to gag. I turned the T.V. off and walked down the aisle to my room. Inside was my desk and chair that I had to maneuver around to get to my bed. I felt around and my hands finally landed on soft quilts. I threw myself down and melted.

I awoke to the sound of my momma. She yelled, “Orilie, get up, do something for a change you miserable rat!” My eyes slowly crept open and I heard them both laughing. My momma had more of a shrill than a laugh, and he, he had a deep, pot-bellied chuckle. Every morning he was in this house, I dreaded getting up more and more. I slid to the edge of my bed and rubbed my eyes. Slowly, I got up and threw some pajama pants on, flannel print. I walked out of my room and down the hall into the kitchen where they were. They both were slumped over a circle table drinking coffee. My momma had a cigarette and it smoke in a tray, clouding the air. It rose to the ceiling fan and scattered in all directions. It got silent. My momma picked up the cigarette and took a deep puff, then smashed it in the tray. She waited a second or two before blowing it in my face, and laughing some more.

“Say kid, how about some eggs and toast?” He laughed with my momma.

This was the first time I’d spoken to him, “How about I shove that toast up your …”

“Orilie!” Momma cut me off. “Don’t you dare speak that way to Greg! I’ll throw you outta’ this house fasterin’ you can say it!”

I thought of saying, “Go ahead, I’d rather live under a bridge!” But, I knew I couldn’t survive without living here. It was a parasitic relationship, only we both gained nothing and were both miserable. I started to walk away when Greg switched in the chair and grabbed my arm. “Hey young lady, let us get one thing straight. You will respect me as if I was your father.”

That last sentence that spilled from his mouth was too much. I yanked my arm from his grasp and smacked him across the face as hard as I could. I only realized what I had done after I did it. I stood there in amazement, shock even. His eyes grew wide and I ran as fast as I could to the door. He was right after me and I ran faster. His footsteps pounded like cement blocks being thrown down, his breath becoming deeper and quicker. I of course outran him and left him bent over, gasping for air. I ran down the road and I heard him say, “Don’t you – Come -- Back!” I ran all the way to the creek under the bridge. It took me a half an hour, but I was fueled with adrenaline and my daddy’s love. It was only a small bridge, but underneath it was another world. I walked down the little slope while holding onto the side. The creek was shallow, but clear. I liked it there. I rolled up my pajama pants and sat on the rocks, dipping my toes in the water. I thought of what I was going to do. But as much as I thought, the more I came down to this solution: I was actually living under a bridge. For tonight, anyways. Then I thought of Troy.

The day passed quicker than most and I was getting hungry. I dreaded what would be at home, but started to walk anyway. The road seemed endless, especially with no shoes on. I stepped on a pointed rock every once in a while and suppressed a shout. It was becoming darker, about late afternoon when I approached home. Once again the cool air descended from the sky, the wonderful crisp kind. The sitting out in your truck-bed kind. That air was what I woke up for, and lived throughout the day to smell. I approached Troy’s house and stopped. Something splashed over me; I started to walk towards the door.

Ding-Dong The doorbell echoed throughout the house.

I stood there and realized that I was still in pajamas, dirty, and crazy for ring the bell. In a panic, I sprinted to the side of the house and bent down to my knees in the shadows. What was I thinking? I had ran away, played in a creek all day, and ringed the doorbell of a God. Today was one for the records,for me. I usually lead a bland life with bland hopes. As I crouched down I hoped no one would answer it. But, I heard a soft click noise and a melodic “Hello?” It must have been Troy. Gosh, even his voice was perfect. What was I going to do with him? Of course, I planned out scenarios of what I would do with him. Like, Go to the county fair, he would win me the biggest stuffed animal, and at the end of the night, kiss me. I laughed at that thought and quickly covered my mouth.

Stupid Orilie, stupid! I thought.

I heard footsteps on the cement walkway and another “Hello? Who’s there?” I tried to make myself as small as possible. It was of no use though; he had peaked around the corner to find me, a total stranger, hiding beside his house.

“Ugh, why are you hiding beside my house?”

“I-I, um”

“Aren’t you my next door neighbor?” He laughed.

I stood up and brushed off my grass stained knees before answering.

“Yes, I am” I blushed.

“I have to ask, what’s your name?”

“It’s-It’s Orilie, Orilie Davis.” I sputtered out.

“It’s nice to meet you Orilie Davis. The name’s Troy, Troy Roberts.” He said.

I gave an awkward smile and looked at the ground and back up again. I wanted to be invisible.

“This isn’t what you think it is, I mean, it isn’t a prank.” I said, hoping it would make it less weird.

“Well, it kinda’ seems that way. You being on the side of my house and all.” He said, holding back a laugh.

He was just messing with me; I could see it in his eyes.

“Well, I’ll see ya’ sometime, I’ve gotta’ go,” I said. “I-I uh, well, bye Troy, it was nice meeting you.”

I turned around and walked fast, I was completely embarrassed. I didn’t care what would happen to me once I got inside, I just wanted to be away. My legs were shaking, my throat was dry, and I felt odd. I walked up to the door and opened the screen door. I took a deep breath and entered. Waiting there was Greg and Momma. Both were drunk, I could tell because the air smelled like scotch. I was worried and I didn’t know what to do. They dim light of the kitchen fan illuminated their faces, they looked up and they got silent.

“Well, lurk a’ who it is.” Momma slurred the words.

She stood up in her thin white night gown and staggered to the couch. She took a swig from the scotch bottle and polished it off, throwing it to the side. Her body swayed in a circular motion before she could do nothing more but pass out on the couch. Pathetic, but in my mind it was one down, one to go. Greg stood up, he could handle alcohol a bit better than momma could. He said very lightly with a hint of disgust, “You, you are a disgusting piece of woman, aren’t you? Heh, your momma was right. I know a rat when I see one. You can’t fool me!”

He started towards me from the kitchen. He was still drunk enough not to run or walk properly, so I ran into my room. I slammed the door shut and pushed in the brass lock. Just when I heard the click of it, he was pounding on the door. I jumped back in fright that he would break it down. The door knob rattled, more pounding came.

“Get outta’ there,” Greg shouted. “Ya’ here me, do ya’?!”

I was afraid; I was sick and tired of living like this. I walked over to a wall and began to cry. I used the wall to slide down and sit beside the desk. I didn’t want him to hear me cry so I put my hands over my face and muffled any noise that poured out. I buried my head between my knees and put my hands on my head, I just wanted everything to stop.

“You just wait til mornin’!” He said, before hitting the door one last time.

I sat there for a while, numb. I had been so emotionally drained, physically drained. How can someone keep going like this? That was the question I asked myself everyday. I walked over to my bed and looked out the window. I touched the glass, it was cold. I let it fog up from the touch of my hand and I just starred. The night was truly beautiful and harsh at the same time. It was when Momma drank and I, I could be at peace.