Hazard by Margaret Combs

Author:Margaret Combs
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Skyhorse Publishing
Published: 2017-02-21T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

Tears

When I was sixteen, my family settled into a kind of normalcy. Like most families hit with tribulation, mine got on with life. Between my winning in gymnastics and making straight As, Barbara Ann getting into college, Roddy learning how to count to 100, and my father’s salary steady enough for a big house in the Colorado foothills, my mother occasionally smiled. I did not know we had more ahead of us.

On one particular Friday in October, the afternoon was crisp and cut with fall light, conditions that made me giddy. My friend Sherry and I were goofing around in my backyard, taking liberties and indulging in disrespect. We wore short, flared cheerleading skirts, white blouses with puffed sleeves, and matching gold vests. Sewed on our backs were dark green BCs for Bear Creek, and spilling down the thighs of our skirts, our names, embossed in green, thrashed as we kicked and lunged.

I considered cheerleading a frivolous activity, but like most girls of my active nature, I seized whatever sanctioned outlets I could to avoid sitting in the bleachers. As a cheerleader, I could flip and jump and shout, and no one would stop me or tell me to sit down and cross my legs. It was better than nothing—better than sitting on my duff in the stands, bored and barking like a goose. We had the sorriest football team in Jefferson County but I had a job to do: scream on, no matter what the score or how utter the failure.

“Blah blah, sis boom blah—we missed the goal—ha ha ha!”

I flapped my crepe paper shakers and kicked like a chorus girl, madly, with too much enthusiasm. Sherry pranced beside me, pumping her arms, up and down, in and out, furiously marching her feet. Tonight’s game was less than two hours away and we both knew it was hopeless: we were going to lose. We’d been losing for weeks.

“Never score, we’re not sore, we just stink and stink some more,” Sherry croaked.

I dove into a forward roll and she followed, both of us landing on the grass, side by side, sitting with our legs stretched out in front. Instantly, we started walking on our buttocks. I couldn’t bear it—I spit and burst into laughter, flopping into her, and we both crumpled onto the grass, our shakers flaying green and gold.

“All right you two,” my mother chided through the patio door, “act like ladies and get going. It’s five o’clock.” The screen veiled her face but I could tell she was smiling. A smaller shadow hovered beside her. Through the sliding door, two small palms appeared, pressed to the glass: Roddy’s hands.

Sherry stuffed her shakers into her mouth, muffling, “Oh no, what if we miss the game?”

The sight of us reflected in the patio glass, hair askew, vests twisted, doubled me again, and I folded over, nose near my knees, wheezing.

Sherry and I had been comrades since fifth grade, since Mrs. Larson’s god-awful class. We had both come of age

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