Heart Bones

I received a volleyball scholarship to Penn State. In August, I’ll be out of this life, and it won’t be because of anything my mother did for me, or because my father bailed me out of here. It’ll be because of me.

I want that victory.

I want to be the reason I turn out the way I’m going to turn out.

I refuse to allow Janean to receive any credit for any good things that might happen in my future. I never told her about the volleyball scholarship I received. I didn’t tell anyone. I swore my coach to secrecy and wouldn’t even allow a write-up in the paper, or a photo-op for the yearbook.

I never told my father about the scholarship, either. I’m not even sure he knows I play volleyball. My coaches made sure I had everything I needed as far as supplies, equipment, and a uniform. I was good enough that they weren’t going to allow my financial situation to prevent me from being part of the team.

I haven’t had to ask my parents for a single thing related to volleyball.

It feels strange even referring to them as parents. They gave me life, but that’s about the only thing I’ve ever received from them.

I am the product of a one-night stand. My father lived in Washington and was in Kentucky on business when he met Janean. I was three months old before he even knew he’d gotten Janean pregnant. He found out he was a dad when she served him with child support papers.

He came to see me once a year until I was four; then he started flying me to Washington to visit him, instead.

He knows nothing about my life in Kentucky. He knows nothing about my mother’s addictions. He knows nothing about me, other than what I present to him, and that’s very little.

I’m extremely secretive about every aspect of my life. Secrets are my only form of currency.

I haven’t told my father about my scholarship for the same reason I never told my mother. I don’t want him to take pride in having a daughter who accomplished something. He doesn’t deserve to feel prideful of a child he puts a fraction of his effort into. He thinks a monthly check and intermittent phone calls to my work are enough to cover up the fact that he barely knows me.

He’s a two weeks out of the year Dad.

Because we’re so far apart on the map, it’s convenient for him to excuse his absence in my life. I’ve stayed with him fourteen days out of every summer since I was four, but in the last three years, I haven’t seen him at all.

Once I turned sixteen and joined the varsity team, volleyball became an even bigger part of my daily routine, so I stopped flying out to see him. I’ve been making excuses for three years now as to why I can’t make our visits.

He pretends to be bummed.

I pretend to be apologetic and busy.

Sorry, Brian, but a monthly child support check makes you responsible; it doesn’t make you a father.

There’s a sudden pounding on the door that startles me enough that I let out a yelp. I spin around and see the landlord through the living room window. Normally, I wouldn’t open up for Gary Shelby, but I’m not really in a position to ignore him. He knows I’m awake. I had to use his phone to call the police. Plus, I kind of need to figure out what to do about this couch. I don’t want it inside this house anymore.

When I open the door, Gary hands me an envelope as he pushes his way inside to get out of the rain.

“What’s this?” I ask him.

“Eviction notice.”

If this were anyone but Gary Shelby, I’d be surprised.

“She literally just died. You couldn’t wait a week?”

“She’s three months late on rent, and I don’t rent to teenagers. I’ll either need a new lease with someone over the age of twenty-one, or you’re gonna have to move out.”

“My father pays her for the rent. How are we three months behind?”

“Your mother said he stopped sending her checks a few months ago. Mr. Renaldo’s been looking for a bigger place, so I’m thinking I might let them switch to—”

“You’re an asshole, Gary Shelby.”

Gary shrugs. “It’s business. I’ve already sent her two notices. I’m sure you have somewhere else to go. You can’t just stay here by yourself, you’re only sixteen.”

“I turned nineteen last week.”

“Either way, you gotta be twenty-one. Terms of the lease. That and actually paying the rent.”

I’m sure there’s some sort of eviction process that has to go through the courts before he could actually force me out the door, but it’s pointless to fight when I don’t even want to live here anymore.

“How long do I have?”

“I’ll give you the week.”