One

I’ve been in love with Carter since I was ten years old. It started the day I saw him move into the trailer next door with his father howling at him to hurry out of the car. It was the summer of 1999, and it was hot, and the trailer park stunk of rubbish and smoke. Huddled quietly on the porch, I watched as he stepped out of the old truck, and the first thing I noted in my innocent mind was how tall he was.

I liked tall.

I also liked his hair. It was dark blonde and shaggy, and it needed to be seriously combed. He tried to run his fingers through the mess of it as he moved with an unusually slow pace toward the trailer. His face was downcast on his way to the front door, like this was the last place he wanted to be. I noticed his hands curling into fists the closer he got to his father.

When he disappeared inside, the father looked up and, to my surprise, met my gaze. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. He was scary looking and reminded me of my Uncle when he was angry. I would have hurried inside if I could, but said Uncle had kicked me out due to “business”. Every time he did business it consisted of him forcing me out for hours. Strangers would come and go, all of them men with strange, hungry eyes. When I eventually was welcomed back in, I’d see Aunt Cheryl curled up in a ball in her bed with the covers over top of her. Uncle Russell would be counting money in the small living room with a lit cigarette in his mouth. Those were usually my favourite days because he’d ask me what kind of take-out I wanted, and I’d get whatever I craved. It beat living off mac and cheese or Suimin noodles the other six days of the week.

So when Carter’s scary father looked at me, I turned my body away from him and stared out into the trailer park with my knees to my chest. Moments later, I heard the door slam shut. Minutes after that the sounds of shouts emerged from within, and I craned my head in the direction of the trailer to listen in, but I couldn’t make out anything.

I was a nosey girl. Only because I was lonely. There were a lot of kids around, but they were mostly boys, and Uncle Russell didn’t like me around a lot of boys. I spent most of my time sitting on the porch and watching them play. They usually kicked a ball around on a bit of land in between the trailers next to a rundown park no parent would dare let their kids on. They were boys of all ages, and some of them would say derogatory words to me I didn’t really understand at the time. Of course, as I aged, I’d learn just what they meant.

When Carter did eventually come out and integrate himself in the crowd, my body would tighten and a tingle ran through my chest all the way down to the pit of my stomach. He was tall, light haired and beautiful. An almost twelve year old boy that never once turned his head to look at me. I watched him naturally blend in with the kids, becoming vastly popular among them without even trying.

It wasn’t his blasé attitude that had the guys submitting to him. It was the fact Carter had no fear. He was unafraid of any kid, no matter their size, and it was unheard of to be this way in a rough place like the one we were living in, where the adults we should be looking up to were actually the villains in our story. In return, the kids wanted him on their side, and they looked up to him like he was gold among a sea of rubbish.

To me, he was just that; shiny and bright, smooth but hard, and beautiful beyond anything I’d ever seen.

Like me, he spent most of his time outdoors. Even when it was so hot under the scorching sun, Carter and I were out. Away from Cheryl and Russell’s arguments, I’d flee from the porch and follow Carter around. He usually had a basketball in his hand, and he’d bounce it up and down the street with his shirt off and looped around his neck. And there I was, twenty paces behind him, hidden behind trees and cars, in nothing but a pink sundress on and worn-out sandals.

He’d bounce that basketball out of the trailer park, slamming it hard against the asphalt, crossing the road and into the nature reserve. And I’d trail behind him every time, moving past the brush as he held the ball and stopped by a stream. He’d take his shoes off and rest his feet in the water under the shade. I wished I had the courage to approach him. To sit down next to him and rest my own sore feet in the refreshing water. Instead, I was batting mosquitoes away and constantly moving my sweaty, dirty blonde hair from one shoulder to the other.

And I’d just take him all in, waiting desperately for him to open his mouth and do what he did when he thought he was alone.

Sing.

He had a soft deep voice, resonating from deep within and made you want to cry if you closed your eyes and just listened. A lot of the time he’d sing the same song, and I wished I knew why. I wanted to understand what it meant to him.

Led Zeppelin’s “Thank You” flowed from his lips, sounding better than the singer himself.

If the sun refused to shine, I would still be loving you
When mountains crumble to the sea, there will still be you and me.

The discomfort I felt was worth it. If it meant studying Carter, then I welcomed the mosquitoes on my sunburnt flesh. I let them ravage me until I was head to toe in pink itchy sores. He intrigued me too much to care. I think it was the way he took in his surroundings with a faraway look on his face that pinched my heart at times. I saw so much emotion when he sang. He acted tough. He wanted everyone to think he could handle himself, and for the most part he could. But after spending an entire summer with my eyes pinned to his head listening to his soulful voice, I knew what most didn’t.

Carter was broken. He was lonely and sad. He was without a mother and the love of a father that, when he wasn’t drinking his sorrows away, gave him a hard time some nights. He was like me in a lot of ways, and with every fibre of my being it made me want to reach out to him and tell him he wasn’t alone. That I knew what it was like to be without a mother, to be left alone without a shred of love in a neglected, poverty-stricken area. To go to bed hungry and tired, and wanting nothing more than eight hours of sleep without the sounds of barking dogs and screaming couples and crying children.

But I didn’t reach out to him. For two years I watched from afar, invisible to him like always. Until one day it just happened. It was unexpected, and I was unprepared for him to walk into my life the way he did.

It took a nasty, bad mouthed little bastard to get him to look at me, and it was then our lives intersected into one.

Two

Spring of 2001

12 years old

“My mother says your aunt’s a whore,” said Graeme, stopping in front of me as he ate his purple Popsicle.