Free The Boots My Mother Gave Me by Brooklyn James Page B

lose herself?
    “Ooh, it’s a report card. Harley’s third grade report card,” Kat said. “Mrs. Birch? I had her, too. She had those glasses with the chain, and she would look down over the lenses to see you. She always had a furrowed brow, like you did something wrong. Remember?”
    “Yeah. She would slap her ruler on her desk and insist we pay attention. ‘Look with your eyes, listen with your ears and shut your mouth,’ she would say,” I added.
    “Let’s see what ol’ Mrs. Birch had to say about Harley,” Kat teased, reading from the comments section, “‘Harley has a short attention span. She is a bit of a dreamer.’” She chuckled. “Well, I guess she had your number!”
    “Oh, okay. Let’s see what Katrina’s report card says,” I challenged, playfully digging through the box. My hand stopped, brushing against an unusual, yet familiar substance, plaster of Paris. I pulled the piece of a cast from the box with its one lone inscription, Get well soon, your friend forever, Miah.
    “You just had to keep that one little piece,” I heard Mom say, as I subconsciously embraced it to my chest.
    “Aren’t you going to miss him, Harley?” Kat asked. “Aren’t you going to miss us?”
    “Of course. But you’re coming to live with me after you graduate, right?” I affectionately tucked her hair behind her ear. “You can’t very well get your Fashion Design degree here in Georgia, PA.”
    “You were so stubborn with that cast. The thing covered your entire left leg from your toes to your thigh. You wouldn’t use your crutches. They only slowed you down. So you hopped everywhere on your right leg, even up and down the stairs,” Mom said, her tone reminiscent.
    “I had just made the first grade 8:30 Miler Club for gym class. You know, where you run a mile in eight minutes and thirty seconds or under, and you get your name on the wall. I didn’t want to fall behind,” I said. “That cast was a pain. My leg hurt so bad after they took it off. Oh, it ached.”
    “You used to cry out in the night. I thought you were having nightmares. I’d go in your room and there you would be, rubbing your leg. So I’d carry you into bed with me and your dad. I’d lay you on your dad’s chest and we’d rub your leg until you fell asleep.”
    “Dad, our dad?” Kat asked.
    “Well, yes...your dad, Katrina. How many fathers do you think you have?” I understood Kat’s skepticism. It didn’t sound like anything Dad would do, but he did. I remember.
    “He had his moments, Kit-Kat,” the words flowed freely from my lips, defending him.
    It’s amazing really, when I think about the psychology of it all. Dad could do a hundred rotten things, then turn around and do one good thing. Eager for his love and approval, I accepted that one good thing and forgave all the bad. No matter how many times he duped me, I always wanted to believe he was good and decent, that I came from something good and decent.
    Kat stood up from the box. “Well, I just can’t look at any more of this stuff. It’s making me sad. You’re leaving, Harley. What am I going to do?” Kat leaned against the attic wall, walking its length as she pilfered its contents. “I should pack up and go with you. What’s the big deal about a high school education anyway?”
    “The big deal about a high school education is that it leads to college and a career, allowing you to take charge of your life,” Mom said. “You girls will be educated, self-sufficient. You’re not going to have to depend on a man. I don’t ask for much, just get an education and don’t...”
    “Don’t ever get married,” Kat and I finished her sentence in unison.
    “Yeah, we know the rules, Ma.” I placed the piece of tattered cast back in the box, inscription side up, Jeremiah’s first grade handwriting staring back at me. I closed the lid on the box, trapping my childhood memories inside. Three days from now I would venture into a world unknown, and the last