Free Burned by Ellen Hopkins Page A

armed mission?
    231
    Would Dad really have
    pulled that trigger, killed his sister and Kevin, just because they were in love?
    The obvious answer kept
    me awake half the night.
    232
    J ournal Entry, June 10
    I learned some terrihle things
    today--all about Aunt J and her "forever love," Kevin.
    It seems my wonderfui father
    drove them apart. With a gun.
    Maybe that shouldn't surprise
    me. But it does.
    How many more miserable
    things has Dad done, things I'll never know about and don't really want to?
    How does he darejudge me?
    I want Aunt J not to be lonely.
    I want her tofind another love, but she says we only get one
    real love, and only ifwe're lucky.
    Will I be lucky? Ifl am, will
    someone drive him away?
    Someone like Dad?
    Someone
    like
    me?
    233
    Thought About Ethan a Lot
    Over the next few days.
    Weird, I know, that
    someone
    you've never met could
    thaw the ice damming inside, warm
    you like a summer morning, even though he's not yours to hold.
    I thought of Aunt J, the love of her life dissolved into dreams.
    Did she hurt every day? Or
    had she locked away all
    memories of him, condemned them to that muddy well only
    drawn from in times of strangling
    loneliness? Would I find
    forever
    love? Did I really want to, when forever was a word without meanin?
    234
    tuesday Evening
    Aunt J and ourselves on the porch to watch the out, twinkle by twinkle, in the slate
    blue sky.
    It was a nightly affair, and one no city
    dweller
    could ever take notice of, amidst
    sodium and neon lights.
    Cutting through the blossoming darkness, headlights
    appeared on the road, slowed,
    Turned into the driveway. Ethan
    shimmied down from the pickup
    cab,shiny
    even under the muted glow of gathering
    moonlight.
    235
    Evening, ladies. Just thought I'd drop by on my way
    home with that new pair of reins. Came in today.
    Thank you,
    Mr. Carter, said Aunt J. Sit on down and stay
    awhile. We haven't had dessert yet.
    Homemade
    strawberry pie.
    He did just that.
    We spent the next hour or so .
    immersed in lighthearted conversation, strawberries, and whipped
    cream.
    236
    After He Left
    Aunt J noted, I think he's
    taken with you, girl.
    Taken with me? "No way.
    Why would he be?"
    She shrugged. He could have
    hrought the reins on Sunday.
    Whieh proved exactly zip.
    He was driving by . . .
    Even if the reins were important, he didn't have to stayfor dessert.
    "Maybe not. But I'm not
    good enough for him."
    Why would you say such a thing, Pattyn?
    "Have you looked at him,
    Aunt J? He's beautiful."
    Have you looked in a mirror
    lately? So are you. So are you.
    "Me? Beautiful? I'm
    plain as cardboard."
    That may he how you see yourself but the rest ofthe world would
    be hard put to agree. You shine
    brighter than the Milky Way.
    237
    Now there are those who might
    try to take that from you, but you don't have to give it away.
    Keep on shining, Pattyn.
    And when the right young man
    comes along, he'll love you all the more for giftin' this sad
    planet with your light.
    238
    I Didn't Know
    How to respond, but with a simple
    thank you. Then
    I excused myself and went in to bed.
    I sat in the rocker, staring out at a corner of the Milky Way,
    Aunt J's words
    floating in my head.
    I'd never thought of myself as any-
    thing but banal.
    Could I see myself as beautiful instead?
    Smaller steps, maybe?
    "Pretty" would do, or even "cute." Still, this was territory I
    almost feared to tread.
    239
    I felt like a snake, perhaps a bit afraid of the brand-new
    serpent, commanding an old sldn to shed.
    240
    The Morning After
    Found me antsy, so I borrowed
    Aunt J's .22 and hiked back up into the summer-kissed hills.
    Before I left, she insisted I clean the rifle, which had sat, unused, for more years than she could remember.
    I'd never cleaned a gun before, and as I thought about it, I began to wonder
    why Dad had never taught me the skill.
    A dirty gun is no kind of weapon,
    Aunt J said. You could take out an eye as easily as hit a target.
    Anyway, she showed me how,