from touching the earth, but God still does things for us to notice. Look.â He pointed to the sky. âGod gives us moments in each day to smile, thank, and acknowledge Him. When I see a sky that beautiful, I think . . . God is good. Go into a forest and just sit there and listen. You wouldnât be able to come back and tell me that you didnât feel the best sense of peace. The wind, do you ever listen to it?â
I smiled. I had listened to it. I felt that I could almost hear someone talking to me.
âOne day, sit outside for hours and listen to it, listen until you hear it. Itâs God telling you something. Heâs always trying to tell us something. Weâve just forgotten how to listen.â He walked around to face me. âClose your eyes.â I did as he said. âBreath in and out, slowly. Keep your feet planted on the ground, spread our arms, let all of your worries go, and feel the earthâs energy surge through you. Now listen to it, listen to what it has to tell you. Let God speak to you.â
I tried to focus, but John was so close and so passionate, I couldnât focus on anything but his soft voice. I opened my eyes. He was standing there with his arms spread out, eyes closed, face tilted up, listening to something I couldnât and wouldnât hear. I began to admire his beauty. He was only thirty years old, five years younger than Momma, but his eyes held the wisdom of a man twice his age. Momma was stupid to put this man down. If heâd been mine, Iâd have cherished the ground he walked on. I would have done anything to please him. Momma didnât deserve him. He didnât deserve the unhappiness she caused him. Maybe I could make him happy. If I did, maybe heâd stay longer. Maybe heâd never leave.
I stood up slowly, staring at his parted lips. I wanted to kiss those lips the way Momma couldnât. Make him feel the way Momma refused to make him feel. We were the same. He understood me and I understood him.
I quickly pressed my lips against his and stepped back, waiting for him to rage. Johnâs forehead furrowed as he opened his eyes and found mine. I knew what heâd say, that I shouldnât have kissed him, but I didnât want to hear it.
âJohn, please donât be mad at me. I just love you so much and I couldnât contain it.â
He sighed. âHope, I love you too, both you and your sister, but you donât kiss me. Iâm a grown man. You should kiss boys your age.â
âThem boys ainât nothing but stupid,â I told him. âWhatâs wrong with me?â
âYour age.â
âBack in the day, men your age married young women like me, even younger. Iâm sixteen. In two years Iâll be legal, and then we can run off together and leave Momma behind and be happy. Just you and me,â I told him, smiling as I said every word, smiling like it would work.
âHope, youâre still a child and I love your momma.â
âHow can you love her? She donât even love you!â I yelled. I clenched my fist, trying to contain the anger I felt. How could he reject me? He said that he loved me and I had always been in love with him, I just didnât know it until that moment. âNo man ever loved me like you love me, John.â
âYouâre confusing the love of a father with the love of some little boy.â
âYou ainât my daddy. You canât love me like a father loves his daughter. Donât lie to me, John. You want me too.â I walked up to him, rubbing my hands down his stomach. He gently moved them away. âJohn, let me make you feel good, like you make me feel. Let me touch you.â I reached for his manhood, but he pushed my hands away, backing up.
âHope, stop.â
âNo, John. Please, love me.â
âNo, Hope, stop!â
I stopped advancing toward him. My heart felt crushed into a million pieces. âYou