Even Wilder Read online

  Even Wilder

  Bria Leigh

  Published by Holly Hood, 2019.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  EVEN WILDER

  First edition. October 24, 2019.

  Copyright © 2019 Bria Leigh.

  Written by Bria Leigh.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Violet

  Violet

  Wilder

  Violet

  Violet

  Violet

  Wilder

  Violet

  Violet

  Wilder

  Violet

  Wilder

  Violet

  Wilder

  Violet

  Wilder

  Violet

  Wilder

  Wilder

  Violet

  Wilder

  Violet

  Wilder

  Wilder

  Violet

  Wilder

  Violet

  Wilder

  Violet

  Wilder

  Violet

  Wilder

  Violet

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgment

  Connect with Bria

  Sign up for Bria Leigh's Mailing List

  About the Author

  To Ash, Sarah and Brandi my three best friends, and to everyone who needs to know they are loved!

  Violet

  First grade

  WORDS DO HURT.

  They hurt bad.

  “Stay away from her!” All the kids ran across the playground away from me.

  I crossed my arms and headed for the swings. I had no words for bullies. I just wanted a friend to play dolls with and giggle about cartoons, simple girl things. That didn’t seem so bad.

  Wilder stepped in front of me, glaring at all of them. “Leave her alone, or you’ll be sorry.”

  I didn’t understand why people wanted to be so mean to me. But my feelings were hurt. And Christina knew that when she told me I couldn’t like Wilder because I was black. She knew it, and she said it anyway.

  I didn’t feel different. Christina made me feel that way. I had a mom at home that wasn’t black at all. And she was married to a man who didn’t look “black” to me either. So, I didn’t understand the issue.

  I couldn’t figure her out. Her skin wasn’t any different than mine, but there she stood, telling me I was the one who didn’t belong.

  Wilder was the only person in first grade who was nice to me. He didn’t make fun of my hair. And he always invited me to play.

  “Christina just likes messing with you,” Wilder told me. “She’s stupid.”

  Stupid was a first graders comparison to an asshole. And she was an asshole. That was a sure thing.

  I bounced the ball back to Wilder. “She’s pretty stupid. But I like her hair.” It was long and shiny—even straight.

  Wilder shook his head. “I like your hair. It’s brown and curly. Sort of puffy.” He caught the ball and gave me a smirk.

  I smirked back. And we spent the rest of recess playing ball.

  Christina and her friends sat by the slides and stared the entire time, whispering and giggling.

  “What did you do to your arm?” I asked him. I noticed the band-aid when he walked into class without a coat on. And it was fall he should have had a coat on. My mom bundled me tight before she walked with me down to the corner that morning.

  Nobody walked Wilder.

  “Ah. Just a scratch.” He shrugged, acting as if it didn’t matter, but I could see how sad his eyes got when he thought about it. I knew what sadness was because I lived in that world too.

  “What did you do?” Maybe he tripped and gave himself a good scrape.

  He stopped the ball from getting away with his worn-out sneaker and dropped down on the ground. “If I tell you, you have to promise never to say anything.”

  I nodded, taking the spot next to him. “I won’t say anything.”

  We both stared straight ahead. And I waited for Wilder to speak.

  When he did, my world felt a little less colorful and sadder.

  “My mom’s new boyfriend did it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s not a good person.” Wilder peeled back the band-aid. An oozing burn showed itself. And he quickly covered it back up.

  Wilder had longish hair that he hid behind when he wasn’t in a good mood. It shielded him from everything, and he liked it that way. I think it made him feel safe.

  “You should probably wash that. It looks bad.” I tried stopping the wind from blowing my hair all over the place. Some of it blew across Wilder’s face, and he laughed.

  “That tickles.”

  “Did you tell your mom about it?”

  He shook his head.

  “Maybe you should.”

  “She’ll get mad. And then she’ll cry. I hate when she does that.”

  The bell rang, and the teacher ushered us all back inside. We stood up, wiping the leaves and dirt from our pants, and started towards the doors of the school.

  Wilder took my hand in his. I didn’t understand, but I went with it. It was us against the world, two foolish kids in a world of chaos.

  Christina was waiting for us at the doors. “Eww. Wilder likes Violet.” She giggled, and a few other kids did too.

  “So, what if I like her.” Wilder kicked back.

  “She’s black.”

  Wilder gave me a once over. “I think she’s beautiful.”

  Christina didn’t know what to say to this. She doubled back, lost for words.

  And then I started crying. Big stupid tears that rolled down my cheeks right there in front of the entire first grade. I’d had it. The entire day had been nothing but Christina letting me know just how awful she thought I was.

  But Wilder wasn’t having it. He shoved Christina into the brick wall. And he pulled me down the hallway. I could hear the teacher yelling at him stop right now, but he just kept right on walking. He pushed open the girl’s bathroom door, several girls squealed. He didn’t care.

  “You shouldn’t have pushed her,” I sniffled.

  He yanked a bunch of paper towels out of the dispenser and handed them to me. “Wipes your eyes.”

  I did what he asked. “Clean your arm.” He did what I asked. When he wasn’t doing a good enough job, I helped him. I washed his burn with warm soapy water and patted it dry with brown paper towels. And when I finished, I looked up, and Wilder was staring at me.

  “You have green eyes just like mine,” he said. And he fixed my hair for me.

  Wilder was a great kid. I liked hanging out with him. He made school tolerable, even if he had a bad temper sometimes. I think he had it for all the right reasons. It was the way he showed he cared.

  When we finished, we went back into the hall.

  Wilder grinned at me. And we walked past Christina into our classroom. I shared my snack with him. And we told each other silly knock-knock jokes until the bell rang.

  When school was out, we walked outside together. I was looking for my mom, and Wilder was worried about walking home in the rain. It was too cold for him to walk. That’s all I kept thinking about as we walked away from school.

  “I can ask my mom to take you home,” I told him. My mom would do that. She was a nice woman. She had a lot of problems, but she cared about people.

  “It’s okay. You don’t have to.” He looked down at the ground. Ashamed, he was even in the situation he was in because of his mother. But there was nothing we could do about it—we were kids.

  “I want to.”

  “Why?”

  “Bec
ause you’re my friend,” I promised him my mom wouldn’t mind, and when I saw her blue Volkswagen pull up, I grabbed Wilder, and we ran through the rain to her car.

  “Hurry up. Violet, get in before you’re soaked.” Her eyes immediately fell on Wilder and softened, looking at the dingy kid with messy hair and ratty shoes. “And who is this?”

  I shoved Wilder along, and mom moved the front seat so he could climb in.

  “This is Wilder. He’s in my class.” I waited until Wilder was in the back, and then I climbed in myself right next to him. I helped him with his seatbelt and told mom all about Christina and school

  “She’s just ignorant, Vi.” She looked at me in her mirror. “You can’t let her bother you.”

  I nodded. “Why does she keep saying that?”

  Mom frowned. “She is just jealous.”

  That wasn’t good enough for me. “But am I black?”

  It took a moment. And then Mom finally delivered the answer. “A part of you is, baby.”

  “But how? You’re not black. Your skin is white.” A beautiful milky white coupled with the most beautiful red hair. She was the most beautiful woman I ever saw.

  “No, I’m not. But your father is.” She was looking at me in the mirror again, waiting to see if I understood. Waiting to see if that changed the way I felt.

  “I don’t get it.” My entire life revolved around Tom. He was the only father I had ever known. And now she was telling me that wasn’t the case. That everything Christina said at school was true—I was different. I didn’t fit. I wasn’t the same as everyone else.

  Wilder touched my hand when I started to cry. “It’s okay. You’re still beautiful to me. No matter who you are.”

  My mom smiled in the mirror at the two of us.

  From that day on, Wilder held a special place in both of our hearts.

  Violet

  SEVENTH GRADE

  My grandfather told my mother to have an abortion. That seemed rather insensitive, but my mother was married to a white man. Maybe in some sick way, my grandfather was trying to protect her from ridicule for having a child with another man. I’m not sure. But it left a mark. I didn’t feel wanted. Never good enough. Not welcome.

  My mother assured me that wasn’t the case. She loved me from the moment she knew she had me. And she explained all the reasons why it didn’t matter what anyone else said about me.

  She was married to Tom. He was much older than her. Very controlling. Very bad for her, not anything a young woman needed in her life. But that’s what she had, and she did what she could with it because she didn’t know any other way. Her family was messed up. She didn’t know any better.

  Even though she was messed up, she made sure to love me. She figured that out. My mother adored me. She loved me even when she couldn’t love herself. Maybe she didn’t have enough love for both of us.

  Tom was good to me. He treated me like his own. I was his princess. From the outside, everyone who knew us thought my life was great. But on the inside, darkness was festering. And I didn’t realize until later just how messed up life was for me.

  Some people showed love in the wrong way. Tom was one of those people. Tom’s love came with black eyes and bruises. Mom tried her best to hide it all—but I knew it. He never hit me. And they never liked to fight around us. But some things you can’t hide. Even when you think you are doing an excellent job of keeping it hidden it shows.

  I was twelve when I recognized something was wrong. This fight Mom and Tom were having they couldn’t contain it. It spilled out all around me. And they no longer cared if I witnessed it or not.

  “I want you out of here,” mom said, her voice so low and disgusted I had to do a double-take to make sure Tom was the one sitting there. She never talked to Tom like that.

  “We can work this out, Lorna.” He was begging her. Desperate to keep their life together. But the only thing she gave him was a flying cigarette to his face.

  “I don’t want your money. I don’t want anything from you. I want you to leave.” She shoved the table away from her and stood up.

  “Lorna. Please. What about the kids?”

  “You should have thought about the kids before you decided to do what you did, Tom.” She stared out the door, arms crossed. Her mind was made up. Tom had to go.

  I never cried so hard. I begged. “Please, you guys. Stop fighting. I don’t want Dad to leave.”

  But neither one of them would give me what I wanted. I was used to my parents wanting to please me. I thought about calling my sister thinking maybe she could help, but I didn't. I didn’t want her to see what I saw. I didn’t want her to feel what I felt because it felt horrible.

  Tom gave me one last hug before he drove off. “I love you, kid. Don’t forget it.” It broke my heart. It devastated me. Leaving your family wasn’t the way love worked.

  What happened next broke my heart a little more. Mom went back to the table and sat down. “Violet, come sit down I want to talk to you.” She sniffled.

  So, I did. I took the spot across from her.

  “You’re growing up.” Was how she started it. “Turning into such a beautiful girl.”

  I was sure I knew what she meant by that. All the boys at school were noticing me. I had curves and breasts, and that made me embarrassed because boys liked looking at that stuff. They were extra nice now, offering to help me carry my backpack, carrying my tray in lunch. It wasn’t until one of them tried feeling me up in science that I realized they didn’t like me for the reasons I thought they did. They were just horny teenagers.

  “Did Tom ever...touch you?”

  I think looking away gave her all the answer she needed. But I answered her. “He said it was alright.”

  “Violet, it’s not alright. That is never alright.” She was furious. Her pale skin now held a pink hue to it. Her eyes were so angry, dark and cold. “That man had no right putting his hands on you. A father doesn’t do that to his child. Do you understand me?”

  I didn’t. And I don’t know why. I was ashamed of it. I was in junior high, and I didn’t know that your parents weren’t allowed to treat you like that. I didn’t know that a father was only supposed to love you and provide hugs and kisses. He was never supposed to look at you with evil intentions. He wasn’t supposed to hurt you.

  I didn’t understand what love was anymore. I was ashamed I ever felt it. I didn’t know why I still felt that way for a man who my mother said was not a good person. Why did he love me so lousy?

  I decided never to love another person ever again. I didn’t want to connect with someone so that they could run away. Sure I had Wilder, but he was different. He understood me, and I understood him.

  But in school, I refused to become attached to anyone. I didn’t want to get to know anybody. I didn’t want to trust them so they could crush my soul.

  People continued to think I was weird. Why is she so quiet? Why does she recoil when boys touch her arms in the hallway? How come she always thinking?

  People were always going to be assholes. And I had to endure it. That’s just the way it was.

  Just like the school dance, Mom forced me to get a dress and made Wilder go with me. I let her do my hair, and I put on some heels. Wilder wore a nice shirt and jeans, and we even let her drop us off outside of school.

  It was a usual dance—balloons, punch, and loud music. Wilder and I stood near the exit up against the brick wall watching all the kids make fools of themselves on the dance floor.

  “It’s really hot in here,” Wilder shouted over the music. The lights and fog swirled around all the bodies gyrating on the dance floor.

  “Get us some punch,” I shouted back. He nodded and slipped through the crowd. And I stood there alone. It wasn’t long before a boy from eighth grade was beside me.

  “Vi, you look hot.” Winston was his name. He was big and burly — a regular toad in my mind. I didn’t like anything about him. But he didn’t care.

  “Thanks.” I would have
much rather been wearing a black dress, but Mom said yellow brought out my skin tone and my eyes. So I went with it. Wilder said I looked like a sunflower. And I liked that compliment.

  “We should dance.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t want to dance.” I looked for Wilder. He was still waiting in line for punch. I was all alone.

  “Come on. Just dance with me. Don’t be such a spaz.”

  When he grabbed me, he tore my dress. And he laughed when I covered myself, everyone was staring at me. Like it was my fault for being a girl with boobs. Not his fault for being so cruel.

  I shoved him. “Get out of my way, Winston.” I needed to get to a bathroom.

  “One dance. And then you can take care of your situation,” Winston laughed. He grabbed me by the arm and started toward the dance floor. Everyone laughing, nobody trying to help me escape.

  I fought with my dress, holding the fabric in place, so nobody saw my boobs. It was awful.

  “Smile. You’re dancing with the most popular guy in school.” He grabbed my waist with his big, fumbling hands.

  “Get off of her,” Wilder said from behind me.

  Winston released me when he saw Wilder. It wasn’t that he was giving up. He was an asshole and liked a good fight when he could find one. And everyone knew Wilder didn’t back down to anyone.

  “Wilder, let’s just go,” I said, grabbing him by the back of the shirt. I didn’t want him getting in trouble because of me.

  He wasn’t listening to me. Winston gave the first shove that knocked both of us backward. I righted myself before I landed on the floor underneath them.

  Winston jumped on top of Wilder, pinning him down on the gymnasium floor. A crowd gathered around us watching. Some kids even egged it on.

  “Winston, let him go!” I begged. I didn't want to see Wilder hurt.

  Winston got a couple of good hits in before the gym teacher yanked him by the back of the shirt off of him. Wilder got to his feet and went after Winston landing a couple of punches to his face before another adult pulled him away.

  They disappeared through the crowd of kids, the music still playing. I pushed through all the kids to get out of the gymnasium. Not a single one offered to help me. They just laughed, but I was used to it.