Carrie Beamer - Signs We Dont See

Published by Evernight Teen atSmashwords

www.evernightteen.com

Copyright 2021 Carrie Beamer

ISBN: 978-0-3695-0344-2

Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

Editor: Jessica Ruth

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction ordistribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of thisbook may be used or reproduced electronically or in print withoutwritten permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodiedin reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names,characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actualevents, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, isentirely coincidental.

To anyone who has ever feltashamed for being afraid, let that shame go and do what you need todo to get better. Life is too short to experience shame forsomething you didn't ask for in the first place.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

This one's for all thebookstagram people fighting the good fight. I admire your lack ofsleep so you can finish one of the ten buddy reads you signed upfor in a two-week timeframe. Huge thanks to your friendsand family who deal with all the cluttered books and props thathave taken over your bed, kitchen, garden and yes, even yourbathrooms. I'm pretty sure bookstagram picture taking can now beconsidered your cardio for the day. Also, to your pets for takingone for the team and eating multiple treats to get the cutestbooksta shot ever. Thank you bookstagram friends, you're the bestpeople an author will ever have in her corner.

A big thank you to my kids,Justin, Courtney and Peyton, for continuing to believe in booksthat youre probably sick to death of hearing about. Thisacknowledgment means I get to continue to blab on aboutthem.

I am very grateful to myfriends and family. Thanks for your continued support of me and mywriting journey. A special shout out to Sherry Beamer for carryingme through a year of uncertainty. Your support kept megoing.

Last but not least, thankyou to Evernight Teen for giving me the privilege of being on yourlist of published authors. You have made my dreams cometrue.

Let me tell ya. You gottapay attention to signs. When life reaches out with a moment likethis it's a sin if you don't reach back ... I'm tellingyou.

Matthew Quick, The Silver LiningsPlaybook

SIGNS WE DON TSEE

CarrieBeamer

Copyright 2021

When the signs show up, I know its startingagain.

The signs are taking over the house andbringing with them the presence of another deep dive into a bout ofmadness that has somehow already exhausted me. Im talking aboutphysical signs. Random garage sale signs, home for sale signs,opening soon signs, and any other sign that crosses my dads pathon his morning outings. Hes usually up before the sunif he evenslept the night beforetraipsing through the surroundingneighborhoods like a burglar who steals nothing of value butshouldnt be there prowling around.

The sign collecting is new, as of the lastcouple of months anyway. He wheels my old red wagon behind himthrough the streets, stacking signs on top of each other like heslost the child that once bumped around carefree in the back. Hedrags them home with the belief that hes saving them fromsomething, but Im not sure what that is. Its a sign, not apet.

In the kitchen, I slip the last piece ofstale bread into the toaster as I analyze the sign my dadscurrently wiping down with a wad of paper towels. Covered infrosted donuts in an array of bright colors, it looks like itbelongs, or belonged, to a donut shop Im not familiar with.

You get that one around here? I gesture tothe sign while I check my reflection in the toaster to see if mybangs have stayed as high as I had them before I left the bathroom.The half a can of Aqua Net I used better not be failing me already.I give one last smudge to the dark brown makeup I strategicallyblended on either side of my nosehoping to create the illusionthat its smallerand glance back at my dad.

A lit cigarette hangs from his mouth, andthe cherry draws dangerously close to his lips, threatening to addto the scars already peppered across them. One of the paper towelsdangling from his hands has the word Oprah scribbled acrossit. My mom, along with every woman on my block, has been obsessedwith Oprah Winfreys talk show since its debut about a yearago.

Every night before bed, she writes herself anote so she doesnt forget to tape the show before she leaves forwork the next morning even though shed never forget. Oprah is asingrained in her morning ritual as brushing her teeth. Stacked ontop of our dusty coffee table like giant dominoes waiting to toppleare VHS tapes designated for only the recording of Oprah. My momsays Oprahs going to pave the way for women in this country tostop being made to feel less than men. If Oprah wants to take thaton, were all ready for itwell, us women. Its pretty stupid thatits 1987 and someone still has to pave the way for women to fightfor equality, but its not surprising.

I think this one came from McGee Street,he murmurs around the cigarette, answering my question withoutlooking at me.

On the one hand, its a relief he didntstay up all night taking something apart, but on the other hand,McGees almost three miles away. Hes going farther and fartherfrom our neighborhood, and its nagging at me like a hangnail thatwont heal. The last time he went through one of his episodes hetook my Walkman apart.

Waking one morning before school, I found itin pieces and my brand-new Run-DMC tape unwound all over the livingroom floor. He claimed he needed a part from it so he could fix theelectric can opener my mom bought at a garage sale. The can openerhadnt needed fixing. If it had, he certainly wouldnt have knownhow to fix it. Also, who gives a crap about an electric can opener?The manual one we have works fine.

Theres no way to rationalize with him whenhe believes something to be true even when it isnt. And being madat my dad means nothing when his brain decides to take a journeyaway from reality. His mind comes at things prepared to battlewhatever it is he sees must be fixed or changed, and itsoverwhelming to say the least.

Dad, you cant keep stealing peoplessigns. We have plenty now. Okay?

I start buttering my toast, looking aroundfor my Converse. Man, I miss the days when we had actual food inthe house, and I could whip up an omelet. I can make the perfectomelet thanks to my culinary classes at school, but all we have isbread.

Arent you late for school?

His unwashed hair hangs down in his face. Hegives his head a small shake to clear his line of vision, but hestill doesnt look at me.

Please tell me that you filled out theapplications Mom left you?

I pilfer through the signs piled on thekitchen table, trying to remember where she put them. My dad givesme a sideways glance. Hes afraid Im messing up his signs.Avoiding a lecture from him thatll make zero sense and further myanger at this mess, I give up on looking.

My mom spends her weekends scouring thenewspaper, trying to find a job for Dad that doesnt involve himdealing with people. Theres one open for a night janitor at aplastics plant that would be perfect.