Page 2 of A Little Naughty

I don’t want to leave Cass, and I want to stay in Eureka. Branson is big and cold and not like here. The people look at you with distrustful eyes, and I’m always alone.

“I’ll send you some money once we get settled.” Mom lifts her chin, yelling over Cassidy’s head. “Because we don’t take handouts from anyone.”

Tears burn in my eyes, and I think about pictures I’ve seen of protestors going limp and lying on the ground. I wonder if I could lean out the window and fall to the ground and just lie there so maybe she’ll forget me.

Momma gets in on her side and slams the door, and with the roar of the engine, we start down the gravel road, kicking up dust in our wake. The car is so old, I wonder if we’ll even make it all the way to Missouri.

I’m on my knees in the backseat, crying hard as I wave at my sister. Cass stands in the driveway frowning as we fly away, as my heart breaks in two in my chest.

“I said shut up, Jemima!” Momma cranks up the radio to drown out my tears.

My arm starts to cramp, but I keep on waving, watching my sister fade away. Watching my happiness grow smaller and smaller in the distance.

* * *

Then three months ago…

Branson,Missouri, is no place to chase down a dream.

It’s the place you go when you have no other options. When you’ve been rejected everywhere else, and you think you can at least be as good as what’s happening here.

Or in my case, it’s the place you wind up through no fault of your own, and you’re forced to figure out how to survive or get the hell out.

That’s where I am—stuck in the middle of surviving and leaving.

Crystal Gayle Dixon (a.k.a., my momma) brought me to this broke-down Nashville-wanna-be town when I was nine so she could become the next big country music star.

She dreamed of some talent scout out in the audience plucking her from obscurity and catapulting her to stardom.

Almost as soon as we got here, she ditched me in a hotel room while she went out every night searching for work and her big break. I took care of myself and did my best to live a normal life.

When we ran out of money, I ate crackers and jelly for breakfast. It’s like toast and jam. Peanut butter on white bread was my lunch, and I pretended scrambled eggs and government cheese was breakfast for dinner.

Occasionally, if I managed to find a few dollars lying around, I’d get a real hamburger from McDonald’s.

I went to school on the internet, and all the while, my mom went from one low-rent club to the next, doing her best Crystal Gayle impersonation, dreaming of hitting the big time while she sank deeper and deeper into drugs and debt.

Look, I’m not here to point fingers or to try and earn sympathy points. I never understood why she didn’t leave me with Cass and Aunt Carol.

I did understand abandonment, and I learned quick how to make friends and who was safe.

So here I am, eighteen years later, sitting on a park bench outside Buster’s food mart, watching the sun rise and waiting on a friend to finish up after working the night shift.

A little girl with olive skin and wavy brown hair sits on the concrete across from me. She’s dressed in a faded, long-sleeved jersey and threadbare jeans. A pink rubber ball is in her hand, and I watch as she lets it bounce while she scoops up shiny silver jacks.

One bounce, ones. One bounce, twos. One bounce, threes.

Her hand moves quickly and with such precision, I’m hypnotized watching her. Or maybe it’s because I was up all night doing my set.

I didn’t even know kids played jacks anymore. I sure as heck didn’t.

My eyes track her movements, and when she gets to tens, I involuntarily gasp as she swoops up all ten jacks in the space of one bounce, catching the ball in the same hand.

“You won.” Our eyes meet, and hers narrow.

A faint smile curls her lips, and I can tell she’s smart. She’s little, but she’s clever. She’s a survivor like me. We’re the same in this city, working class, scrapping and surviving.

“What’s your name?” She looks about the same age I was when Momma brought me here.

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