Page 29 of With This Lie

There’s another moment of silence and she shifts the subject to what flavor of cake I will have.

We talk for another twenty minutes before it’s time to go. We stand and hug the way we always do.

She tucks my hair behind my ears, smiling at me. “Take care of yourself out there,” she says.

“Take care of yourself in here,” I reply.

She nods. “Love you for life.”

“Love you for always,” I say.

I turn and walk back toward the gate. I don’t look back. She asks me to never look back. I know it’s because she’s still standing there watching me until I am out of sight.

I make my way back to the bus, both happy to have seen her and sad this is all I will ever have of her. I miss her terribly between our visits. I stopped celebrating almost everything because I hate the idea of celebrating anything when she can’t. The thought of planning a birthday party and celebrating it gives me more anxiety than I can handle. I have no idea how I’ll pull this off. Plus, turning thirty isn’t even something I’m looking forward to.

The night she came back from the store nineteen years ago changed everything for me. She did what any mother would do. She protected her child. She killed a man. And while in most cases, some jurors or judges could see this gesture for what it was, my mother was a prostitute. And the man she killed was someone a bit more important in the eyes of society. He was successful and wealthy and even though he was visiting such a person in the slums of the city, he was missed by too many other important people. And who missed my mother? Just me. No one important enough to save her from life in prison.

I board the bus and think back to foster care. They played ping pong with me. Here and there and back again. No real parents or role models. In the foster system, no one wants an eleven-year-old. Especially the daughter of a whore with no known father on record. On paper, I was trouble waiting to happen, a ticking time bomb. Perhaps they assumed I would follow in my mother’s footsteps and start sleeping around. Maybe they thought the estranged father would come out of the woodwork. Whatever the reason, no one wanted me for more than a little while. It was harder as time went on. The older I got, the less interest I was given. When I turned eighteen, I aged out. They just let you go with no plan for the future and nothing to your name. You just sort of have to figure it out.

I’ve been on my own since I was eleven, even with the help of the system. It’s always just been me looking out for me. It was better that way. If it couldn’t be my mom, I didn’t want anyone else anyway.

I look out the window of the bus again at the other side of the road and for a moment I forget everything. Forget the pain, the night everything changed, the ride here, where we are going. The fields are rolling by in a blur and for a moment I think maybe this bus can lift off the ground and never land.

I never wanted any of this.

I pull my phone back out and see a few messages.

Lucas: Oh, what’s that song that played at your house when we kissed?

Quinn: Could you cover my shift on Wednesday? Pretty please? Xo

Lucas: Okay, you’re busy, I know. I know. But are you free later?

I text Quinn back first and tell her I can cover for her. Then I turn my attention to Lucas.

Me: I should be back at my apartment in about an hour. Is that okay?

Lucas: Hey! Yes, perfect!

Me: Oh, and the song was “We Might Be Dead By Tomorrow” by Soko.

Lucas: Wow, intense title…

Me: Maybe a little lol

Lucas: Hungry? Want me to bring food over when I come?

Me: I’m famished.

Lucas: What would you like?

Me: Surprise me.

Lucas: Oh, woman. Prepare to be surprised.

Me: Deal :)

I take my headphones out and scroll through my playlists to find the song he asks about. I listen to it again as I make my way back into the city. Sometimes I miss this place and sometimes I hate this place. I can’t decide what I’m feeling for it now.

I take the shortest route home from the bus depot and even though I should be used to them, a siren going off and the whirling of blue lights in the background cause me to quicken my pace. I’ve never quite gotten the image of them that night out of my head. Sometimes you hold onto things, small things, insignificant details nearly irrelevant to the main event. But those small things are what stay fresh in your memory. They’re the things that keep you up at night, the things that pull at the buried and long forgotten thoughts. If I’m not careful, the blue lights will drudge up every nuance of that night. I’ll start to remember the way it smelled. I’ll begin to see the blood stain pattern in my morning coffee when I pour in the creamer. I’ll start to hear the breaking glass on busy nights at work.

I shake the thoughts and images from my mind as quickly as they tumble in, uninvited. Focus on Lucas. Lucas can take your mind off it all. I’ll welcome any distraction at this point, but a good kisser is at the top of the preferred list.

I want to let him help me forget. I want to let him touch me, kiss it away. I want to let him wrap my body in his until it cannot feel the drunken stranger’s hands that changed my life. I want him to replace all the pain with the pleasure I know he can give me. I want him to press his warm body against mine and drown me in anything other than what I’m feeling now.

I turn the corner to my apartment building and he’s standing there with a bag in his hands waiting for me. I breathe for what seems like the first time in several minutes and I can feel my face light up. I take the sight of him in. I quicken my pace and I know my mother was right.

I might be in trouble.

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