Page 8 of Bear Strength

With my cup still in my hand, I get up, and walk over to the little bookshelf. I see that one of my albums is poking out, as if someone recently pulled him out, then didn’t put it back properly. I reach out for it, and sit on the sofa, with the album in my lap. Dominick must have skimmed through it, because I’m sure I didn’t. It’s my childhood photo album, one that shouldn’tbe of particular interest to him, unless I’m there to explain who all these people were.

I open the first page. It’s me as a baby, cradled in my mother’s arms. My father is watching over us, his hand resting on my mother’s shoulder, as he hovers above me. They’re both smiling. She has that horrible frizzy hair which was so popular back then. But, she is radiant. The next page reveals my first birthday. It’s a chocolate cake, with a pink candle, number 1. She is holding me over the cake, my dad pouting his cheeks to show me to how blow out the candle. My mom’s hair is in a bun now, slightly less frizzy. Her cheeks are flushed. She is beaming. The third photo is me on my trike. My dad is pushing me towards my mom. I’m wearing some horrible looking mustard yellow overalls and my pigtails are uneven. But, I’m laughing with the few teeth I have, fully visible. My dad is like a tower, strong and mighty. My mom like the morning star.

I turn over the next page, my throat already dry because I know what I will see. A part of me hopes that it might be a movie with a different ending, but it never is. The ending is always the same. My parents always die in a car crash that same year. And, my aunt always takes me in after that.

I was too little to remember much of it. I wasn’t in the car, and everyone said it was so lucky. I’m not so sure of that myself. My parents went out to celebrate their wedding anniversary, and my grandma convinced them to go out to dinner, just the two of them. I don’t know if it took much convincing or not, but they were a beautiful young couple with so much life left in them. Of course they wanted to go just the two of them. They were sure I was safe, with grandma. And, I was. It was themselves they should have been worried about. And, that truck driver who looked down at his map for only a single second, before he slammed right into them.

They didn’t tell me anything about it for a very long time. I had to find the newspaper clippings on my own, even though it wasn’t big news. A couple dies as truck slams into them. Tragedy over at Higgins Bridge. Couple dies in horrible accident, leaves daughter behind. The first time I read them, I cried. Next time, it was easier. Grandma told me what happened. I wanted to blame her, but I couldn’t.

There were other people to blame, and one of them was my aunt. She shouldn’t have taken me in. That I will never forgive her for. She should have left me with grandma, but she went out of her way to prove that grandma was unfit to take care of a toddler, and that she would be better. Better to take government money for caring for a foster child. Because, she wouldn’t even adopt me. Said I’m not her child, but I’m family. My little mind at first couldn’t distinguish between the two, but eventually it did. It matured into this idea, slowly but surely.

She was never abusive. I had to emphasize that a few times. She simply didn’t care, and that was more than enough. She relied on the Bible. Whores and bikers. She said those were the two worst kinds of people. I guess I can understand whores. But, bikers? I never had any desire to ask for an explanation. I simply tried to escape any way I could. I rebelled. I smoked. I snuck out of my room on numerous occasions. She’d lock me in, so I learned to pick a lock with a hairpin. Something I’m still proud of today. Trouble is the mother of necessity... or something like that.

That’s when he came along. I was young and naive. It was easy to do what he did.

Angrily, I slammed the photo album shut. I don’t know why I always do this to myself. There is no point in making sense of nonsense. I pushed the album as far into the bookshelf as I could, then lay down on the sofa. That photo of my first birthday lingered on in my mind, and I was grateful for this image.

Slowly, I fell asleep, nestling on my sofa, listening to the sound of my late mother’s sweet laughter.

CHAPTER 5

A loud knock on the door wakes me up. I jump from the sofa, rubbing my eyes. The knocking continues, slightly more agitated this time.

“I’m coming!” I shout back. “Can’t you wait a little…?” I murmur to myself, sliding into my slippers.

Still drowsy, I drag myself to the front door, and look through the keyhole. What I see, wakes me up immediately.

“You forgot the key again?” I ask Dominick, opening the door wide, but the moment I open them, my eyes fall on someone I know I’ve seen before.

The three of us stand like that, in silence for a few more seconds, then the man speaks first, and it’s the voice I recognize.

“Good afternoon, is this your son?” he asks, his hand gently resting on Dominick’s back.

I grit my teeth in anger. What has he done now?

“Yes,” I nod, extending my hand towards Dominick, urging him to come inside.

“Would you mind if I come in?” the man asks me, with that same authority, that same dominance, and I know that I can’t refuse.

I move to the side, allowing him in. I glance around, realizing it’s a mess. I worked morning shift again, helped Dominick with a few school things in the afternoon, did my round of grocery shopping, and he promised he’d stay out of trouble. I swear…

“Can I get you anything, Mr.…?” I wait expectantly, as he follows me inside, to the kitchen.

“Mason Towers,” he replied. “Mason is fine.”

“Mason,” I repeat. “Coffee?”

“No, thank you. I won’t take much of your time, Mrs.…?”

“Brunswick. Danica is fine.”

“That’s a beautiful name, Danica.”

“Thank you,” I smile, a little nervously.

I turn to Dominick. He’s standing in the doorway. I try to read him, but nothing prepares a mother for this. A stranger bringing her child home.

“Alright then,” I sigh. “Has my son done something?”

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