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I was knocked unconscious from the force of the blast and didn’t wake up for nearly a week. When I opened my eyes, it was to discover I was not only an orphan, but also completely deaf.
By the time Aunt June was tracked down and I arrived at her house, I knew some sign language to help me communicate, but I mostly got by with reading lips. My aunt and uncle treated me like I was an idiot, and I was placed in a school for the disabled. Most of the kids in my classes were just as deaf as I was, but the majority of them had been born not being able to hear.
The silence I was suddenly enveloped in every moment of the day made me feel alone in the world, even when I was surrounded by people. Aunt June and her husband didn’t even attempt to learn sign language to try to communicate with me. When I wasn’t at school, they kept me in my room. Their housekeeper brought me meals and washed my clothes, but other than that, I had no human contact with anyone if I wasn’t at school.
Then, the day before my eighteenth birthday, Marta, the housekeeper, appeared in my room with a bag in one hand and fear in her eyes. She grabbed my face and spoke slowly, knowing I could read lips.
“You have to run, mija,” she’d mouthed. “It’s not safe for you here.”
“Why?” I’d asked, confused.
“They are bad people.” The urgency I’d felt vibrating off her only made me anxious. “Please, Delaney. You must go. You’re not safe.”
“But…” I’d started to argue, but she’d pushed the bag into my arms.
“I gave you some money and food. There are clothes and things you will need. Run, mija. Run, run, run. Please.” She wrapped her arms around me, and I felt her tears on my neck. When she pulled back, her eyes were already swollen. “Run and don’t ever let them catch you.”
I didn’t understand why she was making me run, but I knew she was right. Aunt June and Uncle Tony were evil people. From my bedroom window that overlooked the driveway, I’d seen some of the men who came and went. I’d also seen the women they brought with them.
I ran, and I kept running. From one town to the next, keeping my head down, living in shelters and eating at soup kitchens when my money ran out. Something that happened all too quickly because Marta hadn’t given me much cash. In my heart, I knew she’d given me what she could, but it hadn’t been enough to last even a week.
From Oakland, I’d hitchhiked north. The trucker who’d dropped me off the day before had stopped in some little town called Creswell Springs, and while he’d been in the gas station just off the interstate, I’d made a run for it. The guy had given me a bad feeling, and after having been on the streets for the past two months, I’d learned quickly to listen to that particular feeling.
That was two days ago, and I’d been sleeping in the woods during the day and exploring the small, quaint little town at night. There wasn’t much to it, but it seemed safe enough.
My stomach clenched painfully as I walked past a building with a sign that read Ink Shoppe on the window. The lights were off, but a motorcycle and a small white car were in the back parking lot. I’d noticed there were a lot of motorcycles in Creswell Springs. Every man who rode one had a cut that said Angel’s Halo MC on the back, but for some reason, they didn’t scare me. Not like the men in suits who came to Uncle Tony’s house did.
As I rounded the corner of the Ink Shoppe, the back door opened, and I quickly stepped into the shadows. A tall guy with short, dark brown hair stepped outside and opened one of the trash cans. After depositing the bag in his hands, he placed the lid back on it and walked back inside.
I’d seen the outline of a pizza box in that trash bag, and tears filled my eyes as my stomach cramped yet again.
No, I told myself as I turned to walk away. That was gross. Eating food that had been put in the trash was disgusting. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.
I walked farther down the road, sticking to the shadows so no one could see me. But no matter how hard I tried to think about anything else, all I could see was the trash bag and the possible pizza box inside. Was there any left? Could there be a piece still, or even some crust? Were there other things in that bag I might be able to eat?
I just needed a little food. Something, anything, to make the pain in my stomach go away.
Pressing a fist to my mouth, I bit down on my knuckle, hoping the pain in my flesh would distract me from the crazy thoughts in my head—and the pain inside me.
An hour passed, and suddenly I was running back to the Ink Shoppe. The discomfort was just too much to take anymore. I was starting to feel dizzy, and I knew if I didn’t eat something soon, I was going to be too weak and sick.
When I reached the shop, the motorcycle and the car were still in the parking lot, but all the lights were off inside. The smell of the trash from the other can was rancid, but that didn’t stop me from tearing the lid off the one I’d seen the guy open earlier.
In my rush to get to what was inside, the trash can tipped over, crashing to the ground at my feet. Scared, I looked around frantically, unsure how loud the noise had been, but I’d felt a small vibration in my feet, so I knew there had to have been enough ruckus to alert someone to my presence.
Shaking from hunger and fear of being discovered, I quickly tore open the trash bag and pulled out the pizza box. There was also a foil container that smelled like it might have held pasta, and I grabbed that as well. Holding on to them like a lifeline, I took off at a dead run back into the woods.
When I was a good distance away, making sure the shop was out of sight, I stopped and fell to my knees, unable to go another inch because I no longer had the energy.
My sobs made my chest vibrate as I opened the pizza box in the dark and felt around inside for something to eat.
When my fingers touched a small piece of crust, I closed my eyes and stuffed it into my mouth, trying not to think about the fact that I was eating trash. As I chewed, I felt for more, hoping there would be something else. There was half a piece, and from the feel of it, half the toppings were missing. It was basically just bread and a little sauce, but it tasted so good, it brought tears to my eyes.
Dropping onto my bottom, I pulled the box onto my lap, but it was empty now. Placing it on the ground beside me, I reached for the foil container. With the trees blocking out all light, I couldn’t see what, if anything, was inside, so I just stuck my hand into it. The spaghetti felt slimy, but when I lifted a handful to my mouth, it tasted good.
As with the pizza box, there wasn’t much inside, but it was enough to make the pain in my stomach ease a little. But as I swallowed the last bite, I felt sick.
I’d just eaten trash.
