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“I don’t think so,” I said.
“Tell me anyway,” she said. “If I can’t help you’re no worse off than you are now.”
I was pretty sure I didn’t want to tell her, for a couple of reasons. First, she had a huge collection of old sayings, and she’d trot one out for just about every occasion. The ones that rhymed were the worst, like “Patience is a virtue, possess it if you can—seldom in a woman, never in a man.” She’d hit the final rhyming syllable with a triumphant smile that made me want to sprint for the horizon.
On top of that, I didn’t want to tell her because I was trying to think of a way to do something illegal. Mom had gotten good at looking the other way, but she hadn’t actually helped out with anything criminal, except for the one time, forging our new identity. She had always stayed pretty much inside the boundary lines, even though staying inside the lines kept us in a beat-to-shit old double-wide trailer so far from everything you had to order loneliness from a catalog.
But every now and then Mom surprised me. When the chips were down—and that was one of hers—she always came through. I always thought of her as a sort of fragile Southern flower, in danger of wilting because she’d fallen so far from the life she had led before. But she was tough, and she was adaptable. And she was Mom, and I would do just about anything for her. Even listen to her “wisdom” poems when I had to. And every now and then, her old sayings made a lot of sense.
This time, for instance.
But I sure as shit wasn’t going to admit that. I just shook my head. “It’s nothing,” I told her.
She sat on the step next to me. “Well, it’s got to be something,” she said. “It’s got you mopin’ around like a bear in the winter.”
“It’s nothing, Mom,” I said. “I mean, I can handle it.”
She sighed. “Riley,” she said, and she gave my name that emphasis again. “The first part of solving any problem is admitting you have a problem.?
? She laid a hand on my shoulder. “And once you’ve done that? The second part is being smart enough to ask for help when you need it.”
* * *
—
She’d been right about that. And because I wasn’t stupid, even in the middle of an attack of sixteenitis, I had taken her advice. As it turned out, I asked the wrong person for help—not her—which is how I ended up in a cell in Syracuse, New York, until they came down from Jefferson County juvie to get me.
So I thought about that now. She’d been right back then, and she was probably still right. And I was ready to try anything—why not that? But I had nobody to admit to, except myself. So I decided to try it anyway, and talk to myself.
“Hey, Self. I have a problem,” I said, in a loud and commanding voice.
Admitting that is the first step, Riley, Self said.
“Yeah, I know that, Self.” Still nice and loud and confident sounding.
Okay, good. So what’s the problem?
“Well, Self, it’s like this,” I said. I ticked it off on my fingers. “One badass wants me to do something impossible, or he’ll kill me. Another badass wants to help me do it so he can kill the first badass, and then probably kill me. And even if I do the impossible thing, which I can’t, one of the badasses will probably kill me anyway. Or best case, he’ll own me for the rest of my life. Which is nearly as bad as dead, at least for me.” I paused. Self didn’t say anything, so I added, “Also, my finger really hurts, and I have someone locked in my basement.”
Gee, Riley, Self said. That sounds like more than one problem.
“You’re right, Self. It’s a whole bunch of problems. And I don’t know what to do about any of them.”
All right, Riley. A bunch of problems. Maybe you should solve them one at a time?
“Sure, Self, that’s a great idea,” I said. “Um—you got any idea how that might work? I mean, speaking practically for a minute?”
Not really, Self said. I don’t do the practical part.
“Wow. Okay, so—not all that helpful, then.”
Well, Self said. Sometimes you can’t see the forest for the trees.
“That sounds like Mom again,” I said.
Self ignored that. Smart. Let’s look at the trees one at a time, Riley. Which problem is most important?
“Well, Self,” I said, thinking about it, “if I had to pick one tree, I’d say staying alive is most important. Any ideas?”
