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What had my beautiful woman experienced? Mercy said Hope had had a hard life. I wanted to know how hard. I wanted to know everything, kiss her scars, and love her as she deserved.
11
Hope
Six Years Old
I hung my head and stared at the peanut butter stuck on my fingers. If I’d licked my fingers clean, maybe I wouldn’t have gotten caught stealing the sandwich from the lunchroom.
“What’s the big deal? It’s just a sandwich,” Mom said in an angry voice. She’d punish me later for making her have to come to the school.
“It’s not about the sandwich, Mrs. Parker. It’s about Hope’s health. She’s been lethargic and seems to have lost some weight. There are programs available if you need assistance.”
“We’re on all the programs,” she snapped. “Hope won’t steal food anymore, will you, Hope?” She side-eyed me.
I shook my head.
“See? You didn’t need to call me to come in. We could’ve discussed this over the phone.” She stood up. “Is there anything else?”
Principle Bay and Miss Flowers looked at each other with weird faces.
“No? Good.” She jerked me by the arm to stand. “Let’s go home, Hope.”
In the car, she pointed her finger at me. “If you ever steal or embarrass me like that again, I’ll fire up your ass with your daddy’s belt. Do you hear me?”
“I hear you.”
“Good.” She drove off. “I can’t believe they’d call me over a stupid sandwich. I bet they throw lots of food away after lunch. If you’re not eating enough, just dig out scraps from the trash, but be sure no one sees you.”
Was taking food out of the trashcan not stealing?
I saw kids throw away all kinds of food, stuff they never touched, like bananas, cups of applesauce, and bags of baby carrots. They only ate the junk food in their lunch. But I liked it all because my mom never gave me fresh fruits and vegetables.
She glanced over her shoulder at the stop sign. “You are looking thin. I’ll pick up some extra ramen. It’s cheap enough.” She bobbed her head to the country song playing on the radio. “You know how to make it in the microwave, right?”
“Yes,” I lied. If I told her no, she wouldn’t buy it.
“Good. I’m so glad you can finally fix your own food. I bet other six-year-olds don’t do shit for themselves.”
I stared out the window, not really looking at anything. Trees, cars, and buildings blurred together.
“Are you crying?” Mom hissed.
“No.” I sniffled and wiped my eyes.
“Jesus Christ, Hope. Nobody likes a whiny crybaby.” She cranked up the volume on the radio and sang along to the country song.
I wasn’t a whiny crybaby. I was just sad.
The next day at school, I went through the lunchline as usual. I was starving. Mom had made me go to bed without dinner as punishment for crying in the car.
I didn’t like most of the school food, but I’d eat anything when I didn’t get supper.
But today was Taco Tuesday, and I loved tacos.
I took a monster bite and hummed. I ate so fast that my tummy would probably hurt later, but I didn’t care.
“Is the taco yummy?” Principle Bay sat beside me and placed another taco on my tray.
