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Six years before
My life had been simple,or at least what I recalled as great. At twelve years old, that had all gone to shit, and the beautiful nice days were long gone. The smell of food drifted under my nose and rose me from my sleep. Pancakes, bacon and eggs. The good stuff. My stomach cramped, and I remembered that I hadn’t eaten in a day or so. Mom hadn’t returned for a week now, and I was officially out of food. The fridge and cabinets were sparse long before she had left. I’d made every drop stretch as long as I could.
My mind played tricks on me constantly. The smell of food made my mouth water, making it all worse. I bit down on my pink comforter wishing it was the sweet fluffy bread of french toast and the savory deliciousness of eggs. A groan slipped out, drowning out the sound of my screaming stomach.
“I’m so hungry.” Forcing my tired eyes open would only solidify that there was nothing to eat. If I stayed asleep, it meant I wouldn’t feel the pain of hunger. “Please,” I begged for sleep but tossed and turned the sheets clung to my sweaty skin, making it impossible to get comfortable. Dragging the comforter away from me, I flung it across the room and stared at the spotty ceiling.
I despised the summer. There was never any guaranteed food, and asking the neighbors was a no-go. Did it once and was nearly taken away from my home. Without me, mom would have no one to come back to. Nobody to help her pick up the broken pieces.
There are always pieces.
Closing my eyes, I willed the anger and sadness away. I refused to fall into the same pit my mom did. To be helpless and unmoving. A shiver of dread washed down my spine as I pictured my future, much like my mother’s. I sprung out of bed, shaking my limbs.
My small room only had a twin bed, and a rug mom had thrifted for me a few years back. I’d grown out of my Barbie phase a long time ago but didn’t have anything else.
Stepping out of my bedroom, I felt my jaw drop the moment my eyes laid on my mom. She wore a bright pink dress with a black fitted apron. The smell of food intensified the closer I got. A man sat at the table with a blue button-up, bushy brows, and a shiny bald spot he’d tried to cover up with pieces of wispy black hair.
I hated when mom brought home boyfriends. She didn’t do it often, but it always got weird whenever she did. They’d stare too long or try and get close whenever mom was asleep. I learned to make myself scarce as much as possible.
“You got a fucking kid?” the man asked.
I was used to them acting surprised when they saw me. Mom’s eyes widened, and she rushed over to me, shocked at seeing her own daughter hurt. Wasn’t she happy to see me? It had been days. I missed her every day.
“Kee, why aren’t you at school?” her voice was soft and familiar, much like her touch.
Warmth radiated from her fingertips as they rested on my shoulders. I wanted to ask for a hug, but she kept glancing over her shoulder, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. The last thing she’d give me was any type of affection.
I grimaced. “Mom, it’s summer vacation, no school.”
“She’s real good and stays to herself. You won’t even know she’s here, darling,” mom said, turning me away from the kitchen with a little shove back toward my room.
I dug my heels into the worn-out carpet with just as many holes as my socks. “I’m hungry.”
“She’s already costing me,” the man grumbled.
“Not at all.” Mom turned back to me and gave me pleading eyes that I couldn’t ignore. She never hit me or yelled. Some days I wished she did. It would make more sense to me. If she hated me, I’d understand why she didn’t love me.
My stomach growled as my shoulders dropped, and I headed back to my room. It wasn’t fair. My lanky arms twisted around my midsection as I tried to think about anything but the smell of food in the house. My mouth continued to water. Even pressing my face against the pillow didn’t keep the delicious scents from reaching me.
Hours passed, and I waited, knowing I’d be able to move about freely once they were gone. She’d come home, and now I couldn’t wait for my mom to leave.
* * *
It only tookthree days for the latest boyfriend to cut his losses. I knew the moment he did. I had everything ready. Mom’s room was cleaned, and her favorite blanket was waiting for her in the living room.
She lay on the kitchen floor, a tub of ice cream next to her. When would this no longer be my life? Mom whimpered, and more tears spilled from her red-rimmed eyes. Probably never.
“Kee?” Mom glanced my way. Still, it was like she wasn’t even looking at me but through me.
“Yeah, it’s me, mom.”
A lone tear broke free, and she laid her head back down. “No one ever stays.”
A heavy sigh left my petite frame as I got ready to hear the same old complaints and questions. I sat down on the dingy kitchen floor and picked up the tub of melted ice cream. I’d clean it later; I couldn’t go through another ant problem.
They creeped me out. Scooting closer, I wove my small fingers through mom’s blond locks. I untangled them as gently as I could. If I didn’t keep up with it, I’d regret it later.
“Am I not beautiful?”
