Patricia Bell Read online

  Chapter 6

  As I sit on the floor and watch Simon play, the mouthwatering scent of food cooking throughout the house makes my stomach grumble.

  “Wanna play? You be Ryder.” Simon hands me a figurine of a little boy with hair standing straight up and wearing a red vest.

  “Rider?” I ask.

  “Yep. He’s the boss.” Simon picks up another figure. “I’m Jase.” It’s a German Shepherd wearing a police uniform. “Jase is on the case,” he says and spins through the air landing on his bottom.

  “It’s Chase,” a male voice speaks from the doorway. “He has a hard time saying a couple of his sounds but the doctor says he’ll grow out of it.”

  It’s Too Tall. The two of us have not spoken since I got here.

  “He’s a cute kid,” I say staring at the little guy in front of me. “I can’t believe he’s my little brother.”

  “We knew he had an older sister. We’re so happy to be able to bring the two of you together.”

  “Thanks,” I say and I think I mean it.

  “Now on to the bad news.” He sits next to me on the couch. Simon crawls up into his lap.

  With all I’ve been through with men, I should feel nervous with him sitting so close but there’s something about this guy that says don’t worry. I won’t hurt you.

  I look at him but don’t even try to guess what he’s getting at.

  “School.”

  “Oh,” I answer. I should have known that was coming. “What about it?” As if I don’t know.

  He smiles. “You think maybe we should get you enrolled?”

  “Nah, I’m good,” I answer knowing that won’t fly. These people are too good to let a girl skip out on her education.

  “Hm. Well, I’m sure you would be perfectly happy lying around the house watching Jerry Springer or whatever but we need to get some learnin into you.”

  “Who’s Jerry Springer?”

  “Never mind. The point is, you have to go to school, but we just aren’t sure—”

  “Seventh.” I answer. I haven’t been homeless all of my life. Only since I ran away from that pedophile a couple of years back.

  “You completed the seventh grade?” he asks as if he’s surprised I’ve been to school at all.

  “Yeah. I did some of the eight but that’s when—” I’m not ready to go into details with him.

  “Okay. Here’s what we are going to do. You’ve missed at least a year and a half so I’m going to get you in for placement testing and we’ll see where they decide to put you. I don’t want you to feel overwhelmed but I don’t want you to be behind either.”

  For the life of me I can’t figure out why these people are being so kind to me. I mean we aren’t even the same… color. I stare at Simon cuddling in the man’s lap and he look so comfortable, so at home.

  “Why?” I ask.

  “Why what?” he answers but I think he knows what I’m asking. I nod to Simon.

  “Simon?” he kisses the little guy on the cheek. He squirms and giggles. “Why not? We’ve had him from birth and we love him. Is that so hard to believe?”

  “But you are—”

  “I am what? A man?” He looks down to Simon’s hand in his. “Oh. Black? Does that bother you?”

  This is a question I have asked myself a million times over the last couple of months. Easy Money was a black man. The man who… But was it because he was black or because he was just a bad man. Could a white man have done those things to me? I know the answer.

  “No. Of course not.”

  I’ve only been here one day and already my heart has… well I wouldn’t say healed but for the first time in my life I feel a… it’s hard to explain. It’s like if my heart had twenty pounds of pain and anger weighing it down, well at least two of those twenty have been removed making me feel just a slight bit lighter. Not enough to notice by the average passerby, but enough that I can tell.

  “Thanks,” I say. For loving my brother. For taking me in. For not judging me. For making me feel almost like a person again. Almost.

  “You’re welcome.” He doesn’t need an explanation. He gets it. He pats my back and says, “You smell that? I think dinner is ready.”

  “Dinner!” Simon cries as if he hasn’t eaten in years. He slides off David’s lap and runs into the kitchen. David. Yeah that’s his name.

  “Come on girl, you could use to put on a few pounds.”

  I give him what we on the streets call “The Hairy Eyeball” and he laughs.

  “Come on girl, I’m just kidding with ya.” He walks off mumbling something about a bean pole and laughs.

  As I follow him into the kitchen I look out the sliding glass door to the back yard and notice something that makes me smile. I walk over to the door and there it is, right in front of me, begging me to open the door and…

  “You play?” David says coming up behind me.

  “I love basketball,” I say. “It’s the only reason I ever kept my grades up.”

  My excitement turns sour when I realize I’ve been so weakened over the last couple of months that it takes just about everything I got to get out of bed… off the couch… up the stairs.

  “No worries, Mel.” Sharon comes around as if sensing my disappointment. She pulls me into a half hug with one hand while holding a spatula in the other. “We’ll get you up to full health in no time.”

  “Yep. No rush. That hoop ain’t going nowhere anytime soon,” David agrees.

  “And neither are you.” Sharon gives me a squeeze and then releases me.

  “Thanks,” I say as another tear escapes. Only this time, it’s different. I’ll call it a thankful tear for lack of a better word.

  “Come on girl, let’s get our grub-on,” David says.

  “Yeah, grub-on,” Simon repeats and I can’t help but smile.

  Chapter 7

  “How do you feel about your new family?” the mousy woman across from me asks.

  I guess I really didn’t believe her when she said we would meet again. Although I tried to talk them out of it, Sharon and David believe I need to talk about my experience. I can’t bear to tell them that I don’t need to talk about it because each night the horrors play in my head like a really bad ‘B’ rated movie.

  “They are nice.” My focus goes back to the woman’s teeth. Only this time the lipstick stuck to that one tooth is a brown, making it look like… oh never mind.

  “I’ve only spoken to Mrs. Mayfield, she sounds nice.”

  “They are both nice.”

  “How about your little brother? What’s his name?”

  “Simon. He’s cute.”

  “How do you feel about being there?”

  So far, she’s staying off my radar. As long as she sticks to the easy questions, the two of us are good. “It’s okay. I get plenty of food, and Sharon bought me some new clothes.”

  “I bet that was fun.”

  An experience like never before. First time in my life that I have ever worn clothes that did not come from someone else’s rejects. “It was.”

  “How’s school?”

  “I haven’t started yet. David set me up for some kind of testing. He says since I missed so much they need to see where they want to put me.”

  “You seem like an intelligent girl, I’m sure that won’t be a problem.”

  “Yeah.” I answer. I just don’t know how that will work. I mean, I should be in the tenth grade. I’ve missed an entire year and a half of high school.

  “So, I know this can be difficult and I don’t want to push you too much all in one day but I want us to get together some kind of a timeline.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I’ve been doing this for about twenty years now.” She leans forward in her chair and sways headfirst as though she might fall out. I hold my breath as she grabs the edge of the desk to right herself and smooths back that lock of wayward hair that’s about to a
ttack her eyebrows.

  “Sorry about that. Sometimes I think I’m taller than I am.” She laughs at her own joke. I smile. “Where was I?” She picks up a photo on her desk. “Oh yes, about twenty years now. And I have counselled,” She sets the picture back down. “I’d say about fifty young adults.”

  I nod my head. Way to toot your own horn, sister.

  “Anyway, I say that not to brag but to let you know that I have a bit of experience in the area of childhood trauma. And one thing I can tell you is, that if you don’t get this all worked out in your head, it will haunt you for life.”

  Another dreaded tear falls.

  “You are having nightmares, aren’t you?”

  I nod again.

  “I don’t mean to be harsh. Really, I don’t, but they’re not going to go away easily. Not until you come to terms with it.”

  “How do I do that?” I whisper.

  “Do you want me to help you?” she asks.

  With everything I own, I want to scream in her face that there is nothing in the world that she can do to help me. That she will never understand what I went through. That I will never ever tell her what that horrible, disgusting, man did to me… But I’m defeated. I’m tired. And I don’t want to bear the burden alone. I nod my head.

  “Good.”

  She reaches over to the bookshelf next to her and grabs a hardbound book off the top. She hands it to me. On the cover it says, The fear we don’t confront will forever hold us hostage. Just below it, there’s a picture of a heart with ropes wrapped around it, squeezing it so tight it looks like it might burst. I open it up. It’s a journal.

  “What do you want me to do?” I ask although I’m pretty certain of her answer.

  “I want you to write in it. Thirty minutes each day. For the first fifteen, I want you to give me a small snippet of your life during the time you were held captive. It doesn’t have to be explicit or detailed, just something. Something you can give away. And when you are done writing it, I want you to turn the page. On the other side, I want you to write one thing that makes you happy. It can be anything. Your hopes, dreams, a cute boy at school. Anything.”

  I nod.

  “So, here’s my suggested timeline.” She looks down to the calendar that nearly covers her entire desk. “This day.” She picks up a pen and marks a star on the last Friday of the month. Then she pokes each box one by one. Monday, Wednesday, Friday, Monday, Wednesday, Friday… until she gets to the day she’s starred. “That’s 12 sessions. On that day, you will be ready to talk.”

  “I don’t have to talk before then?” I ask a bit confused.

  “On each session until that day, we will talk about what you have written in your journal. So… whatever you write, be sure it’s something you are comfortable with talking about.”

  I think I can do that. “Okay,” I answer.

  “And just for fun, I’m going to give you a code word. If I ever overstep my boundaries I want you to say the word ‘pickles’. If you say that word, we stop. Got it?”

  I smile at her gesture. Pickles? Okay? “Got it.”

  ***

  Later that evening I sit on the bed in my room and stare at the journal. The fear we don’t confront will forever hold us hostage. What does that mean? Does life really have to be so cryptic? Just say what you mean. I open the book. The first page stares at me. Blank. Just waiting to be filled.

  Okay. Fifteen minutes. I pull a pencil out of the backpack the Mayfield’s bought me for school and glance at the digital clock on my bedside table. 9:17. I do the math in my head. 9:32. I write.

  When I first met him, I was on the street. That sounds stupid. I scratch it out and start again. His name is Easy Money. But that’s not his real name. That’s just what people call him. Just the other day I found out his name is actually Eric. Eric Munson. I glance at the clock. 9:19. Ugh, only two minutes have passed. This is going to be the longest fifteen minutes of my life. And they tell me he’s still out there, somewhere. The police said I wasn’t the first. That he was a part of a big ring of human traffickers. That he groomed girls to sell. How could anyone do such a thing? A tear runs down my face as memories flood back in. How could anyone do that to another human being? I look back up at the clock. 9:22. I throw my pencil at it and fall back onto the bed. The book slides down the bed and drops noisily to the floor. Tears rush from my eyes in pools. How is this supposed to help? I sit up and grab the book, head over to retrieve my pencil and open the journal back up again. I turn the page and write. I want to be a teacher. That’s it. That’s all she’s getting from me today.

  Chapter 8

  As I sit in the Mesa High library working on my placement test, I can’t seem to focus. I know I need to do well but there are just too many distractions. Across from me there’s this guy who keeps looking at me. I can feel the weight of his stare but every time I glance up, he averts his eyes. What’s up with that? I mean when I was homeless I was used to people staring at me. My clothes were dirty, my face was grungy, my hair knotted and face it, I stunk. Needless to say, I have since delighted in showers on a daily basis. My hair, though much of it had to be cut, is now neatly displayed in a cute bob, and I feel like even in the couple of days I’ve been living with the Mayfield’s I’ve put on at least a few pounds. With the way Sharon cooks, it might be closer to ten. Even though the doctor told us to take it easy, she’s always trying to stuff food in my face. I love it.

  I try to concentrate on my test. There’s no time limit, but David took the time off to bring me here, so I suppose I shouldn’t waste his entire day on waiting for me. I’m still not sure what he does for a living.

  I answer a few more question before I feel the weight of his stare again. What’s up with this guy? Do I have a booger hanging out my nose? I look up and he smiles. His teeth although a little crooked, are perfectly white. Behind the black wire rimmed glasses, he has the brightest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. His hair is trimmed short and his face shows a nice bit of stubble. I smile back. I don’t know what has come over me. I detest males of any flavor. Men, boys, toddlers, babies, even male dogs. I hate them all. Well that is, besides David and Simon. They are excluded… for now.

  I realize I’ve been staring and I get back to my test. A few minutes later the guy gets up to leave. I don’t look up because I don’t want to encourage him but I feel him brush up against me as he passes. And then I smell it. The same musky cologne that my captor wore. My body trembles as memories flash through my head. Saliva rises up my throat and I drop my pencil. A thin layer of sweat forms on my brow as the blood drains from my face.

  Make it stop. Please make it stop. A tear falls onto the test in front of me. I swipe at it and the ink smears. The story of my life.

  ***

  “How’d you do?” David asks as I make my way out of the library. He’s been sitting on a bench the entire time. I told him he could leave me there but he refused.

  “Okay I guess,” I answer. “The lady said they would call with the results. So, I guess that gives me a couple more days off?”

  “Don’t bet the farm on it. She’ll probably call tonight and have you enrolled in classes by morning.” He pats me on the back.

  “Thanks for that.”

  “Why, you are very welcome my dear. Anytime I can ruin your day, all you have to do is ask.”

  “I’ll remember that. Thanks.”

  He chuckles and we head out to the parking lot.

  “David?” I ask as we stride up to his car.

  “Yeah?”

  “You think they will put me back in Junior High?” This is the one thing I’ve feared since the mention of me going back to school.

  “I’m not sure. You didn’t finish the eight grade right?” he raises an eye at me.

  “Right. But if they put me back, I’ll be like twenty before I graduate.”

  “You have a point. Let’s just see what happens. If all else fails, we’ll see what we can do abou
t getting you your GED. But for now, let’s get you to counselling.”

  I sigh with relief. No one wants to be twenty when they graduate High School. I don’t even know if they allow such a thing.

  As we head out, I think about that guy in the library. He was cute in a dorky kind of way. Will I ever be able to love someone? Have a normal life? Live without certain things triggering such strong emotions that bring me to my knees? I look down at the journal on the floorboard. The fear we don’t confront will forever hold us hostage. Do I want fear to limit me? I don’t. But some things are so much easier said than done. How do you confront your fears? My biggest fear is out there running the streets, most likely looking for his next victim… Or me.

  David pulls into the strip mall parking lot where my height-challenged counsellor Minnie waits to read my most inner feelings. I feel a bit nervous about sharing it with her.

  “Okay young lady, I’ll be back in an hour, capiche?”

  “What?” I give him a weird look.

  “Never mind. See ya in an hour.”

  I throw him The Hairy Eyeball and he laughs. “Get outta here.”

  I grab my sacred journal and head into the building.

  Chapter 9

  “How’d you do?” Minnie Mouse asks. Sorry, It’s kinda what I do. Being on the streets, naming people for their appearance was a way to pass the time. And with her name being Minnie and her small stature, who can resist? I’m sure I’m not the first to make the connection.

  “Okay, I guess.” I didn’t exactly adhere to her assignment. I wrote that skimpy little bit the first day and yesterday I didn’t write anything at all.

  “Can I see?”

  I hesitate. Not because I didn’t do the assignment correctly but because I’m not sure I want her to see what I’ve written.