Chapter 27
The Past
I HOLD MY brEATH …
As I choose school clothes, worried the other students will notice that I don’t have many options and most are worn, stained, patched.
In fear that there’ll be a red-haired girl waiting to point out that I don’t fit in, will never fit in.
When I walk into class and sit beside a kid, anxious he’ll switch seats even if I took a bath; that the smell of once being homeless and dumpster diving for food never really goes away.
I pretend to be invisible …
If a teacher calls on me for an answer I know, duck my head and count until he or she moves on. I’ve seen what happens to kids who are too smart—they get whooped by the ones who aren’t smart at all.
During my walk home, past the dealers with their fine kicks and leather coats. In our old neighborhood, Mama J knew them all by name. I did, too. These new ones have different faces, but the same hungry look. They want me to work for them, and eventually to get me hooked.
As I climb the stairs to our apartment. I don’t slow, even though my heart hammers, until I unlock the door with the key hung from a shoelace around my neck and double lock it behind me. There’s always yelling, fights in the hallways, and bullets don’t care that I’m a girl.
I don’t get a full lungful of air until …
Mama J shows up just before dark to eat the dinner I’ve made, usually hot dogs, mac and cheese from a box, or eggs. Then she heads to her second janitor shift.
Well after midnight when she gets home again and falls onto our shared bed. She has promised to always come back. But promises and Mama J haven’t always been on the same page.
The truth is …
Mama J has been straight for a year, but she didn’t stop taking her medicine exactly for me. She got an infection, almost died. The police found her passed out on a sidewalk. She had emergency surgery. There were big problems. It took seven days before she was let out of the hospital.
I got sick, too, waiting in our tent the whole time. I eventually ran out of water, crackers, cried until it was hard to see. I was in the Underworld, Cerberus prowled outside, and no one came to save me.
When Mama J finally returned, she said seeing me flipped a switch, but I heard her tell someone it was going a week without her real medicine that made it easier for cold turkey.
My teacher, Ms. Kendricks, thinks I’m a miracle ’cause I learn so fast despite being nine years old. She doesn’t know that I’m desperate to learn as much as possible before Mama J chooses drugs again.
I know now …
That I’m not Persephone.
Mama J isn’t Demeter or even Pandora, who was tricked by the gods into opening a box and releasing all the bad things, like heroin, guns, bullies, rapists, dealers, social workers, and murderers on the world. She knows what’s in Pandora’s box and opens it anyway. Eventually she will again.
I’m plotting my escape.