In the Arms of Stone Angels - By Jordan Dane Page 0,40
want to. You can’t bottle stuff like this inside. And if you can’t talk to me, I’ll help you find someone who you can talk to.” She reached for my hand. It shocked me, but I didn’t pull away. “What I’m saying is that I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I’m in uncharted waters here. And I can’t do it alone. I need your help.”
I couldn’t give it to her. She wanted to be a parent in control again. And I didn’t see the point in living that lie.
“I’m tired, Mom. Can we just go home?”
I knew when I said it, that I’d done the wrong thing, but I couldn’t stop myself. I was being a shit. The only person I wanted to talk to was locked in a mental hospital. But that didn’t mean anyone else could take his place.
Maybe what I’d told her was for real, that I was exhausted. I’d been beaten and I ached all over. And my head hurt from the liquor. My first hangover that I hoped would be my last. I wanted to sleep for days. And crawling into bed, buried under my own covers in Grams’s house, was the only thing that would make me feel safe.
It was all I could think about.
“That’s it?” she asked. “That’s all you’ve got to say?”
I heard it in her voice. The wall had gone up between us again and we were back at square one. And it made me wonder how we had gotten so fragile.
“The other day when you ran errands for me, did you go anywhere else besides the stores?” Mom asked.
I stared at her, feeling the rush of blood to my cheeks as I thought about what I’d told her.
“No. I didn’t go anywhere else. I did exactly what you told me.” I glared out the windshield and watched the rain, wishing I were anywhere else.
“No, you said you were hungry and had a craving for something. Where did you go? Refresh my memory.”
My memory was the one that needed refreshing. Sometimes I lied to keep in practice. And I didn’t always remember what I said.
“Oh, yeah, forgot about that.”
Stalling gave me time to think. I knew Mom was testing me. If I lost my temper, she’d know something was up. All I had to do was come up with the right answer and act like the whole conversation bored me. Everything would blow over. Mom never really listened to me anyway. She probably didn’t remember, either.
“I grabbed a cheeseburger at Sonic with a cherry limeade that had two cherries, my usual.”
I didn’t hesitate. I blurted it out as if I’d told the truth. When she didn’t say anything and merged into traffic, I took a deep breath.
I had either passed her test or confirmed her disappointment in me. And since I didn’t feel lucky, guess I knew how I did.
After Midnight
I opened my eyes to pitch black and listened to the sounds of Grams’s house as I lay in the dark of my room. I must have slept the whole day and I was still exhausted. I pulled the covers off my face and stared at the ceiling. I don’t remember dreaming at all, not about White Bird or anything else. And when I listened to the old creaks and groans of Grams’s house, I didn’t feel my grandmother and that made me sad.
I didn’t want to forget her.
I turned my head toward my window and bunched my pillow under me. The shadows of the old oak tree undulated outside. Its branches cast dark fingers across my drapes. And like an old friend, the tree beckoned me outside. Moving real slow, I got out of bed and changed into jeans, a T-shirt and some old sneaks. I pulled a baseball cap down low on my head to hide what was left of my hair. And I stuffed a flashlight, a small notepad and pen, my cell phone and two things of gum into a fanny pack that I strapped around my waist.
The last thing I tossed into my pack was a box cutter that I’d kept with me since North Carolina. The blade was sharp and Mom had never known what I really used it for. She thought it was something I had to open boxes for our last move. Before I zipped the pack shut, I stared down at the silver cutter and thought about leaving it behind.