because of how helpless I feel and what my mom did but I also cry for so many other reasons. I cry for Tyler and for the life that we could have had.
I know that my tears are not worth much and they don't even do much to help me, but I can't help myself. They continue to flow and I let them. I stop fighting and just lose myself in my sorrow.
After a while when I have nothing left, I force myself to my feet and walk out to the living room.
“Why don't we try to meet up with Libby?” I ask. “I haven't seen her for a while and it will be nice to catch up.”
29
Isabelle
When Mom texts Libby and tells her that we are in town, she invites us over right away. Libby lives in a small two-bedroom house whose front porch looks straight out onto the street.
Sharpsburg hasn't changed much since I was last here. The houses are old and dilapidated, broken up into three or four apartments each. This has always been a white, working-class part of town that has really gone downhill since the nineties.
People with stable jobs and good credit tend to look for houses in nearby Aspinwall if they can't afford the 2,500 to 5,000 square-foot homes they have in Fox Chapel and O'Hare.
As soon as Libby opens the door, she pulls me in and gives me a warm hug. There's a small two-year-old on her hip who she introduces as Kylie. When she embraces my mom, the four-year-old runs up to me and shows me her princess tiara.
“This is Carolyn,” Libby says as the two little girls run toward their kitchen play set at the far end of the living room.
“Come in, come in,” she says, ushering us inside.
“Let me take off my coat,” I say, peeling it off carefully.
The rain was only a drizzle when we started driving and then it quickly turned into a downpour.
There is no street parking outside of her house and I had no umbrella to shield us during the two block walk.
I place my coat carefully on the railing that separates the foyer from the living room and leave my boots by the front door.
Following my lead, Mom takes off her coat and throws it onto the railing, missing it slightly.
I feel a little awkward about everything because it has been years since I have seen Libby.
Mom, on the other hand, doesn't seem to feel any reluctance and instead acts like the last time that she was in this house was this morning.
We sit down on her weathered beige sofa that I remember from when I was little. It has definitely seen better days, but she tries to make do with that by covering it up with a bright Mexican blanket.
She offers something to drink and is surprised when my mom says no. She brings over coffee, tea, and a plate of biscuits.
Libby looks like she's at least fifteen years older than my mom. Her hair is thinning and is cut in a blunt bob right above her jawline.
She doesn't wear much makeup, if any at all.
When her kids come over and drape themselves over her, she lights up like a Christmas tree.
She looks absolutely happy.
After taking a sip of her tea, she tells us that she’d married the man that she’d met at University of Pittsburgh, Erie, where she attended when her grandmother got sick.
“You went to college?” Mom asks almost with a gasp.
“Yes, I did. I also graduated with a bachelor’s in childhood education.”
“No shit,” my mom says, crossing her legs and reaching for a cigarette.
“I'm sorry, you can't smoke here,” Libby says.
Her tone of voice is calm yet stern like she means business.
This catches Mom by surprise. I remember even from when I was little, how much of a pushover Libby used to be.
She would follow my mom around and do everything that she said. Now, she seems like a completely different person.
“When I got into my mid-thirties, I was pretty certain that I was never going to have kids and I got tired of working at the grocery store doing the exact same thing over time. As you know, I have always loved children, so I thought that if I couldn’t have any, then I could at least get myself a degree and get a job as a teacher.”
“So, how did you decide to go to Erie?”
“Well, I applied to a few schools here, but then my grandmother got sick and