the building was so old, these kinds of things were just not done. But I had a sinking feeling that maybe Bic did something, like add a lock or something, but I was still able to push the window open.
I scrambled into my room, thinking about being back here in this place that had been so evil but loving the firm floor under me. It smelled awful in here. When my eyes pricked with tears, I realized I wanted to remember something of my mom. Instead, it smelled like old onions and sweat.
My old room was a catch-all for crap now. I was overwhelmed by the accumulation of stuff. Trash, clothes. Dreama and Bic were absolute pigs. After screaming silently, I tried to calm myself. I had to make the most of my time here.Focus, think, and find what I needed. I wanted whatever Bic had from my mom. I wanted to destroy any other paperwork that I found that helped them. And dammit, if there was time, and the internal “oh shit” meter I was currently using to make my decisions wasn’t going off, I wanted to see if I had left anything of Mom’s. Maybe a few pictures. A video or something.
I knew that Mom and I had kept the important papers in the living room, in the drawers of the desk we found in the trash one day long before Bic. We’d carried it all the way up five floors by ourselves and eventually painted it. I pulled open the door and revealed the drawers and touched our signatures in paint there. I took out my phone and snapped a picture. I couldn’t take the desk, but the image was mine now. It started a frenzy. I rushed around the apartment, flinging open cabinets and closets to see if I could find any more traces of Mom. An old magnet calendar was on the side of the fridge. I flipped through it. It had Mom’s handwriting marking mundane chores, but also birthday celebrations with little balloons scrawled to make the day seem special.
Back to the desk, I pulled open the drawer, and at first, I thought I had the wrong impulse. All I saw were piles and piles of takeout menus. But then farther down, I found the file folders Mom had set up and I had learned to do the bills with. The last folder in the stack was important information. It had social security cards and my birth certificate in it. And then, behind all that, an envelope I had never messed with. It was titled My Will. I jammed it and all the other papers that were mine into my backpack. I didn’t think this was what Bic had been trying to lure me upstairs with. But my internal alarm was starting to sound. Heart pounding, palms getting clammy. I was just being paranoid, because surely a trip to the lawyer’s office would take longer than the time I’d been here sneaking around.
I rushed to the folding table that was placed by the front door to collect random stuff and hold keys. It was still doing the same job, just holding overwhelmingly more things. I rifled through the papers and junk mail. Nothing of note. Some of it spilled to the floor. Just as it hit the wood, I heard what sounded like the tiniest baby cry.
I froze, stock-still, and waited to see if I heard it again. And there it was again. I peeked under the table. Nothing.
I heard it again. It actually sounded more like a high-pitched kitten meow. I followed the noise to the small linen closet. After I opened the door, a little striped furball tumbled out. His wide open mouth had sharp-looking baby teeth. His green eyes took up his whole face practically. I noticed the setup that Bic and Dreama had—just a cereal box with some newspaper in it as a litter box and an empty can of tuna.
I reached down and scooped up the kitten. He wouldn’t have it any other way anyway because he was climbing up my leg.
He kept headbutting me and making his claws go in and out by my neck. I was going to steal this little guy. Screw Bic and Dreama and their asshole version of pet ownership.
I put him into my backpack with my other papers.
The thing my mom wanted to show me wasn’t lying out. Hell, Bic might have had it with him at the lawyer’s office.
The lawyer. To discuss