BAGGAGE
“I figured about 18 hours round trip. We’ll be back in time for the track meet tomorrow morning. No one will ever know.”
His voice was like a checkmark on a “to do” list. Did he really think it was that simple? I numbly watched the rain across the street, thinking how all those oily puddles, the soggy cigarette butts floating into the gutters-it all began with just one drop. My mind went in reverse.
“Don’t I look pretty, daddy?” I asked twirling in my new yellow Easter dress, the ribbons tickling my wrists. Mom’s wet hands ushered me from the room. She smelled like lemons.
“Daddy’s busy, honey.” She took a step back, dishtowel to her hip, and gasped. ”You look beautiful, sweetie! Pigtails?” She scooped me up to the stool in front of the bathroom mirror. I could hear dad pick up his keys …
No, too far back. I thought.
“That’s ours. Let’s go.” I flinched. “Sarah!”
I jumped like a bee sting. “Coming, sorry.”
I watched him walk ahead of me. Months of walking behind him to the next class, the next game, the next party. I grinded my teeth. He should have worn a belt.
Why should his walk be any different today? I thought. But there was a time when he walked beside me . . .
“Hey, beautiful.” It was my second day of school, and I looked around to see who he was talking to. He sniffed. One corner of his mouth lifted. My stomach devoured itself. “You new here?”
I coughed to catch my breath. Two days was enough time to hear about Josh Bracken-basketball and track star, all-state running back, and legend of the social scene.
“Uh, yeah, I just moved here from . . .” I tucked my hair behind my ears and swallowed the rising iceball.
“Yeah, I know. Walk you to class?” His arm slung over my shoulder like a sandbag. I had to alter my stride to match his, but it felt like we were flying.
“Hey! Where are you today?” He commanded my attention. I didn’t even remember getting on the bus and sitting down. I watched the rain on the window zig zag down like a pinball machine.
“I just remembered I forgot to do my Spanish homework.” I lied.
“Just copy off somebody in homeroom. No one will ever know.” It was the second time he’d said it, and it sounded even more ridiculous than the first. He rubbed his pant leg with the heel of his hand. The scabs on his knuckles were starting to peel, and my mind flashed back to that night--the look in his eyes right before I ducked, the look right after. . .
He caught me staring at him. “Look, I know you’re nervous. It’s going to be okay.”
“I know.” Another lie.
“At least this will all be behind us. No one will ever know.”
I knew if he said it one more time, I would snap. I tried to change the subject. “How’s the knee? Ready for tomorrow?”
Since he was his own favorite topic, I knew I’d bought some time to myself. I switched to autopilot and went inside my head again.
How did I get here? When did I resign myself to this balloon existence-- just floating from place to place or person to person? How did the little girl and her dancing ribbons turn into a seventeen year old liar who could hide a steak from a bloodhound?
I opened my purse and pretended to check my cell phone, but I glanced at the ultrasound picture underneath it.
I want my mom. I thought. It’s amazing how a few secrets stacked up can make such a thick wall between two people. I missed the pigtail days.
“This is it. Get your stuff.” He snapped his fingers. His bag was half the size of mine. I stumbled off the bus trying to balance my purse, backpack, jacket, and bag. This was the same guy who six weeks ago wouldn’t let me carry my notebook to Chemistry.
“Sarah! C’mon!” I caught up to him near the elevators. He smiled, another checkmark on his list. The doors opened. He stepped into the elevator; I followed.
I heard a ding! and my mother’s voice as the doors started to close. As the doors narrowed and his smile widened, it felt like someone was strangling me. I jumped back on to the tile with a squeak.
I heard him yelling and fists pounding as the elevator ascended.
The baggage felt lighter as I ran out of the building to a café across the street. I took out my cell phone.
“Mom? It’s Sarah.”
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