A Child's Days

by C. L. Quinn

  Gorgeous? The man must not know the meaning of the word. Or he was trying to get something out of her.

  That was the way the world worked, according to her mother, which might be the only good piece of advice she had ever given Punk.

  “Yeah, well, have a nice day,” she said and opened the door.

  “Wait. Could I walk with you? I need to clear my head after last night. Too much…well, partying.”

  Punk stared at this man she did not know.

  Why would he want to walk with her? What did he want?

  Her mind weaved into his, and while she couldn’t tell what he was thinking, she knew instinctively, because of her weird ability to read people, that he was no threat. He truly just wanted to walk down to the beach with her. She sensed no malice.

  “Um, sure.”

  “Let me grab my shirt and shoes.”

  Moments later, he returned, buttoning a white dress shirt halfway up, and sliding on black shoes with no socks.

  After they’d cleared the building, he looked around.

  “Shitty neighborhood. Is it safe for a young girl to walk around alone?”

  “No one’s ever bothered me. Anyway, I can take care of myself.”

  Bruce’s eyes moved over Punk’s small, slim body.

  “You can, can you?”

  “You’d be surprised. I’m used to taking care of myself.”

  Pulling a cigarette out of his pants pocket, he lit it with a sleek silver lighter from the same pocket.

  His eyes moved to the horizon, but she could feel that his mind was busy.

  “I bet you are. Your mother’s had a hard life, I knew that as soon as I met her. She hasn’t been there for you, either, has she?”

  Punk didn’t know how to answer. Of course she hadn’t. Still, she didn’t really know this man.

  “She’s done what she can, I suppose.”

  He looked Punk in the eye as they diverted from the broken sidewalk and climbed over a dilapidated low fence onto the sand.

  “No. I can see it in your face, and I could hear it in the one time that she mentioned you last night.” He paused as they both looked out at the sun rising above the water. “You have to know that none of this, how you’ve lived, how she’s been with you, is your fault.”

  Nothing could have surprised Punk more. Shaking her head, she remained silent until they dropped onto the sand a few minutes later, when he took a moment to make sure that he was downwind before he sat beside her.

  “Your mother is deeply troubled. But you seem to have come out quite well grounded. That makes you extraordinary, young lady.”

  Again, Punk stared at him. Praise from this stranger? She had no response.

  He continued to speak. “You wouldn’t know this, no one who looked at me now would, but I used to be a professional man. A doctor. I had a nice practice in L.A. for some years. But I had a demon on my back. Like a lot of people, I let it ruin me.”

  Punk already knew, that she could read in him. Drugs. Cocaine, if she wasn’t mistaken. He had the look.

  “Yeah, well, anyway, life can mess with you, if you give in. I did, and now I’m desperately trying to figure out how to get back home. You got handed a shitty deal, but you haven’t let it break you. I can see strength in you that your mother doesn’t have. Am I right?”

  Nodding, Punk kept her eyes forward. “You are. I’ve already chosen my road. I want to live somewhere beautiful, near the ocean, have my own house, my own friends, a good job.”

  She sifted the cool sand between her fingers.

  “But as far away from here as I can get. Away from her.”

  “Good choice. She’ll never let you succeed.”

  “I knew that a long time ago. She hates me.”

  “I think more than anything, she probably hates herself. Women don’t generally drink themselves into oblivion and take home strangers if they don’t.”

  “Yeah,” Punk said on a sigh, then looked at Bruce. She could see the same sadness in him, too. “She says it’s because of me.”

  “It isn’t. Your mother could have made a spectacular life for both of you. She built this life because of her own failures.”

  “Thanks for that. I’ve always felt guilty. And stupid and ugly. Mostly because that’s what she’s always told me I was. A few years ago, though, I decided that I would get out and live in this world no matter what she said I was. I’ve already decided what I want to do. I want to go to college and study genetics.”

  “That’s extraordinary. You are going to be great, little lady, you’ll find out. Once you’re away from here, you’ll know who you are. By the way, if it means anything to you, I think you are an incredibly lovely girl. Your eyes could make a man fall in love with you instantly.”

  Wow. Punk didn’t know what to believe or what to say. They both sat silently and listened to the waves gently come to shore.

  Several long minutes later, she heard Bruce sigh and looked up at him.

  “You’re sure you’re safe here?”

  “I come here often, when she’s asleep. Yes, I’m safe.”

  “Okay. I guess I should get back. It was nice to meet you. Good luck. By the way, Los Angeles is a beautiful city. A lot’s always happening there, and it’s on the other side of the country.”

  He stood. “You might want to think about that when the time comes. Goodbye, young lady.”

  Punk nodded and watched him until he disappeared.

  Los Angeles. She would have to look it up. Recently, Punk had begun to wonder if things happened for a reason. This man, Bruce, had come along at the perfect time. Soon, things would change in her life forever and that this man came and went through her life at this very moment when she had decisions to make, seemed like providence. Was the universe actually guiding her?

  How lovely to think it was. Either way, Punk felt better right at this moment than she’d ever felt in her life. Yes, it had been awful. Her mother had never loved her, she’d known that from the first moment that she’d been capable of understanding the abstract concept.

  Had she tried to make her mother love her? Many times, but it hadn’t taken long before she knew that her mother never would. From there forward, all she’d wanted was to stay away from her mother’s wrath, and to find a way to be as happy as possible in the circumstances.

  Years ago, when Punk realized that the time would come when she could leave, that her life had to get better, she’d accepted that, for now, this was her life and all she had to do was hold on.

  SIX

  “Son of a bitch!”

  Punk had just entered the apartment when she heard the vicious yell from her mother’s room. Her mother had invited twelve people to another wild party in the apartment again last night. The third this week. When she’d left an hour ago to go shopping, all of the guests had already gone.

  Hesitating, she decided to walk the bag of groceries to the kitchen, put away the perishables, and then see what her mother wanted.

  Slowly, because whatever it was, it couldn’t be good, Punk moved into her mother’s room and saw her lying on her bed, clothes gone, a sheet barely wrapped around her, and a bottle of whisky in her hand.

  “Did you need something?” Punk asked, calm and quiet.

  Mother’s eyes shot to her. “Yeah, I’ve been calling you for twenty minutes! Where the hell have you been?”

  For several moments, Punk thought about telling her to go to hell, but it wasn’t who she was. No matter how badly her mother treated her, Punk had found a way to remain patient.

  “We were out of food. I went to the market to pick up a few things. What did you need?”

  “The fucking phone rang, and I thought that you would answer it. It was probably that new guy I met last night, but now I’ll never know.”

  “Well, then, Mother, it might have been a good idea to get out of bed and answer it.”

  Punk was patient with her mother, as always, but now that the day was coming soon when she would leave, she di
dn’t always take her crap.

  Back in the kitchen, she put away the rest of the items; bread, coffee, pretzels, cereal, and folded up the canvas bag she kept for shopping.

  The smell of smoke wasn’t the only thing that told her that her mother had finally gotten out of bed. Punk turned and faced the woman leaning against the door jamb to the kitchen, the always-present cigarette burning in her hand.

  Rena stared at her daughter, still dressed in thrift store shit, and yet carried herself like a princess. She admitted that the girl was every bit as beautiful as her father now, and somewhere deep inside her soul, there was a feeling that some of that beauty might have come from her too.

  But the attitude was going to fucking stop.

  “You think that I’m going to let you get away with talking to me like that?”

  Punk leaned against the counter near the sink, her posture similar to her mother’s. Rena watched as she folded her arms and gave her a matching stare.

  “Do you acknowledge at all what I do around here to take care of you?”

  “I know what you do. Exactly what you should. I’ve done things I wouldn’t want to admit to God just to keep a roof over our head and food on your plate. So, the attitude…stop it now or get out.”

  The stare-down that ensued lasted only twenty seconds before Punk dropped her eyes and walked past her mother, careful to slide through the doorway without bumping her.

  Get out? You bet your life, Mother, she thought as she closed the door to her bedroom.

  Rena didn’t move from the doorway for several long minutes. She just stood, balanced against the door jamb, and finished the cigarette. Once she did, she dropped the burning butt onto the scarred linoleum floor and walked back to her room. Yeah, this was coming to a head. One of them would either kill the other soon…or leave. With Punk’s skills and the fact that she was not human, Rena had no idea what might happen in the end. As her daughter grew bolder, she admitted that she was both pissed and terrified.

  The sun was just setting as Punk watched her mother rush from her room. She still dressed in short skirts and sky high heels, even though neither looked good anymore on her slender body that wasn’t weathering the years of abuse well.

  “I have no idea when I’ll be back. Don’t go out of the apartment until I do.”

  What was Mother worried about? Punk was seventeen years old now, and had sneaked out of the apartment for years whenever she could. She’d always wondered how clueless her mother must have been to never have realized. Or that she never did care at all, but Punk knew that that was not true. Mother didn’t want her out because she might, just might, have a moment of pleasure.

  “Of course not,” she responded, because there was no other answer. At this point, there was no reason to defend herself. Not that it would have made a difference even if she did.

  “Fine. I’ve asked the old man next door to keep an eye on you. He’ll let me know if you do.”

  What? Mother had never engaged a spy before.

  “Why would you do that?”

  Mother turned after checking her bag for her makeup and money. Her eyes landed on Punk, relaxed against the back of the couch.

  “I don’t trust you, little bitch. You’ve gotten too mouthy. My concern is that you’re old enough now to get into trouble with boys. I won’t tolerate that.”

  “You have spent my entire lifetime bringing men home, and you don’t want me near a boy? It seems that’s the only thing you’ve actually taught me over the years. That men are for sex and sex only. What, you didn’t want me to get the lesson?”

  Walking up to her, Mother stopped just short of the couch, a hand up as if she had planned to slap Punk. Anger infused her face, bright red flags spotted her cheeks and chin.

  “This will not work. You do as you are told! If you think that I’ll put up with this attitude, I’ll teach you a lesson or two that you sure the fuck won’t like!”

  Punk didn’t say anything at first. Then she stood and faced her mother. “You don’t have anything to teach me.”

  Walking into the kitchen, she sat at the metal table as the door slammed closed.

  Things were almost at critical here. Punk still shook minutes later when she went back to the couch and picked up one of her books.

  It was a beautiful spring morning. The sun split its brilliant light to push through the slits between the plywood window coverings. Watching it trying to squeeze around the edges of the badly cut wood board, Punk surged towards it with a butter knife from the kitchen. If she was going to be trapped in here, this would go!

  Working carefully, she was able to pry the nails loose from the wallboard, and slowly, the last nail pulled free, the piece of heavy plywood crashed to the floor and sweet sunlight flooded the room.

  Mesmerized, Punk stood in front of it, her arms out, her eyes closed, her face raised to the heat. God, why had her mother shut this out of her life? Even in this dismal room, that sun could have transformed her lonely days.

  “Never again,” Punk whispered, as her body responded and her heart soared.

  A knock on the door was unwelcome, and she took several moments before she left the shaft of light now bathing the room.

  Who the hell would be here at this time of morning? No one ever came here except with her mother to party.

  As she reached for the door handle, Punk figured it had to be the nasty old man who lived in the apartment adjacent to this one and who her mother had apparently engaged to keep her prisoner here.

  Shaking her head, she pulled the door open. It wasn’t old Mr. Dunlavy.

  “Hello, you must be Punk Collier,” the man said. He was young, maybe just a little older than Punk, and dressed in jeans and a nice yellow tee shirt that had an emblem on the pocket.

  “Um, yeah?” she responded, and felt like, as usual, she sounded like an idiot. If her mother only knew that she was horribly tongue-tied around any guy her age, she would never have worried about Punk hooking up.

  He smiled, and she thought he was one of the prettiest boys she’d ever seen.

  “Yeah, I knew it was you. The guy said to only give this envelope to the beautiful redhead in the apartment.”

  Punk could feel the blush move up from her belly to her cheeks.

  “I have this for you,” he followed up, and handed her a large manila envelope.

  “What is it?” she was finally able to ask.

  “I don’t know.” He pointed to the pocket of his shirt. “Express Delivery. The guy paid us to deliver this to you. I don’t know what’s in it. So, here you go.”

  “Uh, thanks.” She took the envelope, the cute young man nodded, and bounced back down the stairs. A few moments later, she closed the door and stared at the envelope that simply had her name, Punk Collier, on the front. What the hell did this mean? Other than a few envelopes and packages from Mrs.Brooks, she’d never gotten mail or a delivery in her life…ever!

  Slowly, she worked the glued flap loose as she made her way to the couch, laid it on the coffee table, broke the flap free, and poured the contents onto the table.

  Several large sheets of paper lay there, surrounded by pieces of popcorn and potato chips from her mother’s latest party.

  Most were full sheets, but a folded paper that looked like a letter lay on top of it all and she reached for it. The paper was high quality, slick, smooth, a pale eggshell color, the print perfect where her name was repeated on it.

  Once again, slowly, she unfolded it…and began to read.

  Young lady, I wanted to let you know what a pleasure it was to meet you last year. I came to your home at one of the lowest points of my life, and our brief moments together lifted me out of the darkest place I have ever been. You don’t realize this, but you bring the brightest light, lovely girl. I am finding my way back to the man I once was, and you are one of the reasons. I saw how, even in your dire life, you found a way to reach for the stars. How could I do different? There is, however, one thing that I knew that I must do
. Enclosed, you will find two important documents. One is a written recommendation for you to UCLA, where I have a close relationship with those decision makers who can get you into their genetic engineering program. The letter will get you an interview which should easily result in your acceptance should you desire. The second item is a check that will help you start the life you have always been destined to live. Take the money, Punk, and make me proud. It is the finest gift that you can give this old fool. Let me tell you, the world needs more beautiful souls like you. Live well. Bruce.

  She couldn’t move. Punk re-read the letter three times before she rifled through the remaining papers to find an envelope. Inside, she found the check he’d written for five thousand dollars made out to her. Dropping back against the couch, she just stared straight forward.

  That kind man. Oh, God, that he would do something like this for her, a girl he didn’t know, and had only spoken with for a few minutes on a beach nearly twelve months ago. Silently, tears welled in her eyes, and a few escaped to track down her cheeks. That he believed in her. In her!

  Lowering her wet eyes again, she wiped away the pooling water to look at the figure again. She could do it, with this, and soon, if she wanted to. Could she take this?

  The answer came through the window. She walked over to the sunlight and looked down on the bright day. A voice came to her, through the light, through the air, and told her that this was indeed, as he had said, destiny, and that he’d been sent to help her become who she needed to be. This was providence giving her a hand. Too, a man who believed she belonged out in the world and that she had something to give.

  Yes, she would take this, and yes, she would go to UCLA. In her research, she’d already discovered that the university had an excellent genetic engineering program.

  Things were falling into place in a way that made her believe that sometimes things really did happen as they should. Either way, she would send a huge thank you and deep gratitude to the universe, to God, to any powers-that-be, for the special people who had helped her achieve something that she should never have been able to achieve at all.