Throwaway Girl

by Kristine Scarrow

  Her boss has been calling, wondering if and when Trina’s coming to work. Her boss had given her six weeks off to recover and take care of herself, but it is now eight weeks and Trina has yet to touch base with her again. I’m afraid if she doesn’t talk to her boss soon, there won’t be a job for her to go back to.

  But working is the least of her problems. It’s like Trina has disappeared and left a shell of a girl behind. Seeing her lost in herself makes me nervous. There are no late night talks, no giggles, and no making meals together, nothing but silence.

  I think back to what I felt like after Marcus raped me. I shut down, too, and wouldn’t talk to anyone. No matter how much I try to tell Trina that I know how she is feeling, she still won’t let me into her thoughts and feelings. And that is the worst part, because I remember the pain I felt back then, how dead I felt inside. Knowing that Trina won’t let me in, when she needs someone to be there for her the most, really sucks.

  I started my first term of university. I love that I can get lost in a crowd, that no one really knows who I am. There are too many of us shuffling in and out of class each day. I’m taking four classes: English, Biology, Sociology, and Psychology. The classes are held in large lecture theatres, sometimes with hundreds of students. It’s overwhelming and I’m trying to do my best. It’s stressful trying to keep up with school and work. Between reading my textbooks, writing papers, and juggling long shifts at work, I feel like I’m gone all the time.

  Today I’m rushing to get home and be at work on time, much like every other day of the school week. I race up the stairs to our apartment, fully expecting to see Trina curled up on her mattress in our room or sitting on the chair on the balcony. When I walk through the apartment and don’t see her anywhere, I breathe a sigh of relief. She must be back at work, I think to myself. It’s about time. I quickly slip on my uniform and gather my name tag and visor.

  I race across the parking lot of our building and jog to work. It is 4:53 and I start in seven minutes. Not ever having been late before, I don’t want this to be the first time. I’m jumping over parking medians and running down the streets, hoping to get to the restaurant in time. I round the last corner at the edge of the restaurant’s parking lot and sigh with relief knowing that I’ll be in the building in mere seconds. I take a quick glance to my left and continue through the parking lot.

  The alarming screech of brakes and a flash of metal fill the space around me. I stop, stunned. A young man driving a small car has just slammed on the brakes, narrowly missing me by inches. I put my arm out and my fingers touch the hood of the car. My heart is pounding uncontrollably, my breath ragged and quick. The driver steps out of the car, visibly shaken, and rushes to my side.

  “Oh my God,” he says in between gulps of air. “Are you alright?!” I nod numbly. “I almost hit you! It’s like you came out of nowhere,” he says.

  I realize that it’s mostly my fault. I’m in a hurry, running through the parking lot, the glare of the sun obstructing my vision when there’s a car hurtling towards me. I put my hands on the hood of the car to steady myself, anxious to get my bearings and get into work.

  “I, I, have to go …” I stammer. But I’m a bit woozy and the driver can see that. He places his warm, shaking hand on my shoulder, his eyes filled with concern. Suddenly my manager comes running out to see if I’m okay.

  “Andy! We saw everything!” he says, incredulous. Before I know it, there are multiple people surrounding me to make sure I’m alright. I hear people admonishing the driver for almost hitting me and not watching where he was going.

  “No,” I say. “It was all my fault. I just ran out in front of him. I didn’t see the car and I just ran out,” I repeat. When everyone is confident that I’m truly alright, my manager puts his arm around me to guide me inside the restaurant. I turn to take another look at the driver, who is still staring at me with concern. He looks to be about my age, maybe a bit older. His sandy coloured hair is gleaming in the sunlight. I give him a smile and a wave, hoping to reassure him and he gives me a wide, relieved smile in return before getting back into his car.

  “Thank goodness you’re okay,” my manager says, shaking his head. I nod, thinking how it could have been much worse.

  The rest of my shift is relatively uneventful and after four hours, I punch out my time card and take off my visor. Being that it is fall, it’s dark outside already. I rub my arms in the chilly night air, a bit uneasy about my walk home. Since Trina’s attack, I’m even more on edge when I’m walking alone. I wave to my coworkers through the drive-thru window and walk across the parking lot. Just as I’m about to step onto the sidewalk, I hear a voice.

  “Can I give you a lift home?” someone asks. I turn to see who it is. It’s the guy who almost hit me earlier. He looks nervous and uncomfortable. “Please, it’s the least I can do,” he says. “I’ll get you there safely, I promise,” he says. I stop and study his face. He has kind eyes, bright pools of blue that are looking at me as though he’d give me the world if he could just to make things right. He is clean-cut and handsome, long and lean, and staring at me intently. I don’t know who is sizing up the other more, me or him.

  He’s standing by his little blue car, motioning for me to get in. “How did you know when I was off?” I ask pointedly. He shuffles and grins at me, sheepish.

  “I didn’t. I decided to come back here about an hour ago hoping to talk to you to apologize again. I asked another worker when you were off and she figured it was at eight. I thought I’d wait so that I could try and make things up to you,” he finishes.

  “Look, it’s not like you hit me,” I say to him. “So you came close … that doesn’t mean you need to stalk me now to make amends. This is a little creepy,” I say, though I can tell by the look on his face that this wasn’t his intention and he’s clearly embarrassed.

  I realize the absurdity of getting into this stranger’s car, of all the things that could happen to me, but I see the look on his face and feel strangely safe. I look around the lot and decide to get in. It’s colder out than I expected, and the thought of walking isn’t very appealing to me tonight. “I’m Austin,” he says holding out his hand, his face registering relief. I give his hand a shake and smile.

  “Andy,” I say.

  “I’m so sorry for what happened earlier,” he tells me. “I haven’t been able to forget it. I promise you, I’m no creep. I just felt like it would be a gentlemanly thing to do,” he says. I laugh, thinking that I’ve never met a true gentleman, until possibly this very day. He waits for me to buckle my seatbelt and then slowly backs out of the parking space. I can see the manager of the restaurant staring out of the drive-thru window at us, obviously shocked to see me in the car that almost hit me just hours earlier.

  “I can imagine I’m going to hear about this tomorrow,” I say, chuckling as we see the manager’s gaping mouth. Austin gives me a nervous smile.

  “I hope this doesn’t get you into any trouble,” he says. I shake my head, knowing that it’ll be fine.

  “I’m only a couple of blocks away,” I say to Austin. He’s driving very carefully, focused on the road. I give him my address and look at his face. His eyes are fixated on the road, his hands gripping the wheel. “Do you work or go to school?” I ask him, hoping for some small talk. After all, if this guy really is a gentleman instead of a creep, then talking with him would be nice.

  “Both,” he says. “I’m in my fourth year at the University of Saskatchewan. Drama major.”

  I nod, impressed.

  “I also work at the public library part-time,” he tells me.

  “I love the library,” I answer, and he glances at me in surprise.

  “That’s not something I usually hear,” he smiles.

  “It’s true,” I say. “I’ve always loved books. They’re like an escape to another world.”

  He nods in agreement.

  “I’m at the U of S too. Only my first year though.” I pause. “I don’t know what
I’m going to major in exactly,” I admit.

  Austin seems pleased that I’m in school too, that we share a couple of things in common. His car pulls up to my apartment building and I can’t help but feel disappointed. “Andy, again, I’m so sorry for what happened earlier …” he stammers.

  “I’m fine,” I reassure him. “Besides, you’ve already made it up to me. Thanks for giving me a ride home!” I open the car door, reluctant to get out. Talking to Austin has been nice.

  “Maybe I’ll see you around?” he asks. I smile and nod, hoping that he’s right.

  I shut the car door and wave before walking to the apartment entrance. Austin waits to make sure I’m inside before waving and pulling away. It’s crazy to think this of a complete stranger, but my heart does a little skip at the thought of him. Maybe he’s a gentleman after all.

  Chapter 20

  May 2005

  The house is quiet this morning. Everyone is still sleeping. I’m lying in bed staring at the mattress slats of the top bunk. I imagine tying a rope or a long piece of fabric to the slats and securing it around my neck. In mere minutes I’d be dead.

  It’s my fourteenth birthday today. But today won’t be a day of celebration. I can’t seem to breathe, I’m so sad. I feel like there is little to live for, that I really have no future ahead of me. I imagine how little fanfare there would be if I died, how so few would notice my absence. Perhaps no one would come to my funeral. A life wouldn’t seem well lived if there weren’t any attendees at the funeral, now would it?

  I turn over to face the wall, examining the chips in the paint and the gouges in the wall. It’s dirty and there are still tiny patches of old wallpaper remaining. It’s like someone decided that it was too much work to remove it all, so they just painted the wall anyway.

  Out of the corner of my eye I see something silver and shiny beside my pillow. I grasp it with my closest hand. It’s a safety pin. I roll it around in my fingers, feeling the cold metal. I open the clasp and prick my finger on the edge. It’s a quick, sharp poke. I poke my other finger, smiling at the sensation. I run the edge of the needle end up and down the length of my thumb, feeling a tingle from the needle’s point. I don’t know what it is about it, but I’m fixated by this sensation in my body.

  I continue down the length of my arm to where the skin is softest. I run the edge closer and deeper until a scratch forms. It stings a bit, but I like the feeling. I press harder, watching as the edge slices through the skin until blood appears. There is something triumphant about seeing the blood, as though I’ve accomplished something. The initial pain is replaced with numbness. I feel powerful and in control. I can make my body feel physical pain and then make it go numb again. I switch hands and run the safety pin down my other arm, creating a matching line. I suck in my breath as I press it into my skin, but each cut feels like a release.

  I hear Stephanie stir in her sleep and I quickly hide the safety pin inside my fist. I pull down my pajama sleeves and cover the evidence. When the room is quiet again, I slip the safety pin underneath my mattress for safekeeping. I examine the red scratches, which are now throbbing. I run my finger over them but the pain is subsiding. I take another deep breath and feel incredibly calm and centred.

  I’ve decided I’m going to leave this place today. I’ve packed my bag and hidden it underneath my bed. I can’t bear to be here anymore. There is no one to talk to about what I’m going through or how I’m feeling. Seeing Hunter and Stephanie just reminds me of everything that’s happened and what life will really be like if I stay.

  Everyone is still meeting in the park or out by the train tracks. I haven’t been there in weeks. I can’t bear the thought of running into Marcus. Since Stephanie and I still aren’t talking, Hunter has been keeping his distance too. I’m sure it’s out of allegiance to Stephanie. He’ll glance my way often when he’s around though, so I’m sure he’s figured out that something’s up.

  I don’t have a plan yet. I figure I’ll walk out of here and make my way across the city to a safer park where no one knows me. Or perhaps I’ll go down to the riverbank and find myself a cozy nook among the trees. I know there are no other places for me to go. When my caseworker discovers that I’m gone, I’ll have to lay pretty low. They’ll be interviewing the Puhlers and Stephanie and Hunter, trying to determine where I might have gone. There’ll be a missing persons report filed and a search will be held.

  This is where I’ll have to be my craftiest; I don’t want anyone to find me again. I’ve got nowhere to go, no one to trust. I’ll have to find a way to make it on my own. I’ve taken a towel and a small fleece blanket from the Puhlers and squished them into my backpack. They’ll have to do for now. Luckily it’s getting warmer outside and I’ll have a few months to plan out what I’ll do when fall approaches and the weather cools.

  I have thirty-three dollars to my name and my ratty looking shoebox, which is more precious to me than any amount of money. I’ve also been stashing granola bars when I get the chance and I’ve got a decent pile stocked up. I haven’t been eating much for days though, so I’m not too worried about how I’ll feed myself.

  I lift the mattress and retrieve my safety pin. I slide it into my pants pocket, grateful that I have it. I’ve been using anything with a sharp edge to cut myself. I’ve used glass, steak knives, and razors, the tabs on soda cans, nails, and even utility blades I’ve found on construction sites. I’ve got marks up and down my arms, the flabby part of my belly, and the fleshy insides of my thighs; anywhere where I can grab some skin and experiment. The cuts are different colours and shapes, in various states of healing. Fresh cuts thrill me; I envision my pain oozing through the cuts with my blood. Each slice feels like a release, like I’m emptying the ugly parts of myself.

  Chapter 21

  Lucky for me, Austin has been coming in to the restaurant every night for coffee after the library closes. He tells me he needs the caffeine to help him stay awake to study, but I know he’s coming in to see me. We even met on campus once. He’s very dedicated to school, which impresses me. I haven’t met a young man so interested in furthering his education, and in his future. Most of the boys I grew up with barely got through their classes. It would be a surprise if they showed up regularly.

  Austin is actually from the west coast. He’s been in Saskatoon for eight years now. He moved here just before he started high school. Although he’d had a good childhood, his dad ended up leaving him and his mom when he was in junior high. After that, he grew even closer to his mom and became very protective of her. When his dad never called again, he grew used to the fact that it was just going to be him and his mom. Then just a year later, she got cancer and the disease spread so quickly, there was little anyone could do.

  When she passed away, Austin was sent to live with his grandma in Saskatoon. His grandma was a lot like his mother and they formed a close bond quickly, both grieving for the woman they had lost. The day after his high school graduation, Austin’s grandma passed away of a massive heart attack. The grief almost did him in, but he hung in there and decided that his mom and grandma would have wanted him to work hard and continue on.

  His grandma’s estate was left to him, so this afforded him the chance to go to school debt-free and live in her home. He takes his classes very seriously because he knows that his opportunity was born from great loss. Austin is determined to make his mom and grandma proud. He has applied for a Masters program at the University of Regina and is hoping to be starting school there this fall.

  Despite our different childhoods, we actually have quite a bit in common. We both grieve for the people who loved us most. Our dads aren’t in the picture, and in my case, my mom isn’t either. Listening to Austin talk about when he was younger and had his dad makes me sad. I think he’s got it tougher than me because his dad cared at some point. He wasn’t always an absent father. Knowing that your dad once cared about you and spent time with you and then left, never to call again … that’s got to be harder. At lea
st mine never cared from day one.

  Austin and I have even had our first kiss. A soft, gentle, and loving kiss that will go down in history as my best kiss ever. I know this because I’ve never experienced anything like it. Austin is protective of me too, but in a good way. He has said he likens me to a broken little bird that just needs to find my wings again. I like that.

  He’s very intelligent. We have deep conversations about current events, philosophical issues, making sense of our pasts. I tell him all about Haywood House, the staff and the girls, how they’re like family to me. Most of the people I know that have had a painful past just try to bury it and do something to numb the pain. Trying to come to terms with it is so much harder, but so much more freeing. I’ve never been able to talk to someone like this. I feel challenged and excited by our talks. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt loved. We have a pure and innocent, satisfying love. The real deal.

  Trina hasn’t been around much. I try to talk to her whenever she’s around, but she’s barely responsive. It’s true that I’ve been spending most of my free time with Austin and I’m not home a lot, but even then, I’m not sure it would make much of a difference. In my frustration of watching Trina’s life spiral downward, I’ve almost given up on her. She’s back to her sullen moods, just like when she first came to Haywood. I’ve tried talking and reaching out to her, but it doesn’t seem to help. At times it feels easier to leave her alone and give her space.

  There’s a special program at the library that Austin has encouraged me to attend. It’s an opportunity for young writers to showcase their work. I was terrified to join, but the leader of the group has been so supportive. She makes me feel like writing out my thoughts and feelings and telling my story releases so much of my pain. There is supposed to be a performance night at one of the big bookstores in the city. Each of the participants will read from some of their work. I’ve decided to face my fears and participate. Austin is thrilled for me and excited for the performance.