Throwaway Girl

by Kristine Scarrow

  For the first time, I really feel like my life is coming together. I’ve got people who love me and want the best for me, and for once, I really want the best for myself. I want to do well. I want people around me. I’ve created my own definition of family, one that doesn’t include blood relatives. And that’s okay.

  Austin picks me up from work and kisses me on the cheek when I get into my seat. “How was your day?” he asks. I’m tired and sweaty and anxious to get home to relax for the evening.

  “Better now,” I tell him. Seeing him after a long day is like a warm blanket around me. Warm, comforting, protective.

  “Want to watch a movie or something tonight?” he asks. I nod in agreement and we decide to head to the convenience store to get some snacks.

  I’m so tired that I start feeling cranky and out of sorts. I don’t mean to take it out on Austin, but he’s the only one with me and I’m having a hard time holding it inside. If there’s one thing I learned from counselling, holding in your emotions is toxic behaviour and everything has to come out at sometime in some way. In the past, cutting myself became my ultimate release, a way to let out all of my pain. But I’m healthier now, so I have to allow my emotions to come out and make peace with them. Today, I don’t know what’s wrong exactly, but I’m just not feeling like myself.

  At the store, Austin senses my mood and tries to comfort me by putting his arm around me. I shrink from him a bit and see hurt flash in his eyes. “It’ll be okay,” he whispers, though he doesn’t quite know what’s wrong or whether he might be to blame.

  We stand in line to pay for our snacks. I’m tapping my foot impatiently, restless and uneasy. I don’t know what has got me so bugged right now. It’s a Friday night and the store is busy and I can hardly stand in line. There are groups of teens talking in the parking lot, and people loitering around the store. It’s a bustling place and all I can think of is how badly I want to get out of there.

  “Can I meet you in the car?” I ask Austin.

  He smoothes my hair with his hand and smiles. “Of course.” He hands me his car keys and I can feel him watching me as I make my way to the doorway. I just want to get home and into my pajamas so that I can snuggle with Austin and tune out the rest of the world.

  I swing open the door and step out onto the pavement. It’s hot and humid and the air feels heavy, almost sucking the air from my lungs. The car is parked in the last spot at the edge of the store. Sitting on the sidewalk with her back against the building is a woman, dirty and disheveled. Her clothing is ripped and worn, her thin body trembling. Her knees are up to her chest and her head rests on her knees. She’s rocking gently back and forth. I can smell her from a couple of feet away.

  This area is full of panhandlers and transient people. I glance at her with concern, knowing full well what it was like to live on the streets, enduring the elements and trying to get by without money or food. I watch as people stare at her with disdain, stepping past her as though her situation is contagious. I reach into my purse for my wallet, knowing that I don’t have much money myself but that this person needs it more than I do. Austin is just coming out of the store and he looks at me with curiosity as I head towards her.

  “Here, take this,” I say to her. I’m holding out a ten dollar bill. Much more money than anyone has ever given me at one time. The woman continues rocking back and forth, her matted and oily hair the only part of her head I can see.

  “Ma’am?” I say, hoping I can get her attention. She lifts her head up and her glazed eyes try to focus on me. My breath gets caught in my throat; an audible gasp escapes my lips. I put my hand on the side of the building to steady myself, my heart thudding wildly in my chest.

  Flashbacks and memories collide, fighting for space in my head. It’s been over a decade since I’ve seen her, but this dirty, smelly, drug addicted and most likely homeless woman is definitely her. I’d recognize her face anywhere, its profile haunting both my dreams and my nightmares. She reaches for my outstretched hand, but instead of grasping the bill, she grabs my fingers. I feel like I’m in a trance, not sure if I’m conscious or if this moment is real. I search her eyes for a hint of recognition, but in a brief second, she lets go of my fingers to fumble for the bill.

  I realize that she has no idea who I am. “Take this,” I say gently. I place the bill into her probing fingers and press into her palm. “You need it more than I do,” I say. She jerks her hand back quickly, as though scared that I might change my mind and try to grab it back. She smiles wide at me and I see that she is now missing a couple of teeth. I stare at her for a moment longer before stepping off the sidewalk. Austin is standing at the driver’s side door, watching me, a puzzled look on his face.

  “Let’s go,” I say. I get into the car, fasten my seatbelt, and stare straight ahead.

  “What’s going on?” Austin asks. He looks at the woman who is rocking back and forth again, her head resting back onto her knees, and then back at me. He starts wiping the tears that are cascading down my cheeks. “Andy?” he says. I look up at the woman, unsure of how to make sense of this moment.

  “That woman,” I tell him. “She’s my mother.”

  Chapter 22

  June 2005

  It’s been three weeks since I ran away from the Puhlers’. Though I am sure the police are looking for me, I’ve found it harder to remain undiscovered by Marcus and the rest of the group. It’s hard to find a place to hide out when all the ones I really know used to be our regular hideaways.

  I’ve been sleeping in a deep line of shrubs just beyond Gabriel Dumont Park, in a fairly dense part of the riverbank. Luckily the riverbank stretches for several kilometres and there are areas that are pretty remote from the city. I’ve dug out some of the soil with my hands to make a little trench to lay my body in. The shrubs are large and thick with leaves, so I’m fairly protected from the elements. The nights are still pretty cold. My body throbs with a piercing ache that doesn’t seem to subside even with my constant shivering.

  I’ve been walking up the trail to the nearest residential neighbourhood. It is home to some of the oldest houses in the city, vast character homes that ooze charm and sophistication. The only people I see early in the morning are the gardeners and the landscapers who are working in the yards and they don’t pay me much attention.

  I walk several blocks to the nearest shopping area. I take turns using the bathroom at the corner cafe, the gas station, and the medical building each day, hoping that I don’t become too familiar to anyone. I scrub my face and arms and do a quick wipe of my privates, hoping that I stay clean enough not to draw attention. I even do a quick wash of my hair in the sink with the soap in the dispenser, reminding me of when I was little and would do it at school because I so rarely bathed at home.

  I haven’t come very far, have I? I say to myself. Here I am, years later, still washing my hair in a public restroom with liquid soap and a poor rinse, hoping that I can dry it and come out looking clean and put together before anyone walks in on me.

  Maybe this is all I was ever meant to be, I tell myself. I stare at the dried blood all over my arms, scabs of varying sizes mottling my arms. I think of every cut I’ve made, how each memory is etched into a part of my flesh, like a roadmap of my life and my pain.

  My stomach throbs with hunger and I realize how thin and sickly I look. I’m running free though, and living on my own terms feels better than being at the Puhlers’. I think of Stephanie and Hunter and the rest of the kids. They’re probably all looking out for me. I’m always looking over my shoulder, hoping no one spots me. I can feel how anxious I’m becoming, like time is running out.

  The nights are the worst. The people who wander the riverbank at night aren’t always the most desirable and I find myself frozen in fear when I hear others rummaging nearby. There are often groups of teens drinking and throwing bottles at trees. I don’t try to befriend anyone. I don’t want anyone knowing I’m here. At times, I can hear the voices of people I sense are u
p to no good and I lay trembling, hoping that I’ll remain safe in my little trench.

  At night the mosquitoes have their way with me, leaving flaring bumps up and down my skin. The bites are hard to scratch because of all of my cuts. One swipe with my nails and I’m bleeding all over again. I don’t like the blood that oozes from my scabs. It turns my stomach and makes me feel ill. It doesn’t give me the thrill of a fresh cut, when the blood trickles freely with the pain.

  I ran out of food days ago. Luckily with it being practically summer now, people are eating at the picnic tables and they rarely pick up all of their garbage before they leave. Families with young children are my favourite. The kids drop morsels of food everywhere when they eat. I sit quietly, flipping through one of my books, pretending to be engrossed in reading and watching the river. Once they leave, I quickly walk over to the site and gather whatever I can find. Sometimes there are full portions of food left on the tables. Often I gather handfuls of Cheezies or cans of pop that are half full. It’s not pretty and I’m not proud of it, but it is food and when you’re this hungry, your stomach doesn’t care where it came from.

  At times I dream of the meals that Shelley would make for us, the steaming mounds of fluffy mashed potatoes, the golden roast chicken with its dripping juices, and her perfectly spiced gravy. I imagine us sitting around the table, laughing, and the feeling of perfect satiety in my stomach from having both my physical and emotional needs met. The scene is so vivid in my mind that my mouth waters; I can practically taste the food. Then tears prick my eyes as I realize how ashamed Shelley would be of me right now. This is not the life she envisioned for me, this I know.

  Chapter 23

  I’ve been a wreck since seeing Jacqueline on the street. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to me to see her there; after all, I was fairly sure that if she were still alive, she’d probably be living the same way. Every social worker I’ve had has reported the same thing to me about the state of her lifestyle. I used to harbour so much anger towards her. Anger for being a poor caregiver and for hurting me, anger for not being the mother I needed. I would be so angry for what might have been, like if I had just wished hard enough, she’d turn into someone else and welcome me with open arms ready to love me. Now I understand that Jacqueline isn’t capable of being what I wanted her to be. And seeing her after all these years, I realize that the anger has mostly melted away. Instead I feel a deep sense of pity for her for all of these years wasted. For a relationship with her daughter wasted. For her life wasted.

  I’ve been crying so much lately, releasing pent up feelings that I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding all these years. Austin has been super supportive of me, holding me close and letting me grieve.

  I want to talk to Trina, to let her know what’s happened, so when she bursts into the apartment first thing in the morning, I run to give her a hug. She smiles, happy to see me, and I feel hopeful about her for the first time in a long time.

  “You okay?” I ask her. She hugs me close and smiles again.

  “I’m good,” she assures me. She kicks off her shoes and heads into the kitchen.

  “I’m just going to make breakfast,” I tell her. “You want some?”

  Trina peers over my shoulder at the frying pan I’ve got on the stove, the butter forming a puddle. She nods and my heart leaps at the chance to have breakfast with her. I crack a few eggs into the pan and shake salt and pepper on them. Trina watches as I put two slices of bread into the toaster. She takes out two small glasses and the orange juice. I glance over at her arms and see the tell-tale signs of the same compulsion I felt for so many years. She catches my eye and pulls her sleeves down, but it’s too late. I’ve seen the cuts and the scabs. I’ve seen the damage. I understand the feelings released through each of those cuts. I understand the escape it has given her, and yet it breaks my heart to see the marks mottling her arms. Still, I can barely contain my excitement at her bright smile, how her eyes seem to have light in them again. I work quickly, hoping that I can get us sitting with our breakfast before she changes her mind. I’ve missed her so much.

  We sit face-to-face on the couch, our legs pulled to our chests, our plates resting on our knees. She eats slowly and mindfully, as though she’s trying to make it last. I study her face, relieved to see her looking more like herself. After so many weeks of depression and indifference, I want to keep her in this moment. I make small talk before telling her about seeing my mother. She smiles sadly at my story.

  “I wonder if I’ll ever see mine,” she says. “Maybe I should try and track her down.” My eyes grow wide with surprise.

  “I’ll help you if you want,” I say, but I’m a bit scared about Trina finding her. No matter how many years go by, the feeling of not being wanted by your mother does not diminish or get easier.

  “I’ve missed you,” I say finally. Trina smiles, her gaze fixed on the sky outside our balcony doors. We finish our meals and I scoop up her plate and take our dishes to the kitchen. I quickly wash the dishes and clean the kitchen. It’s almost nine o’clock and I have to rush to take the bus to the library to meet with the other participants of the writing program. Our performance is the following week and I want to be ready. Trina is still curled up on the couch and I bid her goodbye before I go. “Want to hang out tonight?” I ask, hoping that we can spend some quality time together.

  “Sure,” Trina says. “I’d like that.” She waves good-bye, still smiling.

  “Love you,” I call out to her as I head to the doorway.

  “Love you too,” she replies. I shut the door behind me, my heart leaping with relief that we’ll be able to reconnect tonight. My best friend is back.

  When I arrive at the library, Austin waves at me from behind the front counter. I see the long line-up of patrons waiting to get their books signed out, so I wave and continue on to the conference room where our group will be meeting. I’m nervous about reading my work, but I’m also excited. Shelley would be proud of me for this, I think. She would have wanted this for me and so would Mrs. Assaly. The other participants are taking turns reading aloud, pretending there is an audience before them. I smile at a few of them and take my place in the room to practise as well.

  “How’d it go?” Austin asks me when he’s off work. It’s mid-afternoon already. I’ve been reading in the library, waiting for him to finish his shift.

  “I think I’m ready,” I say, but my stomach flutters at the thought.

  “I’ve got some news,” Austin says. He looks more nervous than I’ve ever seen him.

  “What’s that?” I ask. He’s wringing his hands as he sits next to me.

  “I was accepted into the Masters program in Regina,” he says. “I can start this fall,” he continues. I feel my heart flip-flop at the news. Regina is two and a half hours away. Even though he’d always told me his plans, I can’t imagine Austin being that far from me. Austin looks nervous but excited. He’s gazing at me intently, looking for my support. I smile halfheartedly, trying to be happy for him, but all I can think of is what I stand to lose.

  “And I know this might be too soon, but I can’t imagine going without you,” Austin says. “Andy, would you come with me?”

  I breathe a sigh of relief and smile. Surely I can go to school in Regina too? Although I don’t quite know how I’m going to make it work or what it means for me, I know that I want to be with him. I throw my arms around him and kiss him.

  “Of course I will,” I say, and I mean it. I know enough to know when you’ve got a good thing, you can’t let it go. And truthfully, I know I can make it on my own without him, but why would I want to? For a fleeting moment I wonder what will happen to Trina if I go. All I can think of is getting to be with Austin.

  We start discussing our plans, talking over each other in excitement. “I’d like to go as soon as I can,” Austin says. “I want to find a place before they’re all snapped up by the other students.” He has decided to keep his grandma’s house and rent it out whi
le we’re gone. He’s not ready to let it go just yet and has dreams of coming back to it to raise his own family. “But who knows where the world will take us?” he says and I agree. Why limit ourselves when other opportunities may present themselves? But the thought of marrying Austin and starting a family in his grandma’s house thrills me. We hold hands as we walk out to his car.

  “Trina and I are going to hang out tonight,” I tell him. He seems as relieved as I am to hear the news. “She looked great today,” I continue. “She seemed like her old self.”

  Austin drives me to pick up a movie and some of Trina’s favourite snacks. I’m practically buzzing with excitement when we pull up to the apartment. I can’t wait to spend the evening with her and tell her my news. Surely she’ll be thrilled for me, thrilled for us. Austin kisses me good-bye and watches until I get into the building before driving away. I race up the stairs two at a time, hoping that Trina is there so we can talk more.

  “Trina, are you here?” I call out when I open the door. I feel a pang of disappointment when I’m met with silence. The apartment is dim; the only noise the hum of the refrigerator. I set down the bag of snacks and walk out to the balcony to look outside. Dark clouds are rolling in quickly and I can smell a hint of rain in the air. I think of Trina and me, each snuggling under blankets talking and laughing like when she first moved in, the rain pitter-pattering against the windows. The air is cool against my skin.

  I shiver and rub my arms, hoping that Trina will be home soon. I can’t wait to reconnect with her like old times. She has felt so lost to me for so long. I think back to this morning and how vibrant she seemed, how there was light in her eyes for the first time in what has felt like forever.

  Thinking I’d like to take a hot bath and put some comfier clothes on, I make my way to the bathroom. I open the door and flick on the light. Standing in the doorway of the bathroom, I glance at myself in the bathroom mirror and brush the hair out of my eyes. I turn towards the tub, the thought of sinking down into a tub of hot water is so inviting. But something is horribly, horribly wrong. It takes a moment for my brain to catch up with my eyes as I survey the scene before me.