Something Like Normal

by Monica James

  “Yeah. I thought I would check out the library before I start my shift,” I confess, shuffling nervously at the fact I’m about to start my search for my mom’s whereabouts.

  “Oh?” Hank questions, looking at me to elaborate. When I don’t, he continues. “Paige, you can tell me to mind my business, but have you had any luck locating your mother?”

  I knew it was coming, but hearing him say it makes what I’m about to do all the more real.

  “No, not yet. That’s why I am going to the library. I gotta start somewhere,” I declare, and it wasn’t as scary as I thought it would be, saying it out loud.

  “Atta girl.” He smiles widely. “Take my truck,” he says as he reaches into his back pocket, extending the keys out to me.

  I look at his keys, and then back up at him. “No, Hank. I can’t keep taking your truck. What if there’s an emergency and you need it?”

  Hank lets out a cackle of a laugh. “Oh please, if there was an emergency I’d be calling the police. Here, take them,” he says, jutting out his hand, his keys jingly with the momentum.

  I look back at them, as the offer is tempting, and it’ll give me more time to spend at the library.

  “Are you sure?” I press, not wanting him to feel I’m ungrateful or taking advantage of his kindness.

  “I insist,” he confirms while reaching for my hand, placing the keys into my palm.

  I don’t know what I did to deserve such kindness from Hank, as God knows I’ve done a lot of bad things. But the day I met Hank was the day the universe decided to give me a break.

  “Thank you, Hank. This means so much to me,” I admit, hating the vulnerability in my voice.

  “I know, Paige,” he says, his old eyes full of wisdom. “Go now. Time waits for no man. I should know,” he says with a smile.

  I wish I wasn’t so awkward at hugging and physical contact, because right about now would be the appropriate time to give Hank a big thank you hug. But I settle for a smile, which is more than I could offer five days ago.

  ***

  I’m good at being quiet, so being in a library is like being at home.

  I have been looking at the same computer screen for the past five minutes, unable to hit enter. I have found an online Canadian phonebook, as I thought it would be easiest to start off with something simple, like her name.

  But what if I hit enter, and it comes up empty? Then what would I do? I have no real recollections of my mom, other than the photo of her and I, which I hastily grabbed when leaving my old life behind.

  The photo in question is propped up on the keyboard. My mother’s kind, blue eyes stare down at me lovingly, while I cling to her neck with a big smile on my pudgy, rosy cheeks. I looked so happy, and it’s funny, because I can’t even remember what I was smiling about. You’d think a memory such as this would stay imbedded in my mind forever, but I wasn’t to know that this moment was one of the last happy times of my life.

  I was three.

  The only reason I know this is because the pink unicorn birthday cake has three lit candles, shining brightly in front of me. This was the last birthday I was to ever celebrate, hence the nostalgia behind this certain photograph.

  I just wish I could remember it.

  Looking at the clock at the bottom of the screen, I know it’s now or never, as I’m due at work in ten minutes.

  Come on, Mia, you’re no chicken. You’ve come this far, just do it.

  I take a deep breath and peer at the enter button like it’s my worst enemy, and in a way, it is.

  This button has the power to change my life forever.

  With my finger poised over the key, I take one last look at the picture and tap it quickly. Sweat gathers into the crevices of my palms, and I wipe them on my jeans nervously as I wait for my search to load.

  My heart is about to claw out through my ribcage when my search reveals I have a match.

  I stare at the screen, and the words,

  Cynthia Penny Lee,

  are in big, bold letters with an address and a phone number listed beside it.

  I can’t believe it.

  I did it.

  I found her.

  Staring at me blankly in the face is my future.

  Frantically searching for my notebook, which of course, is squashed at the bottom of my bag, I rip it out, tossing the other items aside, and flip to a blank page.

  With shaky fingers, I write down the address and phone number of my mother. I can’t believe it was that easy.

  The thought sits uneasily in my gut, as nothing thus far, has been easy in life.

  I’m just hoping this is the one and only time that it is.

  I ignore the fact I should be typing in another name.

  That, of course, would be that of my father.

  One step at a time, I tell myself, as I know that search is one I’ll put off for as long as I can.

  ***

  I admit I have a little skip to my step as I’m zipping around at work, waiting tables. And it doesn’t go unnoticed by Tabitha.

  “What are you on today?” she asks happily as I whiz past her in the hallway, nearly taking her out.

  Normally I would flinch or recoil from a comment relating to drugs, as it is obviously a touchy subject for me.

  But today, it doesn’t bother me as much as it normally would.

  “Nothing. Just feeling happy, that’s all. Thank you for doing my hair and makeup the other night,” I say with a small smile, as I have taken her fashion tips onboard and I must admit, I like them.

  Tabitha returns my smile, her bright eyes shining in happiness. “Oh, no worries, it was fun and I probably had more fun than you!”

  Tristan strolls past, carrying a crate of beer.

  “How are two of my favorite ladies?” he asks with a big smile.

  Tristan’s happiness surprises me, as I have never met anyone who is always so… happy. It’s actually refreshing, and I find myself smiling voluntarily when I’m around him, which confuses the hell out of me.

  “Hey, I’m thinking of having a party after work. Just a few people, some booze and tunes,” Tristan says, shuffling up the heavy crate as he looks at Tabitha and I. “You girls keen?”

  Tabitha squeals, and I flinch at the loudness of it. But it isn’t annoying. I actually am moved by her positive response to, well, almost anything.

  “I’m there! Paige?” she asks, looking at me, biting her curvy lower lip, hopeful I’ll say yes.

  Tristan also looks over at me, his head cocked to the side, awaiting my answer. I meet his honey brown eyes, and the hallway light catches off his eyebrow piercing, illuminating his warm eyes.

  I feel comfortable around Tabitha and Tristan, and I dare say, even safe with them. I don’t feel I need to carry my knife with me constantly, which is a big thing for me.

  I can’t help but soften slightly when Tristan looks at me with a big, dimpled smile.

  “C’mon, I promise you’ll have fun.”

  “And if I don’t?” I shoot back quickly.

  Wow, I just made another joke. What is it about him that allows me to drop my guard?

  “If you don’t,” he replies, chuckling deeply, “then I owe you a fun night out.”

  I don’t know how to react to that. Looking at the attractive man standing in front of me without a malicious bone in his body, I can’t help but comply.

  “Okay, count me in.”

  I can’t believe those words just slipped past my lips.

  Tabitha squeals and claps excitedly, her hair bouncing with the momentum.

  “Awesome. Now, let’s get back to work. The quicker we get this over with, the quicker we can have some fun.” He looks at me, giving me a small wink before backing into the kitchen.

  Tabitha looks like the joker from Batman with a huge grin plastered all over her pretty face.

  “I think someone likes you,” she whispers in a singsong voice, gesturing with her eyes to the kitchen.

  I scoff playfully
at her, and quickly busy myself with collecting new silverware to set the tables, as I really don’t want to deal with that possibility right now.

  Like I said… one step at a time.

  Chapter 13

  Party Time, Excellent

  I wonder if my attire is okay. I never thought I would be in a position to worry about such trivial things, but here I am, standing in my tiny bathroom, wondering just that.

  I don’t own ‘nice’ things, so I’ve made do with what I have.

  I want to be comfortable, so I decide my black skinny jeans, purple leopard print singlet, and combat boots are the best option for a small gathering.

  The bright red in my hair goes well with my purple top, and I’ve decided to leave it down. Thanks to the treatment Tabitha put into it to stop it from resembling dried straw, it actually falls delicately around my face, giving me a softer look.

  Again thanks to Tabitha, I’ve tried my best to mimic her makeup techniques from the other night, and I think I’ve done okay. I have applied a darker grey eye shadow on my upper eyelids, which has subtle glitter throughout, catching in the right light.

  Tabitha threw numerous makeup products my way, insisting I take them. I refused, of course, but she wouldn’t hear of it. Now I’m kind of glad I stopped being so stubborn and accepted, because the makeup helps hide the terror behind my eyes.

  I’ve been to parties, but the only reason I was ever there was because my party favors were the main attraction for the happy patrons. I’ve seen what goes on. I mean, there are some parties I wish I could burn from my retinas, while others were just college kids wanting to get lit for the night.

  But I have never actually been invited to one before.

  In high school, I was considered a social leper, therefore, no host would dare invite the freak to attend their pretentious gathering. Not that I ever wanted to go.

  Slipping my flick knife into my boot, I tuck my jeans into them, not bothering to tie the laces. I need easy access to my knife, and tight shoelaces inhibit me from reaching for it quickly if I need it. Believe me, speaking from experience.

  One last look in the mirror and I’m ready.

  My shoes thud onto the long hallway as I make my way to the office to say goodnight to Hank. I don’t know why I feel the need to say goodbye to him, but I feel better with him knowing where I am.

  I cringe when I see him behind the counter, eating a microwave dinner which looks like absolute crap.

  “That’s not your dinner, is it?” I ask, curling up my lip while looking at his sloppy meal of God knows what.

  Hank looks up from his meal, his glasses slipping down his small nose as he lets out a whistle.

  “Well, look at you. You scrub up okay, young lady.”

  I run my finger over my stud nose ring, feeling a little self-conscious.

  “Thanks,” I mumble, trying not to sound ungrateful.

  “Where you off to?” he asks while wiping his mouth on a paper napkin.

  “To Tristan’s house. You know, Tristan who I work with,” I clarify.

  Grandpa nods, as he reaches for his glass of water.

  “Ah, Tristan Berkeley. What a nice young boy. How you getting there?” he asks, placing his glass on the wooden bench.

  “I was going to walk,” I reply.

  Tristan has given me directions to his house, and although it’s a bit of a walk, the fresh air and exercise will do me good.

  “Oh no, you will not,” Hank quickly replies while reaching under the counter, keys in hand.

  I wave my palm in front of me, shaking my head swiftly. “No, Hank, I can’t take your truck again.”

  “Who says?” Hank says, standing up slowly, shuffling to meet me where I stand.

  “I say,” I retort with a small smile.

  I like this guy’s spunk.

  “Paige, please take it. I don’t like the idea of you walking alone so late at night. There are some crazy people out there. If you don’t take them,” he says when I still refuse to accept the keys, “I’ll drive you. I think you prefer the option of taking the truck, although, I wouldn’t mind hanging out with you young folk, maybe even stay for a beer.”

  I know he’s pulling my leg, but I snatch the keys from his fingers as he chuckles lightly.

  “I thought so. Have a good time. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  I can’t help but smile as I look at the frail old man in front of me. I don’t think Hank is even aware of how much he has helped me… survive.

  “Thank you, Hank.”

  And I do something I have never done before. I step forward and awkwardly wrap my arms around his delicate frame and hug him. At first I feel stiff and rigid, but the familiar smell of him, mixed with the sensation of him calmly placing his fragile arms behind my back, allows me to relax into his embrace.

  I can feel something catch in my throat and my eyes begin to burn.

  I pull away quickly, not wanting to be caught out crying over a simple gesture such as a hug. That’s not what normal people do.

  “See you tomorrow bright and early,” I say, attempting to cover how touched I am that he returned my hug without any reservations or uncertainties.

  “If you come in late, you sleep in. I can clean the rooms. We only have three guests staying tonight.” He smiles kindly, knowing how hard hugging him was for me.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” I reiterate with a small smile.

  “Okay, goodnight then, child,” he says, returning to his meal.

  “Goodnight, Hank,” I reply.

  That burning sensation at the back of my eyeballs is back, and I quickly hightail it out of there, not wanting him to see how touched I am at his choice of words.

  He called me child.

  ***

  I’m so happy Hank lent me his truck, as Tristan’s place is further than I originally anticipated. As I turn down a nice, clean neighborhood, I quickly scan the house numbers to find Tristan’s. However, I don’t need to look very far, as the man running into a house wearing nothing but a red cape is a dead giveaway to where the party is.

  I have no idea where to park, as the street is lined with cars, who I am assuming are all here for Tristan.

  So much for a small gathering.

  I’m contemplating speeding down the street toward the safety of the motel, when I receive a text message. I look over at the passenger seat to see who it is.

  It’s Tabitha.

  Where are you? It’s no fun without u! ;)

  I can do this.

  Reversing into a tight spot down the road, I take a final peek at my appearance in the visor.

  My pupils are dilated and my mouth is parted, taking in steady gulps of air, while my chest is rising in an unhealthy way. I look like a startled deer that has just spotted a hunter, and I’m preparing to run the hell away from danger.

  Paigeeeeee… I miss you :(

  Damn Tabitha and her cute emoticons!

  Taking a deep, steadying breath, I hop out of the truck, hoping my legs don’t crumble out from under me.

  I hit the pavement, and the closer I get to Tristan’s basic white Colonial home, the quicker my heart beats.

  His house is simple, but it’s a home. You can tell by the attention to small detail, such as the plants that are planted around the small garden which are in bloom, the little garden gnomes that are placed around the yard in chronological order, and the little wooden nameplate that reads ‘Berkeley’ which hangs near the doorway, that he takes pride in his residence.

  I quicken my step when the naked caped crusader comes bursting out through the front door and star jumps down the three steps. He sees me walking up the drive, and I avert my eyes because I can see his junk bobbling with his movements. Not only am I grossed out at the sight, but I’m also kind of shy.

  “The party is in there. Save me a dance,” he slurs, holding up a red plastic cup, saluting me.

  I give him a quick, stiff smile, and run up the three stairs faster t
han his cape is whipping in the wind.

  The smell of beer, dope, and cheap cologne assaults my nostrils as soon as I enter the small hallway.

  Wow, the house is filled with people. It’s so full I doubt my tiny frame could squeeze through the ocean of people in front of me without indecently assaulting at least half of them.

  This was a bad idea.

  I’m tempted to turn around, but when I see the top of Tabitha’s red hair charging toward me, my plans of escape are futile.

  “You made it!” she squeals, wrapping her arms around me, squeezing me tightly.

  My arms are trapped by my side, so even if I was tempted to return her hug, I couldn’t.

  “Yup, I made it,” I wheeze out. “Tabitha, you’re choking me.”

  “Oh shit, sorry!” she says, thankfully letting me go. “I’m just so happy you’re here!” She hiccups after she finishes her sentence.

  I narrow my eyes, and notice the redder than red on her freckled cheeks and the slight glassy look in her big green eyes.

  “Tabitha, are you… drunk?” I ask, as seeing her drunk is suddenly funny for some reason.

  “Maybe,” Tabitha replies, letting out another hiccup. “Ooh, that tastes like beer.” She giggles.

  I can’t help the small chuckle that escapes my lips because I find drunken people hilarious. Yes, I have been drunk, but always in the privacy of my own home where I can’t humiliate myself, or end up running around naked wearing nothing but a cape.

  “You made it.”

  Before I know what’s happening, two big arms encircle my tiny frame, and I’m bear hugged into a burly chest.

  Tristan smells awesome.

  Like so awesome I’m not freaking out being in his arms because I’m so distracted by his smell.

  “Yup, I made it,” I repeat, which comes out muffled as I’m pressed up against his hard torso.

  Thankfully he lets me go, and gives me a sheepish smile. “Sorry for the PDA.”

  I return his smile and shake my head, and I can’t get over the fact my hair is bouncing yet again.