by Lynn Vroman
One last thought crossed my mind before sleep finally came: I’ll find you…
Him better hurry up.
Lena
There’s no place like home…There’s no place like…Oh, wait, there is. Rusted palaces just like mine usually found on Cops…Bad boys, bad boys…shut up, brain.
I wasn’t running away. Swear to God. I thought about it, though. Thought about it every morning when I followed the path through the woods to the school and back. After last night, escaping sounded perfect. Not possible, but pretty damn great to think about.
The daily ritual gave me an hour with the frost biting my nose and dead leaves crunching under my old sneakers. Running was kind of mandatory, seeing as how track started next week, but I loved it.
Out here, there was no dumb shit dad, no helpless mom. No worry an anxiety attack would interfere with my ability to ignore school’s rigid caste system, of which I stayed planted in the bottom rung–the untouchables. Trees didn’t care where I lived. Squirrels didn’t judge my clothes. But as usual, the view of the trailer park ended my life-pardon.
I stopped at the wood’s edge for a minute, slowing my breath. One month and I was out of here. Not even the crazy shit from last night could dampen that excitement.
One foot met muddy asphalt as a breeze pushed through the sweaty hair stuck on my forehead and rustled the barren tree limbs. The air felt warm on my face, defrosting my runny nose–a deep contrast to the crisp, spring morning breeze.
Odd, but hey, warm air? I’d take it.
Then I heard it again, the same voice from last night.
Lena. My name carried through another bout of warm air, soft but clear.
“Hello?”
It’s time.
There it was again, an almost delicate voice, but definitely belonging to a man.
“Not funny, asshole.” I went for irritated, but my squeaky voice betrayed me.
The rusted heap I lived in never sounded so safe.
I threw the front door open with a loud bang as soon as I hit the first cement block. The crazy wind and breathy voice wasn’t a good enough reason not to try to piss off the deadbeat. My efforts went unappreciated.
Dad’s alcohol coma hadn’t worn off, his feet still propped on the half-empty case of beer. He slouched in the same beat-up wicker chair as last night while loud snores escaped his mouth. A can of Genesee dangled in his right hand, its contents leaking from the opening.
The hate in my chest suffocated me. He spent most of his time in this room, admiring the Native American pictures he had collected from garage sales and flea markets, drinking himself into a sloppy mess. He swore they’d be worth money someday, even the velvet ones.
Useless.
Dangerous.
Worse, he’d never let Mom go without a fight.
Shaking my head, I stalked toward the smell of burnt eggs.
My frustration turned to anger when I noticed a brand new bruise coloring Mom’s left eye. “He give that to you?”
She scraped at the bottom of the cast-iron skillet with a spatula, not answering. The new shiner explained her absence last night. Dad usually left her alone after he lost his temper.
“Why this time?”
Mom stopped torturing the eggs and looked up, her bottom lip shaking. Level-ten rage sent me back to the living room.
Her narrow hand reached for my sweatshirt sleeve. “Lena, stop. What’re you gonna do, anyway?”
“Smashing one of those dumb pictures over his head sounds good about now.”
“He’ll just get at you, too.”
“So we let him beat the crap outta you whenever he wants?”
Her shoulders dropped and her cheeks sagged. “Where else do we have to go?”
Staring into eyes the same color green as mine terrified me. Like looking into my own future if I didn’t escape. “We can always go to the shelter.”
“Shelter’s no place for a teenage girl.”
My arms flailed around our dilapidated trailer. “And this is?”
Defeat drained what little color her face still had.
I sighed, softening my voice. “Look, one more month, that’s it. We just need to put up with his shit for a little longer.”
“I don’t know, Lena. What if–”
“No. No, ‘what if.’ We’re leaving. Period.” I gathered her up in my arms, feeling every bone in her thin body. “Try to eat something today, okay? I’m gonna shower, get ready for school.”
“I’ll try.” She glanced at the eggs, lip curling. “You want those?”
“Nah, see if that jerk wants them,” I said on my way to the bathroom. “Maybe add some arsenic while you’re at it.”
A half hour later, I waited with the rest of the rejects, stomping my feet and hugging myself to prevent body heat from escaping. The air around us filled with tufts of breath floating from our mouths, and one deep inhale revealed a few kids didn’t believe in toothbrushes. As always, I had to endure the rot for a while. The damn bus never came on time, usually ten minutes late. Potholes on the main road, which were marginally better than the dirt paths we called streets in the park, made the trek difficult.
Kids began their morning ritual of opening unlocked mailboxes, hoping to score money. Don’t know why they bothered. Residents here lived on some kind of assistance, and those checks came at the beginning of the month. I hiked my bag higher on my shoulder and watched the road, breathing through my mouth and ignoring the future residents of the state penitentiary.
“You want a ride, Lena?”
I turned to the double wide as Wilma stepped off her splintered porch. A few kids snickered and made pig noises as she limped to her Saturn, favoring her left knee, and unlocked the door. She shot the idiots a bored stare while sipping coffee from a mug she’d had attached to her hand every morning since before I could remember. I had no idea if it was the same mug, but Wilma always had one filled with steaming coffee when she went to work–in the cafeteria of every school I’d ever attended.
Yes, I hung out with the lunch lady.
“Yeah, sure.” I glared at the oinking asshats and walked to her car, making them laugh harder.
The first five minutes of the drive, I warmed my hands by smashing them against the heaters. After the blood began to circulate, I leaned back, resting one hand on the side of her hot mug sitting in the cup holder. Wilma’s car was one of my favorite places. It always smelled like vanilla, much nicer than the stale beer and smoke polluting my trailer or the rancid morning breath at the bus stop.
She reached for her coffee, brushing my hand with her fingers. I pulled back to let her take my hand warmer without opening my eyes. After a sip, her loud voice interrupted the silence. “What happened?”
Never thought of myself as transparent–except to Wilma. I didn’t even have to talk for her to know something weighed on me. Knowing me for…what…my whole life probably had a lot to do with it.
But no way would I tell her about last night. I didn’t need another person I cared about thinking I boarded the crazy train. “He hit her again.”
“That sadistic piece of garbage needs to be hung up by his balls.”
I snorted. She had a way with words, my lunch lady. “You volunteering?”
Her knuckles whitened on the steering wheel, and her face developed blotchy red patches across her pudgy cheeks. “You have no idea how much I’d love the job.”
“I’ll be out of there soon. No need to take his balls.” I slouched in the seat. “Besides, I’m sure those shriveled up a long time ago.”
She snorted this time, setting her coffee in the holder. Smoothing frizzy black curls away from her face, she said, “Found a place in town, looked decent. I’m thinking of taking it.”
The news didn’t surprise me. Wilma had lived in that double wide for years, but when I told her about my plan to move a week ago, she started grumbling about how much she hated her house and needed a change. Guess it didn’t matter hers was the nicest dump in t
he park.
With a grin, I looked her way. “I think that’s a great idea.”
She nodded, never taking her eyes off the road.
∞ ∞ ∞
When I walked into homeroom, Zander wasn’t at his seat. Good. A day to process everything without avoiding him was exactly what I needed. Still, it was sort of odd for him not to be there. He’d never missed school since he transferred here three months ago. Shaking it off, I took my seat and finished my calculus homework.
The morning flew by without incident. As usual, I gave Coach Stump a show on the track during Gym, the one place my long legs and skinny body had its advantages. He clapped and hooted as though he were watching a pro-football game.
The subject of scholarships came up again. Stump gave me a wink after I flew past Evan Michaels, the star quarterback, for the second time, saying, “You got this in the bag, Tulman.”
Senior year was what I’d spent the last few years preparing for. All the work I put in on the track, all the medals stuffed in my closet, the miles I clocked, it was my golden ticket out of the trailer park. More importantly, a scholarship was my one and only chance at getting through the front doors of Penn State.
Mrs. Terra looked lost during English when the bell rang and her Othello wasn’t there to read with her. My face cracked into a smile as she searched the rows a couple times before coming to terms with Zander’s absence. Some football jock took his place. His rendition of the great moor general–with his sixth-grade reading level and monotone delivery–had Mrs. Terra cringing and snapping at him. Yeah, the morning went perfectly.
I didn’t even think about Zander…well, I didn’t think about him a lot. In fact, I hadn’t been this happy in school alongside the predators in a long time. Even last night’s mind slip or this morning’s weird voice didn’t bother me too much anymore.
Then the lunch bell rang.
I knew I’d have to eat alone, and I was fine with it–looked forward to it. I went through the line, picking out a cheeseburger, pear, fries, and chocolate milk without worrying about dirty looks or smartass comments. Smiling, I handed my free lunch ticket to Wilma.
She punched a hole, handing it back. “Skinny girl like you could use some cake.”
“The cake sucks.”
“I baked that damn cake, girl. It ain’t so bad.”
“You added water to a boxed mix.”
“It comes with the lunch, kid, take it.”
Her grumbling wasn’t anything new. She did it because she worried about me. That much I’d figured out in grade school. I plopped the cake on my tray, groaning. She rewarded me with a rare grin. “Good girl. You coming over for dinner tonight?”
“I got work.”
“How you getting home?”
“Jake’ll drive me.” She opened her mouth, but I cut her off. “And I’ll grab a hot dog there.”
Wilma tapped her fingers against the register. “You feeling better?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
She nodded and shooed me along, taking money from the people behind me.
While eating what passed for meat and concentrating on my chemistry notes for next week’s test, a loud smack of a plastic tray against the table made me jump.
I looked up to see Belva Summers and her followers crowding my table. The bitch never missed an opportunity to give me grief.
“Problem?” Here we go.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
I looked at my lunch and notes. “Ah, I think it’s obvious.” Jesus, this high school bullshit got old. Couldn’t she see how stereotypical this scene was, the bully antagonizing the downtrodden poor kid? Sometimes when she did this, I’d look around to see if there were any hidden cameras.
The CW right here in the Poconos…
Belva smoothed her highlighted bangs to the side before putting her palms on the table. “You get lost? This is our table, trash. Dogs eat on the floor.”
She flicked one delicate wrist and shoved my food to the floor. Chocolate milk and ketchup sprayed everywhere.
Anger burned my throat when half the cafeteria looked on. I wanted to punch her in the face. Pull out all her shiny hair. Rip out her throat.
I pushed my chair back and made sure to laugh as the rest of the predators pointed, snapped photos with phones, and called me everything from trailer trash to whore. Imagination wasn’t their strength.
As I gathered my stuff for a great escape, Wilma stomped over to the table, the scowl on her face all too familiar. The only time I saw it was when I came to her house sporting a new bruise on my face.
“What did she do?” Wilma targeted me with her death stare.
“Nothing, just stay out of it.” All I wanted to do was disappear.
Wilma put her hands on her ample hips, turning toward Belva. “Not this time.”
Belva laughed in her face. “What’re you going to do? Write me up?”
When Wilma’s cheeks burned red, Belva’s grin faltered.
“Like I said, not this time.” Wilma waved a hand in front of Belva’s face. She then moved her fingers lower, palming my predator’s stomach.
Belva just stood there, a dull sheen clouding her eyes as she stared at Wilma, mouth agape.
Some of her friends tried to come to her rescue, but Wilma shot them a glare. They stopped moving forward, their eyes as blank as Belva’s.
I grabbed Wilma’s wrist, trying to yank her hand off Belva’s stomach. Electricity zinged through my fingers as if I clamped onto an electric fence.
Holy shit. Her skin sizzled with energy, almost burning me. “Let go, Wilma.”
In an instant, her skin returned to normal, and I released my grip, shaking my tingling fingers.
Wilma let go of Belva and scowled at me. “Go to class.” She then limped back to her stool.
Belva’s eyes cleared and her hand went to her stomach as a tear slipped from her left eye. Her friends gathered around her, all of them back to normal as they left my table. One of them mouthed Bitch in my direction, and I knew what that meant.
Great…This little incident wouldn’t just go away.
I gathered my books and beat feet for the doors, the memory of electricity in Wilma’s wrist awakening something…
Oh, damn.
She’d done this before.
My mind flashed on the image of Him flying across a field…and Wilma…waving her hand.
Déjà vu overwhelmed me.
Just a dream, right? It had to be. I stopped as soon as I cleared the cafeteria doors and looked down at my palm. I swear a flash of blue light zipped up my pointer finger. No. Impossible.
But…Him?
Son of a bitch.
∞ ∞ ∞
Unfortunately, Belva and I were in the same chemistry class. Which meant the incident in the cafeteria would probably have an encore, and there wasn’t a lunch lady in sight to interfere.
As the bell rang, everyone opened their notes and focused on the board. Luckily, my table was in the back and Belva’s was in front. If she wanted to continue with her smear-Lena campaign, it’d have to wait until class ended.
For thirty minutes, without a break, Mr. Collins droned on. My eyes stayed on my notebook, writing down everything important. Going crazy or not, I had to keep my grades up if I wanted a real shot at that scholarship. Stump stressed grades. He said my secret weapon against other girls fighting for the free ride was straight A’s.
Someone gagged, and I lifted my head to inspect the source. Belva, pale and green all at the same time, held one hand over her mouth and the other in the air. When Collins stopped to call on her, moisture seeped through the cracks between her fingers.
“Yes, Belva?” His annoyed face twisted to surprise when Belva stood, taking her hand away from her lips.
Projectile vomit spewed at least three feet, landing all over the clean Formica surface of the table. Collins held a hand to his nose and motioned to the door. “Go outside! Go outside!”
Belva managed to
stand, doing her best to make it to the door. Her designer white pants showed the grossness was coming from both ends. The room filled with a stench rivaling a mixture of week-old road kill and an outhouse. I covered my face with both hands, my eyes watering from the sting of the putrid odor.
I wouldn’t have believed it if I’d not been a front row spectator. The bane of my high school existence shit herself while puking on her horrified followers. When she made it out of class, puddles of humiliation colored her seat.
As Collins dialed maintenance, frantic and incoherent, I couldn’t help thinking Wilma’s lunchroom voodoo had something to do with Belva’s major slide onto my side of the societal tracks.
∞ ∞ ∞
The rest of the day passed with Belva’s episode top of the gossip agenda. A few people felt sorry for her, but most thought it was hilarious she shit her pants in front of everyone.
I wouldn’t have traded places with her for one of those mansions cluttering her fancy neighborhood any day.
Belva didn’t stay on my mind for long. Or at least Belva’s embarrassing moment didn’t. The way Wilma waved her hand and walked away, especially considering how mad she’d gotten when my tray crashed to the floor, replayed in my head. After everything over the last couple of days, I had trouble trusting my own judgment, but the coincidence was too weird. Highly unlikely Wilma had any kind of supernatural powers, but the image in my head…Him flying through the air just by her waving a hand…
When the last bell rang, I went from Calculus straight to the employee parking lot. Fifteen minutes came and went without any sign of my lunch lady. It wouldn’t go over well if I was late, since it’d only be me and Jake tonight. Zander was scheduled, but who knew if he’d show.
Another five minutes passed before I decided it could wait until tonight. I turned, and there she was, irritated as always. My heart stopped for a second before speeding up, threatening to beat out of my chest.
She glared up at me, her hands resting on her hips. “Looking for me?”
“Yeah, you have a minute? Maybe give me a lift to work so we can talk?”
“About what?” She tapped her foot, clearly not wanting to talk to me.
