Sleeping in My Jeans

by Connie King Leonard

  Is it relief that’s making me so weak and drowsy? Meg is safe with Jack in the back of a squad car and the police will get Mom.

  “Blink if you can hear me.”

  My eyes fly open. The face of a young woman hovers over me. Was I sleeping? How long? Where is Mom? Where is Meg?

  A light shines in my eyes. “Hmmm,” she says.

  I stare into the glare. “Mom?”

  “We’re getting her,” the woman says. “I need you to follow the light, okay?”

  “I need to get up,” I whisper. “To see her. Please?”

  “Not yet, honey. You’ve had a bad crack on the head.”

  A male EMT wraps a collar around my neck and puts plastic tubing under my nose. A cool stream of oxygen flows into my lungs. They lift me onto a flat board, strapping down my body and head. The EMTs raise me to a gurney and cover me with a warm blanket. Only then do I tremble from the cold.

  Their speed and efficiency confuses me. The gurney starts to move, and I panic. Will they let me see Meg and Mom before whisking me off to a hospital?

  “Meg?” My voice barely reaches the EMT at the head of my gurney. “Mom?”

  “Mattie!”

  I can’t move my head to see her, but the pounding of her tennis shoes tells me she is running. “Meg?” The gurney wobbles and my sister is beside me.

  “I was so scared,” she cries. “So scared.”

  “Me too.” My words catch in my throat, fighting for space with sobs of relief. “Me too.”

  My gurney wobbles again as Meg climbs up its side.

  “Hey,” the EMT reaches for Meg. “Get down, kid. You can’t be up there.”

  Meg kicks at the guy. “I’m not getting down, and you can’t make me!” She scrambles the last few inches and throws herself beside me.

  “Mattie!” Jack appears beside my bed. “Are you okay?”

  My eyes and lower arms are the only parts of my body I can move. I grip my sister’s hand. “Thanks, Jack. Thanks for taking care of Meg.”

  “My God, Mattie,” he says. “I … I’ll do anything. Anything you need. Just … just let me know.”

  I turn my eyes back to the EMTs and look from one to the other. “Don’t separate Meg and me. Do you hear me? Don’t separate us.” My voice sounds raspy and low, not at all normal. “We’re not leaving until we see Mom.”

  The woman leans over me. “We’ve got to take you in, Mattie.” She gives me a sad smile. “It’s cold out here, and you’ve got a bad concussion.”

  “I’ll scream. Fight.” I force my voice to be strong.

  Meg twists around and yells, “And I’ll kick and bite and punch and you will be really, really sorry you didn’t let us see Mommy.”

  I am tired and weak, but I piece together every bit of strength I have to prepare myself for battle. The EMTs back away, and Meg snuggles next to me. My body is rigid. Tense from worry. Are they getting a needle full of drugs ready to shoot into my arm? Will I be asleep in minutes? Meg could be put in foster care without me there to protect her.

  The EMT returns, but he has a sideways grin and an arm full of blankets. “You win, girls.” He spreads warm layers over us and tucks them in tight. “You’ve been through enough without fighting us too.” He tops off our mound of covers with a foil blanket.

  Tears slide down my cheeks and soak into the padding around my head. “Thanks. Thanks a lot.” The EMTs stay close, but they let us lie in our cocoon—warm and safe and together.

  Jack’s fingers brush across my cheek. “I’m right here, Mattie. Right beside you if you need me.”

  “I owe you, Jack.” I press my lips together to keep from breaking into sobs.

  Meg tightens her grip on me and whispers, “You’ll be okay, Mattie, and so will Mommy.” Her little hand pats my shoulder. “We’ll get a house and we’ll start over. Just the three of us. And we’ll be so happy because we will be together and never be apart again. Forever and ever and ever.”

  Meg’s words comfort me, like she’s the sixteen-year-old and I’m six. They are a little girl’s words, but her thoughts are my thoughts and my dreams. And even if Meg and I end up in foster care, I’ll fight to keep us together so that I never have to leave her alone again.

  Activity swirls around us. Cops come and go. EMTs rush past carrying equipment. I grip Meg’s hand so tight I’m afraid of hurting her.

  Finding Mom wasn’t supposed to be like this. When I thought she was in Darren’s apartment, I pictured her bound and gagged like in one of those old black-and-white movies. Alert. Whole. Relieved to see us and scared, but not really harmed. I’d untie Mom and we’d hug and cry and carry on about how scared we were. Meg and Mom and I would be together, distressed by what we’d been through, but whole and happy.

  How could I have been such a child? So naive. So full of storybook endings that I shut out the ugly truth of the real world. The mechanic was cold and inhuman enough to sell people to the highest bidder. How can a person lack those basic bits of compassion that even animals feel for each other?

  Meg squirms around until she can look me in the face. “Why don’t the police people and the ambulance people bring Mommy? Why are they so slow?”

  Her face wrinkles with worry, making me want to paint over the ugly truth of Mom’s ordeal. But Meg isn’t that same baby girl she was a week ago. “She’s hurt, Meg.” I swallow the lump rising in my throat. “Probably pretty bad.”

  Tears turn Meg’s eyes into watery pools. “But we’ve got each other,” I say, “and if Mom comes back, we’ll help her get better. Okay?”

  Meg’s lips quiver, and she lies next to me, her small body shaking. I hold her hand and whisper words like “It’s okay” and “We’re together” over and over.

  I breathe in the warmth of my little sister and replay memories of Mom in my head. Like how she smiles when she sees us come in the door and laughs at Meg’s knock-knock jokes, even when they don’t make any sense. How she keeps the apartment clean, cooks our meals, and scrubs our clothes. How she loves us no matter how snotty we get.

  Mom’s life would’ve been so much easier if she’d given me away when I was born. Instead, she raised me with love and kindness. Something the mechanic knows nothing about.

  Officer Rodriguez walks to our gurney. His face softens, and a hint of a smile flips up one side of his mouth. Meg pops up, ripping open our cozy little cocoon. My heart soars.

  “She’s alive.” He glances between Meg and me. “She’s pretty beat up and not totally conscious, but she’s one tough lady. Just like her daughters.”

  So many tears stream down my face that I can barely see through them. Meg claps her hands and squeals.

  Jack’s hand squeezes my shoulder. “That’s great, Mattie.”

  “We want to see her,” I say. “We have to.”

  “It’d be better if you waited.” His brown eyes zero in on me. They are soft and kind, but they tell me that Mom is hurt more than he wants to say.

  “We have to see her,” I repeat.

  Officer Rodriguez studies me before turning to Meg. “You stay here until we bring your mom over, got it?”

  Meg bounces, rocking my gurney with her excitement. “Got it.”

  Officer Rodriguez moves away, and the garage grows quiet and still. The EMTs beside me turn to watch. I can’t see what is happening, so I picture Mom being brought from that ugly prison of a room. I see her lying on a board like mine, suffering and in pain, but living and breathing, with her heart pumping strong and true. I listen to directions bouncing back and forth between the EMTs.

  “Easy now.”

  “I got her.”

  “Slow and steady.”

  “Tell me what’s happening, Meg.” I squeeze her hand. “I can’t see, so tell me everything.”

  “Mommy’s all strapped down like you, with one ambulance guy on each
end of the board. It’s really narrow stairs so they’ve got to be really, really careful.” Meg stops to take a breath. “And now they are putting her on a wheely bed like yours and tying her down like you, and—”

  Meg scrambles from my bed and is gone.

  “Meg?” I stare at the darkness over my head, feeling more lost and alone than ever. I can’t see Mom or hold her, brush her long hair away from her face. I can’t do any of the sweet, comforting things she always does for me.

  Sobs surge through my body. I fight the straps holding me. “Mom!” I scream. “Mom!”

  Jack’s hand grips my shoulder and his face hovers over me. “Hold still, Mattie. She’s coming.”

  I force myself to relax. To breathe. I listen to the brush of feet on concrete and the soft turning of wheels. I feel the movement of people. Excitement surges through me. “Mom?”

  Meg grabs my hand. “Mommy’s right here. Right beside us.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Columbia High School looks worn out. Overused. In the weeks I’ve been gone, it’s as if the bricks and cream-colored paint have a ton more chips and the gray cement sidewalk picked up dozens more dings. The whole place looks tired, like it’s way older than its years. Or maybe that’s me projecting my life on the walls, windows, and doors of the place.

  Mom drives toward the lot near the front door. Ruby’s window and taillights are fixed, and Officer Rodriguez put her bumpers back on for free. In the damp Oregon weather, Ruby’s spots of exposed metal would rust, so Mom bought some cheap red paint at an auto store and sprayed them. Now Ruby’s got splotches of red that don’t quite match the rest of her body—scars she’ll carry for the rest of her life, like Mom and Meg and me.

  Our family’s scars aren’t as visible as Ruby’s. No one can see that our innocence is gone. People can’t look at us and know we carry a distrust in humanity so deep it breaks our confidence.

  We have other scars too. Bad dreams. Anxiety. Worries that we’ll be torn apart and separated forever. Time will help, but no amount of time will erase the fear of being homeless and vulnerable.

  Mom’s story came out in pieces. Maybe she thought she was protecting us, or maybe she couldn’t face telling us the whole ugly tale.

  The mechanic offered to pick up Ruby at 7-Eleven and deliver her back at the end of the day. It was a perfect solution, but when he brought Ruby back with the window and taillights fixed, he asked Mom to drop him off. She should have texted me, but she was in a hurry and almost out of cell time, so she got into the car.

  Mom fought, but like me, was no match for his strength. She made mistakes, a ton of them, but I understand why—she was hungry, exhausted, and living in a state of constant stress. The abuse of Mom’s body is healing, but her internal scars will be harder to survive.

  The mechanic is in jail, caught that same night by a squad car down the street from the garage. Knowing he is locked away should relieve us, but his arrest brings its own set of worries. At his trial, Mom and I have to sit on the witness stand, look into his eyes, and relive every ugly detail of our capture. We have to admit to our vulnerability and mistakes and hope a jury puts him in jail.

  Mom parks Ruby in a visitor’s space near the front door. I watch the rain sliding down the windshield in wiggly little rivers, but I’m not ready to get out of the car. Driving up to Columbia reminds me that I am a different person than the one who went to school here.

  I turn to Mom and suck in a long, slow breath, pulling air deep into my body. “I might be a while.”

  Mom nods. The sorrow in her eyes clashes with the soft beauty of her face. “Take your time, baby. Meg and I will be fine.”

  I reach across the car and squeeze Mom’s knee, my eyes never leaving her face. She gives me a tight little smile and lays her one good hand over mine. Her other pokes out of a sling, holding her broken arm against her chest. “Go.” She nods her head toward the school.

  I step out of the car and stand in the rain. Water drips onto my head, sliding in cold streams down my face. Today is our first day back as a family. The first day we can move forward into a life together, inch by tiny inch.

  Again I was naive, thinking that once I found Mom, the three of us would be back together. That didn’t happen. Mom left the garage in one ambulance, and Meg and I went in another. A caseworker stayed overnight with us at the hospital, but we didn’t get to see Mom.

  The next day, Meg and I were taken to a foster home where we lived with an old man and woman who fed us, gave us a place to sleep, and included us in their Thanksgiving and Christmas celebrations. They lived too far from our schools, so we worked on homework sent to us over the internet.

  The old people were kind and caring, but Mom wasn’t allowed to come to their house. After she got out of the hospital, she lived at the Mission in the women’s dorm. We only saw her four times in all those weeks.

  Meg and I would probably still be in that foster home, separated by red tape and good intentions, if Officer Rodriguez hadn’t found us a room in a home for women and children. We can only stay for six months, but that will give Mom time to save money for an apartment.

  I walk through the parking lot and go inside. Before I clean out my locker, I stop at the office to do paperwork. No one hugs me and says they’ll miss me like the office workers did for Meg at her school. This is high school. Kids come and go; people care, but there are too many of us to keep track of. By the time I finish the transfer papers, it’s first lunch and the halls are busy with kids.

  I head toward my locker. My week with Jack seems like a lifetime ago. Like I was a different person when I knew him; like he was just a make-believe boyfriend and not real-life flesh and bone. Maybe he was. Maybe I’ll get my stuff from my locker, head right back to Ruby, and let our romance stay that way—a beautiful story, a fairy tale that kept me trudging on when life got too tough to handle.

  Jack rescued Meg from the alley that night. I am forever grateful to him for that, but the first days Meg and I were in foster care, he texted and called me all the time. He didn’t understand why we couldn’t live at his house or why there were no apartments that people like us could afford. Jack offered us money from his parents and begged me to take it. I wouldn’t. In some ways, these last weeks were more confusing for Jack than me.

  Asking him to stop calling and texting felt mean and unfair, but I needed time to sleep, eat enough food to feel normal, and curl up in front of TV reruns without pressure from anyone. Meg and I needed to read every children’s book in the foster home, be safe in our own little bubble, and let the outside world move on without us.

  I head down junior hall, turn into my locker bay, and stop with a jolt. A girl behind me growls about paying attention, but all I can do is stare. My locker is covered in sticky notes. Pink. Yellow. Neon green. A rainbow of messages stuck all over the door.

  I walk forward and read Miss you and Miss you more and Really, really, missing you now. Over and over again, I read words telling me how much Jack cared, how much he wanted to share lunch, a quick conversation, or a lingering look. How much he wanted me to be safe.

  I spin the dial on my lock, open the door, and pull out all my stuff. I pack my backpack full of papers, pencils, and half-filled notebooks. My textbooks get stacked on the floor until I get the last of my junk cleaned out. I slam the door and spend a long time staring at Jack’s sweet little notes before peeling each one off the metal, stacking them together, and tucking them into the front pocket of my pack. I pick up the stack of textbooks and head to the library to drop them off.

  When I leave the library, I turn and head straight for the front door. Walking away is best for both of us. I just go. Clean and quick. Jack lives in a different world and has opportunities that I will never experience. Even if I qualify for a college scholarship, I’ll have to work long hours and save every bit of money I can for Mom, Meg, and me to be financially safe.
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  Once I’m out of his world, Jack can go off to college, play basketball, and meet girls that aren’t struggling to survive. And me? I will have beautiful memories and a stack of sticky notes to tell me that in my junior year of high school, one really nice guy cared about me.

  I’m all the way back to the office before I slow to a stop. I may be poor, and I may be homeless, but one thing I’m not is a coward. I lived in a car, slept in a dumpster, and fought off a man with so little soul he could sell people into a life of horror. But now, when it comes to someone I really care about—someone who came to my rescue when I needed him—I choose to be wimpy and weak instead of brave, or at least kind. I’m slinking out of Jack’s life without even offering him a decent goodbye.

  I turn and stare down the hall toward the cafeteria. Old fears assault me. I could walk back and see if he’s sitting at our table. But what if he’s hanging out with a bunch of his friends? Laughing. Talking. Horsing around. I can’t walk up to him in a crowd like that.

  More fears hit me. Am I strong enough to handle Jack’s friendship, maybe even his love, without giving up on college, law school, and being President? And what about Jack? Can he handle the world I live in?

  There are too many questions, too many unknowns in our relationship, but one thing I feel in the pit of my stomach is that Jack deserves a chance. He cares about me and Meg too. Everything he’s ever done, from the Saturday he bought us McDonald’s to the sticky notes he left on my locker, confirms that much. Not knowing what happened to us must be tearing him up.

  I pull out my phone and type out a text. Hey. Want to meet for coffee at the downtown library? Sunday @ 2?

  I slide my phone into my pocket and walk out of the school. Meg sits in the back seat of Ruby and gives me a grin and that crazy two-handed wave of hers. Mom is watching for me too. Her good hand raises just enough. She doesn’t want to embarrass me, but she can’t help letting me know how much she loves me.

  My phone dings in my pocket. I pull it out while I walk to the car and smile at Jack’s text. Yes!!!!   Me before your text.     Me after your text.