STRONGER (Runaway)

by Lexie Ray

  “I’m Ruby,” the oldest one said.

  “And my name’s Maggie,” the younger one chimed in, smiling and sticking her tongue out through her missing front teeth. “I like your name. Jasminnie.”

  “Her name’s not Jasminnie,” Ruby said.

  “Jasminnie,” Maggie tried again. “Minnie.”

  “That’s good enough,” I said, laughing.

  And Minnie I became.

  Happiness was my new normal.

  I loved helping Brenda out around the house and she seemed to appreciate my expertise. I didn’t want to tell her that I’d learned attention to detail from my dead mother’s psychotic boyfriend. But every room shone. I even dusted the television.

  Ruby and Maggie were constant sources of joy. Ruby was very serious, but she was the older sister. She had to be serious. She had to know everything.

  Maggie was a delight. She followed me constantly, asking questions in rapid-fire format. Whatever I was doing, she wanted to be doing. This included chores, watching television, and even studying. Maggie was in kindergarten. She liked to “study” her alphabet and numbers while I studied for my high school diploma.

  In time, I had opened up a little more to my kind hosts. I never told them the entire truth because I didn’t want to scare them. But they did know my mother had died and that I’d dropped out of high school. The figured out on their own that I had been homeless, living on the streets for a time. Jeff expressed confusion over why they hadn’t seen me in the shelter before. I also didn’t tell them that I hated shelters—that I had been beyond desperation when I staggered in that night.

  Jeff had given me some study materials so that I could obtain my GED. Getting it would be something that would help me for the rest of my life, he said. I understood that I wouldn’t be able to get a job without it. However, it was just a little difficult to get back in the swing of grammar and algebra after all that had happened. Sweet little Maggie was the one who encouraged me the most, sitting down next to me with a placemat printed with the alphabet while I pored over the scientific method.

  “I hypothesize that you will pass the GED test, Minnie,” she said after I explained the basic gist of what I was studying.

  “In a few days, we will know the results and conclude whether you are right,” I responded, tickling her.

  After I passed the GED, Jeff and Brenda threw me a small party, complete with pizza and ice cream and everything I loved. I didn’t mind that the only attendees were the people who had taken me into their lives.

  Brenda started bringing home employment circulars that I would peruse with a highlighter in hand, circling all the positions I thought I might be good at. I steered clear of waitress positions, never explaining why.

  I got my driver’s license, I registered to vote, and I volunteered every week at the homeless shelter with Jeff and Brenda. I thought it was good to remind myself where I never wanted to end up again.

  Christmas passed—the first Christmas that I’d received presents since before my mother and I moved in with Jack. Brenda and Jeff bought me a new coat. Ruby and Maggie pooled their allowance money to give me a necklace with a heart charm on it.

  The family accepted Minnie, and I became a part of them. On nights when Jeff and Brenda would go out on dates, I happily watched over the girls. I even learned how to cook, and Brenda and I would trade off days for preparing dinner. I sometimes read to the girls before they went to bed.

  I was part of a family, and they accepted me. I couldn’t wish for anything better.

  Yes, everything was going perfectly until the day I got sick.

  Chapter Five

  It began one night after I’d tried out a new recipe for dinner. It was a hearty stew made out of sweet potatoes, apples, and pork—perfect for the last cold days of winter. Spring had to be coming soon, so I wanted to try the dish before it was out of season. I felt fine eating it, but had to rush to the bathroom with diarrhea afterward. I was scared to death that I’d undercooked the pork—even though it was exceedingly tender and fell apart in my mouth—but no one else seemed affected.

  I had to beg off reading to Ruby and Maggie that night. My entire body ached and sudden waves of exhaustion dragged me to the bed. I thought perhaps that if it wasn’t the pork, I was overdoing things—too much too fast. Life had gotten so much better so quickly that maybe my tortured body was having a hard time adjusting.

  Try again in the morning, I told myself. My eyelids felt weighted down as I let them fall shut in my bed.

  I didn't wake up the next day until 1 p.m., and that was only because of my body hurting so badly. What was wrong with me?

  "The flu, I think," Brenda said grimly, studying a beeping thermometer. "You have a fever of 101."

  "Is that bad?" I groaned, barely able to get the words out. I felt like somebody had left a dumbbell on my head. I'd always been a healthy child—being bedridden was a foreign idea to me.

  "Wanna come watch a movie, Minnie?" Maggie asked from the open doorway. "That always makes me feel better when I'm sick."

  "No thanks, sweetie," I said. "Maybe later, though."

  "Have you puked yet?" she asked eagerly.

  "Don't be disgusting, Maggie," Brenda scolded as I laughed laboriously. Food was the last thing on my mind, proving that I really was sick.

  "Better stay away," I warned in a pseudo-serious voice. "I might puke on you."

  The little girl ran squealing from the room as I made fake gagging noises. Brenda laughed with a small amount of horror.

  "You're good with her, you know," she said. "You're good with both of them, but what you have with the little one is special."

  That made me feel good even through my suffering.

  "Thanks," I said.

  "You ever think about how many kids you want?" Brenda asked, dabbing my forehead with a damp washcloth.

  "Kids?" I croaked. "I'd like some one day, but not until I have everything figured out."

  "Everything figured out?" Brenda repeated, laughing. "You let me know when that happens. Minnie, I don't have everything figured out, and I've got twenty years on you."

  I shook my head. "You and Jeff totally seem like you know what to do in any situation. It's like you have an instruction book stashed somewhere that you study every night before you go to bed. Then, when you wake up and things start happening, you know exactly what to do."

  Brenda hadn't stopped laughing. "My only instruction book is the Bible," she said, chortling. "Other than that, it's experience, plain and simple. Experience and communication."

  Brenda took the washcloth off my forehead and flipped it to the cool side.

  "You're a smart girl, Minnie," she said. "You're making amazing decisions right now. One day, everything will fall into place without you even realizing it. You'll just open your eyes and think, 'this is where I was meant to be.'"

  I smiled and tried to respond, but a fit of wet, wretched coughing stole my voice. Brenda watched me struggle for air, her face a picture of concern.

  "I really don't like that cough," Brenda said as I forced some water down my ravaged throat.

  "It's not my favorite, either," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

  "Whatever this is, we're going to address it early," Brenda said, clapping her hands once. "Don't worry about changing out of you pajamas. I'm going to take you to the clinic."

  As soon as Hailey, the babysitter, arrived, Brenda and I took off. Usually, I would've loved the opportunity to log miles behind the wheel, but I didn't even ask. Simply shuffling to the car was all I could really do.

  The doctor listened to my heart, took my temperature, and looked at my throat and ears.

  “You’re running a fever,” he murmured, almost to himself.

  “Isn’t there a bug going around?” Brenda asked. She’d accompanied me to the examination room.

  The doctor laughed shortly. “Believe me, there’s always some bug going around.”

  He turned around and pulled a need
le and several vials from a drawer, along with a tourniquet.

  “Let’s take some blood and figure out which bug this is,” he said.

  I squeezed my eyes shut as he wrapped the tourniquet around my arm and cleaned the inside of my elbow with a cotton swab. Brenda held my other hand as the needle pierced my skin. I couldn’t bear to look at the blood leaving my body. It gave me too many bad memories.

  “All done,” the doctor announced. “Hold this gauze to your arm and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  The door shut behind him and I finally opened my eyes. Brenda was watching me sympathetically.

  “Squeamish?” she asked. “Me, too. I didn’t watch.”

  I laughed shakily and pushed my hair out of my eyes. My forehead was slick with sweat.

  In what seemed like no time at all, the doctor walked back in, studying a printout on a clipboard. He looked up at me sharply.

  “Have you been engaging in any high-risk behaviors?” he almost demanded. “You know, like sharing needles?”

  Sharing needles? Did he mean for using drugs? I was aware of Brenda freezing beside me.

  “I don’t do drugs,” I said quickly, feeling almost offended.

  “Well, young lady, I’m afraid I have some bad news for you,” he said. “You’re HIV positive.”

  Brenda gave a tortured gasp, showing me some indication of how I should be reacting, but I felt only numbness.

  “So, this is bad,” I said, not sure what else to say in the stifling silence of the examination room.

  “Yes, this is very bad, Minnie,” Brenda snapped, not looking at me.

  I was taken aback. Was this my fault? Did I do something to get HIV? I’d heard the name before, three letters that rolled into their own doom-filled word, but I thought it was only reserved for druggies and other “bad” people.

  Was I one of those “bad” people?

  The doctor had been talking, but the buzz in my ears had drowned out his words. I tuned in again for the tail end of his speech.

  “So pick a long-term health care professional as soon as possible,” he said. “You’ll want to start taking action immediately.”

  The ride home was painful. Brenda never met my eyes, staring straight ahead at the road and gripping the steering wheel tightly. She let out a breath she must have been holding when we pulled into the driveway. Jeff’s car was there, meaning he was back from work already.

  “Just go lie down, Minnie,” Brenda said, still not looking at me. “I’ll check on you in a few minutes.”

  The pervasive crappiness I felt because of my fever and other symptoms was amplified by my despair. Why was this happening to me? Why was Brenda so upset?

  I walked into the house, Brenda following a few steps behind me.

  “Minnie! You’re back!” Maggie chirped, running to me with her arms open for a hug.

  “Maggie! Stop!” Brenda shouted. “Minnie’s sick! Go to your room!”

  The child stopped in her tracks, unused to being yelled at by anyone. I didn’t remember Jeff or Brenda ever raising their voices in anger in this house during the three months I’d been here.

  Maggie’s lower lip puffed out and tears glistened in her eyes. My heart ached as she turned on her heel and scuttled to her room. I didn’t so much as look back at Brenda as I went to my own room.

  The accompanying slammed door made me aware that Brenda and Jeff went to their own room to talk. It was adjacent to the guest room, where I’d been staying. When they started talking, I realized that I could hear every word.

  “So you know how Minnie’s sick?” Brenda asked, sounding halfway hysterical. “It’s freaking HIV.”

  “What?” Jeff repeated, dumbfounded. “She told us she wasn’t using!”

  “Well, she must have been lying,” Brenda said. “My God, she must have had it this entire time, since when we met her.”

  Jeff was silent for a few moments. I pressed my ear against the wall in time to hear his next words.

  “I can’t believe she brought that into our house,” he said. “Do you think she knew about it this whole time?”

  “I don’t know what to think,” Brenda said. “I don’t want her here. I don’t want her around the girls. What if she—oh God, I can barely even imagine—what if one of the girls picked it up from her? Maggie—Jesus help me—Maggie’s always hanging around Minnie. What if she got a cut, oh, I can’t think about it, I can’t.”

  “She can’t stay, we agree on that,” Jeff said. “We’ll get the girls—and ourselves—tested, just to be safe.”

  “Oh God,” Brenda said softly, and I realized she was crying.

  “I’m just so … I don’t know, disappointed, almost,” Jeff remarked. “We were really helping her turn her life around. The GED, the driver’s license, the job search. Her first job interview was this week at that new shoe store. It almost seems like a total waste of our time. A total loss of everything we did for her.”

  “HIV is a death sentence,” Brenda agreed. “She might as well not even try anymore.”

  Chapter Six

  “HIV is a death sentence. She might as well not even try anymore.”

  I barely heard that last part. I was ripping my pajamas off my body as quickly as possible. How could I escape this skin? How could I escape this life?

  All I knew was one thing: I had to flee before Brenda and Jeff threw me out. I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t stomach the idea of Maggie witnessing it. No. I just had to leave.

  I pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweater before stepping into a pair of sneakers. Out of habit, I grabbed the satchel that functioned as my purse. It had everything I was proud of—including my license and GED certificate. Brenda and Jeff had teased me, asking if I carried it around so I could show it to everyone I met.

  I shuddered. Only rage—and despair—was driving me. I was exhausted, beaten, broken, and dirty. I had to get out of here. This wasn’t my home. I would never have a home.

  I eased my door open and stepped quickly down the hall. A footstep behind me when I reached the front door made me cringe.

  “Minnie? Where are you going?”

  I turned to see Maggie, and held a finger to my lips.

  “I have to leave,” I whispered. “What was the time we had the most fun together?”

  “The time we went caroling,” the little girl answered immediately.

  I smiled and almost laughed through my tears. The entire family—and I, at the time when I believed I was a part of it—had gone caroling around the neighborhood during the holidays. When we performed “Jingle Bells,” I realized that Maggie had been singing different lyrics.

  “Jingle bells, Batman smells, Robin laid an egg,” she belted out, her face angelic.

  I had begun laughing and singing her version, remembering it from my own schooldays. Soon, we had the rest of the family singing the incorrect lyrics, and more than a few doors slammed shut on our performance.

  “That was my favorite, too,” I told the little girl, who stood in confusion in front of me. “I want you to always, always, always remember that time, no matter what.”

  I left without hugging her. By that time, Brenda and Jeff’s words had invaded my body, making me feel more infected than my actual diagnosis. What if I would infect her? I could never live with myself.

  I ran as if I could outpace my feelings, my past, and my apparently doomed future just by moving my legs faster. My satchel slapped my back almost painfully, driving me on.

  I didn’t care that my legs burned, or that my lungs struggled to get air. While my body labored, my mind had to focus entirely on forcing it to perform. I didn’t get a spare second for thinking.

  How long had I been running? It seemed like my whole life. My mother and I had run from insurmountable bills. I’d run from Jack and certain death. I’d run from Mama and a life of prostitution. And now I was running from Jeff and Brenda and their certainty for my future-less life.

  The road ended in a parking lot, and I realiz
ed that I could hear the crashing waves of the ocean. My breath was coming in ragged sobs, my already shaky knees knocking against each other.

  I remembered coming here with Jeff, Brenda, and the girls. We’d bundled up against the biting wind and walked along the shore, picking up pretty seashells and squirreling them away in our pockets. I still carried one of them in my satchel, one with a delicate curl and speckled on the outside.

  Those days were over, the days of going anywhere with anyone. I couldn’t do that anymore. I was sick. I was going to die.

  Stairs led to the beach below the bluffs from the parking lot, but I walked over to the cliff face instead. A sheer drop-off led straight down to the waves. They crashed and roiled as I stared down at them. The shore was nothing like it had been the day I’d come with the family. The sun had warmed our faces and the sea had been playful and blue.

  Now, the water was black, mirroring the hardness of the steel gray sky. There was nothing friendly about the sea today.

  Why had I never been in control of my life? Even when I was living on the streets before Mama found me, I’d been living on everyone else’s terms. The only reason I ever darted left was because someone was approaching on my right. I turned into a shadow to make sure no one saw me.

  How could I take my life back and do things on my own terms?

  I stared out over the drop off, watching the waves slap against the rock bottom of the cliff.

  Brenda had said that HIV was a death sentence and that I shouldn’t try anymore. I didn’t have the strength to try anymore. All I’d been doing was trying to survive—trying to come out alive on the other side of everything that anyone had ever done to me.

  But why should I have to continue existing with a death sentence? Couldn’t I take matters into my own hands? Couldn’t I leave this life under my own terms?

  I stared down at the black water, kicking a pebble off the edge. It was a long way down.

  “You going to jump, or what?”

  I whipped my head around and squinted. A tree with bare branches shook and shivered in the wind, buffeted in its precarious position at the top of the cliff. At the tree’s base, a figure sat, leaning against the trunk.