A Penny on the Tracks

by Alicia Joseph

  Melinda was balancing herself on the edges of the sandbox while continuing to loudly lead her personal choir. Abbey stomped over to her and pushed her from behind right into the sand. Melinda’s bare legs and arms were covered in sand, and her perfectly ironed dress was ruffled in a disheveled mess.

  Melinda’s screams grabbed the mothers’ attention, and I saw a bunch of them shoot to their feet.

  “Come on!” I’d grabbed Abbey’s hand, and we ran as fast as could away from the park.

  “Your mothers are going to get a call from us!” I heard a woman’s voice yell as we hustled away. But my mother never got a call from them, and neither did Abbey’s. I had sometimes wondered how badly my mother would’ve let those women have it if she knew what their kids were saying to me.

  But now, years later, I still wouldn’t tell her what happened. She didn’t need to know because it would only make her feel bad. My mother watched me as though there was something she wanted to say.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “I considered making up a story about your father dying in some heroic tale like getting killed in a burning building while saving children or drowning in a dangerous lake during high currents while saving people’s lives. You know, something to make you real proud of the father you had. But I was concerned about what I would tell you if he ever came back.” She forced a smile. “Kinda funny to think now that that was a concern.” Her expression turned more serious. “Also, I didn’t want to lie to you. I didn’t want to be that mom. You know?”

  “Grandma told me you were only with my father to get back at her and Grandpa.”

  “She told you that?”

  “Yeah.”

  “When were the two of you talking about all this?”

  “When she was watching me while you were at work.”

  “Ah, yes. Your grandparents were very strict. They were religious people.”

  “Grandma always took me to church, and she’d make me say my prayers every night,” I said.

  “There’s nothing wrong with that, but your grandparents had a specific way they thought people should live. They were strict, and I rebelled. Kids do stupid things when they’re trying to get back at their parents. I went with a guy I probably wouldn’t have just to upset your grandparents. You never met your grandpa, but he was a stern man, very hard to live with most days. By the time I was a teenager, all I wanted was to leave home for anywhere, really. Maybe that’s why I’m a little too lax about rules with you than I should be, but I don’t want you feeling the same way I did when I was a kid. You understand?”

  “I think so,” I said. “But I don’t feel that way. I’m not a teenager yet. I don’t want to leave here.”

  My mother let out a short laugh. “I’m glad to hear that.” She brushed a strand of hair from my face and turned serious. “Your grandpa and I got into a big fight one night, worse than usual. That’s when I left. I moved in with your father and dropped out of school. I grew up really fast after that. Even though we didn’t know each other that long, that didn’t stop me from latching onto him. I was desperate for a way out, and he was my out. Do you understand what I mean by that?”

  “I think so,” I said again.

  My mother gripped my hand. “I don’t want you to ever feel stuck the way I did. I was desperate, and it is impossible to make good decisions when you’re desperate. Always remember that.”

  “Okay.”

  “I was sixteen when I moved in with your father. He was nineteen. My friends thought it was really something that I was dating someone out of high school and living away from my parents. I hadn’t had that much experience with boys before then. I didn’t know how to be in a relationship, and I didn’t know how to live on my own. I had no money. We lived in a run-down, tiny apartment in the city above a dinky Chinese restaurant where I got a job washing dishes and waiting tables. Your father worked odd jobs. He couldn’t settle in one place very long. Sometimes, three or four days would pass before he’d show up.

  “Some of my friends would visit, and they were blown away at what they thought was my exciting new life. One of the busboys from the restaurant would get us alcohol, and we’d sit around my little apartment and drink. Half-drunk, we’d go for pizza and act like idiots just because we could.

  “I didn’t tell them about being alone most of the time, and that I not only missed home, but I missed school, too. But I couldn’t tell my friends that. I was good at school even without trying much, and I wanted to go back. I had spent so much time hating my life while I was at home that I couldn’t imagine any place being worse, but I was wrong, there were worse places out there. I was living in one of them.

  “Not long after that I found out I was pregnant with you.” She gave me a small smile and squeezed my hand. “I never went to the doctor or did one of those tests, I just knew. My periods stopped, and I was getting fat and throwing up all the time. I had to stop working at the restaurant because the smell of the food made me nauseated.

  “One of my better friends, Kathy, who visited me the most, noticed too. I suspected she saw past my act, and she knew I wasn’t happy there. She came right out and asked me if was pregnant. All I could do was nod because I was crying too hard. She’s the one who told your grandma I was pregnant.”

  My mother looked like she wanted to cry now, too. I feared she may want to stop, but I needed her to keep going. I was too heavily involved in knowing the circumstances in how I came into this world. “Were you mad at your friend?”

  She shook her head. “I think she suspected deep down that I wanted your grandma to know, and I did. I felt lost. Scared. Your grandmother begged Kathy to tell her where I was living. Your grandma came and took me home.”

  “What about my father? You just left without telling him about me, or that you were even leaving?” Anger swept over me when I considered that my mom was the one who had walked away from my father and not the other way around. How could she have looked me in the eyes all this time knowing that it was her fault I didn’t have a father? Maybe he would have stayed if she had told him . . .

  “I told him about the pregnancy. I didn’t have to tell your father I was leaving because he was already gone.” In one instant, any hope I grasped that I had a father somewhere in the world who wanted to know me faded. “I’m sorry, Lyssa. He knew. You father knew. I moved back. Your grandma enrolled me in school again, but I told her I wouldn’t go.”

  “Because you were pregnant with me?” I asked.

  “No. That wasn’t the reason.”

  “But you said you missed school. You would have gone back if you weren’t pregnant with me. You probably would have done a lot of things if you never had me.”

  “Hey.” She held my chin in a stern grip in the palm of her hand. “You’re the best part of my life, thebest part of me. Don’t ever forget that. I didn’t go back to school because I didn’t want to face my friends and teachers I left behind for a life I was so sure was going to be better and admit I was wrong, that I had made a mistake.”

  I thought about Melinda teasing me for being a mistake. “Yeah me.”

  “No. Don’t ever think that.” My mother held me by my shoulders. “I was a cocky kid who thought she knew everything. I was too smart for my own good. I didn’t listen to anybody. But I did a lot of growing up in the short time I was with your father. I realized the real world was really hard. Can’t pay rent? They throw you and all your belongings out into the street. I’d seen it happen to a woman with three small kids. With her baby in her arms, she was crying in the streets. She was three weeks behind in her rent, and she was put out. To me, it seemed like a small transgression for such a brutal reaction. I asked your father why they couldn’t just give her more time to pay since it was just a few weeks late.

  “Your father, seemingly more accustomed to the real world than I was, nonchalantly replied, ‘Time’s money, baby. The man wants his rent. If you can’t pay, you got to go. He’ll find someone else who can pay.’
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  “I was used to living a life where if I broke rules at home I got yelled at, or grounded, and maybe a good beating was waiting for me, but I never had to worry about being tossed into the streets. I left home on my own accord.

  “Your father and I were threatened a couple times. Luckily, he was always able to come up with some money, but I was scared because I didn’t want to end up in the streets, holding a paper bag with my underwear in it.”

  I laughed and so did my mom.

  “It’s a funny image, I know. But it isn’t funny when it’s real. That’s why it’s called the real world because everywhere else—home, school—is just practice. At least it was for me. So I was really glad when your grandmother came for me.”

  I looked away from her, toward the posters hanging on my wall. “So my father left as soon as he found out about me.”

  My mom touched my hand. “Lyssa, I could have lied to you tonight about your father. Given you some story, but I promised myself that if we ever had a heart to heart about your father, and you were old enough, I’d tell you the truth. He wasn’t a bad guy. He just wasn’t ready to be a father. It would have been a terrible mistake for us to try to stay together and raise you. I wouldn’t have admitted it at the time, but I needed my mom. I had no idea how to be a mother.”

  “How was Grandpa to you when you came back?”

  “Ohhh . . . I think he was relieved to see me, but of course he wasn’t going to let me know that. We were both stubborn. I remember him looking really old and I had told your grandma that dad looks like he aged ten years in the short time I was gone. She simply shrugged, and said, ‘What do you expect? Your father hasn’t had a full night’s sleep since the day you left.’ It surprised me that he cared so much. But he was angry at me for making him worry the way he did. I don’t think he ever forgave me for that, but he sure couldn’t wait to meet you.”

  “Really?” I asked.

  “Oh yeah.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because the only time he’d talk to me was to ask how you were doing. ‘Is the baby doing okay? Did you go to the doctor? Are you taking the vitamins you’re supposed to? Has the baby kicked yet?” She smiled. “Grandma told me he even wanted to help pick out your cradle.”

  “How come you never told me that?”

  “I don’t know,” she said softly. “But I should have. You deserved to know you had a grandpa who loved you before he even met you.”

  “Grandma said his heart killed him.”

  “He died about a month before you were born. Your grandma and grandpa had planned for me to get my GED. Your grandma kept those plans even after Grandpa died. After I got my GED, I told your grandma that once I found a job I was going to move in with a girl from my class who was looking for a roommate. I figured your grandma wanted me out, but instead she begged me to stay. Said she’d pay for nursing school if I stayed. She knew I wanted to be a nurse since I was a little girl. It was an easy decision, but I remember at the time being confused as to why your grandmother would want me there and pay for my school. I didn’t say goodbye to her when I had left home, or even told her where I was going. I didn’t know how she could forgive me after that. But then I became a mother and now I know. Mothers will do everything we can to keep our children in our lives. She didn’t want to lose me, or you.”

  My mother’s eyes shifted to the clock on the nightstand. She moved off the bed. “It’s getting late.”

  “Will you tell me more some other time?” I asked.

  She stood over my bed and watched me for a couple seconds. “I should have asked you how you felt about never meeting your father. Anytime you want to talk about it, I’ll tell you everything you want to know. I promise.” She leaned over me and kissed me good night. “Get some sleep.”

  Chapter Eight

  I WAS SEARCHING the alley for a perfectly sized rock that fit well in my hand, but was also heavy enough to launch with great distance through the air.

  “Lyssa! I’m hit!” Abbey yelled.

  I spun around. Abbey was bent over her knees with her hands covering her face. I gazed down the long alley and saw Donny and Mike squatting in some bushes. Only minutes ago the two boys had instigated a rock fight with us, and I was barely able to let a couple rocks loose before Abbey went down.

  I ran to her and pulled her behind a tree for cover. I kept a close eye on the two boys. They were making a move toward us, and I fired a bunch of rocks at them until they drew back into the bushes.

  At closer range, I saw the blood pouring from Abbey’s face through her fingers.

  “Put your hands down,” I said.

  She shook her head. “I can’t. I’m bleeding.”

  “I know, but you need to move your hands so I can wipe the blood off.”

  She dropped her hands from her face. Blood was smeared across her cheeks and around her mouth. She looked like the victim in a gruesome horror movie.

  I jumped back and with a renewed sense of anger, I bent down and scrounged up as many rocks as I could carry. I ran hard toward the boys, spitting curses at them, while throwing the rocks wildly in their direction.

  They ran fast away from me. Only when I was sure there was no way I could catch them did I give up the chase. I hurried back to Abbey, who was wiping the sleeves of both arms across her face, soaking up most of the blood.

  “Does it hurt really bad?” I asked.

  “It hurt the most when the rock hit my nose, now it mostly stings and throbs. It won’t stop bleeding,” she said. “I can feel it pouring through my nose.”

  I pressed my hand lightly against her forehead. “Keep your head tilted back like this. It’ll help.”

  “Is there a cut?” she asked.

  I drew her face close to mine. “I don’t see anything. Maybe it’s cut on the inside. It’s a little puffy, but it’ll go down once we put some ice on it. That’s what my mom says to do whenever something swells.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  “I’ll hoist you on my handle bars just keep your head leaned back.”

  “But what about my bike? I can’t leave it here.”

  I glanced around us, searching for a place we could hide her bike and come back for it later. We had been riding through the alley when the two boys started launching rocks our way. Abbey and I always had it out with these particular boys. During the winter we had snowball fights, but for summer, we threw rocks.

  “We can put your bike behind those bushes.” I pointed to a small mound of bushes behind her.

  She looked back. “No way. Those guys are gonna come back and find it, and they’ll either take it or destroy it. I’m riding my bike home.”

  She stood in front of me, blood stains on her shirt, pinching her nose with her head tilted back. I didn’t know how she was going to ride her bike with her nose bleeding the way it was, but I was sure I couldn’t talk her out of it.

  We hopped onto our bikes. This time I tore off a piece of my sleeve for her. I easily ripped my sleeve by sticking my finger through a hole that was already there and shedding the sleeve off me.

  I handed the sleeve to Abbey. “Keep this pressed against your nose.”

  I stayed close to her as we rode to her house. I preferred to have gone to mine, but hers was closer and every second mattered.

  Abbey was riding with her head tilted as far back as it would go while still being able to see the road. She was holding my ripped sleeve close to her face.

  I was keeping more of an eye on Abbey than I was on where I was going and twice I almost rode my bike straight into a parked car. I imagined how much my mother would let me have it if I got hurt riding in the street when she warned me thousands of times not to. I thought about suggesting we move to the sidewalk, but then there wouldn’t be enough room for us to ride side by side, and I wanted to be close to her. So I made an extra effort to pay more attention to the road.

  “My mom’s gonna kill me,” Abbey said, once we were within a couple minutes from her house
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  “I’ll hose your face off before we go in, and we won’t tell her we were having a rock fight.”

  “She’d kill me if she knew that’s what we were doing”

  “That’s why we’re not gonna tell her.”

  “What’ll we say?”

  “I’ll think of something,” I responded.

  We rode up her driveway and went directly to the side of the house where the hose was. I twisted the nozzle so the water came out slowly. I didn’t want to get her all wet. Abbey stood in front of me, still pressing my ripped sleeve against her nose.

  “Move that away,” I said.

  “But the bloods gonna gush out. I know it,” she protested.

  “Keep your head leaned back and it won’t.”

  She slowly dropped the bloody rag from her face, and other than the blood that was already stained from before, no new blood gushed from her nose.

  “I think it’s getting better,” I said. “Keep your head back while I clean it.”

  I trailed the hose over her mouth and chin and parts of her cheeks, and ripped another piece of my sleeve to wipe her face. The blood came off easily. Soon, there was no evidence that her face had once been a bloody mess.

  “I think that’s good enough.” I turned the hose off.

  The only evidence left of our rock fight with the boys was Abbey’s bloody shirt.

  “Turn your shirt around,” I instructed.

  “She’ll still see it,” Abbey said.

  “I’ll walk close behind you, and you can position yourself so that she never sees the back of your shirt. Walk backward if you have to.”

  “Fine,” she said.

  “Does your nose still hurt?”

  “It’s throbbing. I need to put ice on it.”

  “We will.”

  I followed Abbey into her house. At first glance, her mother was nowhere in sight. I breathed a sigh of relief. “Let’s hurry up the stairs,” I whispered in Abbey’s ear, staying close behind her to cover her stained shirt.