Proof

by Craze, Chelle C.

  “Shit,” she barely said in an audible tone, gathering her purse and stuffing our junk food inside. More than likely we’d need to make a clean getaway because of those assholes and would have to leave our popcorn behind. That reason alone made me hate them both, the guy on the right included.

  “Act cool,” I finally said, looking over at her as I propped my arms under my head, trying to look relaxed. If running had taught me anything, it was if you looked guilty, you usually were. We were definitely guilty as charged, me more than Mar. She didn’t know I’d pocketed a couple pairs of expensive panties when we were walking around the mall waiting for it to be close to movie time. There was no reason in particular to do it. Mom made sure I had plenty of underwear at home. I just wanted them.

  I started taking things for the thrill of it right after Dad passed. I wanted to see just how close of an eye Uncle Sam kept on us. Either they didn’t give a shit about the petty shoplifting crimes I was committing or they’d decided our case was a lost cause. If I had to guess, it was probably the lost cause. That was what Mom and I were, in my opinion. We’d been under their protection for the majority of my life, and they still hadn’t caught the bad guy yet. Although I had done some research, and apparently, some people spent their entire lives basically in a constant relocation. At least I could say that wasn’t our current situation. I was thankful for Mar.

  She started pouring popcorn into her purse, and I kicked the bucket out of her hand with my foot. She was the mouthier of the two of us, but in reality, she usually crumbled under pressure. After shooting me a hateful glare, she quickly straightened her posture as the two men stopped at our aisle, shining the light right on our faces.

  Shit. Shit. Shit! Anxiety pumped in my veins, and once it reached my brain in the form of adrenaline, it was screaming to fight. This was one of the many times I was more than thankful it hadn’t chosen the alternative. Flight. Thinking as quickly as possible, I bent down and picked up the popcorn bucket and shoveled a fistful into my mouth. “Klutz over there spilled our ’corn,” I offered a lame excuse for our strange behavior and gestured my head to Mar. She followed my lead and stuffed her cheeks with a handful.

  “I am such a klutz.” She giggled around the kernels in her mouth.

  Both men shook their heads and smiled in our direction, continuing their search for whatever in the hell they were looking for. I was just thanking my lucky stars it wasn’t me. Mom may have been overprotective and skated on the borderline of constant paranoia, but regardless of my age, if she caught wind of me shoplifting, she would bust my ass.

  Our heads whipped around, watching the men climb the stairs and shine their flashlights in people’s eyes. They paused when they reached the second to last row where we’d been seated before we got into an argument with the Sweater Club.

  “Run!” the guy on the right said, jumping up from his seat and pushing the usher into the cop, causing them both to hit the floor.

  The guy from the left, I decided to call Ken, since he’d called Mar Barbie, hopped over several rows of seats one at a time, and he momentarily stopped right beside me. Something fell out of his pocket, and he and I realized it at the same time. Our eyes locked in the dark movie theater, and I saw the same panic in his eyes—I’d hidden behind mine for years. Thinking on my toes, I was quick to use my shoe to tuck whatever he dropped behind Mar’s purse on the floor.

  “Thank you!” he whispered, and they were out the door with the usher and cop on their heels.

  Since we’d missed most of the movie, I suggested we count our losses and catch the movie at a different time. What I failed to mention were the lacy stolen goods shoved under the elastic of my panties and the hidden item Ken had dropped. As soon as I bent down to see what I’d risked being an accomplice for, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t freak out a little. A wallet. Great! They’d stolen a wallet, and now my buttery prints were all over its leather surface.

  I shouldn’t have hidden it from Mar, but I did, not wanting her to get into trouble, too. She would be pissed if she knew I’d left her out, but I did it for her own good. When she was looking for her bag of jelly beans she dropped, I shoved the wallet into the bottom of the popcorn and dumped the remainder on top out of her purse.

  “Sheesh. How much did you put in your purse?” I laughed, grabbing the last visible kernels sitting on top of her clutch.

  “I have no fucking clue.” She burst out laughing, and a lady with red hair two aisles in front of us shushed us. Really? After everything that happened, that’s what interrupted her movie? I rolled my eyes and decided there had been enough close calls for one evening. It would be smart not to draw any more attention to us. More than our share had been literally dropped at our feet today, so I saw arguing with her pressing my luck. Even I wasn’t that daring. At least not today.

  Five

  Ken

  Seeing her was earth-shattering, although I wasn’t sure of the reason. I’d basically seen her every day since she moved away in one form or another. Some days, such as today, I wished it were actually her, because I needed her to convince me not to do something more idiotic than run from the cops. Others, I hoped it was someone else, but my desire of who she was didn’t matter. It wasn’t ever her. It was a side effect of my PTSD. I’d relived our childhood enough times to have aged us far beyond any point of being recognized by one another. Yet, I clung to the fact that if we were ever lucky enough to actually stumble upon one another we would instantly know. Although the likelihood of our paths ever crossing again was so minuscule it’d have to be examined under a magnifying glass to be visible.

  I’d spent a good deal of time trying to avoid anything that had to do with her, because those times were too painful to think about. However, today’s event held more than enough evidence of how I was doing with forgetting about her. I wasn’t. Nor would I ever.

  Somehow, one girl whom I’d not only considered a best friend, but a complete pain in my ass some days, had shoved her way under my skin like a splinter. The thing about that was, you could get them out of your skin most of the time, but they left a scar. A girl whose real name was a mystery to me had been my scar for years. My proof that I’d been to war and lived to tell the tale of yesterday.

  Six

  Jaci

  When Mar dropped me off at my house, I was glad Mom was working the evening shift for once. It gave me time to dig through the wallet that would more than likely land me in jail. Of course, Mar made fun of me for bringing home the tub of popcorn, including purse popcorn. I used the excuse I didn’t want to cook tonight, which earned a dinner invitation to her house. I politely declined, telling her that Mom would freak out if I weren’t home when she called. We both knew this was the truth, so she didn’t argue.

  After pulling my stolen panties out of my pants, I set them onto the breakfast bar along with the popcorn and paced the floor. Each time I’d pass in front of the items, I’d huff. This was the downfall of stealing. I loved the rush I felt in the moment. It was euphoric. I hated the guilt that soon followed. I had an entire shopping bag full of stolen panties in the back of my closet that I’d never worn. They were gorgeous, but I was too paranoid to wear them. I didn’t technically steal the wallet, so I decided it was safe enough to look at, as soon as I trashed the bucket and stashed the panties with the rest in my closet.

  I grabbed two pairs of latex gloves from beneath the kitchen sink, stuffed a container of disinfectant wipes under my elbow, and dropped them all onto the counter. After giving the wallet a good wipe down to get rid of all of the buttery prints, I changed gloves so to not spread the butter everywhere again.

  I found a few coupons for fast food joints in the first sleeve of the wallet and flipped it over, only to find a condom in the first pocket. It was outdated, so either he’d not gotten laid in a while or ever. I wasn’t judging, because I was still a virgin myself. It wasn’t hard to preserve your innocence when you never stayed in one place too long. I was eighteen, but hadn’t rea
lly been given the chance to give it up yet, so to speak.

  He had to have some type of identification in here somewhere. Sure enough, there it was in the next column. A driver’s license.

  Suddenly, all of the air in the room vacuumed outward, escaping out of the door or the windows, both of which were closed. I didn’t really know where it had gone, but I sure as heck wasn’t getting any of it. My fingers ran over the name, and I wondered if it were possible. “Calvary M. Trahan.” I read the name so many times to myself and then aloud, I would probably dream of it. Over the years I’d learn to leave little to coincidence and rule out every possibility I was capable of. Was it possible that he could be Cal? My Cal? Absolutely, but the chances were minimal. At some point in my life, I accepted bitterness into my heart, and even though I wanted more than anything for it to be him, I didn’t want to allow myself to keep considering the thought. To do so meant I was a bigger fool than I cared to admit. It meant I was still hopeful, and I promised myself long ago I’d never be that again. To be hopeful meant you cared too much and believed there was good in humanity. I for one did neither.

  With a huff, I grabbed the wallet and took off to my room, not caring if my prints were on it or not this time. I didn’t want to waste any more time on empty thoughts. I had entertained those stupid thoughts long enough. Pushing my shoulder between the mattress and box spring, I shoved the wallet as far as I could between them. If it was out of my sight, it’d be gone from my mind.

  No one had impacted my life as hard as that freckled-faced, chipped tooth little boy had. What we’d seen together were things no adult should witness, let alone children. I loved my best friend, Mar, truly I did. She’d found me in a time when I had no one. Of course, there was Mom, but she’d never learned to relax once they’d caught Phillip. In some ways, I guess I hadn’t entirely let go either, but I still found time to have fun. It just might not have always been what everyone else considered fun. Mar was my go-to person, but she was one of the people who didn’t always have fun in the same type of situations as I did. This was another reason I didn’t tell her of the panties or the wallet. At first, she would have acted cool and probably tried on a pair of underwear over her shorts. Shortly after, guilt would have gotten the best of her, and she probably would have ripped them trying to get them off in a frenzy of panic; she actually was a bit of a klutz. She would then throw them back into the bag and want to return them to the store with a written apology and a wad of cash in the bag that she’d leave in a dressing room. We weren’t too different in that aspect. I never enjoyed the aftereffects of stealing, but it’d be stupid to try to return them. Going to jail wasn’t in my plans anytime soon or ever if I could help it.

  Momentarily, I thought of when Cal and I were children. That’s what we were. Kids. At the time, I was unaware of his age, but figured we were around the same age. Not that it really mattered, because this wasn’t him, but this individual who was pictured was eighteen as well. The theater was the only decent place to watch movies in a three county radius, so it was hard to say if he’d attend the same high school I was about to in thirteen days. The Roxie was actually closer to where Mar and I lived, but I heard they had cockroaches, and that was a hard no for me. I hated bugs.

  “Stupid freckles,” I mumbled, pulling my phone from my pocket and flipping on a playlist to listen to. It made absolutely no sense to dislike Cal for being there when I needed him, but he wasn’t there in the years that followed. The years that followed my dad’s death were the ones I needed a friend. Even though, before he and my dad were both in my life, it was just Mom and me, and it seemed lonelier without them. In those years, my mom had multiple reconstructive surgeries to give her face some semblance of normalcy. My dad hadn’t been the only one to be shot. She received two of the loud bangs we’d heard from the tree house directly in her lower right jawline.

  Rubbing my hand over my face and using the opposite one to turn the volume in my headphones to max, I fell backward onto the bed. I wasn’t what you would call depressed, although that’s what Mom and most therapists would refer to it as, if they were asked. It was more of a numb feeling. I just didn’t care for much and usually voiced my opinions. I was bitter, and if I’m being honest, I didn’t understand why Mom wasn’t, too. Out of the two of us, she had more of a reason to hate the world than I did. Sure, my dad had been murdered and my mom was shot, but she had suffered for years prior to that event. I had no idea the reason Dad hadn’t returned home was because he couldn’t.

  The person responsible for Dad’s disappearance was none other than Phillip Black. He’d seen Mom and Dad at a company Christmas party and became obsessed with Mom. I didn’t know how long Phillip kept Dad hostage, but I knew it had happened. Something must have changed for him to think it was safe to come home to us. That was the something that got him killed. Despite the multiple times I’d asked Mom, I’d never gotten the full story from her. Honestly, I wasn’t sure she had all of the details either, but she’d never confirmed that to be true.

  Seven

  Ken

  Our hiding spot was more than cliché, but it worked so I didn’t question my brother’s methods he’d probably stolen from the last movie he’d watched. As stupid as it was, I returned to the front of the theater as soon as my brother and I gave the cop the slip by hopping into the dumpster out back, hoping to catch yet another nameless girl who held something important to me. This time it was my wallet, so at least it was something replaceable.

  My heartbeat galloped as I mentally practiced what I would say to her, and in the next breath, I cussed myself for even thinking about it. It wasn’t her any more than every other female I thought had been her in the past eight years.

  Talking myself up and down an emotional ladder stomped my anxiety into high speed and I paced in front of the door out of nervousness. Immediately, my fingertips edged into the pocket of my pants and found the pocket watch that belonged to my dad. Letting my fingers read the lines as if they were braille, I closed my eyes and forced my lungs to inhale. This would work. It always did.

  Certain people sought out treatment for their mental illnesses. I, on the other hand, had spent enough time in a psychiatric hospital of sorts that I’d become a professional of bottling up my feelings. Dad’s pocket watch was the provable lid. Each time I felt myself slipping into the quicksand of my past, my fingertips landed on the safety net that was a pocket watch.

  Untangling myself from the past, I exhaled and opened my eyes, only to see I was alone on the street. I figured enough time had passed for the movie to be over, but at this point I didn’t care either way. I’d get my wallet another day…or I wouldn’t. I could always have another driver’s license made at the DMV.

  As frustration bubbled throughout my veins, I decided to leave. There wasn’t any point for me to stay here any longer. The chick had probably left my wallet in the theater or it was at the bottom of the Mississippi by now. Either way, it wasn’t worth getting myself all worked up over an ID and a few bucks.

  Eight

  Jaci

  “Dinner is ready,” Mom said in a pleasant tone with a smile and woke me from my unintentional nap.

  “What are we having?” I asked, stretching. My stomach growled, piquing my interest in the food.

  “You didn’t answer my call,” she pointed out, snagging my dead phone from the pillow beside me and shaking her head. “Anything could have happened, Jaci.”

  “I know, Mom. I’m sorry.” I tried to hide my smile and be sincere, but each time I heard that name, a little piece of a happier time crept into my mind. Our happiness was momentary, fleeting at best, but in that month, we were happy as a family. I was happy.

  I wasn’t sure if Mom had actually heard Cal call me Jaci, but he never called me that in front of adults. The only time he had was when he tried to defend his honor in front of my dad. Following that, he called me “Paige” when we were around anyone else. I knew it was completely random that the names we were given whe
n we relocated landed me with the name Jacqueline Nash, but thought Mom secretly let me have that small win. I never asked, and she never told.

  “I brought you some of Ray’s leftover gumbo.” She smiled, knowing it was one of my favorite dishes the diner she worked at had to offer. My mouth watered at the thought of diving into a big bowl of it. When we first moved to Blackwell, I hated the area. It was too hot, and the people were too friendly. Ray’s gumbo had been the first thing to make me think this place might not be all bad. The second was his pancakes. I didn’t know how one person could make pancakes better than the next, but he could.

  “Come on, or I’ll eat all of it.” She winked and pulled my feet off the bed that I had curled up at some point while sleeping. We both knew she was lying, but I didn’t call her bluff.

  After dinner, Mom retreated to her room and wouldn’t be coming back out until morning. She would spend the entire night “sprinting” with her author friends. She had explained the metaphor to me and why they called writing together sprinting, but I still thought it could have been named something a little more fitting. She wrote erotica novels under the pen name Ruby Wilks, but she was clueless to the fact I held this knowledge. I never told her. I kept it as my ace in the hole, in case I ever got myself into something she’d hold over my head until college.