by Smith, Yessi
I smiled into his eyes and felt my eyes crinkle from the full extent of my smile. Once the song stopped, I draped my arms around Trent’s neck and leaned my face towards his until our lips met.
“I’ve got a headache,” Trent told me once we finished kissing. “We should go home,” he said with a gleam in his eyes that told me what he actually meant. We were going to his apartment, not because of a fabricated headache, but because his body had reached its limit. He couldn’t resist me any longer.
We said our goodbyes to Trent’s family and I felt myself blush when Dave accused Trent of not having a headache. With his eyebrows arched too high, Dave punched his brother on the shoulder and wished us luck. I wanted to flip Dave the finger, but restrained myself because of Trent’s parents. Instead I also punched him on the shoulder and Trent and I laughed when he visibly winced.
“That’s what you get,” Leah admonished him.
We were in the car for only a couple minutes when Trent veered off under a bridge and parked his car. Unable to maintain his composure, he removed his seatbelt and leaned towards me. I quickly removed my seatbelt and pushed Trent towards the backseat. Trent kissed me longingly, as if he hadn’t touched me in years and was ready to burst if he couldn’t have me immediately.
I knew it wasn’t the time to take things slow, but it was the first time I had more control than him, so I pushed him back gently and held up my hand, telling him to wait. With my eyes trained on him, I undid his pants and dominated his body. My own body deceived me, and shook with the overall control Trent was allowing me to have over him. I relished in it, but lost myself when Trent sneaked in a kiss that freed that savage in me. I could barely hear Bruno Mars on the radio singing Just the Way You Are as Trent and I let go and raced each other towards our frenzied end.
That night in bed, Trent held me closer to him than usual. He kept caressing me, kissing me, making me feel complete. I curled my body into him and kissed his chest. With each touch, I knew there was something he wanted to tell me so I waited to see if he found his voice. Eventually, he did.
“My mom’s an alcoholic,” he told me but his hands held me so tightly I could not move my body so I could see him. “Dave doesn’t remember much of it; he was too young. But I remember,” he said, and I could hear the pain in his voice.
“Trent,” I said, trying to get up but he held me where I was, not ready to let me go. Which was fine. I didn’t want to go anywhere, just offer whatever support or compassion I could.
“My dad had a good job so it didn’t matter that she didn’t work. She got angry when she drank, and she drank often. Even when she was pregnant, that didn’t stop her.” He shook his head. “I was eight when I told my dad to leave her and he just shook his head at me. He loved her too much. My mom heard us talk though, and holy shit,” he laughed into my hair, “she came out like a bat out of Hell and started hitting me and my dad. My dad blocked her away from me so she’d only hit him. Repeatedly she’d hit him and scream at him to leave her. He let her go on till she got tired and laid down on the ground. When she woke up the next morning she had packed a bag. I thought she was leaving us, but she told me she was going to the hospital because she was sick and had to get better.” He stopped, maybe reminiscing what I had thought had been the perfect childhood. “She was gone for a long time before we could visit her. She eventually came home and we were happy for a long time before she relapsed for the first time. She went back to the treatment center a few times after that. Since then we go to this event every year. And every year I’m grateful that my mom has stayed sober another year.”
“And you’re not mad at her?” I asked, not fully understanding the strength of unconditional love.
“Mad at her?” he asked, and I felt him shake his head. “She didn’t give up, Erin. No matter how many times she fell, she dragged herself back up. How can I be mad at her?”
“So just like that, you forgave her?” I asked, pretty angry at the concept and grateful I hadn’t known that about Leah beforehand, because it would have been difficult for me to have liked her.
“Forgave her?” He shook his head at me, and I could feel his disappointment in my questions. “You really don’t get it. Look at her. She’s the strongest person I know.”
“How long has she been sober?” I asked, still not comprehending his forgiveness or the pedestal he had placed her on. To me, the words strength and addiction didn’t belong in the same sentence together.
“Her last relapse was shortly after Dave’s sixth birthday and just before my tenth. I was so proud of her because I had a feeling this would be the last time she had to go for treatment, and I was right. I even told my friends where she was when they asked about her on my birthday. So fifteen years. She’s been sober for fifteen years.”
I didn’t say anything to him because my mind was far too muddled with confusion to form a coherent thought. Instead, I curled deeper into Trent’s body and felt myself fall asleep as I thought of T.I.’s song Slide Show. Because what was life but looking back at a bunch of pictures, forever engraved in our minds, teaching us, guiding us, and sometimes repelling us from life itself.
Chapter 12
Shayna
She was going to have a family soon. A real family, Nate had promised her. She didn’t know what it meant, but she hoped Nate would be a part of it. He was nice and had taught her how to change her baby doll’s diaper.
She felt safe when he was around and had started to talk to him. She liked the way he laughed when she said something funny. She liked the way he made her forget the bad things that had happened to her. He made her almost forget that she was supposed to miss Momma.
Chapter 13
Erin
Camilla met us at Trent’s apartment after work to get ready for the Imagine Dragons concert. The three of us had decided to drive together while Brianna, Jermaine, and Tonya went in their own car. I sang and danced around the apartment in my bralette, jeans and flip flops while Camilla put on her crop bandeau top laced at the bottom with high rise jean shorts and sandals. Tonya had done my makeup and the outcome left me feeling fairly sexy.
Trent looked at us and shook his head in mock disapproval. “I’m going to jail tonight,” he told me, and I laughed at him, enjoying the look he gave me as I walked past him to the door.
“What are we listening to?” Camilla asked once we were in the car.
“Not Imagine Dragons,” Trent responded. “We’re already going to the concert, no need to listen to them before.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” I pouted.
“Yeah,” Camilla agreed.
“One song,” I tried to compromise, but Trent was adamant.
“Because we won’t hear that song at the concert?” he asked sarcastically.
“You suck,” Camilla told him.
“Fine. Whiz Khalifa then,” I suggested.
“Alice Cooper,” he retorted.
“Akon.”
“Jethro Tull,” he laughed.
“T.I.”
“Beiber!” Camilla shouted, causing us to laugh.
“Why are we even together?” I asked Trent.
“No clue. You have horrible taste in music.”
“Me? At least the artists I listen to are of this century.”
“But you are kind of cute though.” He grabbed my hand and kissed it, making my cheeks flush a crimson red.
We wound up listening to the Chili Peppers with some Cranberries snuck in between. Trent pretended to protest listening to The Cranberries, but in all honesty, who could possibly dislike Dolores O’Riordan’s voice? Or the accompanying lyrics?
While the weather looked sketchy, I was deliriously happy the concert was outdoors and had packed blankets for us to sit on. If it rained, we’d get wet. And dance in the rain. I could already picture myself pointing my face towards the sky, wet and delirious with the ecstasy I found from live music.
I had been seventeen years old when I went to my first concert. My friends
and I had gone to a small club where a heavy metal band had screamed their discontent about their life and the world around them. While the atmosphere itself had been bleak, the night had consisted of plenty of liquor, weed and laughter. As usual, my friends had been loud, boisterous, wanting to be recognized for the youth that emanated off of them. I had sat back and watched them, rarely ever speaking. Even then I had known I would never really fit in with them, but they hadn’t seemed to mind or even notice. That was what I liked most about my stoner friends; they had simply accepted me, never asking why I rarely talked.
But none of that mattered when I listened to the band. Their instruments cried out just as loudly as the screamer of the band, and drowned out any thoughts my brain tried to form. So I sat back and listened. In those moments, I had felt ethereal. Somehow, the worries that had become a part of me had lifted, leaving me with a small but weightless reprieve.
When I got home that night, I had found my mother inside our mobile home passed out on the floor with her face and hair plastered to the vomit around her. I checked to see if she was breathing and felt a small stab of disappointment to see that she was. I thought about leaving her there, but the truth was that I had always been the parent in our relationship, and leaving her like that somehow felt wrong. So I helped her up while she swore at me and tried to smack me for moving her. But I kept moving, and with each step I took with her I mentally distanced myself from her, and the hatred that was so prominent I thought my heart would turn to black stone at any moment. I had to leave, I knew. And I would. One day I’d leave her and she’d finally be dead to me.
Our friends had arrived before us and had already claimed a spot on the ground, close to the stage, just outside the mosh pit area. Barefoot and with beer in hand, we talked and listened to the opening act. Leaning against Trent’s chest, I looked up at the sky, watching it change colors as the sun finished its descent. A few drops of rain fell on my face as I watched the dark clouds draw closer to us. It wouldn’t rain hard or long. Just a quick spring shower, typical South Florida weather.
I listened to Trent and Jermaine complain about being dragged to the concert and I rolled my eyes. “You boys are such martyrs,” I teased.
“We deserve a prize,” Jermaine added.
“Prize, my ass,” I responded, and Brianna laughed.
The crowd around us began to thicken as the opening act introduced Imagine Dragons. As they made their way to the stage, we got to our feet to welcome them, jumping and screaming. Without delay, they started to play, instantaneously energizing their fans. While dancing, I noticed the mosh pit wasn’t like the mosh pits I was used to. Rather than the punches and slams I expected to see at a rock concert, people were simply jumping and dancing together. In unison. Fueled by the music and ambience the band created, I grabbed Trent and Camilla and led us to the mosh pit with the rest of our friends close behind.
Side by side with the most important people in my life, I sang. Drunk from a euphoria alcohol could not replicate, Trent twirled me as I lifted my face to the sky and laughed.
I could never pinpoint what it was about music that captivated me so completely. It was the only outlet that allowed me to cease to be me and just be. It transported me to a place where worries and sadness did not exist. And with the band playing for us, that’s exactly what I did. I was elevated to a place of peace I otherwise had no way of getting to.
My heart sank a little when I realized they were playing the last song on their set. As much as I enjoyed my reality, I didn’t want the music or the night to end. I wanted to continue to let go of everything and simply fly for just a little longer.
After the concert we went to a nearby 24-hour diner. We didn’t talk much. Maybe there wasn’t anything that needed to be said. Maybe Imagine Dragons had already told us everything we needed to hear. Or maybe I was just being corny.
Back at Trent’s apartment, Camilla slept off her drunkenness on his couch while I cozied myself close to Trent in his bed. I kept calling it his apartment or his room or his bed, but it kind of felt like mine too. That was all Trent’s doing and a part of Trent I treasured. Almost from the beginning he made me feel like I was a part of him.
***
The following morning, I filled Trent’s and my bowl with cereal and, to my delight, the perfect amount of milk while Camilla searched Trent’s apartment for soda and medicine to relieve her headache.
“I’m gonna be sick,” Camilla told us as she put her head down on the kitchen table.
“Shoulda drank more water,” Trent reminded her.
“Go be annoying somewhere else,” she retorted, and Trent lifted his chin at her and gave a pathetic Chewbacca type grumble, which forced a smile out of her.
Just as the toast popped out of the toaster, someone knocked on the door, but I continued to butter the bread while Trent answered the door.
“No, Gonz,” Trent told whoever was at the door.
And like a nightmare, I heard it. The name I hadn’t associated myself with and didn’t want to recognize being called. Camilla looked at me alarmed, watching me inch my way to the front door and step in front of Trent.
“Are you Jordyn Kerr?” a police officer asked me and I stared at him.
Was I Jordyn Kerr? I heard myself repeat the name and cringed. I immediately hated him for accusing me of being Jordyn. And I hated Jordyn and all the memories that encompassed her. Jordyn, poor little Jordy with the bruises and mismatched socks. Poor little Jordy with the mom who would show up to parent-teacher meetings too drunk to form a coherent thought. Poor little Jordy? Fuck her and the insecurities she carried with her like an essential piece of clothing.
“No,” I squared my shoulders and told the policeman as he showed me a picture of myself at eighteen, just before my escape years ago. “You have the wrong person.”
“Ms. Kerr—”
“My name is Erin Lewis,” I interrupted the man Trent had called Gonz.
Gonz dragged his fat fingers through his balding hair and said, “Before you were Erin, you were Jordyn. I have the papers,” he told me, handing them to me. He smelled like old coffee, I noted, wondering why I was noticing such minute details. In a matter of moments, Camilla and Trent would finally know me and hate me. Fat fingers, the smell of coffee, who cared when the tiny bit of normalcy in my life was being stripped away from me?
I took the papers from him, holding my composure, not allowing myself the luxury of a meltdown. “Well, then,” I told Gonz coolly. “Why bother with formalities if you already know your answer?” I deliberately turned away from him and Trent, not wanting to look at Trent.
Camilla searched my face, but I didn’t give away what I was feeling. She had no idea how badly I wanted to cry. To curl up into a little ball and cry. But I couldn’t, so I sat down on Trent’s couch and waited to see what Gonz wanted with me.
“Ms. Kerr,” Gonz began, “I regret to inform you that your mother has passed.”
“What?” I laughed, a forceful burst without any real emotion attached to it. Why would anyone go through any kind of trouble to find someone who obviously didn’t want to be found just tell them their mother had died? A mother the person in hiding obviously didn’t want any part of. It seemed like a stupid waste of tax dollars. Unless she had done something to instigate her death. Which, in all honesty, wouldn’t surprise me.
“Five months ago.” Gonz looked at me, gauging my reaction. And what was my reaction? Indifference.
I stood up so I could be at the same eye level as Gonz when I spoke to him. “I appreciate the trouble you must have gone through to find me, but my mother and I are estranged,” I said with all the confidence I could muster up. “She’s been dead to me for much longer than five months.”
“Yes, okay,” Gonz said, looking nervously from me to Trent, and I sighed in frustration. I wanted to shake him, demand that he spit out whatever he had to say. It didn’t matter anyway. I’d be leaving Miami soon enough, starting my new life elsewhere.
“You have a sister,” Gonz told me, almost making what he said sound like an apology.
“No,” I laughed, “I don’t.”
“She’s four years old,” Gonz continued as if I had not just spoken.
“What? That’s impossible,” I shook my head at him, trying to do the math. “She wasn’t pregnant when I left,” I said, not realizing I had spoken.
“How long ago did you leave?” he asked.
“I dunno,”I lied. I knew exactly how much time had lapsed since my escape: four years, seven months, and twenty-one days. “About four and a half years ago.. But she didn’t tell me she was pregnant,” I demanded, already knowing she wouldn’t have. Resigned, I looked down at my hands waiting for Gonz to continue.
“Her name is Shayna Kerr, like you she has your mother’s last name. The police heard about you and it took them five months to find you. Your sister has been in foster care since.”
“How did she die?” I asked, because my mother’s death made more sense than having a sister.
“Overdose,” he said, and I nodded. “A neighbor found her a couple days after her death and called the police. Shayna was with her those few days.”
“My sister?” I asked and he nodded. My sister. More than ever I hated the only mother God had given me. She had no idea what it meant to be a mom, to be supportive or loyal, to be compassionate or kind. She wasn’t fit to be a parent, but that didn’t stop her from having another one to call her own. Another child to screw up. “So what now?” I asked.
“We don’t know who the father is, so that leaves you as Shayna’s only living relative,” Gonz told me, his eyes studying me. I shut down, not allowing any emotion to cross my face.
“So I have to go to Alabama to get her?”