by Anna B. Doe
I want to make her shut up. Her nearness, her voice that’s basically speaking in my ear, is making me remember.
Memories that feel like acid corroding my brain.
Like the one when I was five or six. She was still my mother, baking chocolate cookies with me in the kitchen. I could practically smell them, warm, sweet scent that filled our kitchen back in Texas. She always called me “my little boy”, although I was always big for my age, taking after my dad.
Shutting my eyes, I shake off the picture in my brain as well as her hand off my body. “Whatever you are trying to accomplish here won’t work, so you can go.”
I take a step around her, toward my escape, but her fingers firmly wrap around my forearm. She may be small and skinny, but her grip on me is strong, unforgiving. “You can’t just walk away from me,” she screams. “You owe me.”
The laugh that escapes me is malicious and a little bit hysterical. “I don’t owe you anything.”
“You are my son! I gave birth to you.”
“You also left said son and never looked back, so I think we are even.” I jerk my hand away and open the car door.
I’m about to close the door, but her words stop me. “If not for me, you should do it for your sister.”
My fingers grip the steering wheel. Looking down at my hands I see my knuckles turning white, and I’m surprised to see the wheel is still where it should be.
In one piece.
“You are lying,” I mutter, more to remind myself than for her sake.
Cassie was great at manipulating before she left for good. Mind games were always her thing to get what she wanted.
“Why would I? Trust me, I tried to convince myself that she doesn’t exist, but every time I turn around there she is. Reminding me that she’s all too real.”
Another nuisance in Cassie Shelton’s life. First me when she was barely seventeen and now this girl.
My sister.
I have a freaking sister.
“What do you want?” I ask, although I know the answer. But I need time to think everything out before I make any decisions. And I need proof she isn’t mocking me to get what she wants. Money. It’s always money with her.
“Money.” She smiles sweetly at me. That was unexpected. Not. “We had some economic issues the past few years.”
“How much?”
I keep it strictly professional. I’m not interested in her life and her past. There is no compassion for her in me, no need to make amends or try to get my mother back in my life. She is dead to me. Has been for years, and if I have a say in it, she’ll stay exactly that way.
But if she had another child, I have to know. If there is a sister of mine somewhere in this world, living with this wreck of a woman, I need to help her get away from it. Away from her before she destroys her.
“Five hundred.”
“Five hundred dollars?” I ask, skeptically looking at her.
Why would she come all this way for a silly five hundred bucks? I carry that kind of cash daily in my back pocket.
She throws her head backward and laughs out loud. “Five-hundred-thousand dollars.”
“What the …” I jump out of the car. “Are you insane? I’m not giving you half a million dollars.”
She frowns at me. “Am I insane? You earn a few million per year. Not including bonuses and endorsements. You have your fancy car and a big house. I think you can manage to part with half a million.”
“If you know all that, then why are you here now? Why didn’t you come before?” I know I said I wouldn’t ask, but my mouth is faster than my brain.
“To tell you the truth, I haven’t bothered looking for you. I guess I thought you’d go into your dad’s footsteps, after all, you’ve always been Daddy’s boy. Guess how surprised I was when I found out about your famous status?” There is no regret in her voice, not that I’m expecting some. “Actually, Danielle was the one who saw you on TV at her friend’s house. I wasn’t even aware that she knew about you, but I most likely slipped it out when …”
“When you were drunk or high,” I finish for her. “Some things never change, do they?”
She wants to tell me off, but she stops herself before words can slip out of her mouth. “When will you get me my money?”
I slowly go back inside the car, thinking.
I need time. She can’t know how her words affect me. She can’t know that if there is a girl, my sister, I will do anything in my power to get her out of the shithole life she has with this crazy bitch.
Danielle.
I smirk, shaking my head in disbelief. She gave us the same name. How fucking convenient.
“When I decide I’m ready to give it to you.” I glare at her. “You won’t get anything before I meet my sister. And you won’t get a cent over two-hundred-and-fifty thousand.”
“But …” she tries to protest, but I stop her.
“Not a cent over two-fifty. You can give me an address so I know where to find you.”
“Queens,” she mumbles unhappily, giving me an exact address and not mentioning the money again. I guess two-fifty is better than nothing.
“When will you come?”
“When you see me, we wouldn’t want you to bring some random girl and take my money,” I say, starting to close the door. I’m so ready for this to be over. “Oh, yes, another thing. If that girl is my sister, and if I have to I’ll get a blood test to prove it, she is going with me.”
“What?” her loud shrike echoes in the night.
“Until then.” Finally closing the door with a loud slam, I start the car and leave the parking lot behind. I’m not sure what just happened, but I hope it’s one big nightmare. Because if it isn’t, I’m in one big shit.
What the hell do I know about girls? I don’t even know how old she is or what she likes.
Actually, Danielle was the one who saw you on TV in friend’s house. I wasn’t even aware that she knew about you …
More importantly, what does she think of me? Does she like football? And what will happen if I bring her to my life and the press finds out about it?
All kinds of questions fill my mind on my way home, and I don’t have an answer to any of them. But there are people who do.
“Call Nate Price,” I say, and the ringing sound replaces the music that was playing in the background. The kid is in law school, sure he knows some shit. Even if he doesn’t, he’ll know where to find somebody who does. That’s something, too.
“Sorry I’m late, Mom,” I call loudly after the door of the dance studio shuts behind me. Leaving my gym bag with the others on the floor in one corner, I get to my mother and kiss her on the cheek.
“It’s okay.” She smiles at me. “We were just getting started.”
Harriet Roberts looks hot for her age. She keeps her body small and still slender, in shape with dancing. Both Lisa and myself, have taken most of our physical appearance from our dad, but I have my mother’s lips and amber eyes. Her long blond hair is neatly tied in a bun at the nape of her neck so that it doesn’t get in the way. In my personal opinion, it has more to do with her habit of wearing it that way for all the years she spent in the dance world than getting in the way.
She was never interested in going pro, but she was good and liked working with kids so she opened her own studio, “Harriet’s Ballet Slippers”. And although her studio is still open and working she has taken the role of an owner more than one of an instructor. But not even a year passed after she retired that she was bored, so she started volunteering at the youth center. Giving free dance classes and helping kids stay away from the streets. It’s less demanding and stressful than giving classes all day long and definitely more rewarding. Seeing the smile and hope on the faces of those girls … There’s nothing like it.
I liked her idea so I decided to join her when I wasn’t somewhere off traveling. It’s something for me, something that I enjoy doing and something that no one knows anything about. Sure, some of these girls r
ecognize me, but they don’t care much. They have some serious issues of their own, so the last thing they have time for is worrying about me. I like it that way.
Mom claps her hands a couple of times to get everyone’s attention. “Come on, girls, let’s get started.”
A small group of girls, all of different ages, stand next to the barre and start going through basic positions. Both my mom and I look at the way they move their bodies. After giving a few pointers to the girls, I get to the floor to stretch before joining them.
Dancing is like breathing to me—it’s in my blood, after all. On the other hand, my sister Lisa doesn’t have the same love for dancing mom and I share. Although the same woman gave birth to us, Lisa doesn’t have a drop of dancer’s blood in her system. It’s like she has two left feet.
At one point, Mom was hoping I’d follow in her footsteps, and if nothing else, become a dance instructor like her, but I’ve gone into modeling instead. I guess the hope didn’t die yet because she never sold her studio.
The door opens and closes again. I guess I’m not the only one late.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Roberts. It …,” the girl says in hurry, but Mom cuts her off.
“Leave your stuff with the rest, Grace, and start stretching. Sienna joined us today so she’ll help you get started.”
Grace agrees and soon she is sitting on the floor next to me. “Hi, Grace.” I smile at the young girl. “I’m—”
“Sienna Roberts, Mrs. Roberts’ daughter,” she says, looking at me curiously with her big, green eyes before she continues in a whispering tone. “She and the other girls talk a lot about you.”
“They do?” I ask, pretending my surprise. My mom is the kind of mother who likes to talk about her daughter’s life and accomplishments. Most of my life I heard her praising me or Lisa about one thing or another, and more times than not she embarrassed us by giving too much unnecessary information. I guess mother’s love knows no boundaries.
“Yes.” She nods, making her chestnut ponytail swing. “She is proud of you.”
“I guess your mom is proud of you too.” The words leave my mouth without me thinking them through and when I see the look on her face I instantly feel bad for being so insensitive. Not all of the kids are happy to have mothers, or families, like mine. “I’m sorry,” I say softly, putting my hand on her skinny tight. “That was inconsiderate of me.”
“Don’t sweat it.” Her wide lips curl into a small smile.
“Come on, let’s see what you’ve got,” I say, leaving the mom comment aside.
We both get to our feet.
Grace looks to be around twelve or thirteen, still more child than teenager. She is tall, somewhere around five feet four or five, and she is really skinny. She somewhat reminds me of myself when I was her age. My body was always growing faster than my mind could process it, so there were times when I was being really clumsy. I was happy to have ballet in those times. It was all about slow, careful moves. Coordination and precision.
“I’m not that good,” Grace confesses, warily looking at the barre. “I’ve just started.”
“It’s okay.” I put my hands on her shoulder and give her a small squeeze before I move her right hand to the barre. “We all started once, and I’m here to correct you. Start with the first position, do you remember it?”
“Demi-pliè,” she murmurs before positioning her legs together and turned outward. I modify her position a bit before she goes into demi-pliè.
We go through all five positions before the class ends. For a beginner, Grace isn’t half as bad as she thinks she is.
“You were really good,” I tell her when we go grab our stuff afterward. “If you keep up practicing, you’ll catch up with others in no time.”
“Thanks, Sienna!” This time her smile lights up all her face, making her green eyes shimmer in delight. “I’ll see you next time.” She waves at me before taking her things and leaving.
Opening the front door, I carefully listen for any sound that I should be wary about. With my mother, you never know what mood or state you’ll find her in, so I always take precaution.
It comes naturally to me—sneaking around and being invisible. It’s the only way to survive with Cassie Shelton and her ‘friends’. That lesson I learned a long time ago. My mother doesn’t give a shit about me, alive or dead, it’s all the same to her.
The sound of the TV greets me from the living room, which is a combination of kitchen, dining, and living room, but that’s all. No drunken laughing. No screaming shows with one of her current friends. No sound of sex coming out of her bedroom.
I may be only twelve but I’m not ignorant nor stupid. Cassie took care of that.
For a second I wonder if she is out, or maybe if she is dead. First would be surprising, the second … not so much. And although I would give everything to have a normal life, a normal family, I’m not fooling myself into thinking that will happen anytime soon, if ever. I’m simply not ready to find her dead body and lose the only person I have in this world. The only person I know, no matter how bad she is.
Looking around the corner, I find my mother passed out on the old, shabby couch. Soft snores come from her direction.
I sigh in relief.
She isn’t dead. For now, anyway.
Everything about this place is crumbling. Sometimes I wonder how this building is still standing. We live in this one-bedroom apartment in a terrible part of Queens.
Apart from the living space, there is one bedroom, small bathroom, and even smaller room, that I think was supposed to be a supply room or something like that, but I use it as my bedroom.
I could always sleep on the couch, but then I would risk getting in my mother’s way. Except, that isn’t what scares me the most; no, it’s the looks of those men she often brings home. So, I prefer my boxed space where I’m safe, at least in my own mind.
It reminds me of Harry Potter’s closet-room under the staircase, without the staircase part. And there is also no magical letter for me that will get me out of it, to a place I can call home.
Now that I know she is still in the world of the living, I have to get down with my homework. I’m not naïve enough to believe I’ll go to college one day. College requires a lot of money. The money we don’t have. But I have set my mind on finishing high school and getting as far away from this place as possible.
Turning around on my heels, I step onto a wooden board that creaks under my feet making Mom jump awake in surprise.
“Ohh … It’s you,” she groans loudly, massaging her temples. “You returned home.”
“Always so happy to see me,” I mutter to myself, rolling my eyes before continuing in a louder voice. “Where should I be?”
“The hell if I know. But don’t you dare disappear before I get my money.”
“What money?” I look at her suspiciously, wondering if she is serious or if it’s alcohol and any other possible substance in her body talking for her.
She smirks at me, her face becoming an ugly grimace. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
I hold her gaze a few more seconds before shrugging indifferently and turning away from her.
If you want something, Cassie Shelton will go out of her way so that you don’t get it. Indifference, on the other hand, she can’t stand. It makes her feel small and unimportant, everything she hates.
Three steps closer to my room, like on cue, she continues, “Daniel will give me money.”
My mouth falls open, but the good thing is that I have my back turned to her.
When did she talk to Daniel? Merely his name makes me feel all kinds of things. Things I shouldn’t be feeling. Things like a trace of hope. A glimpse of light at the end of very long, very dark tunnel.
“Why would he give you money?”
Schooling my expression, I look at her over my shoulder. Her green eyes are piercing at my back. The eyes that connected the three of us—Cassie, Daniel, and me. What would he think if he saw me? Would he also s
ee the connection? Would he resent it?
“He wouldn’t,” she says unhappily. She is impatient and a bit angry. It’s in the way her eyes twitch and her brows furrow. In the way her bony fingers clench into a fist by her sides. “Not for me, but you …” There is special kind of gleam in her eyes now. “He would do it for you.”
“What?” This time I fully turn to face her. Not believing her words.
“Surprised?”
“Why would he do that? It’s not like he knows about me.”
“Now he does.” She smiles sweetly at me. “Finally, some use out of you, you foolish little girl.”
I simply shake my head and head to my room without another word to her. “We have yet to see that,” I mutter.
I’m still not sure if she is for real or mocking me.
The easy way would be if she was mocking me, nothing new in that, but what would happen if she’s telling the truth? I don’t know anything about my brother except that he is way older than me and plays professional football.
J.D. Shelton.
But Mom always calls him Daniel, like she always calls me Danielle.
If she is telling the truth, will he give her money and leave without looking back? Will he even ask to see me? Meet me?
The first time I heard about him was a few months back. Mom was high and she was feeling sentimental, talking about her family. Her family before me, because there wasn’t any family for me.
I never expected to hear that she had another child. She never showed any kind of affection toward me, why would she have children then? But if I look at it now, her feelings toward kids didn’t change, yet she still had me.
I never tried to find him. I didn’t believe I could, and even if I did, what was the point? I couldn’t just jump into someone’s life and turn it upside down. For twelve years I’ve been alone, and it’s fine.
I’m fine being alone.
But then one day at my best friend’s house her dad watched a football game. I wasn’t paying attention until the commentator said his name. Not the one I knew him to be, the one my mother called him, but J.D.