by Beth Goobie
“Let me see,” said Skey, counting on her fingers. “June, July, August...it’s been nine months. Geez, it’s nice of him to make the effort tonight. Actually, I’ve already asked two of my friends to come over for dinner to help me celebrate.”
Her mother stiffened. “And who might they be?” she asked guardedly.
“Don’t worry, they don’t belong to a gang,” Skey assured her. “You remember Lick, the guy Jigger beat up? And I also asked a girl named Tammy Nanji. She’s tutoring me at school.”
“Well,” her mother said huffily, “your father won’t be over until later. I suppose it’ll be all right. I’ll order pizza.”
“We just need to make a salad,” said Skey. “And dessert. I asked Tammy to bring the real food. Her mom makes this great stuff.”
Her mother sniffed dubiously. “Just make sure they’re gone when your father arrives,” she said. “This is a special day for him.”
As Mrs. Mitchell turned once again to the door, Skey felt a realization open deep within her. She and her mother were different. They looked similar, but biology did not rule. Mrs. Mitchell still stood as she always had, a careful figurine impeccably arranged, waiting for the odd glance her husband might send her way. How much of her mother, Skey wondered, studying the woman before her, was hiding in tunnels of dark and light, crawling away from her own truth? How much had she forgotten?
Pushing up her sleeves, Skey stared at the scars on her forearms. She would always carry them, it was true—she would always be marked. But she knew her own stories now, she knew the truth. With the deepest breath she had ever taken, Skey claimed her future as her own. Never, under any condition, would she become her mother.
“Mom,” said Skey, “my friends will come when I need them. They care about me that much. I want you to meet them. I asked Tammy to bring enough food so you could join us.”
Her mother gave her another dubious look. “Maybe,” she said.
As they came out into the unit, Skey saw Ann hovering nearby. Her sleeves were also pushed up, displaying scars, but in the past three months Ann had gained weight. When she moved now, her bones slid close to the skin, but they weren’t as sharp-edged. Ann’s flesh was rounding her into old pain.
“I’m still here and you’re going,” she said forlornly.
“I’ll call,” said Skey. “Maybe you can come to my house to visit.”
Ignoring her mother’s sharp gasp, she walked over to the other girl. The hole between their bedroom walls had been fixed months ago, allowing them to continue their nightly wall-tapping game, but they had recently created another version for daylight. Now, as Skey raised her hand, Ann met her with an answering grin. Gently they began tapping on each other’s foreheads.
Tap tap, they said with their fingertips. I’m here too. Lonely on the other side, but I can hear you, tap tap tap. I can hear you, tap tap. I am with you, tap. Lonely, but with you, tap tap. Tap tap tap. With you, tap. Friend.
WITH A FLOURISH, Terry unlocked the side entrance door and stepped back. Carrying her suitcase through the open doorway, Skey stood in the falling snow and grinned the grin of an escapee.
“Not gonna miss me at all, eh?” Terry grinned back.
“A little,” said Skey. “I’ll remember you. I’ll remember this place.”
They stood, Skey outside, Terry inside, the open doorway between them.
“So,” said Terry. “Tell me, Skey—what color are you feeling?”
“What color are you feeling?” responded Skey.
Terry grimaced. “This means deep thought,” she said.
Skey laughed. “I’ll call you in a couple of days when you’ve got it figured out,” she said, and turned to follow her mother to the BMW.
But Terry wasn’t giving in easily. “Skey,” she called, the grin now in her voice. “C’mon, think for me. What color are you feeling?”
The answer came to Skey, wide and sudden as sky. “Blue,” she shouted over her shoulder.
“Three o’clock on a summer afternoon?” asked Terry.
Skey turned and began walking backward. “Three o’clock,” she said, “and it’s really hot, and the radio’s playing, and I’m lying in the sun, and I’ve got nothing to do and I can do anything I want.”
She was almost at the car.
“Now you’re talking,” called Terry.
“I can do anything I want!” shouted Skey. Her entire body was singing. “I can do anything I want!”