Gone with an Angel

Chapter Seven:

I awoke peacefully to darkness for the first time in years, not waking up disoriented, scared, worried, anxious, confused, or anything. I was at peace.

The room was dark, but you could see faint rays of sunlight pushing through the deep aqua blue curtains that surrounded the walls. The room was beautiful. Calming. Comforting. The bed was soft and warm, and I didn't want to leave its warmth. The blankets squeezed me like the reassuring arms of my mother when I was young. For a while, I sat there unmoving. I didn’t want to leave this feeling for fear it would never return. I remembered yesterday. I remembered James. I remembered falling asleep. I remembered running, successfully, from my father, if I can even call him that anymore.

I peeled myself away from the blankets and forced my weak sore legs to support my weight on the soft padded carpet. I was facing a full length decorative mirror hanging on the turquoise walls. Despite the darkness of the room, I found myself still in three day old clothes. Not unusual, due to the lack of money and fear that being exposed in the shower would bring, but I had still never got used to it. I smelled horrible, like the garbage bags piled up at the dump, maybe even worse than that. My messy curly hair had been pulled up into a ponytail to hide the sure tangles and disaster waiting in every strand, but by now I was sure the hair band had been wrapped so many times it wouldn't ever come out. I hadn't eaten either, and you could tell. I could barely mask the growling my stomach was making. Not to mention that when I lifted my shirt, you could see and feel the prodding bones of my ribs pressing against my skin. I always tried to stay hydrated at the very least, but now my tongue was dry and parched. My shoes were caked with mud. My bright yellow tee and faded blue black skinny jeans were well enough intact...It just didn't match the rest of me. I sighed at my reflection and turned away, deciding what my next move should be. I decided first, I should leave the room and try and find what time it is, or see if anyone was awake.

I pulled open the brass door knob and stepped onto the cold hard wood floor leading straight into the kitchen. I was thankful for the cold the floor sent from my feet up my legs. They had been sore from running and maybe something else I didn't remember. Someone was awake, I could tell from the pans clattering, although I couldn't yet tell who.

"Hello...?" I called.

The noise stopped. By now I was standing in the threshold, facing off with a boy about as tall up to my waist, when I realized who this must be.

"Ty..." I try to say reassuringly; because I'm sure he must be scared of the strange lady who has just entered his kitchen. I bet it didn't help that the strange person knew his name.

"Mommy?" His eyes lightened and he looked up at me with the brightest look only small children can seem to muster.

The excitement in his face and joy in his eyes should have all made my heart lift, but instead I felt it break more. For more reasons than one, I supposed. For my own mother, who was long gone and would know how to help me now. For this little boy, whose mother had abandoned him. For this child, who even if it was explained where his parents were, he wouldn't be able to grasp it fully due to his autism. For him to not know who, what, or where his parents were. For James, who may as well be just as hurt as any.

Tears welled in my eyes, but I quickly wiped them away. I had never been one to cry easy. I didn't know what I should do, I couldn't just break away from Ty and I couldn't very well encourage the fact that I was his mother. Luckily, James came to the rescue, looking well rested and as though he just rolled out of bed. Of course, he probably had.

"Ty, do you want some pancakes?" he immediately asked.

I watched as Ty's face changed from slight confusion into quickly the ecstatic look he had earlier when he called me mommy. "Pancakes!" he smiled.