River & Journie

I

Journie

"Journie! Bring me my cigarette!"

Margie's voice echoed off the walls of our small one-bedroom house. I roll my eyes and get up from my seat on the porch steps. I dust myself and storm through the screen door, slamming it behind me.

"Where are they?" I yell. I spot them on the table in our tiny kitchen, but still, wait for her to answer me.

"I don't know. Stop being lazy and find them yourself." She says before going into a coughing fit. I snatch the pack off the table and stomp into her room. She's lying on her bed, which is technically just a mattress on the floor, with a bottle of cheap wine in one hand, and the TV remote in the other.

You make me sick, I think. I toss the cigarettes on the bed and turn to walk away.

"Hey girl, don't you walk away like that," she rasps, recovering from her fit. She digs a lighter from underneath her pillow and lights up. I stare, challenging her. She looks back at me, almost as if she wants to argue, but that never ends well. She motions for me to leave. I walk out and slam the door behind me.

Don't get me wrong, I respect all adults, but for this woman, my mother, who ruined my life 13 years ago, I have none.

I walk into the kitchen searching for food that I know won't be there. There's a bag of moldy bread on the counter and some probably expired condiments in the refrigerator. Mom spends all of her check on her habits and rarely buys food for the house. When she does, her lousy boyfriend, Steve, eats it.

I walk the six blocks to Ray's Diner, where I know I can get a meal. Jake Mirano, the college drop-out is behind the counter, just as I expected.

"Hi Jakey," I say, making my voice overly friendly. Jake's eyes light up when he sees me. He's had a thing for me since forever, and I just play along to get the occasional free meal.

"Journie! Long time, no see," he says, even though I just saw him last week.

"Yeah, I've been busy. What's up with you?" I lean over the counter, and smile at him, dazzling him. He shrugs.

"Nothing really. You hungry? It's on me," he says.

Bingo.

"Sure, I'll have the usual." He hands me a cold Coke and goes to the back. I wipe the condensation off with my shirt. Ten minutes later, Jake returns with a burger and fries. I take a small bite and then pretend to check my phone.

"Oh, it looks like my mom needs my help with something," I say. "Can I take this to-go?"

I always end up making up something I have to go through so I don't have to be around him any longer than I have to. Jake is a known creep around here, and there are endless rumors about him why he was kicked out of college years ago. I shove hot, greasy fries in my mouth as I walk back home. I hadn't eaten since yesterday afternoon.

As I approach my house, I see a familiar silver sedan out front.

Not again.

Mr. Noble is here to collect the monthly rent. It's not his fault that Mom is irresponsible and spends all of her money on cigarettes and booze. The child support from Dad is barely enough, and she spends all of that too.

I hear the yelling before I even get to the house.

"You have no right to kick me out! This is MY house!"

Mr. Noble responds calmly. "Mrs. Oliver, I'm not kicking you out, but you're a month behind on your rent. I have to pay my bills too."

Mom is rolling her eyes until she sees me coming up the sidewalk. She runs to the door and pulls me inside. She's holding a lit cigarette in one hand, and her bottle of wine which is now empty, in the other.

"I have a daughter, you can't kick me out!" She's being dramatic at this point. Mr. Noble looks exasperated. I shrug out of her grasp.

"How much is it, Mr. Noble?" This happens at least three times a year. She wastes her money and then begs when it's time to pay rent.

"I just need three-fifty right now, but you are a child, this is her responsibility," he says pointedly.

"I'll have your money by Friday," I say, ignoring the last part of what he said. He looks at me sympathetically before getting in his car and driving away. We head into the house together. Mom stands in the living room looking calmer than she did two minutes ago. She takes a long drag on her cigarette and blows the smoke up to the ceiling.

"Where are you plannin' on getting that money?" She eyes me suspiciously. She's not concerned about my means of getting money, but rather if I have any for her.

"I actually know how to get a job and work, unlike some people." I shouldn't have added that last part, but too often, my smart mouth gets the best of me. Mom's normally brown eyes turn as black as a night sky. She lets her cigarette slip from her fingers and fall to the ground, grinding it to ashes underneath her worm Nike slides.

I know what's coming, but before I can duck out of the way, she slams her empty bottle into my head, shattering it into thousands of pieces against my skin. I fall to the hard floor, wishing I could disappear through the cheap laminate.

"Think about that the next time you want to smart-mouth me. Now clean this mess up." She stalks off to her room, grabbing a warm beer off the counter on her way. I lift my head, feeling a sharp pain. This isn't the first time she's hit me, and I know it won't be the last.

I go to the bathroom and wipe my head with a damp towel. It is bleeding, but not too much to be concerned about. I keep the towel pressed to my head while I clean up the glass from the living room. Later that night, I couldn't sleep because of my migraine. I've been getting them since I was three when the accident happened.

The same accident that killed someone. The one my mom is responsible for.