You Complete Me (UNDER CONSTRUCTION)

Chapter 3

I heard the door slam shut so I assumed Mother had went out. Out to party, or drink at the local bar, or be a prostitute for all I knew. I just knew that every Tuesday and Thursday she left the house at six o’clock in evening and didn’t return until six o’clock the next morning. I didn't care where she went or what she did where she was, because when she wasn't around at least I didn't have to walk on eggshells, worrying about when she was gonna blow up on me next.

Finding my secret stash of money- that I collected from working at the diner every Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday from four in the afternoon to ten at night- I tucked it into my ragged sports bra and stood up from the air mattress. I had to find myself something to eat before I fainted. God knew that Mother didn’t worry about me starving to death.

My growling stomach didn’t care if it was down pouring outside. It was a necessity that I got food in my body, so I grabbed a gray hoodie, which had multiple holes in the sleeves, out of my closet. Throwing it on, I pushed the hood over my damp hair and jogged down the step. Out in the rain, it was chilly and a bit breezy. The brisk wind swept past me as I started off jogging towards the diner, watching cars pass me and splash water very close to my white shoes that looked sort of gray from the endless dirt that they had encountered over the years.

I had never known the luxury of owning a car. My mom owned a 1986 Honda Accord but that didn’t suddenly mean that she shared it with me. Which means until I turned 18- which was in 26 days in fact- I was stuck walking everywhere I went, even in the wet conditions that Washington inevitably supplied, unless I got a ride from one of my friends.

Rushing into the diner’s warm, dry atmosphere, I slid off the drenched hoodie and hung the soggy piece of material on the wooden coat rack that was wedged in the corner. Shaking out my blonde hair by thowing my head form side to side with fierce speed, I watched the water droplets flick around me and land on the black and white, checkered floor. I stamped and wiped my wet feet on the shaggy rug, making sure I didn’t leave a trail of footprints like the first time I had walked here in the rain.

“Erika!” Wade, one of my fellow servers, greeted enthusiastically.

“Hey, Wade. Working another shift tonight?” I asked, knowing Wade was almost as poor as I was. Notice that I said almost.

“A double, actually. Come sit down,” he directed, leading me to the counter and gesturing to an empty seat I could sit in.

“Thank you.”

“What can I get ya?” he asked. “I’ll make it on the house for my favorite teenage employee.”

“Plain cheeseburger with an extra side of fries,” I answered, adding the extra side order once he said it was free.

I could take them home and actually have a decent breakfast. The last time I ate breakfast was when Lincoln’s parents were actually home and they took us out to eat at a place called Bill’s Breakfast. Lincoln and I were fourteen at the time, so that means the last time I ate breakfast- the most important meal of the day- was nearly four years ago.

“With a large, vanilla milkshake,” I added, envisioning the creamy, sweet substance tickling my taste buds.

“You got it, kiddo.”

Surveying my surroundings was pretty much the only thing to do since I was at the diner alone. I observed several couples that we in booths, hunched over towards each other with their faces dangerously close. There were also a handful of families including small children that were coloring on their menus. Those kids had no idea what a privilege it was to get to be fed every day; it was just their lifestyle.

Watching people who took for granted all that they were gifted with made my heart swell with anger. Not towards the innocent families or people that could afford to eat out several nights a week, but towards my own mother. I think the last time she was in a grocery store was in 1998 which was the year I was born. The only store she had really been in since then was the liquor store.

“The last time I was here was in 1969 and it looks the same as it does now,” I heard an elderly lady tell her grandson that was around the same age I was.

A yawn escaped my mouth, stretching it to its maximum length. It was a depressing fact that the red stool that was pushed up against the counter was more comfortable than my makeshift bed at home. There was so much more about this diner that felt like home than that shabby apartment located on West Avenue and Eight Street. The people here- that didn’t even know me- probably loved me more than my own mother did.

I watched Wade go to the milkshake machine and push a few buttons. The machine whirled to life and spin the concoction of ice cream, milk, and other tasty ingredients around and around, mixing it completely. My mouth watered as I closed my eyes and tried to remember the last time I enjoyed a milkshake. The only time I could think of was when Lincoln and I shared one here when we were seven.

Wade set my treat in front of me, topped with whipped cream and cherry. Sucking greedily on the straw, I moaned with pleasure at the tasty sensation of the ice cream coating my tongue. I guzzled the mixture down quickly, enjoying every second it was in my mouth. Nothing could make me happier than a milkshake and some real food.

At the sight of my grand cheeseburger, I felt as if I would break down into tears. The single slab of meat made me so happy that I felt like my face might crack from the wide smile I was wearing. Drowning it in ketchup, another rare treat, I shoved it into my mouth, chewing quickly and swallowing pieces that weren’t completely broken down by my teeth.

After completing my meal, I got a box from Wade and filled it with my left over fries. Tucking the fries under my arm, I slurped the last bit of my milkshake and said goodbye to all my fellow employees. I would see them the following day anyways.

Slipping on my sweater, I trudged back out into the rain, but I shielded the precious fries from the rain that threatened to make them soggy. Rushing home, I noticed my stomach started to churn and twist uncomfortably. It normally happened when I ate food that my body wasn’t used to which really was anything that was actually nutritional. Although the pain this time was different, I continued forward determined to get home to get a start on my school work.

Finally arriving at my building, I wandered up the stairs and into the apartment I sadly called home. Suddenly, I felt a lump in my throat. Slammed the fries on small kitchen counter, I rushed to the bathroom and bent in front of the toilet.

There it was before me. My cheeseburger and milkshake spewed inside the toilet. The sight made me want to burst into tears. I just wanted to be a normal kid whose body could actually ingest normal food without vomiting it back up twenty minutes later. Is that too much to ask for?