I opened the school doors just as the bell rang, signaling the end of the first two classes. The fact that I had made it back by my third class surprised me. Grocery shopping this morning had gone quicker than expected.
With my tattered bag slung over my shoulder, I took my time on my way through the broad school halls just as the last students entered their classrooms.
Despite my bad habit of occasionally skipping classes, the majority of my grades remained considerably stable. Still, the only subject I managed to stay on board with regardless of how many classes I skipped, was math. As I had been homeschooled up until four years ago, my dad had always acted as my mentor in every aspect of my life. His love and fondness for math had definitely rubbed off on me during that time.
I eventually ended up outside the boring, green door that led to Algebra. Not bothering to knock, I proceeded to sling the door open. The teacher's head swung in my direction, not an ounce of surprise in her expression as she looked at me. A scowl slowly grew over her wrinkled features.
"Thank you for gracing us with your presence, Ms. Haynes," her voice low and heavy with sarcasm.
"You're welcome." I shrugged, making my way to the back of the room.
"Excuse me?" She frowned at me as I took my seat, an irritated edge in her voice.
"You thanked me. It's only right that I respond," I heard a few snickers from the students as I slumped back in my chair and reached for my earphones.
The students were used to me talking back to the teachers, and I knew my behavior had become everyday entertainment to them.
"That's detention, Ms. Haynes. Now as I was saying..." I rolled my eyes as she continued the class. Never had I ever shown up for detention, yet they kept handing them to me.
I sighed and leaned back in my chair.
I should have just skipped.
________________
By the time the final bell rang, I was headed for the school doors, my pace distinctly quicker than when I entered the place. I strode over to my black 2005 Honda motorcycle, positioned by the entrance. The small group of people standing by it moved aside as I closed the distance to the motorcycle I had gotten from my father a few days before his death. As an auto mechanic and co-owner of an automobile repair shop, my father had been given the Honda after the owner had crashed it into a brick wall. Roughly seven months later, the motorcycle was back on the road under my father's care and repair.
The years following my father's death had changed my perception on a lot of things around me, one of them being the people at my school. Call this phase my 'rebellion days,' but I preferred to refer to it as my way of dealing with the grief, pent-up frustration and the ever-growing responsibilities that followed his downfall. Suddenly, what people thought of me didn't affect me as much. The frowns, scoldings, and threats stopped bothering me as well. I had little energy left to care for it.
A small smirk grew on my face as I placed the helmet over my head, a memory from a couple of weeks ago playing in my head.
It was the start of the school year, and the majority of the student population was gathered in the parking lot. A sophomore student had propped himself on my motorcycle as I was exiting the school. Within the second, I had him on the ground, my hand gripping his loose collar as I propped my knee down against his abdomen. My gesture seemed to have effectively warned every pupil around us to not touch my motorcycle. I had yet to stumble upon another disobedient student.
I swung my leg over the seat as I fastened my black helmet. Making a U-turn out of the school parking lot, I made my way through the familiar streets that surrounded my house.
The second I opened the door to the house, I knew something was wrong.
My eyes searched the room. No windows were shattered or broken, there were no signs of people struggling or fighting, and nothing was stolen. Everything looked normal.
I ran up to me and my sister's room and found Celine sitting by the desk, doing her homework.
"Cassie!" She smiled. "You're home early."
The uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach didn't cease.
"Have you checked on mom lately, Ce?" I asked absently, not addressing her greeting.
Celine frowned and nodded. "An hour ago. Why?"
"Did you give her the painkillers?"
She nodded.
"How many?"
Hesitation rolled up in her expression as she answered. "One, but I put the box on her bedside tabl-"
I spun around and ran down the hall to our mother's room before she could finish her sentence.
Shit.
Inside the bedroom laid my mother, barely breathing.
I staggered over to the bed, grabbing my phone in the process. With trembling fingers, I dialed the number to the ambulance. I froze when I felt her hand on my cheek. My eyes locked on her wearied face. My breath felt ragged as I took in the weakened picture of my once beautiful mother.
From the corner of my eye, I noticed the small box of painkillers on her bedside table. The lid was open.
It was intentional.
My phone dropped to the floor. "How many did you take?" I whispered, carefully removing her hand from my cheek and placing it between my own.
A slight head shake was her response. Her eyes were apologetic.
"We could have gotten the money, mom. You could have given me a few more months," my voice trembled. A part of me knew she wouldn't have lasted that long. She was already too far gone, her pain already too unbearable.
Her hoarse voice sounded barely louder than a whisper. "Take good care of your sister for me."
My heart broke at the sight of her, at the sound of her voice and at the sadness in her eyes. I knew she did not believe I would forgive her for what she did, for how she left us.
She was barely breathing in a freezing room that she would still claim was too humid. And I knew I would lose her. Right in front of myeyes, my own mother would die, and I was as useless as ever.
I had been in too much denial at the idea that our mother might leave us to live in this house alone one day. Because of that, I had stupidly never considered the consequences.
"I will," I hastily answered, afraid she would disappear before I was able to reassure her. My vision turned blurry, and the back of my hand hurriedly wiped the tears away, scared of not being able to see my mother clearly in her last moments with me.
"I love you, Cassandra." Her eyes started to close as she gave my fingers one last, feeble squeeze. For a moment, I panicked.
This was it.
This was all I ever feared.
"Wait- I love you too," my voice cracked, my thoughts jumbled and confused. It went too quickly. My chaotic mind had not given me a chance to tell her everything I wished to tell her.
My mother's hand hung loosely in mine. Lifeless.
Silent tears ran down my cheeks, some finding their way down to my mouth. The salty taste was nothing compared to the overwhelming sensation of grief coming from the lump in my throat.
My world was suddenly turned upside down. Even though I had practically lived without my mother's help these past two years, her death changed everything. I was now parentless and in charge of my little sister. I was the role model for my sister. No more trusted life lessons for the future from our mother. No parent to look up to. Just me.
I carefully placed her hand on the bedspread by her side and stood up on wobbly legs.
"I will take care of her," I whispered as if my lifeless mother was still listening. I swallowed the sob building on the back of my throat.
"I'll keep her safe. I promise."
I kissed her softly on her forehead and tucked some dark locks of hair behind her ears. The sob finally broke from me as I took my time memorizing the features of her face, just now realizing how much they resembled my own.
Dread filled me as my legs carried me away from her room, steering me toward my unknowing sister down the hall.
****
I watched as the coffin lowered into the ground. Two white roses laid on top, one from me and one from Celine. The priest said a few words, but I barely listened. My mind was recreating my mother's face, carefully memorizing her expressions, her personality, her smile. I was not to panic as long as I remembered her as clear as day.
I looked at the finished grave as I held Celine. Her eyes were red and puffed, her nose runny and her voice strained from sobbing. My eyes stayed dry during this evening ceremony.
Annabelle Haynes
Always has been and always will be; our hero.
****
It had been a couple of weeks since our mother's overdose.
Still, everything in the house reminded me of her. Different locations around the city made me reminisce about our times together, as mother and daughter. I tried concentrating on the fighting I did every night, but knowing that my mom had left me made the lump in my throat impossible to get rid of.
As I made my way home from another street fighting session, I paused by the park. A memory kept nudging at the back of my head as I looked at the swings in the middle of the patch of grass.
"Mom, can you push me?" a ten-year-old me shouted over my shoulder as I attempted to make the swing go back and forth. I angrily stared down at my legs, too short to reach the ground for help. My mom laughed and made her way over with a one-year-old Celine, in the stroller.
"Sorry, Cassandra, but you have to find your own way to make it go faster. Always try to find your own way before asking for others." She smiled and stood on the side, waiting for me to find a way to get the swing in motion.
I grabbed the pole on the side and dragged myself forward, then backward. After a couple of tries, I had enough speed to continue on my own.
A wide smile made its way on my face as I looked back at my mom, proud that I had figured it out on my own. She laughed and clapped for me, before settling back down on the bench with Celine on her lap.
"Nice work, kid. See what you can do when you use that brain of yours?" she said and pointed at my head. I laughed and swayed back and forth on the swing, willing it to go faster and higher.
I didn't realize I had been crying before a sob broke through. I cleared my throat and wiped away the tears before forcing myself to back away from the park.
The truth was that I did not want to remember. My stomach clenched uncomfortably every time my mind started to wander, the memories washing over me in such heavy emotional tides that sometimes made me forget how to breathe.
I wouldn't be able to move on with my life here; not in a place that reminded me too much of what I no longer had. It was time to leave everything that belonged to the past, in the past. I pushed the bittersweet memories back to the inner corners of my mind, letting them settle behind a wall of numbness until I knew how to handle them.
Grabbing the savings that were supposed to be used on my mother's hospital bill, I mixed them with the little money I had made tonight. I knew we had enough to rent a small apartment, buy food, and some basic furniture. We had enough to escape our past.
I slumped back on the couch, bills in one hand and the house key in the other. I hoped Celine wasn't too attached to this house.