lot and cut the engine. We step out
into the yellow street light together, and I take a minute to marvel at the
fact that Nadia can still be so beautiful, even in the grimiest settings.
Nothing can touch her—not Paul and Nancy, not our horrible school, not even whatever
scars she must be sporting, having lost her parents. She’s practically
untouchable.
“So this is your
kingdom,” she says with a grin.
“Oh yeah,” I
reply, “Only the best for me and mine. Sometimes, I even go in for extra
cheese. But only when I’m feeling fancy.”
“Sure,” she
says, “Can’t roll hard every day, right?”
Nadia sidles in
close to me as we cross the parking lot. Night is gathering overhead, casting a
shadow over our shabby neighborhood. But rather than mask the unpleasantness,
nighttime has a way of intensifying it. After all, everything scary and wrong
seems more possible at night than during the day.
Instinctively, I
lay a protective hand on Nadia’s back. To my surprise, she doesn’t shrug me
away. Instead, I feel her relax at my touch—like she trusts me, or something. I
don’t think anyone’s trust has ever meant more to me than hers.
Out of the
corner of my eye, I spot a shadow shift, just a hair. My adrenaline spikes, and
I shift to place myself between Nadia and whatever’s out there, creeping
through the darkness. Nadia looks up at me, concerned and alarmed.
“What is it?”
she asks.
“I don’t know,”
I tell her. “Just stay behind me, OK? Just until I can—”
“Trace?” says a
rasping voice from the shadows. It’s a voice I know all too well. A voice that
I wish to my nonexistent god I could forget. I feel my jaw tighten, my hands
ball up into hard fists.
“What the fuck
are you doing here?” I growl at the shadows. “You’re not allowed to come near
me.”
“I know...but
Trace, baby, I just miss you so much...”
My stomach
churns as I watch a figure emerge from the heavy dark. A woman unfolds from the
pocket of blackness unlit by the grubby streetlights. She looks worse than the
last time I saw her, and that’s saying something.
Her frame has
grown frighteningly gaunt, and her eyes look like they’ve receded into her
skull. She wraps her arms around her painfully thin body, like she’s trying to
keep warm even on this mild night. When she cracks a nervous smile, I see that
her teeth have grown so yellow that they’re almost brown.
She’s a
sickening, unwelcome sight, but for some reason I can’t look away. I draw in a
ragged breath, trying to keep myself from being sick.
“Mom,” I begin,
“You know we can’t talk. You’re gonna get in trouble if you—”
“I can’t help
it, Trace,” she moans, swaying on her skinny ankles. “How am I supposed to stay
away from my baby? You know I’ve never been able to.”
“No shit,” I
mutter.
“I just wanted
to see your face,” she says, her voice scraping through her throat. “You get
more handsome every time I see you, you know.”
“Well, you’ve
seen me,” I say bluntly, “Now get out of here, would you?”
“Don’t talk to
me like that,” she says, “I gave birth to you, boy. You wouldn’t be here on
this planet without me. You owe me a little respect.”
“I don’t owe you
anything,” I spit. “Maybe, if you’d managed not to snort coke while you were
pregnant with me, I’d owe you something. Maybe, if you’d found a real job
instead of dealing whatever-the-fuck with Dad, I’d owe you something. If you
hadn’t tossed me to the dogs when I was fucking ten years old—”
“I never wanted
to give you up!” she screams, rabid. “They took you away from me, Trace! I
never had a say!”
“Bullshit,” I
shout right back, “If you’d actually given a shit, you would have pulled
yourself together. Look at you. You were never fit to be a mother. My life has
been total shit, going from one foster home to another, but it’s still better
than it would have been if I’d been forced to stay
into the yellow street light together, and I take a minute to marvel at the
fact that Nadia can still be so beautiful, even in the grimiest settings.
Nothing can touch her—not Paul and Nancy, not our horrible school, not even whatever
scars she must be sporting, having lost her parents. She’s practically
untouchable.
“So this is your
kingdom,” she says with a grin.
“Oh yeah,” I
reply, “Only the best for me and mine. Sometimes, I even go in for extra
cheese. But only when I’m feeling fancy.”
“Sure,” she
says, “Can’t roll hard every day, right?”
Nadia sidles in
close to me as we cross the parking lot. Night is gathering overhead, casting a
shadow over our shabby neighborhood. But rather than mask the unpleasantness,
nighttime has a way of intensifying it. After all, everything scary and wrong
seems more possible at night than during the day.
Instinctively, I
lay a protective hand on Nadia’s back. To my surprise, she doesn’t shrug me
away. Instead, I feel her relax at my touch—like she trusts me, or something. I
don’t think anyone’s trust has ever meant more to me than hers.
Out of the
corner of my eye, I spot a shadow shift, just a hair. My adrenaline spikes, and
I shift to place myself between Nadia and whatever’s out there, creeping
through the darkness. Nadia looks up at me, concerned and alarmed.
“What is it?”
she asks.
“I don’t know,”
I tell her. “Just stay behind me, OK? Just until I can—”
“Trace?” says a
rasping voice from the shadows. It’s a voice I know all too well. A voice that
I wish to my nonexistent god I could forget. I feel my jaw tighten, my hands
ball up into hard fists.
“What the fuck
are you doing here?” I growl at the shadows. “You’re not allowed to come near
me.”
“I know...but
Trace, baby, I just miss you so much...”
My stomach
churns as I watch a figure emerge from the heavy dark. A woman unfolds from the
pocket of blackness unlit by the grubby streetlights. She looks worse than the
last time I saw her, and that’s saying something.
Her frame has
grown frighteningly gaunt, and her eyes look like they’ve receded into her
skull. She wraps her arms around her painfully thin body, like she’s trying to
keep warm even on this mild night. When she cracks a nervous smile, I see that
her teeth have grown so yellow that they’re almost brown.
She’s a
sickening, unwelcome sight, but for some reason I can’t look away. I draw in a
ragged breath, trying to keep myself from being sick.
“Mom,” I begin,
“You know we can’t talk. You’re gonna get in trouble if you—”
“I can’t help
it, Trace,” she moans, swaying on her skinny ankles. “How am I supposed to stay
away from my baby? You know I’ve never been able to.”
“No shit,” I
mutter.
“I just wanted
to see your face,” she says, her voice scraping through her throat. “You get
more handsome every time I see you, you know.”
“Well, you’ve
seen me,” I say bluntly, “Now get out of here, would you?”
“Don’t talk to
me like that,” she says, “I gave birth to you, boy. You wouldn’t be here on
this planet without me. You owe me a little respect.”
“I don’t owe you
anything,” I spit. “Maybe, if you’d managed not to snort coke while you were
pregnant with me, I’d owe you something. Maybe, if you’d found a real job
instead of dealing whatever-the-fuck with Dad, I’d owe you something. If you
hadn’t tossed me to the dogs when I was fucking ten years old—”
“I never wanted
to give you up!” she screams, rabid. “They took you away from me, Trace! I
never had a say!”
“Bullshit,” I
shout right back, “If you’d actually given a shit, you would have pulled
yourself together. Look at you. You were never fit to be a mother. My life has
been total shit, going from one foster home to another, but it’s still better
than it would have been if I’d been forced to stay
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