Reasons for Recovery

  Chapter 3

  August 8

  Mama had her hands on the steering wheel, waiting for me to buckle in. “You didn’t tell them anything about me…about us, did you?”

  “No, Mama,” I whispered as I strapped myself in.

  “It’s just baby fights we get into. I’m just so angry and I have no one to take the anger out on. I just feel like I’m losing control of you. You’re going to be a senior, then who knows. I just didn’t want you to ruin your life with a baby. I know Mandy is gone but I will help you.”

  “Mama, I really don’t care right now,” I muttered.

  With a gentle smile, Mama started the car engine and drove off from the hospital where I spent about six days recuperating after losing the baby. I know I should have told social services about what and how it happened but who knew what they would do to me. I did not have family, so I would be a foster child—an old foster child.

  It was not the first time Mama and I got into a fight. We did not have typical mother-daughter fights. We had full on street brawls and skin would shed in our fights—it was repulsive.

  “Did you tell whoever the baby’s father that we lost it?” Mama said in a content tone.

  “It doesn’t really matter.”

  “Cassie, stop being so damn moody.”

  “I’m moody?”

  “Yes!”

  “Well, I learned it from you. I have nothing to be happy about. Name one thing I should be happy about.”

  “That you’re alive.”

  “I’d rather not be.”

  “You’re always just so anal about everything.”

  Every since I could remember I was anal—about life, living, breathing—everything. For seventeen years of my life, I had no real friends. I did not know why I rubbed people the wrong way. I did not look like a freak; I did not have eccentric piercings or wild tattoos. I looked just as great as or even better than the “cool” kids did at my school. And notice I’m being sarcastic when I say “cool.”

  Mama said she loved my green eyes because they were so random. When I was born, she knew my green eyes would seduce any man. That was odd for her to think that way about me when I was born—but she knew it. My hair color was odd too; I did not know if it was brown, black, or red. It had its days of bad hair—but it was manageable. Mama hated my hair because I never had a haircut before. She did not understand that my hair was like a shield for me. It went down to my mid-waist and did not have split ends. It was something I controlled. Something I loved—something that obeyed me.

  I had my mom’s pink full lips, which I hated because it looked as if I always had lipstick on with tons of collagen injections. I had people come up to me and ask who my plastic surgeon was—unusual, but funny at times.

  My skin color was a lot duller than it should have naturally been. I avoided sun because I avoided life. I spent seventy-five percent of my life in my room and the other percent at school—and apparently, I loved every minute of it.

  “I just wish we got along better. You know, ever since my diagnosis,” Mama said, snapping me out my daydream.

  “Mama, let’s—”

  “I know, let’s not talk about it—like always.”

  Mama parked the car outside the house and stared at me with her wide eyes. As she leaned in to kiss me on the cheek, I shoved her away and got out the car before she could speak.

  “Don’t do this to me,” I snapped. “We will never be the same.”

  Make her apologize to me. Make her tell the truth then leave her. You have to leave her, daddy said. Just leave her now. Please, Cassie or she will hurt you. Just leave. Please leave! Come with me, Cassie. We can be together. Mama does not need you. She does not love you like I do.

  “Stop it!” I screamed.

  Typical, to run away from everything, Mandy said. You’re such a loser. If you were my real best friend, you would not have lied to my parents about my boyfriend. And I would still be alive. So, you killed me! You killed me!

  “Go AWAY!” I cried. “Just leave!”

  You let Mama poison me. And you didn’t get me justice. How could you, Cassie? I thought you loved me! Let me rest in peace by her telling me the truth!

  “Stop! Stop it!” I screamed.

  Mama came running after me as I collapsed to the lawn with my hands over my ears. Tears blurred my vision, as she pulled me into her chest.

  “What is wrong, Cassie?” Mama said. “Baby, speak to me!”

  “Make them stop. Make them stop talking to me!” I cried. “Please, make them stop!”

  “Make who stop?”

  “Mandy and daddy.”

  “Oh, Cassie,” she sobbed. “Come on, let's go inside. I love you, Cassie. You're all I have.”

  Mama pulled me inside our trashy home. Wondering what her motives were, I followed her into the bathroom where she dug around for a brush.

  With my eyes still on her, I blew my nose, disgusted by the green snot. I flushed it in the toilet and Mama nodded for me to sit on the floor.

  “Like old times, I want to brush your hair,” she said.

  “Okay,” I muttered as I leaned my head onto her lap.

  Mama learned a coping technique six years ago from an infomercial, which involved taking deep breaths while brushing hair. I did not understand why she would always ask to brush my hair when she was upset, not until I was a little older. I tried the same technique on myself and on a dog I once had—however, it didn't work for me.

  “I think we should get you help.” Mama brushed my hair more rough than usual as she sang to me. “All we have is each other.”

  I pulled back on my hair as she tugged harder. “Ouch, you’re hurting my scalp.”

  She ignored me, “And these voices, how long have they been coming,” she whispered as she put the brush down and began to stroke my hair.

  “A while now. Well, Mandy’s just started.”

  “And what are they saying?”

  “Evil things.”

  “Evil?”

  “Yes, Mama…evil.”

  “Like what.”

  “How I should leave you and kill myself.”

  Mama pulled me in closer and hugged me tight. “Should I get you help? This is serious.”

  I chuckled, “Like we can afford help. I’m fine.”

  “You don’t seem fine. You’ve been through a lot this past year. Maybe you shouldn’t go back to school in a few weeks. You can do home studies with me.”

  “No, I want to go to school.”

  “But why?”

  “Do you want me to be honest?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “I would like to get as far away from you as I can.”

  “But, I don't understand,” she gasped.

  “It’s not that I don’t love you, but you’re making me worse.”

  “Go put your shoes back on,” Mama said as she walked out the bathroom. “NOW!”

  “Why?” I said uneasily.

  “We need to go school shopping.”

  I obeyed her; afraid she would snap at me. I took longer than usual trying to find my old black boots, thinking of what if this was THE night—the night where she would end it all and I would be headline news. I always had a vision of Mama snapping one day on me, I assumed I watched The Shining too many times.

  I rushed out my room as I heard Mama get into her car. She had a comforting expression as she unlocked the passenger side. She did not have those new fancy cars with the automatic car lock—she leaned over and unlocked it with her hand.

  With my eyes on my legs, that hadn't been shaven in a few weeks, I fastened my seat belt. Mama stayed quiet as she drove off toward the town's only mall. The tension built as the seconds went on. I bet she was wondering what was on my mind, because all I could think about was her motives.

  With a smile, she pulled up next to the curb and nodded for me to get out.

  “You can’t park here,” I said. “This is illegal parking.”

  “Calm down,
grandma,” she said as she dug around her bra. “I'm not parking here.”

  “You’re not coming in with me?”

  “No, here take this money and spend as much as you need,” she whispered. “It's not like you want to be seen with me anyway.”

  I grabbed the roll of cash and stared at her in disbelief. “Where did you get this cash from?”

  “Don’t worry about it. Just take it like any other teenager would. I love you, Cassie.”

  I looked at Mama as she waited for my response back, but I slammed open the door. “Bye Mama.”

  She sighed, “I love you Cassie.”

  “Bye Mama,” I said again and walked toward the mall, ignoring her. As I headed into the main entrance, I bumped into the back of a girl’s head.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “Ouch,” the girl said and turned to face me. “Oh, you’re Cassie.”

  “Um, yeah…”

  “I’m Karen,” she smiled. “We met at the bowling center a few days ago. I’m sorry about my mother; she is a pain sometime.”

  “How’d you know my name?”

  “You had a name tag. I go there every weekend and like every other person you don’t remember me.”

  “I remember you,” I said and continued to walk. “I just have a lot going on.”

  “So, you go to Simon High?” she said as she walked next to me.

  “Yes, I’m going to be a senior.”

  “How cool! I’m going to be in ninth grade.”

  “Eh, I hate that year.”

  “Why? Was it hard?”

  “No…it wasn’t hard, it was just personal stuff.”

  “Like what?”

  “Nothing Carmen—”

  “My name is Karen.”

  “Oh. Well, I’ll let you go have fun…I’m just school shopping.”

  “Ooh, what happened to your arm? Did you fall?” she asked with all innocence.

  “No.”

  “What happened then?”

  “I cut myself.”

  “Ooh was it with those sharp belts that you get from—”

  “No I intentionally did it,” I muttered.

  “But, why would you do that.”

  “I had a friend who taught me to do it and—”

  “Who, Mandy Perez?”

  “How do you know Mandy?” I gasped.

  “My mom works with her mom. It sucks she died.”

  “Um, you’re mom’s a nurse?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “That’s why she looked familiar.”

  “What happened to your baby? I thought you were pregnant.”

  “Okay, I don’t know who you are, but you’re freaking me out. How do you know so much about me?”

  “You’re freaking Cassie White. Everyone knows about you and your mother’s night job…if you know what I mean,” she winked. “And your dad was a professor. Sorry about him and…”

  “How do you know about my mom,” I snapped.

  “Was it a secret?”

  “So, everyone knows about what she has?”

  “Um…yeah?”

  “You know about the STD?”

  “Um…no…are we talking about the same thing?” she giggled. “I won’t tell…I promise.”

  “Eh, I have to go.” I shook my head in confusion and walked in the opposite direction of Karen.

  No wonder she said no one noticed her because she was the size of a twelve year old. Although, she was a pretty teen—but, nothing too mesmerizing. She looked sort of mixed race with her strawberry-blondish short curly hair and heart-shaped face. Her parents did not look mix so I didn’t even want to ask about her ethnicity.

  “Wait…here is my phone number if you need me,” Karen said.

  I stared at her with a blank expression, thinking why she would want to be friends with me. Well, who said she wanted to be my friend anyway. “Okay, I guess I’ll call you if I need you,” I said.

  “Or if you just want to talk.”

  “Talk about what?”

  “Like your day or something.”

  “Why would you want to hear about my day?”

  “Hmm, that’s what girlfriends do,” she laughed. “Not the ones that date, but the friend ones.”