Prologue
Rochelle
Chills rise up my spine as Momma spins around quickly and locks the door. She pulls on the handle for good measure, making sure the lock is secure. Nervously, I grab hold of my suitcase and wrap my arms around my middle to ward off the night’s chill.
A foreboding breeze blows past, making my body shiver. A knot forms in my stomach, fear rises in my chest as I stand on the front porch and wait for my next instruction.
“I won’t stay here to be made a fool,” Momma grumbles in her thick Georgia accent as she stashes the key in her pocket and turns to face me.
Her eyes soften for a moment as she takes in the frightened look in my eye. Gently, she reaches up and cups the side of my face. She smiles tenderly, easing some of my fear.
“It is just you and me, Roshie,” she whispers, quickly turning and looking around her as if scared that someone might hear.
An owl’s screech echoes through the night and we both jump. Birds take flight out of a nearby tree. They coast anxiously through the sky to some unknown place far away from here. I frown, knowing that we are about to do the same, and there is nothing I can do to stop it.
Soon, everything I’ve ever known will be gone. Every place and every person I have ever met will be but a distant memory. Tears prick my eyes as I turn back and look at my mother. The tenderness in her stare is now gone. She grabs my hand tightly, pulling me quickly down the steps from the run-down shotgun house I grew up in, and guides me confidently out onto the darkened gravel road.
“Come on baby,” she insists, as she tugs my hand harder, forcing me to follow along faster. “I know you don’t understand now, but one day you will.”
Her words, though worrisome, somehow make everything okay. Over the years growing up, I tried to make friends at school, but every time I did, the friendship didn’t last long. No one wants their daughter to associate with white trash. At least that is what I heard one of my short-lived friend’s mother say when I was just ten. The one night I was fortunate enough to attend the only sleepover I have ever been to in the 15 years I have unfortunately been alive.
When I was younger, it was easier to ignore their hurtful words even though I always heard parent’s whisper when I would come to school. Holes in my sneakers, stains on my dress, I was oblivious to it all, until the night I finally got up the nerve to beg Momma to let me go to Susie’s party. Ten years old is young, but old enough to learn where I belong. I didn’t belong on the prestigious, wealthy side of the tracks, no matter how hard I tried or wanted to.
Momma tugs my hand tighter as we continue down the stone road. She hasn’t held my hand since I was little, but tonight she seems hell-bent on not letting me go. It’s almost as if she’s worried I’ll fight to stay behind in a world where I know I’m not wanted.
Even though the thought occurred to me, I would be lost without Momma. Momma is the only thing I have. My only choice is to follow.
After a few minutes, I tug my hand free. She turns to look at me over her shoulder, but never breaks stride. When she sees I’m not turning around, that I am still willfully following, she smiles and faces forward. We walk in silence, and I try to piece together everything that led to Momma’s sudden decision to flee and leave everything behind in the middle of the night.
It had to be worse than I could ever imagine because Momma is the strongest woman I have ever known. She’s been fighting for almost as long as I can remember. After Daddy died when I was six, Momma got sick and has been in and out of the doctors since. I take care of her, working after school to make ends meet, like she has always taken care of us in the face of condescending Southerners, who love to say “bless your heart” before viciously gossiping behind your back. Through the years, her once full of life exterior has faded to a frail and sad shadow of the woman she once was, but still, I can’t imagine a reason why she’d run after all we’ve been through. After all she’s stood up to.
We come to a bus stop down the road from our house and Momma takes a moment to drop her suitcase and wrap her coat around her. She begins to cough, a nasty raspy cough, as she pulls her pack of cigarettes from her pocket and lights up.
“Momma,” I scold. “You shouldn’t be smoking. I thought you quit?”
She takes a large inhale off her smoke and slowly lets it out through her nose. The white cloud mixes with the cool damp evening air, hanging in it thickly, as she turns to look my way.
“Just one baby,” she pleads. “My nerves are shot.” She backs away and tries to smooth out her appearance. Her hands shake as she attempts to straighten her shirt. “I mean to look at me you’d swear I was more nervous than a whore in church on Easter Sunday.”
She laughs, and I frown as her shaking hand rises and she takes another drag off her cigarette. I’ve seen Momma many ways before, but never as nervous and upset as this. Standing here, staring at her now, it’s as if I don’t know her at all. She takes drag after drag off her smoke, and nervously looks around us.
Why?
So many questions linger in my mind beginning with that one word. But Momma has never steered me wrong before, so I push those thoughts, the questions, the unknowns, the fear to the back of my mind. I stand next to her in the gravel and wait, scared, nervous, anxious, trying to understand and wrap my brain around just where we are going and what it all means for my future.
Before long, the tires of the bus crunch across the top of the gravel as it comes down the road. Headlights shine toward us as I watch Momma throw her smoke to the floor and snuff it out. When the bus comes to a stop, I look up just as the large doors swing open and a man who looks like he has been up for at least four days straight stares back down at the two of us.
“Where are you headed?” He asks, as he eyes Momma up and down before licking his lips. I can’t deny Momma has always been a looker, but the gesture makes a sick shiver course through my flustered body. I swallow over a nervous lump in my throat as he turns to look at me and a lustful glimmer flashes in his dark eyes. A sick grin spreads across his bloated, grotesque face.
“Anywhere but here,” Momma says as we both quickly grab our suitcases.
One each, the only thing Momma would allow us to take.
She climbs the step in front of me, and I follow timidly. Every step up the metal surface is a finality of sorts, taking me permanently away from all that I have ever called home. Sadly, I watch as she hands the man two tickets before we pass by to find our seats.
“Next stop is Colorado.” The man says as we walk towards the back of the slightly empty cab. “From there you can catch another ride further West if you want.”
Even though the man can’t see her, Momma nods as we make our way to the last row. The doors close with a loud clank. I slump down into my seat and worry my bottom lip between my teeth as I look out the window to my world slowly slipping away.
