The parking lot now lies empty. The old asphalt is covered in cracks and worn down paint. It looks well loved to say the least. Like the rest of this town, its age has started to become apparent. Nothing is frozen in time and I’m still unsure why I had expected it to be.
Throughout the long walk home I take in the scenery around me. Everything is lush due to the summer climate of Massachusetts. Vines crawl through the separations of the sidewalk and the trees have hit their peak. Bright greens cover the sky, breaking up here and there, allowing me to get a glimpse at the clear, blue sky.
New shops have popped up around town. It had started off small with a new liquor store but the closer to downtown I got, the more there was. Mom and pop boutiques, a barber, and a few new restaurants now fill the spaces where old leasing buildings used to lie. Mom had mentioned to me in one of her calls that the city’s economy was starting to pick up, but I hadn’t believed her. Her attitude was also painfully optimistic. Sometimes it made it hard to believe her when she spoke about the good things. If there was a smile to be found, she’d water the seed until it was a reason to celebrate.
“Good Morning, Miss!” An older man calls out to me as I pass a small cafe. “Do you have a minute to hear about this petition?”
His smile is full of hope and I bite the inside of my cheek as I try to convince myself to say no. It’s been a long twelve hours, and all I want to do is cry in my bed until I pass out.
“Sure!”Damnit Nova.
He jogs over to me, pulling a pamphlet out of the clipboard he’s carrying. “We’re trying to instill a stronger police force to crack down on the fentanyl in town.”
I purse my lips as I look down at the paper. In large letters the front of it readsKeep Our Youth Safe.
“I wasn’t aware we had an issue with it.”
He lets out a sad laugh before responding. “We didn’t until recently. My daughter passed away from an overdose about a month ago.” His face drops to the clipboard, zoning out of the sheets. “Since then twelve more people under the age of twenty five have been admitted to the hospital. All received treatment for high doses found in their system.”
His hands shake lightly and I watch as he swallows down the tears that are obviously building in his throat. “I’m so sorry,” I respond, quickly taking the pen out of his grip. “All I have to do is sign this?” I ask, shifting my weight uncomfortably.
Grief is the one emotion I’ve always struggled with. There’s nothing I can do to make this man feel better, and while I could sit here and wallow with him, I’d rather do what I can and get away from the big feelings.
“Uhh, yeah,” he stammers out, flipping the board so it’s facing me. The signing list is completely blank and the sight breaks my heart.
“Thank you!” he exclaims as I finish off my signature. “It means so much.”
“Of course.” I smile back at him, although I notice the enthusiasm he had originally carried had been doused. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“It’s alright.” He replies as if he’s now on autopilot. “I won’t take up any more of your time. You have a good day now.”I give him a light smile before he spins around and heads inside of the cafe.
Fentanyl.This town had never had a drug problem when I was growing up, then again I didn’t think anyone did coke either. I look down at the brochure in my hand once more, flipping it open. The first page is full of resources but the second page is the one that catches my attention. A girl who couldn’t be more than eighteen stares back at me in black and white. Her dark brown hair lightly curls around her chin, framing her face beautifully.Underneath the picture sits a name in cursive. Jasmine Lewis, Age 17. An ache grows in my chest as I read her obituary below. She had just received a full ride to MIT. Her mother and father had adored her, praising each of her accomplishments leading up to her death. She doesn’t seem like the kind of kid who would even show up to a party, let alone partake in narcotics.
I close the paper, folding it in half before shoving it into the back pocket of Saint’s sweats. The rest of the walk home, it weighs heavy on me. A feeling of selfishness washes over me as I think about Jasmine. She had so much life to live and it was stolen from her. All while I’ve spent half of my time here on earth trying to escape it. My thoughts continue to surround the poor girl until I’m walking past the RoseGate Park sign.
“Welcome home, Nova,” I mutter to myself as my feet drag me down the road. The neighborhood children are already outside, taking advantage of the warm summer air before the day becomes too hot. They ride their bikes down the street, waving to me as they pass by. A smile has me scrunching my eyes as I wave back. Their joy is infectious and I allow the feeling to overcome me as I finish off the rest of my trek.
The trailer comes into view, my mother sitting on the steps. When she finally looks up from her phone, her eyes light up. “Oh Nova!” She squeals, hopping off of the steps and racing over to me. Her arms draw me into a warm hug. “I’m so sorry baby. But I have some good news.” Not letting go of my shoulders, she pulls back until we’re able to make eye contact. “Your father is going to rehab. He shouldn’t be here. Not like this.”
Tears brim her waterline as I try to catch up on what she’s saying. The anger from yesterday sheds off of my body like old skin. “He’s getting help?” I ask, my voice squeaking.
“Yeah, baby.” She nods at me, pulling me back in for another hug. This one I return, sobbing gratefully into her shoulder.
Play Good News by Mac Miller
Saturday and Sunday flew by after mom and I dropped off dad. We all had a good cry, filling the air with promises of a better future. The two of us waved dad off as he walked into the building, and I held her hand as she drove home.
Once we had gotten back mom went on a tangent about how we all needed a fresh start. In other words, a garage sale. The house had been filled with mom’s favorite music and as many boxes as the local liquor store was willing to hand over. Together, we went through each room, neatly packing anything she deemed as ‘clutter’ into the brown squares.
Sunday morning I had gotten a text from Abby. Her mother and her were heading to Maine for the week, wanting me to tag along. She hadn’t said anything about me staying at her apartment, so I didn’t bring it up either. I had carried enough embarrassment as it was without having to reexplain what happened. For all I knew, she understood and wanted to give me the grace of not mentioning it.
I had declined her generous offer, filling her in on what happened to dad. She understood, sending me a text to let me know she was a phone call away if my mother or I needed anything. Her friendship was nice, different than anything I had ever felt. It was pure support and learning to navigate it felt like trying to walk through a labyrinth. I was always worried now, scared I’d disappoint her.
“Baby!” Mom calls out from her bedroom. “Can you grab me another box?”
I look up from my phone, searching around the hoard we’ve built, looking for our stack of empties. It had been so organized when we started, but eight hours later I’m sure a stranger would struggle to even find the front door.
I glance towards her door again, squinting my eyes at the nightstand in my view. Low and behold, stacked neatly next to it is the pile of unfolded boxes. I let out a low chuckle as I hop up and make my way over to them.
