Blue bus stop. Wet street. Open door. She could see darkness, the shadow of the house inside. An invitation, perhaps. Her skin was cold. Wet skin, soaked to the bone. Her feet unsteady. After ten hours of sleep she was exhausted. Sleeping on the ground, in the cold, that wasn't sleep. It was the body struggling to keep alive. She was alive, but only just.
The woman walked in only minutes ago. Also soaked. Crying. Amelia followed her from the hospital. Like a little girl, the woman stumbled from the ominous building. Amelia saw herself. Deliriously, she followed the girl woman down a long street. And now there was a house. And an open door.
Suddenly, she was inside. Breath beaten out of her, she gasped the warm air of inside. Relief was momentary and then terror. A collared black cat hissed at her. From above, a woman's voice called down. Amelia stumbled. She fell through the first door her hand touched. Down a flight of dusty stairs.
Shivering, Amelia stood amidst a castle of boxes. Each brown brick stacked precariously. Moments passed and she realized no one was coming. With something similar to relief, Amelia fell to her knees. She weaved on her knees. The dim light blinked in and out. She almost laughed. That was her eyes blinking. Slowly her tired body slumped to the ground and darkness took over.
A woman walked through the fog. Amelia knew the woman. She was mother. Then she was another woman crying. Then mother on the couch. Mother cold. Mother dead. Amelia ran through the house, but the house was slow. The air like molasses. She took things. Mother's purse. A stuffed backpack. A kitchen knife. She kissed her mother. A cold kiss.
Amelia jerked awake. She was shivering but less cold than before. Her skin was hot to touch but her insides frozen. She started to cry. Her cheek on the concrete, she let the tears fall. It was the first time she felt safe in months. It didn't matter when the woman found her. The future would resolve it's-self without her consent.
That was the first day. Surprisingly, the first of many. Amelia was used to sneaking. A child like her, before teen even graced the end of her age, was forced to hide. This was the one thing her mother gave her. Years before Amelia learned about the streets.
Mother drank away the rent one month. They lived in a car for weeks. When they found a place that would take them, Mother taught Amelia about money. She said they were a team. Together they kept most of the bills paid. Some months it was candles and canned food, but never again did they sleep in a car.
Today it was a single mattress behind a wall of boxes. A tin can for the parts of life no person can avoid. A bag of soft old newspaper for toilet paper. There was a window she could crawl through. She dumped out the tin can and stole scraps of food from the neighborhood trashcans. It was fresh food. Sometimes better than food from the shelter. Stale chips and sour orange juice. A feast in her eyes.
She didn't know the days, at first. Then she found them. One morning the house didn't wake her with noise from upstairs. All day there was the sound of feet moving from room to room. That was the first weekend. Somehow that weekend turned into two. And then more. She marked almost a month gone by before she dared venture upstairs.
The young part of her, the restless and daring part, sent her up those stairs. She stole a dusty box of crackers from the back of the pantry. Nothing happened. The next day she walked up to the second landing. Past a room with a computer and a desk. She slipped into the shower. Warm water spilled down her filthy body. Quickly she bathed. With the utmost care she made sure each item was left exactly as it was found. She used the wet towel on the door to dry herself and wipe away every drop of moisture from the tub.
Days passed and a weekend before she dared venture up the stairs again. She stole directly from the trash a bottle of soured apple juice, a box of leftover fried rice, and a bag of bread with only a few slices moldy. That night she ate well. Her belly full and her spirits high, Amelia slept warmly under a collection of old clothes.
At first she thought it was a dream. Her eyes were open but there was a haze all around. A light lead up the stairs. Amelia followed the glow up. It was brighter on the first floor and shining on the second floor. A woman was calling her name.
"Amy." The woman called to her. "My sweet Amy."
Amelia followed the chant up. She stopped at the door to the room. Inside she could see the woman. It was the first time they met. Amelia saw her long dark hair, her flowing dressing gown, and her bare eyes closed. She saw the woman smile up into the air. Her head point this was and then that.
"My Amy...You're here, aren't you?"
Amelia felt the pace of her heart quicken. She tried to control her breath but it escaped her. The thick smell of sweet ash floated through the room. Amelia saw a cup next to the woman. A thick red liquid stained the edge of the cup where someone placed their lips. She wondered what poison the woman ingested.
She felt a change. The woman was drifting. Her head weaved slowly down to her chest. Amelia saw the woman take a deep breath. The light was fading. She was suddenly very aware of her surroundings. This was not a dream. She was about to be caught. Nimbly she rushed down the stairs. Her feet made barely a noise. Only her heart could be heard. Amelia heard her heart stomp hard behind her ears even after she reached the safety of her mattress.
The rest of the night was restless. She couldn't wait until the morning. Tomorrow was a weekday and Amelia had a mystery to solve. She waited until well after daylight. She waited until all the noise of cars leaving for work was gone. Amelia went pee twice before she dared venture upstairs.
She didn't have to open a single drawer. The answer found her the moment she walked into the bedroom. Next to the raised section of floor, one might call it an alter, was a small memorial. A collection of pictures and cards. Even a few toys.
Amy was a little girl. There were dates on the back of the pictures. One picture from the hospital delivery room. The little girl was only a year older than Amelia. On the dresser she found the second answer. The cards were less joyous. No birthdays or celebrations. Dark cards with morbid flowers and words of condolence. The cards were old. Dust floated around Amelia as she disturbed the resting paper.
Amelia stopped in front of the room with the computer. This was her room, Amelia was sure. All traces of the little girl were gone. The woman must have sent it away. The toys, clothes, and furniture gone. She wanted to cry for the little girl and cry for the woman. No tears would come.
That night she couldn't sleep for another reason. Guilt was settling in. She was taking from this woman. Stealing a place in her home. The woman didn't deserve such treatment. Not that Amelia deserved the alternative. A choice between a cold street and beatings by her uncle's cruel hand. She knew the game. Years of playing the silent partner to her mother's drunkenness, Amelia understood what came of bringing attention to herself.
Many weekends passed. At least a month since she first walked through the door. At least two weekends since a light called her upstairs. When she woke the second time to a glow in her room, she was not so eager to follow it. She didn't expect the pull that brought her out of bed. An invisible string brought her up the stairs. This time it left her only feet from the woman.
"Come here, honey." Amelia jumped as the words tumbled towards her. The woman's eyes opened naturally, as if concluding a blink. A pair of hazel eyes rested on her happily. The smile widened as the woman sat up.
A soft glow surrounded them. Smoky light that blurred Amelia's sight. She felt calm and at peace. The feeling was unnatural and it intensified when the woman spoke next.
"I know you're too old for this, but I wanted a hug."
Words tumbled from Amelia as if she were in a dream. "I'm not too old."
She was frozen in some other world where this woman loved her like a daughter. The woman stood, languid. Amelia kept herself still and didn't flitch when warm arms enveloped her. It was a comforting embrace, a gentle hug full of a mothers love. When the woman pulled away Amelia was torn by the parting.
"Why don't we go watch a movie downstairs?" She put an arm around Amelia's shoulders. "I'll pop some popcorn and you can pick the movie. How does that sound."
"Great." It was the only word she could find. They walked down the stairs. The woman left Amelia in the living room. Guided by some unknown force, Amelia chose a movie from the cabinet and placed it in the VCR. Popcorn in hand, the woman sat down next to Amelia. Like mother and child, they slid into each other comfortably.
It was a dream. Amelia could handle a dream. Her whole life was one, so this new turn felt no different. First the nightmare and the joy of her mother. Now this. She watched the movie intently, searching for an escape from herself. She didn't want to hear the part of her that was screaming and crying and terrified. She tried desperately to fall into the delusion.
In a split second the whole thing disappeared. The room dimmed, leaving no light beside that given by the television. The woman was asleep. Heart beating so hard she could barely breath, Amelia searched for any signs that could betray the delusion. One bowl of popcorn. That was no problem. A television of static and a woman asleep on the couch. She only need remove herself.
Her feet hit the carpet at a run. She rushed downstairs and hid behind the wall of boxes. Amelia felt nauseous and her head hurt. It was as if she just stepped off a roller coaster. Everything around her felt dissimilar. She knew the wrongness was in her but it felt like the world was spinning while she was still.
Amelia was oblivious to her new daring. The next week she went upstairs every weekday. She stole food from the front of the pantry. She drank milk from the fridge. The shower was wet when she left and, most daring of all, she finished off the very end of a bottle of shampoo.
It was early the next weekend when the light came back. This time it was afternoon and Amelia didn't notice the light at first. It was the invisible string that alerted her to foul play. The woman tore her from the basement. She pulled Amelia up the stairs by force.
The stain of the dark red liquid lingered on the woman's lips. She was drunk with it. Amelia knew much of drunkenness. She might not know what potion stained the woman's lips but she recognized the way her movements sloshed and her eyes blinked hard in search of focus.
The pair wandered the house all afternoon. The puppet Amelia, with strings pulling around like a doll, and the puppet master stumbling through a fog of her own making. At some point Amelia gave up her terror. She relaxed into her role. A small amount of pleasure took over.
Her own voice came out and teased the woman. She dotted the woman's nose with cookie icing and laughed at the cross-eyed attempt to lick it off. She even let her heart swell when the woman kissed her cheek. The poison seeped into her blood and for a moment she was the daughter of this woman.
Sleep, once again, was the end of the affair. It happened without warning. The woman's body simply decided to end the charade. She slumped on the counter, a puppet with her strings cut. Amelia felt tears in her eyes. She didn't clean up, or try to hide her presence. She simply walked down the stairs to her dark home, the basement.
She lost count after a while. Warmth came to the house. She thought it must be summer outside. Months passed and cold returned. They dreamed together at least once a week. Whatever poison the woman put in her magical cocktail, it made her sick for days after. Amelia heard the woman retched in the hallway. Even from the basement, she could hear the sickness as it rushed to one of many new trash cans placed throughout the house. Just as the drug ended without warning, the sickness was equally uncontrollable.
Sometime about it was worth it. They lived this quiet existence until the day the spell was broken. Amelia knew little of the woman's life outside the house. She knew of a sister (her aunt) and a mother (her grandmother), but even those persons were mentioned infrequently. Whatever magics at work only existed within the confines of the house. They never stepped foot onto the backyard or front porch.
They were making dinner. Taco's and something like flan for desert. Amelia was stirring hot milk while her adopted mother relayed riddles in an uneven Mexican accent. They laughed. Amelia heard something in the background. She assumed it was the cat. The cat liked her now, as if she was family. It purred on her lap as their little dream family watched movies from the couch.
Another woman stepped into the scene. She was older than her dream mother but only by a few years. Amelia stared and almost started to smile. She thought this might be her aunt.
"I thought I might...get you out of the house..." The other woman started.
Amelia turned. She watched the glow around them flicker. A look of sickness passed over her mothers face. The woman of the house looked at her. Confusion knotted her brown. Then pain and a green look of nausea propelled her to the sink. As if from a distance, Amelia listened to the sound of retching. She looked at the woman that would have been her aunt. Her aunt looked back.
"Who are you?" She demanded, perplexed.
"The girl that lives in the basement." Amelia answered honestly. The light in the room flickered. Amelia realized that was her eyes. She swayed and fell hard to the ground. The pain of her head was immediately replaced by darkness.
She could hear a man talking. A woman crying. Feet stomping around. The hinges whined as a door was opened and the sound of feet fading down. Amelia didn't dare open her eyes. Another man was talking. He said something about "possible runaway." That would be her. "Living in the basement," and "can for a toilet." Other things were said but she didn't care to hear. It was over. All over.
Amelia sat up. She was wearing an old sweatshirt from one of the boxes in the basement. Although she was naked underneath, Amelia took the shirt off. No one seemed to notice her until she was standing in from of the crying woman. The policeman made a noise in his throat. It was a sad noise, perhaps pity, but also impatient. Amelia held the sweatshirt out to the crying woman.
"I didn't mean..." The look of half horror on the woman's face stopped her. The police man put a blanket around Amelia's shoulder. She looked up at him, searching for any sign that he saw her, and then down at the floor when she found only duty in his eyes. The policeman guided her towards an official looking woman with a clipboard. Amelia let herself be lead.
The sweatshirt was still in her hand. Amelia put it back on. No use trying to be noble. So many nothing happened over the next hour. She was put in a car. People moved around the front yard. They looked to be talking, although little came of their words. The crying woman came to the doorway briefly. She looked out at Amelia in the car. When she saw that Amelia was looking back, the woman darted back into the house.
Someone drove the car down the street and made noise about stopping for gas. Both persons left Amelia unattended for only a moment. It was a moment too long. Amelia snuck from the car. She began to run. She knew the path only from what she saw from the car window, but her eyes made no mistake in what they saw.
Her legs began to hurt. Her chest ached. She was running along the cold sidewalk, in a ratty pair of oversized jeans and shoes with holes in the bottom. She ran blindly and took each corner without thought. The time it took to reach her destination was less than it would take for the car to find her, yet she still ran. At last the house was in front of her.
Amelia banged on the door. No one answered. Desperately she threw her body behind her hand and slammed it into the wood. She didn't hear the sound of feet shuffling down the hall or the handle turning. All she knew was the sight of her mother as she opened the door.
"Y-You're...You're my mother." Amelia panted.
Stricken, the woman stared through Amelia.
"You're-"
"I'm not." The woman told her through tears.
The breath was hot in her chest, but she fought through it. Amelia won her voice and said the words they both knew.
"You need a daughter and I need..."
Amelia heard the car pull up behind her. She saw the tear soaked woman look over her shoulder at the official persons walking up the drive. Her chest burned and she felt lightheaded. She persevered.
"Please..." Amelia begged.
The woman looked at her with finality. Her eyes full of sorrow she shook her head. Amelia nodded as she felt the hand of those that would take her away. She struggled. The woman backed into her house as Amelia flailed. It wasn't until she heard the door close that Amelia gave up her fight. Panting, crying, and in the darkest place she'd ever been, Amelia let them take her away.
She opened the letter on the bus to school. It was a surprise to receive any mail. She was getting used to surprises. She was surprised to learn social services would believe the stories she told of her abusive uncle. She was placed in a home for trouble kids. After months at the group home, she figured this was her new life. A lonely life, albeit, but better than the streets.
Amelia wasn't sure if it was better than the basement. She wasn't sure of anything in regards to the months she spent downstairs, as her councilor could well attest. There were some stories no one would believe. Sometimes she didn't believe the memories either.
Amelia opened the letter expecting words from her cousins. Those were the only persons left in the world that cared from her, outside the group home. She was surprised to find the letter was signed by a woman names Sandra. The collection of words were short but they brought Amelia to tears.
I have learned that there is no legal way to become your mother, adopted or otherwise. I am a single woman with little to offer a troubled child. I have come to understand that you are a child that lost her mother, and I, as a mother that lost a child, understand your sorrow. We are both in need. The best I can offer, to fill our void, is friendship. Perhaps one day we might even call each other family.
If you feel it in your heart, I would love for you to write me. Please reply, as soon as you feel you can.
Yours, Sandra.
The End.
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