Hills

I’ve been playing hills since I got my driver’s license. Just seems like the thing to do. Makes driving more interesting-- a nice contrast to the rest of my life. Today, I had to take my mom to her job at Waffle House. That’s kinda funny since it’s my dad who waffles. I don’t play hills with mom in the car. She’d probably sleep through it anyway.

I smell frying hamburger when mom gets out at the front door. The building looks like an aquarium except with people stuck on stools instead of fish floating around. Grego is in the back, head down, steam in his face and growling. Mom doesn’t know how he messed with me. She’s got her own reasons to hate him.

“Good night, honey,” my mom says even though it’s just three thirty. She’s bending down with just her face in the car. Her gold and white uniform is washed but will always have those grease spots. Soon enough coffee, ketchup and syrup will draw the eye and the scattered gray shadow smudges will fade from view. There are just some stains that you can’t wash away.

“Good night, mom.”

“Be careful driving to work. I’ll get Carolyn to bring me home. I’ll be there about twelve thirty. Go on to bed. There’s some spaghetti in the fridge for you and your sister.”

“Ok, mom.”

“And don’t stay up too late. And don’t forget to make Jen do her homework and you do yours, if you have any.”

“Ok, mom.”

“You’re a good kid. I love you.”

“Don’t you need to get inside, mom?”

“Yeah. Ok.” Her face smiles bright enough to turn the puffy areas under her eyes to happy creases. I see it, but it doesn’t move me.

“Wouldn’t hurt you to say ‘I love you’ too.”

“It might.”

Really, it just might. I haven’t felt anything in a long time.

Mom smooches the air and closes the door. The car creaks when I pull back onto the main road. I’ve got my own fast food shift to work today, except I don’t start until four and I get off at eight.

I first noticed the numbness in eighth grade. Maybe that’s not right. I hadn't noticed the numbness, and might never have, if Miss Kratz hadn’t asked me if I was ok. She was one of those hyper organized teachers whose lessons, hair and clothes never seem to move.

She had pulled me aside at the end of class to ask, “Jessica, have you been feeling ok?”

“What do you mean?” I held my heavy backpack to my chest.

“It just seems like you are weighed down. Like something is always on your mind…” Hell yeah, something is always on my mind, I thought. The kids in the hallway swooshed by the opening in a noisy stream. I felt a great pull to silently slip into its obscurity.

“Jessica?” Miss Kratz asked. She tilted her head, but none of her hair fell out of place.

My face warmed at the recognition she just saw me doing the very thing she was asking about, “Yes, ma’am?”

“If you are feeling bad. If you feel disconnected, or sad a lot then you can always talk with me or Mrs. Summerfield in guidance.”

“Um. Ok, thanks.” A lot of things fell into place with the word “disconnected.” Honestly, being numb feels worse than feeling hurt or angry. At least those rise and fall-- it may get intense but it fades. Numbness sets in on you like the smell of someone else’s cigarettes. It doesn’t go away.

The first time I cut I was so scared, but the pain made dormant nerves crackle to life and the little bubbles of blood brought relief. My mom would die, but there’s nothing she can do. I cut off and on for years. Eventually it quit working.

To find the release again, a part of me deep down knew I would need someone else to do the hurting. There was Darian and then a couple of other skankboys. I rode the highs as high as I could, and the lows I grimly welcomed. Even the gossip channel title of slut I embraced.

Just a few months back though, Grego took it to another level. He would hit on me when he came by to take my mom to and from work. Not gonna lie, I liked the attention. He’s not some skinny, broke high schooler. It totally shocked me the day he suddenly pinned me against the closet door and groped me. I could feel his fingernails through my bra.

From the bathroom my mom called out, “I’m almost ready. Be right there.” Jen was on the couch with the TV, tablet and her phone all turned on.

I realize now Grego savored the fear on my face. He pressed his mouth over mine and forced his tongue between my teeth. Short whiskers scratched my face. I can’t forget that taste of beer and cigarettes. I twisted away as my mom walked into the front room. Greg stood there like he’d been standing there for hours.

She never knew. Mom never knew. I’m never going to tell her either. What I’m I going to say, “Hey, mom I had sex with your boyfriend-boss? Hey, mom I thought he got me pregnant? Hey, mom he told me that he really wanted me more than you?”

And that shit might have continued except for one more thing I noticed that I hadn’t noticed before. A couple of weeks ago mom had walked passed him out the front door and he leaned in the opening as he pulled it closed. His eyes were probably looking for me, our usual little wink, except he saw Jen bending over the back of the couch while aiming the remote at the TV. I saw the lust on his face. Then he caught sight of me standing in the kitchen. One side of his mouth turned up in a grin. When I heard his Camaro pull away from the house, I threw up.

I also decided that was the end of that. It’s not been that hard to avoid him. He still looks and winks behind my mom’s back—Mom! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!

The restaurant where I work at is on the edge of town, out toward the interstate. There’s a hill between here and there.

The schools are out this way too. At work I’ll be catching some of my classmates coming in for big sweet teas and French fries. The customers are not my friends. The coworkers are I guess. There’s a big difference between those here with money to spend and those here needing to make money. It was all too evident yesterday.

“Hello, welcome to McDonald’s may I take your order?” I asked the girl in front of me. She had impossibly pretty teeth.

“Um, yeah. I’ll take a medium Coke and large fries.” Don’t you see me? Do you know we have American History together? “Oh, and lots of ketchup, please.”

I think about my mom. She’d feel bad if I lose the game of hills. Lots of traffic today which I guess goes with the time of day. I tried to play at night one time, but it’s too obvious because you can see the approaching headlights. Daytime is ideal. Going fast, very, very fast is ideal. My foot pushes the clunky accelerator pedal down just a little more. Around sixty eight the bucket of bolts starts to rattle. My mom’s got insurance, right?

The road curves to the right and the hill rises in front of me with a bright sky behind it. I take it as a sign of good fortune that the oncoming lane this side of the hill is free of cars. I ease over to the left side and pretend like I’m in Britain or Australia. They drive on the left don’t they? The car needs more gas to not lose speed up the rise.

I actually feel a little excitement. Could this be the day?

My sister will be ok. She’ll have mom to herself. Of course she’ll have to do dad visits alone. And nobody will be there when she gets home from school. The yellow line to my right changes from a simple dash to a dash and a solid.

Mom doesn’t have to know about Grego. She’s done with him anyway, even if he still gives her rides to work. He uses my mom’s needs to stay around.

I’m pointed up at the sky. It’s just over that last bit of asphalt.

What if Grego offers to be at home when Jen gets off the bus?

Bus. Bus!

The yellow and black cap rises quickly above the hill and I know, I know as if I had always known, that it’s a school bus. First I think, “Perfect!” Then I think, “Perfectly unacceptable” even as my hands turn the wheel sharply to the right. Tires scream and the car is trying to pull us into the right lane. I hear the blaring of the horn and close my eyes for the impact on my back fender. Nothing comes. My car lurches as if it were struck anyway and the bus’s horn fades away.

I top the hill and the car settles into normal. The only sign of the trouble is a faint smell of burnt rubber. There is a calm newborn awareness about what truly matters, and it’s not my job or reputation! I’ve seen another something with indisputable clarity -- that was my sister’s bus.

END

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