Surviving Love (6 page)

We sit in relaxed stillness for a while until Mrs. Fields speaks, breaking the silence. “I’m sure you know what today is.” Her voice is quiet and sad. I can feel my mood plummet when she reminds me it’s been a year since Presley’s died.
 

I clear my throat as I set my fork down then take a large drink of milk. “Yeah…I know.”
 

“Have you considered going to her grave yet?”
 

I feel like my heart has collided with a truck. Of course I’ve considered it. I’ve considered it every single day when I shut my eyes and get reminded of what’s missing from my life. “I’m not ready for that yet.” It’s all I need to say and the conversation is over. Mrs. Fields recognizes my heartache and doesn’t pry any further. She gets it and never pushes.
 

 “Did I tell you my granddaughter is graduating next weekend?” And just like that, the subject has been changed.
 

“No. Are you going to make a trip to Wisconsin?”
 

“Yes, I’ve told you about my daughter, she won’t come visit me here because this place holds so many memories from her childhood. It makes no sense to me, but I leave her alone about it. However, I will see my baby sister and hopefully my niece. It’s been a few years since I’ve seen her. She and my granddaughter used to be so close.” Mrs. Fields looks at the wall behind me, obviously lost in a memory, then she continues, “I will be leaving on Friday and won’t be back until Monday. The ceremony is on Sunday afternoon, but there will be a little party on Saturday night that I want to help my daughter get ready for. I won’t be able to watch Mia for a couple of days.”
 

“Sounds good. I will ask Darcie or Delilah to watch Mia while you’re gone.” It’s then I that realize I don’t know much about Mrs. Fields personally, and I’m curious. “What’s your granddaughter’s name?”
 

A forced smile comes across her face. “Sophia Jane. She’s such a beautiful girl. She’s graduating from college and went to school to be a teacher.” The look on her face tells me there’s tension between the two of them, but I avoid it and shovel in a mouthful of potatoes.
 

We finish the rest of our meal in silence, and then I move to the kitchen to start clearing up the mess. Mrs. Fields and I have a system on Sundays—she cooks and I clean. It’s the least I can do when she’s done so much for me in return.
 

When Mia starts throwing food, I know she’s done with her dinner. I pull her from her chair after wiping mashed potatoes from her cheeks, hair and clothes as best as I can.
 

While Mrs. Fields sits and rests on the couch, I take Mia in the backroom to change her clothes and diaper then sit down in the rocking chair. As always, I rock her back and forth, singing the lullaby Presley used to sing her to sleep. Moments into the song, Mia falls fast asleep. I hold her for a couple more minutes, embracing my baby in my arms, then lay her down in the crib.
 

Passing down the small hallway, I take the opportunity to look at the pictures on the walls.
She doesn’t have much hanging up, just a couple of her wedding photos, an older picture of a woman who I assume is her daughter holding a young child, and mountain landscapes. None of the pictures are recent and it makes me wonder why.
 

I move back to the kitchen to finish cleaning up the mess, rinsing and scrubbing as I put the dishes in the dishwasher and leftovers in the fridge. Once the kitchen is tidy again, I sit with Mrs. Fields for a few peaceful minutes before my food coma settles in and I fall asleep.
 

Chapter 6
 

Zoe
 

The blood is dripping down my face in a constant, steady flow. It’s falling from my hairline, tracing over my temple and dripping off my jaw. The pain isn’t too bad, but this “incident” is a time too many and I can’t handle this anymore. I’ve been with him for a year—the longest I’ve been anywhere in the last four years—but these last two months have been unbearable. I’m stronger than this.
 

The second he put his hands on me, my mind was made up. I will not let a fucking man hit me. Granted, my mouth got me into trouble, however that doesn’t give him the right to punch me in the head. I have nothing to stick around for; he was my only real connection to this place.
 

I start yanking clothes from hangers in my closet and tossing them into a large, black suitcase. I decided to move in with Terrance only a few months ago, so my trunk still has most of my belongings in it. My motto always is: if it won’t fit in my car, then I don’t need it.
 

When I get to a new place, I look for the cheapest living situation, knowing I won’t be staying for long. For the last four years, I’ve lived a budgeted lifestyle, sleeping on an air mattress and cooking my food in a tiny microwave. I haven’t used any of this stuff since I moved in with Terrance, and am actually looking forward to going back to the life I understand—a life where I only depend on myself.
 

When you move around as much as I do, it doesn’t make sense to keep stuff that doesn’t fit into your car. That way, when I’m ready to up and leave, there’s not much to pack up.
 

I give the large apartment another last look, grabbing a picture frame of me and my cousin, Sophia. I smile to myself, instantly brought back to simpler times. She was my best friend until the night everything changed. I miss her every day, but like my mother, she won’t have anything to do with me. The pain of being disowned is still there, yet I won’t give in—not a single inch. I was telling the truth and they chose to believe the lie.
 

All of that is in the past and my future lies with me and my decisions. I won’t let another person dictate my life again. With that thought, I grab my suitcase and haul it to my car, which, other than my trunk full of possessions, is the only thing that truly belongs to me.
 

Just after I was disowned from my family, I took a bus to Colorado because I had always wanted to see the Rocky Mountains. I wanted to live on a mountain, away from civilianization. That way, I couldn’t be disappointed by people again. When I made it there, I immediately got a job as a waitress at a truck stop where I had spied a fire engine red 1970 Chevy Chevelle for sale across the street. I dug the color, style and the black racing stripes painted up the center. I needed that car. That car represented my freedom and the ability to do whatever the hell I wanted.
 

Soon after that, I got a night job as a bartender, making a decent amount of cash. The car’s seller was asking fifteen thousand for the car, and from my understanding, no one was willing to pay the asking price. It wasn’t in the greatest condition—it had some rust spots around the bottom—but the interior was nearly perfect and the motor was decent.
 

Living on nothing for months, I saved ten thousand dollars and made the seller a deal. He
accepted a blow job and seven thousand dollars for the car. Not my finest moment and not the first time I whored myself out for something that I wanted, but what’s done is done. I have no regrets. I have a car and my freedom.
 

It’s so hot this morning, and I’m ready for cooler temperatures. I pull out the map and red marker from the glove box then place a big X over the state of Louisiana. I won’t be coming back here anytime soon, if ever. I lay the map across the hood of the car and study all the red X’s across the United States—I’ve lived in several different states since I left my family in Wisconsin.
 

I pull a dime from my jean’s pocket and toss it onto the paper. The shiny metal spins around until it lands flat on the state of Michigan. I debate the choice since Michigan is awfully close to Wisconsin, and I don’t want to run into family. However, this
is
how I decide what my next destination will be and I will continue this method until I find a reason to stay somewhere.
 

I fold up the map and toss it back into the car when Terrance comes tearing into the parking lot of his apartment. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
 

“I’m leaving your ass, Terrance.” I point to the gash on my head. “I’m not putting up with this shit.” I move to get into the car and Terrance intercedes, snatching my arm in his hand, squeezing hard. “Get your fucking hands off me!” My throat burns from my shouting as my body goes on alert.
 

“You’re not going anywhere. You belong to me!” Terrance’s dark skin glistens with sweat from the humid Louisiana air and his large muscles are noticeably tight with his bare chest on display. He’s a handsome man with deep brown eyes; a large, muscular frame; and he’s as tall as my five foot eleven inch frame.
 

Our eyes met a year ago when I was bartending at a night club. I thought he’d be the reason I’d stick around. It was a stupid mistake on my part; I fell for his smile and southern charm.
 

Terrance is a very charismatic person, and until a couple of months ago, he has been the perfect gentlemen. I can safely say I cared for him—well, until he put his hands on me this morning.
 

A few months ago, his personality flipped a switch and he was angry all the time. He saw me talking to his brother and accused us of doing more. Since that day, he’s made my life hell, becoming super possessive, and then today, physically abusive.
 

“The only person I belong to is myself, and I’m done with your shit! Now let me GO!”
 

He raises his arm and slaps me across the cheek with the back of his hand, instantly stinging my face. Blood is oozing down from my lip and I can feel it swelling as it throbs with pain.
 

Terrance begins yanking my arm, pulling me away from the open door of my car. I need to break free from him immediately, so I turn myself toward him and drive my knee into his groin. It causes Terrance to bend forward in pain, releasing my arm as he grabs his balls. For good measure, I kick him in the gut just as hard and then fall into the driver’s seat.
 

Firing the engine and tearing out of the parking lot, I say goodbye to Louisiana and head north toward Michigan.
 

***
 

It’s dark when I cross the border into Michigan. I’m ready to rest for a couple of days, so I
find a small motel along the interstate to crash for the night. After I check in, I pull my suitcase and air mattress from the trunk. I like to stay in cheap motels, but God knows what’s living on the mattresses. I refuse to lie in someone else’s stains.
 

I inflate my bed, and after a quick shower, I turn on the TV and mindlessly flip through channels. I land on an old movie and stare at it until my lids are heavy and I fall fast asleep. Tomorrow, when I wake, I will decide where in Michigan I will land.
 

I must have been tired because twelve hours later, I crack my eyes open and stretch my exhausted limbs. I then roll off my air mattress and use the bathroom. When I look in the mirror, my bottom lip is pretty swollen and there’s a small cut on my upper lip. I lift up my hair and study the other wound on my head. The gash looks pretty good; I probably should have gotten stitches. This will definitely leave a scar. The bruise around it is a purplish-blue color, but it’s easily hidden by my bangs. My skin is pale, yet it always is, and my long, chestnut-brown hair is disheveled. I look like I’m strung out on drugs. The sight of myself makes me laugh.
 

I pull out my cell phone and Google the cheapest places to live in Michigan. I study the list and one city in particular comes into mind, Sulfur Heights. Where do I know this city from? I rack my brain, sorting through memories, but I know I’ve never been there, that I can remember. Still, there is just something about that name…
 

The curiosity gets the better of me and I decide that’s where I should land for the next few months, or until it’s time to leave. I gather up my clothes, deflate my air mattress and haul myself to the car. I sift through my playlists on my iPod and find the perfect song to start my newest adventure, “Son’s Gonna Rise” by Citizen Cope.
 

Drake
 

I accepted a new position at the steel factory where I work. I like the solitude of working in the crane, but the hours were not conducive to my family life. When things started picking up, I found I was away from Mia more and more, and that wasn’t going to fly. I talked to Rich and he said there was an opening as a line supervisor. I would be responsible for managing the part time and seasonal guys working the line—the place I started when I first came to the plant. I would only work fifty hours at the most a week and no weekends. I was sold the minute he said no weekends.
 

The job is actually not too bad. Initially, I was worried about being around people again—I hate talking to anybody, especially those who know about Presley, but to my surprise, everyone that reports to me is fairly new. Most of them are young—well, younger than me anyway—and it’s their first job anywhere. I’ve had to put a couple of young punks in their place, but all in all, most of the guys are just looking to earn an honest living and are pretty open to my feedback.
 

I get Mia’s bag packed and then head over to Mrs. Fields’s for their Saturday night sleepover. It’s been a few weeks since they’ve had a slumber party because of my long hours at the plant and the little time I’ve had to see my baby. The nightmares of Presley’s murder have been overwhelming me lately, making me need to drink more than I need air right now. I just want to sleep for a night without seeing her dying in my arms.
 

I pull into the parking lot and head for Mrs. Fields’s apartment. The summer is in full bloom
and the fourth of July is next weekend. I can’t wait to take Mia to see the fireworks; she’s going to love them. She loves anything pretty and sparkly.