Sorta Like a Rock Star (16 page)

Mom will not look me in the eyes. “Going to the drugstore. I just need some Pepto-Bismol. I’ll be back in a few minutes. You just go to sleep,” she says before she starts walking away from me, staggering a little.

I know that I should stop her, that I should maybe follow her to make sure she is okay, but I’m only seventeen—I’m still a girl, just a stupid confused chick—this is nothing new, and I have nothing left in my tank. I’m on empty, and so I go back into Hello Yellow and cry myself to sleep without even praying first. Sorry, JC.

CHAPTER 12

When I wake up, the streetlights are off. “Mom?” I say.

Silence.

“Mom?”

Somehow I know she is gone.

My heart is pounding.

I stand.

Slowly, as my eyes adjust to the darkness, I feel every seat in the bus with my hands and keep on saying, “Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom?”

BBB sniffs the entire bus floor.

Mom is not on Hello Yellow.

I know it is after eleven, because there are no streetlights on, but I have no idea how late it is. Mom goes out to the bars all the time, but for some reason, I have this very bad feeling that something horrible has happened. I can’t really explain it—I just instantly know, or maybe I just feel it in my gut.

“Come on, B Thrice,” I say, and then we leave Hello Yellow.

I know Mom went one of two places: Charlie’s Pad, which is the bar on the edge of town, the first bar in the ghetto; or the liquor store next to Father Chee’s church, where they sell big plastic bottles of vodka for very cheap—less than half the prices charged in Childress, plus the store in the ghetto is open later.

I’m not thinking too clearly right now—granted. I just know that something bad might have happened to my mom, so I’m sorta on autopilot—walking super fast.

I go right by Private Jackson’s house, walk a few more blocks, and then I am in the ghetto, trying to open the metal front door to Charlie’s Pad. The neon beer signs behind the high windows—which are covered with mesh wire to keep out burglars—those signs are off and the door is locked. “Hello?” I yell. “Hello?”

No one answers.

“Hello! Anyone in there? Mom? Mom!”

“Shut up, bitch!” someone yells, but when I turn around no one is there.

I don’t see anyone on the streets.

Just trash swirling in the wind.

If the bar is closed, it must be well after midnight—I know this much. And since the bar is closed, the liquor store is definitely closed, but for some stupid reason, BBB and I start walking toward the liquor store very quickly, as if we might actually find my mom there.

I’m desperate.

I’m a little loopy tonight.

I’m alone.

I’m scared.

I’m stupid.

I pass a crazily bearded insane-looking homeless man who throws an empty beer can at me and yells, “Catch a cat by the tail ’till you spin around and drown! Catch a cat by the tail—”

BBB and I start running.

The icy wind cuts my face.

I hear car alarms going off in the distance.

When I get to the liquor store it is closed and the doors are chained shut. No one is around.

For some stupid reason I bang on the doors, yell, “Mom?” and then I bang on the doors of the Korean Catholic Church, and yell up to Father Chee who lives above the church, but no lights go on.

Then I remember where I am and what time it is.

I start to get really scared, especially when this crappy-looking car—with silver rims and tinted windows and booming bass and neon-pink lights that make the road under the car glow—this crazy car pulls up and idles right next to me.

I start to walk down the street, back toward the town of Childress.

The car follows, going only as fast as I can walk.

It follows me for an entire block—rap music blasting—before BBB and I start to run.

When I get halfway down the next block, the car speeds up and turns, and then screeches to a stop, cutting me off at the corner.

The door opens and this tough-looking white dude with a blond spiky haircut and too many gold chains gets out.

“Where’s the fire? Where you going so fast, little girl?” he says, smiling at me.

He’s wearing a white tracksuit that is very baggy.

Because I am so tired and confused and worried, I start to cry again—like a wimp.

“Don’t cry. It’s okay,” he says, taking a step toward me, moving very slowly. “What’s wrong?”

BBB is now barking at this man skeptically. Like Ms. Jenny, B Thrice is a good judge of character, but for some reason I want to believe that this guy is not evil—that maybe JC is sending me some help.

Blondie’s actually kind of handsome, if I’m being truthful, and almost innocent looking—like Billy Budd.

“I’m trying to find my mom,” I say, because it’s the truth, and I’m so very tired.

“Get in—I’ll help you look,” he says. “You’re very pretty, you know.”

When he calls me pretty, something in my stomach begins to churn, and the man begins to look more like Claggart than Billy Budd. “I think I’ll just walk, thanks for the offer, though.”

“Bad things happen to girls like you when they stray out of their neighborhoods in the middle of the night,” he says. “You should come with me.”

“Amber!” a voice yells, and when I look over my shoulder, Father Chee is running toward me in slippers through the cold night and wearing only his black pajamas, making him look sorta like some crazy martial arts ninja or something.

“Who are you supposed to be?” the blond man asks FC when he reaches us. “Jackie Chan?”

“Amber, come,” FC says, and then takes my hand.

“Is he your pimp or something?”

“He’s my priest,” I say.

“Well, maybe another time then,” the blond man says, smiling kind of funny, chuckling. He gets into his car and drives away.

“Come,” Father Chee says, and then we sorta jog back to The Korean Catholic Church.

“Please tell me what are you doing here in this neighborhood at night?” Father Chee asks when we are inside with the doors locked.

I’m scared for my mom, so I come clean.

As I tell him everything about Mom and our living on Hello Yellow and Mom’s not coming home tonight, the adrenaline rush wears off, and I start to get seriously nervous and upset and worried.

My voice becomes all tiny and whiny, which makes me feel like I’ll never be as brave and strong as Donna—like I’ll never get into Bryn Mawr College.

When I finish, I am crying again, so FC gives me a fatherly hug, patting my back very gently, which is cool of him. He’s a good man.

“We should call the police so they will start looking for your mother,” Father Chee says.

“Do you think I should consult my attorney first?” I ask.

“You have an attorney?”

So I tell him all about Donna, and then we wake her with a phone call, using the pay phone in Father’s Chee’s church, after which FC puts on his penguin suit.

We take a cab to Ricky’s house, where I tell Donna the whole story as Father Chee makes coffee.

I can tell that Donna is mad at me for not telling her how bad things were with my mom and my living on Hello Yellow for months, because, very loudly, she says,
“Months?”

And when I nod, she asks me why I didn’t tell her earlier, and I start to cry again because I am so weak and stupid—even though I’m sorta mad at her for not figuring it all out earlier.
Why else would I need to take a shower at her house every morning?

Father Chee serves us coffee, and then Donna makes a few phone calls.

I hear her talking to the police, and then to some sorta private detective.

At one point I hear her say, “Money is not an issue.”

Donna’s young assistant shows up without makeup and without her hair done, making her look less intimidating.

“You’re getting a raise,” Donna says to her assistant.

“Are you okay?” Jessica says to me, and I can tell that she is sincere. I remember thinking how much I hated Jessica in the past, so I start crying even harder now because I’m such a little girl.

“If we’re not back, don’t tell Ricky anything when he gets up in the morning,” Donna says to Jessica. “Tell him I had to go to trial early, let him eat whatever he wants for breakfast, and then take him to school. Oh, yeah. Feed the dog a can, and then let him out. Okay?”

Jessica nods, and then FC, me, and Donna are in her Mercedes driving back to Hello Yellow.

We call Mom’s name and search the parking lot with flashlights.

Mom’s not in the parking lot.

Mom’s not on Hello Yellow.

“Grab your things,” Donna tells me, so I get my trash bags from under Hello Yellow and Father Chee takes them to Donna’s car. “Where else might she have gone?”

“She might have met a man?” I say hopefully, because it’s better than any alternative of which I can think. “She was always trying to find a man with an apartment so we’d have a home.”

“Did she ever leave you alone for an entire night before?” Donna asks.

“No,” I say, but then feel like I shouldn’t be lying now. “Well, not very often. Sometimes. But tonight is different. I feel like something very bad might have happened. I sorta just know it somehow. You have to trust me on this. Seriously, Donna, I’m really scared.”

“Okay,” Donna says, and I can see in her eyes that she is worried—that this is bad. Very bad. So terribly messed up.

The three of us drive around aimlessly looking for Mom.

We cruise the ghetto, all of the major Childress streets slide past the passenger-side window; we pass all the bars and liquor stores of which we can think and then go back to the bus lot when it is time for the bus drivers to pick up schoolchildren.

Mom’s boss confirms that my mother did not show up for work today, and none of the other bus drivers have seen her. Mom didn’t call out sick either.

I start to feel as though I am very alone in the world.

When we get back to Donna’s house, Ricky is gone, and BBB has shredded the arm of Donna’s leather recliner.

When Jessica comes back from dropping off Ricky, she apologizes for the mess, and Donna says, “My fault. I forgot to tell you to lock up Bobby Big Boy whenever you leave the house.”

Even though Donna doesn’t say anything about my dog ruining her expensive furniture, seeing the damage makes me cry again for some reason.

I’m so tired.

After a few phone calls, Donna convinces the local police to come interview me. She leaves Father Chee in charge, and then the lawyers shower and dress and get ready to go to Donna’s ongoing murder trial.

Father Chee just sits next to me on the leather couch BBB ripped earlier, and we take turns petting B Thrice.

FC doesn’t say anything stupid, like most adults would, but just sits with me, which I appreciate.

Right after Donna and Jessica leave, two nice uniformed officers come and ask me a bunch of questions about where Mom and I were living, Mom’s drinking problem, and her long list of past boyfriends, all of whom I describe in great detail, while the cops write it all down.

Donna told me to tell the truth, and so I do.

I give all of the same answers to the private detective Donna hired, who shows up seconds after the police leave. He’s a twitchy man with a big yellow mustache and acne scars all over his face. He also writes down my answers—all the secrets I have been keeping for months now.

When we finish, it’s almost noon, which means that—besides the hour or so of sleep I got on the bus—I have been up for thirty-some hours straight.

“Are you okay?” Father Chee asks me.

“I’m so tired,” I say, and then because I really need to, I snuggle up to my Man of God, resting my head on his shoulder, and cry some more.

Somehow I fall asleep.

PART THREE

Puke and Cry

CHAPTER 13

It takes them nine days to find my mother’s body, but when they do, the story is the lead on every TV news station and is on the front page of every local paper, especially since my mother’s killer is immediately linked to the other rape-murders that had happened in the area, so I’m sure you know all of the gruesome, unreal, sadistic, and childhood-ending details. I’m not going to list these details here, because I don’t want to give the facts any more credence than they already have.

I’m pretty numb now.

Maybe even numb enough to be an official nihilist like Joan of Old.

For some things there are no explanations—no reasons, and so, when these things happen, there is nothing to talk about really. And it is best not to dwell on said things for too long, because you will find that life has no real meaning if you do.

Maybe you think I am only saying this because I am in a state of denial or shock, but that’s just not the case. I’m being honest, maybe for the first time.

With Father Chee and Donna, I go to identify the body, even though Donna says I don’t have to.

For some reason, I need to see.

I insist.

I’m a real cat about it.

Maybe I want to know, just so I won’t be wondering for the rest of my life—like I do with Dad. And as selfish as it might seem, knowing that my mother is definitely dead is better than thinking she might be out there somewhere having abandoned me in an effort to live an easier life without her stupid daughter to worry about.