Throwaway Girl (10 page)

May 2005

T
he
house is quiet this morning. Everyone is still sleeping. I'm lying in bed staring at the mattress slats of the top bunk. I imagine tying a rope or a long piece of fabric to the slats and securing it around my neck. In mere minutes I'd be dead.

It's my fourteenth birthday today. But today won't be a day of celebration. I can't seem to breathe, I'm so sad. I feel like there is little to live for, that I really have no future ahead of me. I imagine how little fanfare there would be if I died, how so few would notice my absence. Perhaps no one would come to my funeral. A life wouldn't seem well lived if there weren't any attendees at the funeral, now would it?

I turn over to face the wall, examining the chips in the paint and the gouges in the wall. It's dirty and there are still tiny patches of old wallpaper remaining. It's like someone decided that it was too much work to remove it all, so they just painted the wall anyway.

Out of the corner of my eye I see something silver and shiny beside my pillow. I grasp it with my closest hand. It's a safety pin. I roll it around in my fingers, feeling the cold metal. I open the clasp and prick my finger on the edge. It's a quick, sharp poke. I poke my other finger, smiling at the sensation. I run the edge of the needle end up and down the length of my thumb, feeling a tingle from the needle's point. I don't know what it is about it, but I'm fixated by this sensation in my body.

I continue down the length of my arm to where the skin is softest. I run the edge closer and deeper until a scratch forms. It stings a bit, but I like the feeling. I press harder, watching as the edge slices through the skin until blood appears. There is something triumphant about seeing the blood, as though I've accomplished something. The initial pain is replaced with numbness. I feel powerful and in control. I can make my body feel physical pain and then make it go numb again. I switch hands and run the safety pin down my other arm, creating a matching line. I suck in my breath as I press it into my skin, but each cut feels like a release.

I hear Stephanie stir in her sleep and I quickly hide the safety pin inside my fist. I pull down my pajama sleeves and cover the evidence. When the room is quiet again, I slip the safety pin underneath my mattress for safekeeping. I examine the red scratches, which are now throbbing. I run my finger over them but the pain is subsiding. I take another deep breath and feel incredibly calm and centred.

I've decided I'm going to leave this place today. I've packed my bag and hidden it underneath my bed. I can't bear to be here anymore. There is no one to talk to about what I'm going through or how I'm feeling. Seeing Hunter and Stephanie just reminds me of everything that's happened and what life will really be like if I stay.

Everyone is still meeting in the park or out by the train tracks. I haven't been there in weeks. I can't bear the thought of running into Marcus. Since Stephanie and I still aren't talking, Hunter has been keeping his distance too. I'm sure it's out of allegiance to Stephanie. He'll glance my way often when he's around though, so I'm sure he's figured out that something's up.

I don't have a plan yet. I figure I'll walk out of here and make my way across the city to a safer park where no one knows me. Or perhaps I'll go down to the riverbank and find myself a cozy nook among the trees. I know there are no other places for me to go. When my caseworker discovers that I'm gone, I'll have to lay pretty low. They'll be interviewing the Puhlers and Stephanie and Hunter, trying to determine where I might have gone. There'll be a missing persons report filed and a search will be held.

This is where I'll have to be my craftiest; I don't want anyone to find me again. I've got nowhere to go, no one to trust. I'll have to find a way to make it on my own. I've taken a towel and a small fleece blanket from the Puhlers and squished them into my backpack. They'll have to do for now. Luckily it's getting warmer outside and I'll have a few months to plan out what I'll do when fall approaches and the weather cools.

I have thirty-three dollars to my name and my ratty looking shoebox, which is more precious to me than any amount of money. I've also been stashing granola bars when I get the chance and I've got a decent pile stocked up. I haven't been eating much for days though, so I'm not too worried about how I'll feed myself.

I lift the mattress and retrieve my safety pin. I slide it into my pants pocket, grateful that I have it. I've been using anything with a sharp edge to cut myself. I've used glass, steak knives, and razors, the tabs on soda cans, nails, and even utility blades I've found on construction sites. I've got marks up and down my arms, the flabby part of my belly, and the fleshy insides of my thighs; anywhere where I can grab some skin and experiment. The cuts are different colours and shapes, in various states of healing. Fresh cuts thrill me; I envision my pain oozing through the cuts with my blood. Each slice feels like a release, like I'm emptying the ugly parts of myself.

L
ucky
for me, Austin has been coming in to the restaurant every night for coffee after the library closes. He tells me he needs the caffeine to help him stay awake to study, but I know he's coming in to see me. We even met on campus once. He's very dedicated to school, which impresses me. I haven't met a young man so interested in furthering his education, and in his future. Most of the boys I grew up with barely got through their classes. It would be a surprise if they showed up regularly.

Austin is actually from the west coast. He's been in Saskatoon for eight years now. He moved here just before he started high school. Although he'd had a good childhood, his dad ended up leaving him and his mom when he was in junior high. After that, he grew even closer to his mom and became very protective of her. When his dad never called again, he grew used to the fact that it was just going to be him and his mom. Then just a year later, she got cancer and the disease spread so quickly, there was little anyone could do.

When she passed away, Austin was sent to live with his grandma in Saskatoon. His grandma was a lot like his mother and they formed a close bond quickly, both grieving for the woman they had lost. The day after his high school graduation, Austin's grandma passed away of a massive heart attack. The grief almost did him in, but he hung in there and decided that his mom and grandma would have wanted him to work hard and continue on.

His grandma's estate was left to him, so this afforded him the chance to go to school debt-free and live in her home. He takes his classes very seriously because he knows that his opportunity was born from great loss. Austin is determined to make his mom and grandma proud. He has applied for a Masters program at the University of Regina and is hoping to be starting school there this fall.

Despite our different childhoods, we actually have quite a bit in common. We both grieve for the people who loved us most. Our dads aren't in the picture, and in my case, my mom isn't either. Listening to Austin talk about when he was younger and had his dad makes me sad. I think he's got it tougher than me because his dad cared at some point. He wasn't always an absent father. Knowing that your dad once cared about you and spent time with you and then left, never to call again … that's got to be harder. At least mine never cared from day one.

Austin and I have even had our first kiss. A soft, gentle, and loving kiss that will go down in history as my best kiss ever. I know this because I've never experienced anything like it. Austin is protective of me too, but in a good way. He has said he likens me to a broken little bird that just needs to find my wings again. I like that.

He's very intelligent. We have deep conversations about current events, philosophical issues, making sense of our pasts. I tell him all about Haywood House, the staff and the girls, how they're like family to me. Most of the people I know that have had a painful past just try to bury it and do something to numb the pain. Trying to come to terms with it is so much harder, but so much more freeing. I've never been able to talk to someone like this. I feel challenged and excited by our talks. It's been a long time since I've felt loved. We have a pure and innocent, satisfying love. The real deal.

Trina hasn't been around much. I try to talk to her whenever she's around, but she's barely responsive. It's true that I've been spending most of my free time with Austin and I'm not home a lot, but even then, I'm not sure it would make much of a difference. In my frustration of watching Trina's life spiral downward, I've almost given up on her. She's back to her sullen moods, just like when she first came to Haywood. I've tried talking and reaching out to her, but it doesn't seem to help. At times it feels easier to leave her alone and give her space.

There's a special program at the library that Austin has encouraged me to attend. It's an opportunity for young writers to showcase their work. I was terrified to join, but the leader of the group has been so supportive. She makes me feel like writing out my thoughts and feelings and telling my story releases so much of my pain. There is supposed to be a performance night at one of the big bookstores in the city. Each of the participants will read from some of their work. I've decided to face my fears and participate. Austin is thrilled for me and excited for the performance.

For the first time, I really feel like my life is coming together. I've got people who love me and want the best for me, and for once, I really want the best for myself. I want to do well. I want people around me. I've created my own definition of family, one that doesn't include blood relatives. And that's okay.

Austin picks me up from work and kisses me on the cheek when I get into my seat. “How was your day?” he asks. I'm tired and sweaty and anxious to get home to relax for the evening.

“Better now,” I tell him. Seeing him after a long day is like a warm blanket around me. Warm, comforting, protective.

“Want to watch a movie or something tonight?” he asks. I nod in agreement and we decide to head to the convenience store to get some snacks.

I'm so tired that I start feeling cranky and out of sorts. I don't mean to take it out on Austin, but he's the only one with me and I'm having a hard time holding it inside. If there's one thing I learned from counselling, holding in your emotions is toxic behaviour and everything has to come out at sometime in some way. In the past, cutting myself became my ultimate release, a way to let out all of my pain. But I'm healthier now, so I have to allow my emotions to come out and make peace with them. Today, I don't know what's wrong exactly, but I'm just not feeling like myself.

At the store, Austin senses my mood and tries to comfort me by putting his arm around me. I shrink from him a bit and see hurt flash in his eyes. “It'll be okay,” he whispers, though he doesn't quite know what's wrong or whether he might be to blame.

We stand in line to pay for our snacks. I'm tapping my foot impatiently, restless and uneasy. I don't know what has got me so bugged right now. It's a Friday night and the store is busy and I can hardly stand in line. There are groups of teens talking in the parking lot, and people loitering around the store. It's a bustling place and all I can think of is how badly I want to get out of there.

“Can I meet you in the car?” I ask Austin.

He smoothes my hair with his hand and smiles. “Of course.” He hands me his car keys and I can feel him watching me as I make my way to the doorway. I just want to get home and into my pajamas so that I can snuggle with Austin and tune out the rest of the world.

I swing open the door and step out onto the pavement. It's hot and humid and the air feels heavy, almost sucking the air from my lungs. The car is parked in the last spot at the edge of the store. Sitting on the sidewalk with her back against the building is a woman, dirty and disheveled. Her clothing is ripped and worn, her thin body trembling. Her knees are up to her chest and her head rests on her knees. She's rocking gently back and forth. I can smell her from a couple of feet away.

This area is full of panhandlers and transient people. I glance at her with concern, knowing full well what it was like to live on the streets, enduring the elements and trying to get by without money or food. I watch as people stare at her with disdain, stepping past her as though her situation is contagious. I reach into my purse for my wallet, knowing that I don't have much money myself but that this person needs it more than I do. Austin is just coming out of the store and he looks at me with curiosity as I head towards her.

“Here, take this,” I say to her. I'm holding out a ten dollar bill. Much more money than anyone has ever given me at one time. The woman continues rocking back and forth, her matted and oily hair the only part of her head I can see.

“Ma'am?” I say, hoping I can get her attention. She lifts her head up and her glazed eyes try to focus on me. My breath gets caught in my throat; an audible gasp escapes my lips. I put my hand on the side of the building to steady myself, my heart thudding wildly in my chest.

Flashbacks and memories collide, fighting for space in my head. It's been over a decade since I've seen her, but this dirty, smelly, drug addicted and most likely homeless woman is definitely her. I'd recognize her face anywhere, its profile haunting both my dreams and my nightmares. She reaches for my outstretched hand, but instead of grasping the bill, she grabs my fingers. I feel like I'm in a trance, not sure if I'm conscious or if this moment is real. I search her eyes for a hint of recognition, but in a brief second, she lets go of my fingers to fumble for the bill.

I realize that she has no idea who I am. “Take this,” I say gently. I place the bill into her probing fingers and press into her palm. “You need it more than I do,” I say. She jerks her hand back quickly, as though scared that I might change my mind and try to grab it back. She smiles wide at me and I see that she is now missing a couple of teeth. I stare at her for a moment longer before stepping off the sidewalk. Austin is standing at the driver's side door, watching me, a puzzled look on his face.

“Let's go,” I say. I get into the car, fasten my seatbelt, and stare straight ahead.

“What's going on?” Austin asks. He looks at the woman who is rocking back and forth again, her head resting back onto her knees, and then back at me. He starts wiping the tears that are cascading down my cheeks. “Andy?” he says. I look up at the woman, unsure of how to make sense of this moment.

“That woman,” I tell him. “She's my mother.”