Short Stories

Lily

It seems like just yesterday when Lily was sitting on the old swingset outside of our old house. I was pushing the swing, silent as a cricket in the day.

"Why does mommy hate me?" Lily asked, shattering the silence.

"She doesn't hate you," I told her. It was the first thing to crash into my head.

"Yes she does! She never spends time with us!" Lily whined, planting her feet on the ground to stop the swinging.

"Lily, mom is very busy. Money doesn't just fall from the sky. She has to work. You know, she can barely afford to pay for the rent, and she's planning on getting a third job so she can get you that doll you wanted."

"Then, I don't want the doll anymore if it means she can spend time with both of us."

That was so long ag. Lily was only five. It feels so distant, like a dream. Maybe it really was a dream.

I remember that one time when mom came home from work. She often had little episodes when she comes home from work due to stress.

She slammed the door behind her and stomped into the house. This wasn't going to be good.

"Mom, where have you been? It's 11:00," I said, hands shaking as I clutched onto a bag of chips.

"Daphne! You should be asleep right now, and why are you eating at this hour? Do you know how long I have to work to be able to get us food? Why are your clothes so dirty? Have you and Lily been playing outside in the dirt again? Do you know how long it takes me to do the laundry everyday? It's not that easy! We don't have a washing machine like most people!" She screamed at me, her face resembling a mannequin's. Completely lifeless. She looked older too.

"Mom, I do most of the chores in here. The only thing you do is the laundry," I said, stuttering on every word.

She snatched the bag of chips from me. Then, she slapped me. She's never hit me. Not even during her episodes after work. I looked at her for a minute, then flew up the stairs, only one thing on my mind. If she touches Lily, I'm leaving, and I'm taking Lily with me.

That's exactly what ended up happening. She had another one of those episodes, and Lily was reading on the couch downstairs. I'm not sure what happened because I was in my room, upstairs. I remember hearing yelling. Then, a loud bang. Then, silence.

Immediately, I took the backpacks sitting in my and Lily's closet, and filled it with anything that could be useful. Pillows, jackets, food, money, anything you would need.

I snuck downstairs, ready to get Lily and run out the door. Luckily, mom was in the kitchen, so she wouldn't see us escape.

I found Lily in the living room, holding her hand and crying silently. I rushed to her side, took her other hand, and ran for the door. I took the car keys when we were inside, so we stole the car.

When I drove far enough away from home, I parked the car and checked Lily's hand. There was a nasty purple bruise stained on her skin.

I hugged her. She hugged me back, weeping in my arms. I stayed silent, waiting for her tears to drain out. Only, they kept coming back, almost everyday.

Lily was 13. I was 16.

Mom called me once on my phone (a flip phone, not an iphone. We're not very rich). The first thought that came to my head was that I forgot to delete her number. I denied the call, but she left me a voice mail.

"Daphne? Daph? I'm sorry. I'm begging you, please come home," she cried, "you know how stressed I get from all my jobs. I didn't mean to hit you or Lily. Please. I'm begging you."

Of course I didn't go back. Why would I? She hit me. That was okay, but she hit Lily. That wasn't okay. Now, I realize she truly does love me and Lily, even though I've been raising Lily since she was 4.

I remember yesterday, I was stealing a bracelet from a jewelry store. We ran out of money, and we needed the diamonds on the bracelet more than the store did. They had plenty of expensive jewelry.

I remember bolting out of the store, stuffing the bracelet in my pocket, and hearing the cashier shouting at me to stop. I remember seeing blue and red lights flashing against the night sky. I remember hearing the sirens stinging my ears.

I remember the feeling of handcuffs on my wrists, and the feeling of being shoved into a police car.

Now, I'm sitting in a small room behind bars, thinking about how dumb I was to run away because my mom hit me and Lily one time. Now, because of me, 14 year old Lily is in the car, in the middle of the night, waiting for me to come back. Only, I'm going to take much longer than planned.