Not Me

chapter 4

I swear, a hamburger never tastes better than when you're near starving and would probably eat anything. That, and a chocolate milkshake and large fries. The waitress even gave me a discount. I guess she thought I looked hungry, or maybe she'd seen me under the overhang on the Perfect Cuts Barber Shop where I "set up camp".

As I ate, I watched the news on one of the flat screens on the wall. They still show my picture every now and then, but more rarely now that it's been so long. It's astounding how fast the world gives up on you.

I scan the restaurant, making sure nobody here recognizes me, either from the pictures on the news or from a glimpse of me emptying their pockets.

After I ate my fill, the waitress brought me my bill, and I still had $3.50 left over.

As I was handing her the money, I bumped into my drink, sending it crashing to the floor. It shattered, sending Cherry Coke streaming across the floor. And I don't know why, but I began to scream.

"NNOOOOOOOO!!!!!"

And I was still screaming when the waitress grabbed my arm and dragged me outside.

I began to scream louder, causing a scene. The waitress glances around nervously. People are beginning to notice. Without hesitation, she forces me into a black Sedan, locking me in. She hurridly jumps into the drivers seat, ignites the engine, and speeds of into the night.

I'm shaking, tears streaming down my face. You'd think a pickpocket would be tougher than this, but I've got scars that run deep, and fears that never end.

She finally lets me out when we we're in a dark alley far from the restaurant. I ran from her, but there's really nowhere to run. The ally ends in a brick wall the direction I want to go. I crumple against the wall, shielding my face with my hands, afraid, with a sense of deja vu, that this woman would hurt me like Joe had on the day that the same thing happened.

But she didn't. Instead, she stroked my hair and said, "Shh, shh, it's okay Violet, it's me."

And then I knew. It was Aunt Carla.

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A while ago, when Joe first moved into our house, we were eating breakfast when I accidently hit my glass of orange juice with my elbow. It shattered on the linoleum floor, creating a large orange stain. Joe had called me a stupid ass, wortheless piece of crap, and a load of swear words. He then had slapped me, right in front of my mother. I lay sobbing on the floor, expecting her to tell him off, but all she said was, "clumsy child". And then she walked out of the room.

I guess he thought that meant he had mom's permission or something, because then he slapped me again, twice. My face had hurt, and nobody had cared. I was alone...

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"Aunt Carla?" I murmured.

"Yes. You scared the hell out of me, dear. I thought you were dead."

"I didn't want them to find me. I moved here and changed my name to Ara Collins."

"Ara. Like your sister." she says.

"Yes." Tears spring up to my eyes as I think of her, "But wait, where's Uncle Renny?"

"We're divorced. I moved here a little after you did."

"Why?" I ask, confused.

"I got pregnant, and he wanted me to get an abortion. So I ran away, had the baby, gave it up for adoption, and came here." she admits, a tear trickling down her cheek.

"Wow. That took some guts," I say fervently, "So where's the baby live? I'd like to meet my cousin someday."

"Here, give me your journal," she said. I handed it to her and she scribbled in an address.

"That's the place. If you get the chance, ask her parents to tell her I love her,"

"Sure. No problem," I said, clearing my throat to conceal my emotions.

"How've you been living, on your own?" she asks, changing the subject.

"A lady named Linda Sue takes care of me." I don't tell her about the pickpocketing. I don't think she would approve.

"Good. Wouldn't want you in the big world all alone." she remarks.

"I'm not alone. You're here." I argue.

"Yes. About that. I found a place that might be a little more..homely...than your current living area."

Ah. Of course she would have noticed that. "Perhaps. But nothing permanent. I might have to move on."

"Of course," she says, but her expression tells me she'd rather that I stay, "It's an abandoned warehouse. Other homeless people live there."

I smile. "Sounds like my kind of place."

She grins. "Why don't you sleep on it? Meet me at the restaurant in the morning to tell me your decision."

"Fair enough," I agree, "See you tomorrow!"

"See ya," laughs Aunt Carla.

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I make it to my "home" around dusk. I snuggle into my ratty sleeping bag and try to fall asleep, but so many questions keep me awake. Like, would I abandon Linda Sue for this place, my only "job" for this place? Would this be the place that finally felt like home? And would I find a new person to be there?