Untraceable

Survivor Skill #33

In the wilderness, denial can be dangerous when facing real fears and challenges.

~

The next morning, I hide in bed until Mom screams up the stairs. “Grace, we’re leaving in five minutes!”

I throw back the covers and linger in front of my closet. What does one wear to a B&E? In addition to attending my second felony, I plan to meet Mo later. With or without my bike, I’ll find a way. This time, I want to look extra good. Not like I-tried-too-hard good or that would be totally obvious, considering my idea of formal is a clean shirt. I’m going for sporty boho.

After sifting through raggedy clothes, I choose a pair of tan pants from the back of my closet that I’ve never worn, my good hiking boots, and a black fitted t-shirt with a cool butterfly design on the front.

Before getting dressed, I glance at the covered mirror and stand in front of the old sheet for a moment, mustering up the nerve to peek. Reaching over, I grip the corner of the cloth and yank. The cover slides down the glass and curls into a heap on the rug. I gaze at my reflection.

My long dark hair fans out over my shoulders. I barely recognize my own body. My legs reach up higher than I remember. My boobs are still small but slightly fuller. I smile. And my reflection smiles back.

I have to say, I look pretty good.

With Mo, I feel beautiful. Like a woman, for the first time.

* * *

The whole way into town, neither Mom nor I say a word. Eleven point seven miles of awkward silence. Makes a twenty-minute trip seem like an eternity. I cough a few times to add noise on top of the truck’s choppy melody. Every time my mouth opens to talk first, Luci jostles around in the back, making me steam all over again.

Finally, we reach Dr. Head’s office. I’m so relieved to escape the quiet ride from hell, I practically fall out the door.

Only then does Mom speak. “I’ll pick you up at work.”

Without answering, I shut the door ultra hard to be extra obnoxious. The window rattles, threatening to shatter right alongside our relationship. I charge straight into the brick building with purpose and slam the door behind me, never looking back.

Once inside, I peek through the thin, cheap drapes and watch her sitting in the truck with her head hanging. She opens the door slightly as if she’s coming in and then slams it shut again. She sits there until her shoulders start to shake. I stand frozen, watching Mom cry, not knowing what to do, but wanting so much to run out and comfort her. Just talk. Like we did before Dad went missing.

Like we haven’t done since.

A few minutes later, Mom wipes her face and rolls out of the parking lot, taking her frustration out on Dad’s clutch. Tears clutter my vision as I watch the distance between us grow until the truck becomes only a dot on the highway.

Once she’s gone, I drag myself upstairs to Dr. Head’s office. This is the first time I’ve ever been punctual. It’ll probably give him a heart attack. Or worse, he’ll think, “We’re making progress.”

When I push through the door, Dr. Head jerks his head up, startled as expected. He checks his crazy-eyed clock. “Grace, you’re on time.”

I study my watch. “Actually, I’m a minute and forty-three seconds early.”

He comes out from behind the desk and sits in his therapist’s chair with a notepad on his lap. “Didn’t think you would show after you missed our appointment the other day. You know I’ll still have to charge your mom.”