Hang In There, Jolene

when she loved me.

     Amir had one lovely memory of his mother — which had not been tarnished by the other unending mishaps in his life. It was one unusual night, when she wasn't dead intoxicated or out of it.

   She made him a delicious, hot meal, which he had not had for a while, having had takeouts for weeks in a row. She was happy that night — his father was out somewhere, and it was just the two of them — and she was skipping about cheerily, singing her favorite songs. She had put on makeup, wasn't in her usual filthy clothes and actually looked beautiful.

   She looked like how a mother should look. Warm. Safe. Not knocked out and slumped on the sofa, when he didn't have to clean up and put her to bed. Amir was eager to relish the entire night, with his mom finally normal and functioning.

   He was seven at that time, this memory was as clear as day in his mind.

  She made him sit on his lap, and told him a fairytale, about Hansel and Gretel. He already knew it, but he wanted hear her voice. He felt safe in her arms, like nothing could ever hurt him. He breathed in her lovely strawberry scent, as he snuggled up in her strong arms, letting himself fall asleep as she gently rocked him, like he was an infant again.

    It was a time when she loved him. He was hopeful. Maybe, she wouldn't get involved with those scary thugs outside the door, or he wouldn't have to stumble upon another bottle littering the floor.

   It would be okay. He would wake up next morning, and he would be fine.
  

    But he wasn't. Because he woke up with his mother gone. Again. And perhaps, that he was the moment he knew — he wasn't disappointed or even surprised at all. He was just building castles in the sky, holding onto ridiculous pipe dreams.

  She had already slipped out from his grasp.

   ******

     Ava rubbed the glossy paper of the flyer with the tip of her thumb, engrossed in thought. Sighing, she left the flyer for on the desk and flopped on the bed, her mind playing an unending game of should I or should I not. She knew that if she asked Ella or even Rod, they would coax her into participating in the competition. Her parents would be almost adamant ⁠— they would question her on why she wouldn't want to enter the competition ⁠— because they cared.

   But Ava was hesitant. She knew she had the Severe Stage Syndrome (SSS, it wasn't a real thing, she had termed it, back in eighth grade). SSS, according to the dictionary of Ava, was a crippling fear of the spotlight and the stage. She could barely speak a word in front of an audience, with their scrutinizing gaze trained on her ⁠— waiting to be stripped naked and judged. 

   But she wanted to show up. She wanted to show Rowan that she wasn't some kind of a dilettante, some amateur. 

   Why did she even want to establish this weird superiority over Rowan? Was her self - esteem in such deep pits now? 

   ​​As she slammed her head into the pillow, for a good scream, her phone pinged. It was an unknown number, which left her confused. 

   Hey, this is Rowan AKA your forever well - wisher and friend.  

   Ava rolled her eyes. But she appreciated the fact that he texted in full, legible sentences. 

  Ava: How did you get my number? And you're not my friend. Remove any doubts from your mind ASAP.