For the past eleven years ever since I was five, I have agonized over what would have happened if my mother had never left me to my gambling father. Would she have hugged me every night before bed? Would she have kissed my scrapes and bruises after every fall? Would she have bought me my first bra? Would she have given me the don’t-do-anything-stupid talk most moms give their daughters?Would she have taken me to the mall to pick out my first prom dress? Would we have laid under the stars, telling each other ghost stories and eating junk food until we puked? Would we have shared all of our secrets?
I shall never know. I tell myself every night that she will come back. That after all of these years something must have been keeping her away from me. I tell myself I will wake up and find myself five years old again, before she left.
I don’t remember much about my mother. Just her long dark curly hair. Just like mine. And her lingering smell of vanilla, like warm sugar cookies.
Dad doesn’t speak much about her. He says what is in the past should stay in the past. He is a hypocrite. He talks about the good ol’ days when he was a teen all the time. Like I care. And to top it off he still acts like one. He’s stayed an immature teenager while I was forced to grow up without a mom.
Telling me nothing about my own mother seemed like locking me in a prison and throwing away the key. He locked a piece of my identity away, hiding it. It was a very clear struggle between love and an overbearing structure. But what if that struggle must not be fought externally but outwardly to my cowardly father? It was hard for me. All of these voices in my head telling me it was my fault she left us. She left me unprepared.
If I could have gone back to that fateful day I would have tried to stop her. But I was only five. I thought it was just another game. But it sure wasn’t. Heck no it wasn’t. It was real. And that is why I remember it so vividly.
Now that I look back on that day I realize something was off. Mom had come home early from work, which was weird because she usually worked double shifts as a waitress. Dad had left sometime ago, out to gamble; while I sat at the dining room table, drawing my mom a self-portrait of her for her birthday. I still have the picture, nestled inside of my box of memories of my mom. Pictures, and trinkets she had touched. I was using the crayola crayons that mom had gotten me for my birthday, almost a week before.
She came to me and suddenly hugged me tightly. “Where’s daddy, sugar?”
I shrugged. She looked at me and said, “Gosh darn that man!”
She dropped her purse and kissed my forehead. “My baby Gwen. How I’ll miss you.”
If I had known that was the last day I would ever be able to hug her I would have hugged her and never let go.
Instead I squirmed away and held up my trashy drawing.
“Look Mommy! I drew you.” But since I still had my horrible lisp it sounded more like, “Wook Mommy! I dwoo yoo.”
She had lifted me high and cradled me. “Sweet baby, it’s beautiful.”
I remember my head feeling wet and can remember her thin shoulders shaking. She set me down and went into her room.
Ever since I was old enough to remember, I have always loved that room. Domed ceilings, baby blue flowered wallpaper, and the big vanity mirror filled with moms makeup. It always smelled like mom in there, somehow. Faint, but there.
I remember asking her why she was packing. She smiled at me dolefully and answered, “I’m going to Tomorrow Land, Gwenny.”
“Takeme! Take me!” I shrieked, trying to climb onto her big bed. She plopped me onto it, nestling me against the mound of blue pillows. “I can’t, darling”
“You promised we would go to Tomorrow Land together.”
“And we will”. She tickled me until I was breathless. I laughed and rolled over on my stomach.
“You going to Tomorrow Land without me?” She shook her curly head and tickled me more. On my foot, the part where I was most ticklish.
“Nope!” Being goofy I tried to fit into her suitcase.
“Bye-bye Mommy.” She took off her necklace she never ever took off before, and placed it around my tiny neck. It was a ruby and had an oval border with flowers.
“Tomorrow, baby. Go color.”
And I did. I went back and never noticed how she slipped out of the house carrying a small suitcase and a duffel bag. Never noticed until I was woken up the next morning by my father asking me questions. “Gwen. Do you know where Mommy is? Did she come back home from work?” Dad asked. I pulled my cover up to my face and mumbled “Mommy’s in Tomorrow Land”. Dads eyes got big as saucers.
"Tomorrow Land?”
“Yep! Mommy promised me she’ll take me with her next time.” The policeman jotted a few things down and asked me questions. “Now, Gwen. Do you know where your mommy actually went?” He didn’t believe me. I narrowed my eyes on him. I crawled up to Dad and pulled his ears; I only do that when I’m getting annoyed.
“Mommy said she’ll be back. We’ll all go to Tomorrow Land.”
Dad collapsed, head in his hands. I leaned over to pat his head when he noticed Moms necklace on my neck.
“Gwen, where did you get that?"
“Mommy gave it to me.” Dad quickly sat up.
“Oh God. How did I not see it? Tomorrow Land. 1988, lovers dream.
"Mr. Rothkin, do you know where your wife is?" The policeman asked Dad.
No response.
“Mr. Rothkin?”
“In 1988 we eloped. We talked about our Tomorrow Land. It was…..just fantasies. Oh my God. She left me!”
Dad started crying, big shoulder jerk sobs. It scared me. Why would he cry if Mommy would come back?
“Sir, do everything you can to find my wife. Please. I beg of you.” Dad pleaded. The policeman looked uncomfortable.
“We cannot organize a search until it has been 24 hours. Most missing persons come back within the next 48 hours. I’m sorry.”
“24 hours! My wife could be halfway across the country by then!”
“Mr. Rothkin, please calm down. Let’s talk through this.” Dad looked down defeated.
“I….Okay.”
“I’ll be asking sensitive questions. Please don’t feel like I’m saying you're a bad person.”
I sat there, somewhat stunned. After what seemed like forever the policeman left and Dad went searching for mom, hoping against hope she was just working overtime. Forgetting he had a hungry five year old, clutching her unicorn blanket. And that’s how it was. Over the span of two months he looked for her. Then he quit. While he was off who-knows-where I became quieter and quieter. Not like my usual chatty self.
Mom never showed up. I waited for eleven whole years. I told myself she will come on my sixteenth birthday. She had to. She promised she had something big in mind. She never did.
Chapter Two
The first day I met Maggie I was in kindergarten. We were both sitting alone on opposite benches. Both weird and opposite.
Maggie came to me first, holding a June bug. Let’s just say I am absolutely terrified of bugs. She put the June bug on my hand like an offering. I immediately screamed and jumped right out of my skin.
Kids gathered and laughed at a shrieking girl with worn sneakers and bell-bottom pants. The meanest girl in kindergarten came over with her minions trailing behind and picked a fight with that screaming girl. Guess who. You got it! Me.
“You're such a baby, Gwen. You shouldn’t be scared of a bug, they’re your kind.” She said maliciously.
“Leave me alone!” I yelled. She laughed cruelly with her minions.
“Poor, shabby, Gwen iths thscared.” She said in a mock imitation of my lisp. She rolled her perfect green eyes.
That was when Maggie slapped Hilary right across her face. Her minions scrambled to help her but she screamed. “Get away from me!” Do you know how in Mean Girls, when Regina screams after she found out that Katie made her fat on purpose? Well, that’s how Hilary screamed. Her anger was like a hot fluid in a container. Unpleasant.
And I was tormented everyday by Hilary after that. Though Maggie was there for me. Friends the moment she slapped Hilary in her face. We both grew up from children into young women. Maggie, the adventurous one. Easy to be around. Easily liked. She had a thing for bugs. She loved them and would study them. Earthworms, ants, you name it. She would keep them as pets. Literally. They were kept in her bedroom. She would observe them carefully in her little, ‘ nature’ journal.
But she changed the moment we hit high school. She no longer kept bugs in her room and started to wear miniskirts and tight shirts. Which later made me remember something from my favorite poetry book. “Thy song is changeful as yon starry frame, end and beginning evermore the same.” She was quickly changed as are the winds. She was still interested in being a nature journalist, but she toned it down. She wore her hair in loose waves I was always jealous of and mascara to bring out her already noticeable blue eyes. Hers, unlike mine, were a brilliant blue. If there's one thing anyone notices about her, it’s her eyes. They’re big and framed by long dark eyelashes. They’re dazzling. While she moved up in the popularity line, I hung behind. When she started to change she randomly said to me one day when I was reading on her pink bed. “Life is like a bowl of cherries, live it to the fullest.” I didn’t understand it then. And also when did she become a great sentimental person? I guess that’s why she’s unique to me. Perfect. Whole. Unlike me.
I’m not vain or anything, but when I was little I always prided myself on being the prettiest one. But now that we’re older she grew into her beauty like a caterpillar grows into their wings. I loved her for her easy personality and her loud rambunctious laugh.
As I dealt with a missing mom, and a permanently teenaged father, she got me through it all. Which is why when I went to school the other day I broke down and cried in front of her.
My Dad brought me the terrible news. We were being evicted from our house. The house I grew up in. The house where Mom used to be. Apparently Dad hadn’t been paying the bills for the past couple of months because he got laid off from his job.
He won’t tell me more. I basically had to pry it out of him. I’m pretty sure it had to do with his gambling though. He must’ve gotten caught. Dad spends his money thinking he will win the big bucks but he doesn’t. He never does. There is only one time when he won. And he didn’t actually win. He cheated.
I was left alone one day on the weekend when I was about ten years old when a big hotshot Ferrari came roaring up into my driveway. The buffest man I had ever seen in my life stood pounding on my door.
He was even bigger than Steven Roshare. My all time favorite celebrity crush. Steven had a six pack. This man had an eight pack. Honest.
He stared at me and cracked his giant knuckles when I opened the door. “Where’s your father, girl?” I gulped.
“He’s not here. He’s hardly here.” He glared at me. “Tell your no good father when he comes home to give Ralph Bloodluster his money back he stole from me. Got it?”
I nodded timidly. “Got it.”
And he pulled away in his fancy car. What I’m saying is, my Dad gambles. And if he loses all the time there’s no money. No money means no house. So our beautiful house Mom inherited from her parents wasn’t going to be mine anymore.
I went up to Maggie, knowing this might be the last time I would ever see her. And that was when I broke down.
Maggie rushed forward and said “Hey, are you okay Gwenny?” Her saying my nickname made me cry even harder. She put her arms around me and rocked me slightly. “What’s wrong? Was it Hilary? Oh if it was Hilary I’m going to pound…..” I shook my head. “Or is it a boy?” I glared at her. She smiled and hugged me tighter. People began to stare as they grabbed their stuff for fifth period. She looked around and concealed me more. “Let’s go into the restroom okay?” I nodded. Oh how I was going to miss Maggie.
She made sure no one was in the stalls before she cracked down on me. She put her hands on my shoulder’s protectively. “What wrong, Gwenny? What happened?” This would be the last time I would ever be protected by her. And that made me cry harder. “Shh. It’s okay”. She rocked me. And rocked me just like she was my mom. Imagine feeling like you're stuck in a never-ending rainstorm without an umbrella. That's how I felt. How was I going to tell my best friend that my Dad gambled too much and just lost us our house? How was I going to tell her we had to be out of our house by tomorrow? We did everything together. We’ve never been apart for more than twelve hours before.
I remember when I was nine we ‘adopted’ a sick bird and nursed it back to health. We were so proud that we had saved it. But I was so sad when it flew away. I cried and Maggie held me just like she’s holding me now. Always protecting me. Shielding me from harm.
She didn’t seem to care that snot was getting on her new designer shirt her mom bought her from Europe. Or the fact that I was making her late for fifth hour, with the meanest teacher ever. “I’m making you late”. She shook her head. “I don’t care.You're more important than stupid Home Economics class.” This is what I loved about Maggie. She wasn’t scared of anyone. Not even Miss. Roshbooger who gave people detentions because they laughed too loudly. Yes! She gave someone a lunch detention because someone laughed too loud. We all say BS.
“Gwenny, you can tell me anything.” I sniffled and looked at her caring face trying to memorize every detail. Her long auburn hair. The beautiful blue eyes. The tiny freckle above her upper right lip that she hated so much.
“Maggie.. I…”
“Yes, sugarplum?” I laughed sadly. Our old nicknames for each other. I’m sugarplum because one time I ate too many sugarplums and I got sick all over the carpet in her room. She was a bumblebee because her favorite animal was a bumblebee. “I’m moving.” She furrowed her eyebrows. “Wait, what?”
“I’m not going to this school anymore.” I said. She bit her lip stubbornly and said, “I’ll switch with you then. I’ll beg my Mom.” Maggie’s mom is a full time conservation scientist and is mostly going around the world to save rare species. Since Maggie’s mom is rarely home her mom feels super guilty about being away so much so she gives Maggie everything she wants. But that doesn’t make Maggie spoiled. She never asks for much.
I shook my head. “You can’t. I’m not going to any school around here and my house..”
“What about your house?” She interrupted. I hung my curly head and let the tears slide down my face in rains of sorrow. “We were evicted from our house. We have to be out of it by tomorrow.” She gripped me. “Oh. My. God. Oh my God Gwen! Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I’m so sorry. You can stay with me and…” She fumbled with her words.
“I can’t Maggie. My dad wants to live in California.” She rolled her eyes.
“California? It's super expensive there. He probably can't afford it.” Then she saw the dismayed look on my face. “Oh god. I’m being insensitive aren’t I? Me and my big mouth.”
“It's okay. I just… hate this!” I clenched my hands.“Slow it down girl. Don’t say things you’ll regret.” She said, “I…you're right. This is just….Perfidy!” Feeling very morose. “You're an adult. Make your own decisions! Isn’t there like, an age, where you're not connected with your parents?”
“Yeah, but I’m not eighteen.” Her face fell. Then I saw her face resolve. “We just need to think of a solution… like a key that unlocks a door.”
“There is none.” I said sadly.
“It’s okay Gwen. We'll get through this.” I liked how she said ‘we’.
_________________________________
In the next ten hours I spent as much time with Maggie as I could. We played our old monopoly game for one last good-bye. We both were rusty. We both suck at it so we didn’t finish it.
We moved onto binge-watching movies we love. For her: Mean Girls, Grey’s Anatomy, and our favorite childhood show, H20.
For me: Matilda, What a Girl Wants, and A Cinderella Story with Hilary Mcduff. By the time we finished all of them it was nearly three in the morning. I hadn’t told my Dad. He wouldn’t have cared. I could probably stay out for two days and he wouldn’t notice. I could have ran away and he wouldn’t have cared.
As I tiptoed through my house, and upstairs to my room I could see my Dad zonked out on the faded blue couch Dad had found on the side of the road. (I honestly doubt it.)
It looks just like Ms. Sprout's old couch she used to lay on everyday. I can still see her knobby knees and faded veins in her cracked hands. Painstakingly giving me cookies as hard as rocks and telling me to never fall in love and become like my Dad. She always said “What’s worse than a drunken man is a drunken woman. That’s what.” She died of too much alcohol on that very same couch. Zonked out just like my Dad was now.
Dad was wearing his ripped jeans and a translucent white shirt. His back showed his exposed tan and muscly. His arm was flung over the edge of the couch. Like a dead person. I could see that his swept back black hair was clinging to sweat on his handsome face. His eyes were closed and I knew the eyes behind those sleeping eyelids could say one thing and his mouth the other.
Anger swelled up in me so bad I almost choked. How dare this man sleep when my whole life was being ripped away! How dare he even try to act like he’s sorry about the whole moving situation when he really wants to move! He’s a cheater! A liar!
But as suddenly as the anger came it went away like fast moving winds, making me feel defeated. I grabbed the blanket from his bed and laid it on him. I grabbed his frayed pillow and put it under his head. He shifted in his sleep and his heavy breathing became lighter. I thought about sweeping back his hair but decided against it. Has he ever done that for me? No.
In the morning we were supposed to be out of our house. I had a feeling. Like a string being pulled tighter together.
Usually on Fridays I would be at school and then I would go to Maggie’s and spend the weekend with her eating junk food. That didn’t happen. After I got dressed feeling very overwhelmed and confused I went to get the mail from our mailbox. I should’ve known then, but I didn’t. How could I?
I didn’t realize until I had set the mail down and gotten myself something to drink that I couldn’t hear any heavy breathing coming from the couch.
You know what’s weird? I should’ve anticipated what happened. Anticipation is like a sizzling hot griddle on me. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s a connection to my mother. Maybe I’m just weird.
I recall a conversation with my Dad weeks ago. Way before he told me we were going to move to California. It went something like this:
He said, “Gwen, do you like it here?” I considered this.
“Yeah, this is where my life is.”
“Do you want to live in California?” I glared at him.
“No.”
Silence.
“Do you like Maggie's mom?”
“I love her.” I said without hesitation.
“Do you love me?” I looked at him from the book I was reading and said the truth. If he can’t be honest then one of us has to be.
“Sometimes. Most of the time, no.” His face looked extremely pained when I said that. He doesn’t give me much to love. Was I supposed to love a careless father who was never him, gambling, drinking, or doing whatever the heck he does? Everyone should know the answer. Not really.
“Gwen?” I sighed and looked up from my book once more.
“What?” I said, looking into his saddened gray eyes.
“I….I love you, you know.” He was a man of not many words but I appreciated that.
“Sure you do, Dad. Sure.” I wasn’t so sure if he did love me then. Now I know.
Addison Daily is an artist and writer who loves to cozy up and read a good book. She is an older sister to a little sister and lives in Decatur, Illinois. She attends the school Montessori Academy For Peace and spends an embarrassing amount of time reading and making up stories that she hopes can be shared with people all over the world. She enjoys writing outside in her backyard and letting the sun soak her up. She loves to talk about books and if you ever meet her she probably will talk about books with you for hours. She is inspired by Neil Shusterman because of his Scythe series. She is currently fourteen years old and hopes by the time she is fifteen to have published something exceptional. She loves extracurriculars and plays Volleyball, Basketball, and Softball. She plays the clarinet, and her favorite color is sunset blue.
"Crayons 12/365" by Blue Square Thing is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.
