My Name Is Venus Black(44)

“I like it here, too,” I say. “And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone that I’m trying to start a new life with a new name.” The front door jingles, signaling a new customer.

“Good for you, Venus,” she says with meaning. “I don’t care what you call yourself, as long as it makes you happy. But there’s something else,” she says. She opens her purse and pulls out her ChapStick. Same old nervous habit.

“I want you to know something,” she says, rubbing the wax on her lips over the top of her orange-ish lipstick.

“Yeah? What should I know?”

“I’m going to have money for you to go to college.”

Immediately my blood pounds. “From where? Did you get it from selling my story to that Anna person?”

“Oh no! I never followed through with that, since you clearly…Actually, the money will be coming from the sale of the house on Rockefeller. I’m going to move into something smaller, and there’s some equity—”

“I don’t want any blood money from that horrible house,” I tell her.

“I understand, Venus. But you’re so smart. And I want to see you go to college if you want to.”

Her seeming generosity surprises me but only a little less than the fact that she’s continued to live in that house all these years. I take a gulp of coffee and look outside.



“I’m not going to college, anyway, at least not anytime soon.”

Inez’s hopeful expression collapses. “But, Venus—”

“Not just because I can’t afford to,” I continue. “I can’t possibly go to college without using my transcripts and risking the whole school learning who I am. And can you imagine the looks I would get? The way people would treat me once they knew the truth?”

She hesitates for a moment. “I understand. It’s painful to be you. But hiding isn’t going to help, sweetie.”

“Please don’t call me ‘sweetie.’ And I’m not hiding. It’s called ‘starting over.’?”

She looks at me, shakes her head like it’s a sad thing I’m doing. “You can’t run from the past, Venus,” she whispers.

“Just watch me,” I say.

We fall silent and I can smell her perfume. Charlie. It was always Charlie, and now the scent makes me sick. I bet she even has a hanky somewhere in that purse.

I notice that her hand is shaking and realize she’s really nervous. She puts her ChapStick back in her purse and looks at me in this pleading way. “I meant what I said about being sorry, Venus. I don’t know what else to do. I’m so sorry I—”

“Don’t!” I interrupt her. “Don’t even try.” I don’t want to hear her apologies. For a moment, we’re both quiet and looking out the window. Rain on puddles. Rain on rain. The rain is getting rained on.

After she quietly gets up and leaves, I feel deflated and angry. Her attempt to apologize annoys the hell out of me because it doesn’t match up with the story in my head.

That afternoon, I’m not in the mood for Piper, but she is waiting for me as always on the front steps. I wish she would just play outside like other kids and give me some space.

“Why don’t you ride your bike anymore?” I ask.



“It’s winter, doofus,” she says.

“It’s Seattle, not Alaska,” I reply. “And you’re not allowed to call me ‘doofus,’ remember? It’s stopped raining, and it’s really not that cold, as long as you wear a jacket.”

“It’s a dumb bike.”

“What about it is dumb?”

“Other kids have ten speeds, not banana seats. It’s a baby bike.”

I doubt this, but I wouldn’t know. I turn on the TV, hoping that MTV will distract Piper and she’ll leave me alone. That’s another thing that happened while I was away. When I went into Echo, music was just music, not these weird videos.

When Piper seems glued to Madonna, I sneak up to my bedroom, shut the door, and lie down on my back, perfectly flat, as if being still will take away the pain. Kind of like when you’re sick and it helps to lie on the cold kitchen floor.

I shut my eyes and try to make my mind go blank, but all I can think about is Inez. How painful our meeting was. How much I wish I had a mother to help me navigate this new life of mine—and I know Inez would be happy to. But at times I think the only thing that’s held me together all these years is my anger at Inez. If I forgave her, it would mean facing the past, feeling those feelings. I’m afraid I’d fall apart. Plus, what if she betrays me again?

Back at Echo, Sharon once said that maybe I needed to blame my mom to survive, like a coping mechanism—but that someday the opposite might be true. What if she was right?

“What’s wrong?”

I open my eyes to see Piper’s apple green ones staring down at me. Up close they always look brighter, even greener.

“Nothing,” I say.

“Are you sick?”

“No. Just tired.”

“You’re lying,” she says.

“You’re being a pest.”



She sits on the edge of my bed. “Scoot over,” she demands, like it’s her bed, too. I grudgingly roll over, and she lies down next to me.