Heart Bones(70)

I drop our backpacks by the bed and fall onto the mattress. I lie on it, staring out the glass balcony doors. It’s so bright out there. So warm. So happy.

I stand up and snatch the curtains shut, then crawl back into bed. I just want today to end already and it’s not even lunchtime yet.

I toss, turn, and stare at the ceiling for over an hour. I just can’t stop thinking about what’s going to happen. How long will he be in jail? Or does this mean he’ll actually be sentenced to time in prison? If he truly does have that many charges against him, what kind of time is he looking at? Six months? Ten years?

I’m not going to be able to fall asleep without some kind of assistance. My mind is racing too much. I open my door and wait until it sounds like the kitchen is clear. I walk back downstairs and go to the pantry. I know there’s a section in here where they keep their medicine. I thumb through the bottles, but find nothing that might help me sleep.

Maybe they keep it in their bathroom. My father and Alana should be on their way to work by now, so I go to their bathroom and open their medicine cabinet. There’s nothing in here but toothpaste and spare toothbrushes. Some sort of ointment. A container of cotton swabs.

I slam the door to the medicine cabinet shut, but startle when I see Alana standing behind me in the mirror’s reflection. “Sorry. I thought you were at work.”

“I took the day off,” she says. “What are you looking for?”

I turn and look at her desperately. “I just need NyQuil or something. I need to sleep. I haven’t slept yet and my mind is racing.” I wave my hands at my face, trying to push back the tears that have been miraculously kept at bay since last night.

“I can make you some tea.”

Tea? She wants to make me tea?

She’s a dentist, surely she has a prescription for some horse-strength tranquilizers somewhere in this house.

“I don’t want tea, Alana. I need something that works. I don’t want to be awake right now.” I bring my hands up and cover my face. “It hurts so much to think,” I whisper. “I don’t even want to dream about him. I just want to sleep and not dream or think or feel.”

It all starts to hit me in the center of my chest.

Everything Samson said on the phone slams into me so hard, I have to lean against the sink for support. His voice echoes in my head. “I’ll be here for a while, Beyah.”

How long do I have to go before I’m happy again?

I don’t want to go back to who I was before I met him. I had nothing inside of me then but bitterness and anger. No feeling, no joy, no comfort. “What if he’s gone for so long, he doesn’t want to be part of my life when he gets out?”

I didn’t mean to say that out loud. Or maybe I did.

My tears start falling and Alana immediately responds. She doesn’t say anything to make me feel bad for feeling sad. She just wraps her arms around me and tucks my head against her shoulder.

It’s a comfort that’s completely unfamiliar, but one I desperately need right now. The comfort of a mother. I sob against her for several minutes. It’s everything I didn’t know I needed in this moment. Just a small morsel of sympathy from someone.

“I wish you could have been my mother,” I say through my tears.

I feel her sigh. “Oh, sweetie,” she whispers sympathetically. She pulls back and looks at me gently. “I’ll give you one Ambien, but it’s the only one you’re ever getting from me.”

I nod. “I promise I’ll never ask again.”





TWENTY-SIX


I slept way too hard. It feels like my brain is compressed to the right side of my head.

I sit up in bed and look outside. It’s almost dark now. I look at the time on my phone and see that it’s after seven. My stomach is growling so loud, it may be what woke me up.

I left the ringer on my phone set to high, but it never made a noise and I have no missed calls.

Fourteen more hours until I get to see him.

I reach to the floor and pick up Samson’s backpack. I dump the contents of it onto my bed and begin sifting through everything.

Literally everything he owns is on my bed right now.

There are two pairs of shorts and two of Marcos’s branded T-shirts. He was wearing the other set when he was arrested, so does that mean he only has three changes of clothes? I noticed he wore the same shirts a lot, but I assumed he was doing it to support Marcos. He probably washed them regularly in hopes no one would notice.

There are toiletries in a bag. Toothpaste, deodorant, a toothbrush, nail clippers. But no wallet.

Did he actually lose his wallet before we went to get tattoos, or did he never even have one? If he’s been on his own since his father died, how would he have even gotten a driver’s license?

I have so many questions. There’s no way our visit tomorrow will be long enough for him to answer them all.

In the bottom of his backpack, I find a plastic Ziploc bag. The bag is filled with what look like folded up pieces of paper. They’re all a little faded with a yellow tint to them, so they’re obviously old.

I open the bag and pull out one of the pieces of paper and unfold it.





Little Boy



Bitten by frenzy like me

Exhaustion in his eyes

He’s growing angry at the sea