“Did you like it in France?” I ask as she snuggles close to me. I bend over to lick the sugary goodness left by the ice cream from her lips. “When you visited your mom? Is it like here?”
“It’s different.”
“Different how?” I’m drowsy and happy. Shit, I’m happy. Can’t stop grinning. “Better or worse?”
“Don’t know. Smaller? It’s a small town, where mom lives. Very pretty, and old. Aix-en-Provence. The place of many fountains.”
“Really? So you have fountains on every corner?”
She laughs. “Almost. And street markets, parks, old houses with sloped roofs and flowers on the window sills.”
“Sounds like Disneyland.”
She slaps at my chest, but not really hard. “Nothing to do with Disneyland.”
I shrug. Not like I’ve ever been to either place. “And the people?”
“Sort of snobbish, most of the time. But nice, too.”
“What, both?”
“Yeah. They aren’t as open as we are. But once you get to know them, they can be really friendly.”
“Can be? Not good enough. Glad you didn’t stay there.”
“I’m glad, too. Though I miss her, you know? But not as much as I thought before going there. I realized… I don’t really know her anymore. Sure, I’ve seen her on Skype from time to time since she left, and she visited me twice, but it was a while ago, and seeing her again… Felt weird. Like I was disconnected from her. Like she’s not my mom anymore. She’s a stranger.”
“Yeah. But at least she called you, visited you. I mean, shit, that has to count for something, right? Like, she cares.”
“Maybe. Not sure it’s enough, though.”
Right.
I’m not sure I’m the best person to give opinions on mothers. Mine was a stranger since the day I was born, and still I tried to draw love from her. It was like trying to draw blood from a corpse. Didn’t see that when I was younger, though. I thought I could convince her I was worth loving. Worth protecting. That I was one of her own and she should do something to save me, like other mothers I knew did.
Like Shane’s mom did.
But it didn’t work. Put me behind bars, in fact, and that was the moment when my inner vision cleared, and I realized she’d never change. I’d never be good enough. I was only good as a currency—a bartering item. I’d go to prison so she and her newly acquired husband could escape the clutches of the law and party away.
That’s what kept spinning in my mind as I lay in my cell, as I waited for the dreaded steps of the guard who liked to kick me around, stuff a dirty cloth in my mouth and punch me until he got tired. Who liked to spill my food on the floor and make me lick it. Pour the water on me and watch me shiver with cold, grinning like a shark. Who enjoyed throwing me into solitary and forget about me for a day or two, until I begged him to take me out.
That was almost as bad as the beatings I regularly took from the prisoners in the cell across from mine for being part Native. Or part darker skin and black hair, whatever, I doubt they knew or cared what makes up my DNA.
Could have been worse. Could’ve been raped. I wouldn’t have been the first or the last. Guess I’m not pretty enough for that.
Thank fucking God.
I could take all that. I did take it. What burned was that my own mom set me up. She set me up and took off, and didn’t even care enough to check on me. I was seventeen. By Wisconsin law, I was an adult. Been in and out of juvie so many times the judge took one look at my record and condemned me.
After a while I stopped waiting for my mom to come and confess, tell them I wasn’t the one who should be behind bars. Tell them the truth. And still my mind refused to accept reality and I decided something must have happened to her. She had to be lying dead in a ditch somewhere, because otherwise why the fuck wouldn’t she—?
“Seth. Hey.” Light pressure on my cheek. A hand.
I blink and my vision clears. I see Manon’s small face looking up at me. She looks… concerned.
“Hey yourself,” I rasp, my voice kinda hoarse, and I don’t know the fuck why.
“You seemed lost in thought. Not a pleasant thought, either.”