Heart Bones

Once I’m back inside the living room, I can’t help but stare at the couch. It looks different now. Like somebody died on it.

“You good for the night?” Buzz asks.

I turn around and he’s standing right outside the door with the umbrella over his head. He’s looking at me like he’s trying to be sympathetic, but his mind is probably working out all the paperwork this has just caused him.

“I’m good.”

“You can go down to the funeral home tomorrow to plan the arrangements. They said any time after ten is good.”

I nod, but he doesn’t leave. He just lingers for a moment, shuffling from one unsure foot to the other. He closes the umbrella just outside the door like he’s superstitious, then takes a step into the house. “You know,” he says, creasing his face so hard his bald head spills wrinkles over his forehead. “If you don’t show up at the funeral home, they can declare it an indigent burial. You won’t be able to have any type of service for her, but at least they can’t stick you with a bill.” He looks ashamed to have even suggested that. His eyes dart up to the Mother Teresa painting and then he looks down at his feet like she just scolded him.

“Thanks.” I doubt anyone would show up if I held a service, anyway.

It’s sad, but it’s true. My mother was lonely, if anything. Sure, she hung with her usual crowd at the bar she’s been frequenting for almost twenty years, but those people weren’t her friends. They’re all just other lonely people, seeking each other out so they can be lonely together.

Even that crowd has dwindled thanks to the addiction that’s ravaged this town. And the type of people she did hang out with aren’t the type to show up for a funeral. Most of them probably have outstanding warrants, and they avoid any kind of organized events in the off-chance it’s a ploy by the police to do a warrant round-up.

“Do you need to call your father?” he asks.

I stare at him a moment, knowing that’s what I’ll end up doing, but wondering how long I can put it off.

“Beyah,” he says, pronouncing my name with a long e.

“It’s pronounced Bay-uh.” I don’t know why I correct him. He’s said it wrong since I’ve known him, and I’ve never cared enough to correct him before this moment.

“Beyah,” he corrects. “I know this isn’t my place, but…you need out of this town. You know what happens to people like—” He stops talking, as if what he was about to say would insult me.

I finish the sentence for him. “To people like me?”

He looks even more ashamed now, even though I know he just means people like me in a broad sense. People with mothers like mine. Poor people with no way out of this town. People who end up working fast food until they’re numb inside, and the fry cook offers them a hit of something that makes the rest of the shift feel like they’re at a disco, and before they know it, they can’t survive a single second of their miserable day without hit after hit, chasing that feeling faster than they chase the safety of their own child, until they’re shooting it straight into their veins and staring at Mother Teresa while they accidentally die, when all they ever really wanted was an escape from the ugliness.

Buzz looks uncomfortable standing inside this house. I wish he’d just leave. I feel sorrier for him than I do myself, and I’m the one who just found my mother dead on the couch.

“I don’t know your father at all, but I know he’s been paying the rent on this trailer since you were born. That right there tells me he’s a better option than staying in this town. If you have an out, you need to take it. This life you’ve been living here—it’s not good enough for you.”

That might be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. And it’s coming from Dakota’s dad, of all people.

He stares at me a moment, like he wants to say something else. Or maybe he wants me to respond. Either way, the room stays silent until he nods and then leaves. Finally.

After he shuts the front door, I turn and stare at the couch. I stare so long, I feel like I’m in a daze. It’s weird how your whole life can completely change in the hours between waking up and going to bed.

As much as I hate to admit it, Buzz is right. I can’t stay here. I never planned to, but I at least thought I had the summer left to prepare for my exit.

I’ve been working my ass off to get out of this town, and as soon as August hits, I’ll be on a bus to Pennsylvania.