Life's A Cappella (8 page)

When I got home that night, I had found my mother inside our mobile home passed out on the floor with her face and hair plastered to the vomit around her. I checked to see if she was breathing and felt a small stab of disappointment to see that she was. I thought about leaving her there, but the truth was that I had always been the parent in our relationship, and leaving her like that somehow felt wrong. So I helped her up while she swore at me and tried to smack me for moving her. But I kept moving, and with each step I took with her I mentally distanced myself from her, and the hatred that was so prominent I thought my heart would turn to black stone at any moment. I had to leave, I knew. And I would. One day I’d leave her and she’d finally be dead to me.

Our friends had arrived before us and had already claimed a spot on the ground, close to the stage, just outside the mosh pit area. Barefoot and with beer in hand, we talked and listened to the opening act. Leaning against Trent’s chest, I looked up at the sky, watching it change colors as the sun finished its descent. A few drops of rain fell on my face as I watched the dark clouds draw closer to us. It wouldn’t rain hard or long. Just a quick spring shower, typical South Florida weather.

I listened to Trent and Jermaine complain about being dragged to the concert and I rolled my eyes. “You boys are such martyrs,” I teased.

“We deserve a prize,” Jermaine added.

“Prize, my ass,” I responded, and Brianna laughed.

The crowd around us began to thicken as the opening act introduced Imagine Dragons. As they made their way to the stage, we got to our feet to welcome them, jumping and screaming. Without delay, they started to play, instantaneously energizing their fans. While dancing, I noticed the mosh pit wasn’t like the mosh pits I was used to. Rather than the punches and slams I expected to see at a rock concert, people were simply jumping and dancing together. In unison. Fueled by the music and ambience the band created, I grabbed Trent and Camilla and led us to the mosh pit with the rest of our friends close behind.

Side by side with the most important people in my life, I sang. Drunk from a euphoria alcohol could not replicate, Trent twirled me as I lifted my face to the sky and laughed.

I could never pinpoint what it was about music that captivated me so completely. It was the only outlet that allowed me to cease to be me and just be. It transported me to a place where worries and sadness did not exist. And with the band playing for us, that’s exactly what I did. I was elevated to a place of peace I otherwise had no way of getting to.

My heart sank a little when I realized they were playing the last song on their set. As much as I enjoyed my reality, I didn’t want the music or the night to end. I wanted to continue to let go of everything and simply fly for just a little longer.

After the concert we went to a nearby 24-hour diner. We didn’t talk much. Maybe there wasn’t anything that needed to be said. Maybe Imagine Dragons had already told us everything we needed to hear. Or maybe I was just being corny.

Back at Trent’s apartment, Camilla slept off her drunkenness on his couch while I cozied myself close to Trent in his bed. I kept calling it his apartment or his room or his bed, but it kind of felt like mine too. That was all Trent’s doing and a part of Trent I treasured. Almost from the beginning he made me feel like I was a part of him.

***

The following morning, I filled Trent’s and my bowl with cereal and, to my delight, the perfect amount of milk while Camilla searched Trent’s apartment for soda and medicine to relieve her headache.

“I’m gonna be sick,” Camilla told us as she put her head down on the kitchen table.

“Shoulda drank more water,” Trent reminded her.

“Go be annoying somewhere else,” she retorted, and Trent lifted his chin at her and gave a pathetic Chewbacca type grumble, which forced a smile out of her.

Just as the toast popped out of the toaster, someone knocked on the door, but I continued to butter the bread while Trent answered the door.

“No, Gonz,” Trent told whoever was at the door.

And like a nightmare, I heard it. The name I hadn’t associated myself with and didn’t want to recognize being called. Camilla looked at me alarmed, watching me inch my way to the front door and step in front of Trent.

“Are you Jordyn Kerr?” a police officer asked me and I stared at him.

Was I Jordyn Kerr? I heard myself repeat the name and cringed. I immediately hated him for accusing me of being Jordyn. And I hated Jordyn and all the memories that encompassed her. Jordyn, poor little Jordy with the bruises and mismatched socks. Poor little Jordy with the mom who would show up to parent-teacher meetings too drunk to form a coherent thought. Poor little Jordy? Fuck her and the insecurities she carried with her like an essential piece of clothing.

“No,” I squared my shoulders and told the policeman as he showed me a picture of myself at eighteen, just before my escape years ago. “You have the wrong person.”

“Ms. Kerr—”

“My name is Erin Lewis,” I interrupted the man Trent had called Gonz.

Gonz dragged his fat fingers through his balding hair and said, “Before you were Erin, you were Jordyn. I have the papers,” he told me, handing them to me. He smelled like old coffee, I noted, wondering why I was noticing such minute details. In a matter of moments, Camilla and Trent would finally know me and hate me. Fat fingers, the smell of coffee, who cared when the tiny bit of normalcy in my life was being stripped away from me?

I took the papers from him, holding my composure, not allowing myself the luxury of a meltdown. “Well, then,” I told Gonz coolly. “Why bother with formalities if you already know your answer?” I deliberately turned away from him and Trent, not wanting to look at Trent.

Camilla searched my face, but I didn’t give away what I was feeling. She had no idea how badly I wanted to cry. To curl up into a little ball and cry. But I couldn’t, so I sat down on Trent’s couch and waited to see what Gonz wanted with me.

“Ms. Kerr,” Gonz began, “I regret to inform you that your mother has passed.”

“What?” I laughed, a forceful burst without any real emotion attached to it. Why would anyone go through any kind of trouble to find someone who obviously didn’t want to be found just tell them their mother had died? A mother the person in hiding obviously didn’t want any part of. It seemed like a stupid waste of tax dollars. Unless she had done something to instigate her death. Which, in all honesty, wouldn’t surprise me.

“Five months ago.” Gonz looked at me, gauging my reaction. And what was my reaction? Indifference.

I stood up so I could be at the same eye level as Gonz when I spoke to him. “I appreciate the trouble you must have gone through to find me, but my mother and I are estranged,” I said with all the confidence I could muster up. “She’s been dead to me for much longer than five months.”

“Yes, okay,” Gonz said, looking nervously from me to Trent, and I sighed in frustration. I wanted to shake him, demand that he spit out whatever he had to say. It didn’t matter anyway. I’d be leaving Miami soon enough, starting my new life elsewhere.

“You have a sister,” Gonz told me, almost making what he said sound like an apology.

“No,” I laughed, “I don’t.”

“She’s four years old,” Gonz continued as if I had not just spoken.

“What? That’s impossible,” I shook my head at him, trying to do the math. “She wasn’t pregnant when I left,” I said, not realizing I had spoken.

“How long ago did you leave?” he asked.

“I dunno,”I lied. I knew exactly how much time had lapsed since my escape: four years, seven months, and twenty-one days. “About four and a half years ago.. But she didn’t tell me she was pregnant,” I demanded, already knowing she wouldn’t have. Resigned, I looked down at my hands waiting for Gonz to continue.

“Her name is Shayna Kerr, like you she has your mother’s last name. The police heard about you and it took them five months to find you. Your sister has been in foster care since.”

“How did she die?” I asked, because my mother’s death made more sense than having a sister.

“Overdose,” he said, and I nodded. “A neighbor found her a couple days after her death and called the police. Shayna was with her those few days.”

“My sister?” I asked and he nodded. My sister. More than ever I hated the only mother God had given me. She had no idea what it meant to be a mom, to be supportive or loyal, to be compassionate or kind. She wasn’t fit to be a parent, but that didn’t stop her from having another one to call her own. Another child to screw up. “So what now?” I asked.

“We don’t know who the father is, so that leaves you as Shayna’s only living relative,” Gonz told me, his eyes studying me. I shut down, not allowing any emotion to cross my face.

“So I have to go to Alabama to get her?”

Gonz nodded. “There’s some stuff you’ll have to take care of so you can become her legal guardian, but yeah, they wanted you to go over there soon as you could. The man I spoke to, Miller, is worried about Shayna and thinks her being with family will be better for her.”

Family? I wanted to laugh. Family, like I had any idea what that meant. And now I was supposed to take care of a child? Who’d probably been exposed to the same bullshit I had gone through. But worse, she’d been locked up with her dead mother for days. Shit.

Camilla and Trent tried to speak to me after Gonz left, but I didn’t hear them. I only had one thing on my mind; escape. I had to leave. They’d have too many questions, none of which I had the answer to. Already I felt my restraint begin to waver. I had to get away from them. From myself.

As much as I hated my mother, I hated myself more. This life I had created had all been an illusion, and I should never have allowed myself to feel anything for anyone. Now I felt too much.

Trent grabbed my shoulders, a far distance embrace that made my heart hurt.

“What’s going on Erin? Jordyn?” He shook his head at me in disbelief. What must be going through his head? He had opened himself up to me and I had thrown my lack of trust in him in his face. “Whatever.”

“Let me go, Trent,” I told him and he did, so I made my way to the door so I could leave.

“Wait, you’re leaving?” he asked, but I ignored him. “No explanations?” he yelled, but I didn’t stop, so he got in front of me. “I deserve better than this. Fuck, Cam deserves better than this.”

The truth of his words hit me like a punch to the stomach. But with my own survival at risk, I squared my shoulders, knowing he was right, but ready to fight nonetheless. It would be easier if we fought. He would hate me and my leaving would be less painful. “You deserve better?” I asked mockingly, but wrapped my arms protectively around my own waist, knowing how badly I was about to hurt myself. “Screw you, Trent, and your stupid holier than thou notions. You deserve nothing more than I’m willing to give you and I’m not giving you a damn thing.” I tried to brush past him, but he wouldn’t let me. “I’m leaving while your ego is still intact,” I told him levelly, hating myself for the venom I spewed out of my mouth.

With my arms crossed, I stared at Trent defiantly. I didn’t want to leave, but I couldn’t stay.

Finally resolved, he asked me, “Will you call me later?”

“No,” I responded, because I wouldn’t. I saw the confusion and hurt in his eyes and was grateful when they turned to anger. He walked me to his door and slammed it as soon as I passed.

Once I was in my car I plunged into a state of depression so quickly and overbearing I could hardly breathe. I reminded myself to inhale and exhale, repeatedly inhale and then exhale, while I grabbed my phone to play Eminem’s Rock Bottom. And that’s what it all came down to; my life was nothing more than desolate promises and shattered dreams.

Chapter 14

Erin

Somehow Camilla made it to my apartment before me and was waiting for me at my door. I stared at her, focusing all my energy on her, willing her to leave while wishing she’d stay.

“I’m not leaving,” she told me with more determination than I’d ever heard from her. “I can wait outside your apartment until you feel sorry for me or you can just let me in now.”

I walked past her, unlocking the door and leaving it open for her. She followed me in quietly and watched me pour myself a glass of water. I sat on my couch, feeling aged.

“What’s going on, Erin?” Camilla sat next to me. The tenderness in her voice almost undid me.

With my spine stiffened, I let out a sigh. What’s going on? Oh, you know, the regular shit storm I call life. I almost laughed at the thought. Camilla continued to look at me, confused and eager to help. On a sigh, I broke the silence between us. “You know my real name. You heard my mom overdosed while my sister watched. What else do you want to know?” I asked desperately. “I’m backwoods red neck white trash,” I tried to laugh, but failed. “My life was shit and I wanted a new life so I made one.

“I never wanted to see my mom again or even think about what I left behind. I was doing a pretty damn good job at it too,” I faltered. “My mother didn’t care about anything but her drugs, whether it came from a prescription bottle or needle, it didn’t matter. That’s what she lived for, what she’s always lived for. She’d sell her daughter for her next fix.”

“Erin—”

“No, you wanted to know,” I interrupted. “I’ve lived on the streets, alone in strange apartments with strange men. I’ve been hit with fists, beer bottles, you name it.” I saw Camilla inch towards me, probably to hug me, and I put my hands up to stop her. “Don’t you do that. Don’t you dare. I am not broken.” I shook my head vehemently at her, not wanting to acknowledge my own lies.
Not broken
, I almost laughed. I was broken beyond repair.

“No, not broken,” she agreed, looking at me squarely in the eyes. “Brave, yes. And a bit too pig-headed and proud for your own good though,” she said, and I smiled, a sad, sloppy smile. “Let me and Trent help you.”

“Trent?” I asked, and she nodded. “You saw him when I left. He hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you, dumb ass.” She smiled at me, a smile that radiated all the goodness that was Camilla. “He’s angry or all butt-hurt you pushed him away when you needed him.”