The Dark Light of Day (4 page)

“Sure. Everyone knows Aunt Priscilla. You can go ask at the
corner store or at the motel up the road. They all know her.”

“Okay, Miss Ford,” Miss Thornton said. “Here’s what’s going to
happen: I’m required to make certain you aren’t living alone, so I
need to be sure that this ‘Aunt Priscilla’
,”
and she quoted the air with her fingers, “exists and is capable of caring for you. I intend to speak to the people you claim know her, by sometime this afternoon. If they
do indeed know ‘Aunt Priscilla’ and can vouch for her existence, I
will be back tomorrow afternoon to interview her regarding the process of becoming your legal custodian. In the meantime, here’s my card.” She handed me a generic white card with the Florida state seal in the corner. “If by chance she arrives earlier, please have her call me.”

I reached out and took her card as she turned and started down the steps.

She turned to me again. “And Miss Ford? If for any reason ‘Aunt
Priscilla’ isn’t capable of your care, you will have to come with me.”
For the first time since she’d rung the bell, there was something
resembling concern in her voice, like maybe she’d cared about her job once, but over time had forgotten how to keep doing so.

The concern went away just as quickly as it had arrived. “Are you certain you don’t want to save me some time and trouble in this heat and just pack a bag now?”

I shook my head.

“Okay, then. I will be back, Miss Ford,” she assured me. She
opened the car door and maneuvered herself behind the steering wheel of her much-too-small-for-her-body-mass silver Prius before pulling off down the road, in the direction of the corner store and motel.

I ran back into the house before the dust kicked up by her tires
could settle. I opened my closet and pulled clothes from their
hangers, opening drawers, and shoving as much stuff as I could into my backpack. It wouldn’t take her long to verify that no one knew this fictional Aunt Priscilla. I had to get the hell out of here before she came back and dragged me to yet another foster home.

Paid childcare, without the care.
To me, that was what foster care really was. It funded drug habits and paid rents.

There was no way in hell I was going back in.

My experiences in the system varied between sharing a room
with
a boy who skinned cats—who I was convinced would suffocate me in my sleep—to listening to Greg, the older boy who slept in the
bottom bunk of our four bunk room, angrily masturbating every night and cursing his parents when he came.

Then there was Sophie, the only friend I had ever made in foster
care. She was small and quiet with dark hair and large brown eyes.
Her skin always looked naturally tanned. She looked like a doll, from
what I heard about them, anyway. I’d never actually owned one
myself. Sophie shared the same vacant, hopeless look as I had. Her family history and her upbringing weren’t all that different from my own.

I recognized a kindred spirit in her.

One morning I’d found her naked on the couch, her eyes lifeless and unfocused. Bruises marred every inch of her little twelve-year-old body. Her once-olive skin was transparent. I could see all of her blue veins beneath the surface. Her wrists were bound behind her
back with a long dirty sock, a needle sat in an ashtray beside her.
Blood dripped from the tip and pooled in the bottom of the clear glass. Dick and Denise, our foster parents, used her as their entertainment for the previous evening. They’d doped her with drugs bought with the money given to them by the state for her care before using her as a toy for their sadistic sex games.

They probably didn’t even know she was dead until later that day.

By that time, I was long gone.

That was the first time I ran away from a foster home. It certainly wasn’t the last.

After throwing my feet into my old scuffed cowboy boots and checking for the knife I kept clipped on the inside of the right one, I secured the straps of my backpack onto my shoulders and ran into
Nan’s room to grab her charm bracelet off her nightstand. I nabbed
my
weed from the coffee table and slipped out the back sliding glass
doors.

I made a run for the beach.

***

It would probably be a while before Miss Thornton gave up on
me and moved her attention to other, more worthy degenerates.
Until then, I figured it would be best if I stayed away from home for at
least a few days. My plan was simple: keep a low profile, and
become
invisible. I had a few bucks, but I knew it wouldn’t last long. I had
planned on selling some of Nan’s lesser-beloved items, but that
would have to wait until the coast was clear.

I decided to drop by Bubba’s Bar just before closing to see if
they’d consider hiring me to sweep floors or wait tables. I highly doubted that Miss Thornton would look for me at a bar on a Monday night.

After Bubba’s my focus would have to be trying to find a spot to crash for a few nights. A hotel was out of the question. It was the peak of summer, and all the rooms in town were sure to be booked by the flock of tourists. One night in any of them would have cost more than ten times the twenty bucks in my pocket. The beach wasn’t safe either. The tides were unpredictable and could sneak up when you least expected it. More than once, a tourist taking a beer nap had been pulled out into the Gulf.

I plopped down in the hot sand among the blankets of tourists and used my backpack as a pillow. I was hiding in plain sight. For a while, I watched people stalling out their rented jet skis and trying to maneuver their wind surfers without falling on their asses. Moms and dads cheered for their teenagers, watching as they finally got the hang of it and caught some wind, which took them just a few feet before they lost control and ended up back in the water. The moms
and dads kept cheering, even when the kids gave up on their new
sport and dragged their weary, defeated and worn-out bodies to shore. It
was just windsurfing. Why were they so proud? Why all the
cheering? Besides graduating high school and seeing the look on Nan’s face that morning as I dressed in my cap and gown, I’d never had anyone be proud of me.

If I wanted to learn something, I taught myself. There was no one there to cheer for the significant things, let alone the small ones.

I stayed on the beach until sunset, watching the tourists’ skin change from pasty white to lobster red by the time the sun and moon swapped places. I took the back roads to Bubba’s and lit a joint on the way. Headlights appeared on the dark road behind me. I moved
to the side to allow the vehicle to pass so I didn’t end up like the
possum I just had to step over. Instead of driving by, a superman blue lifted truck slowed and pulled up beside me. It was so tall that my head was aligned with the tops of the tires.

“Alone on a dark road?” I couldn’t see Owen Fletcher way up
there, but I recognized his voice. “You gotta either be wanting to get attacked by coyotes, or you’re getting lit.”

He hung his head out of the truck window. His black baseball cap was on backwards, dark unruly hair peeking out from beneath the rim, the sleeves of his white t-shirt were rolled up with a pack of Marlboro Reds—the logo visible through the thin fabric—folded into one of them.

Owen had always been friendly, and he’d always made a point of making small talk with me when we found ourselves in the same
place at the same time. But then, he did that with everyone. I
suspected
it was partly because of who his family was. Maybe, they were
grooming him for a career in politics. When you have relatives embedded in every position of power to be had in a county, it’s not common to just go off and become the school janitor.

I raised my joint into the air so he could see that it was the
getting lit part and not the wanting to be attacked by coyotes that I was up to. I breathed out the smoke I was holding deep inside my lungs. It burned, but I didn’t cough. Owen laughed. “I was hoping it was that
one.” He put the truck in park, leaned over and opened the
passenger door. “Get on in, girl, and pass that shit.”

I wouldn’t exactly call Owen my friend, but I could’ve put him
on the short list of people who didn’t make me cringe with either
fear
or anger when they spoke. At least not too much. I made up my
mind to get into his truck when the hundredth mosquito of the night started making a meal of my arms through my sleeves. At the rate they were biting, it wouldn’t be long before I had no blood left.

Owen reached down and offered his hand to help me up. I
shook
my head, refusing his assistance, and leapt up into the truck like I was mounting a horse. I put one foot on the bottom lip of the tire,
and I swung my other foot over the top of it before I shifted sideways and slid my ass into the bucket seat.

“Impressive,” Owen said, acknowledging my useless skill. I was more impressed by my ability to yet again avoid human contact.
“Even Billy Rae still needs my help to get up in here. Then again,
that fat-ass has an extra seventy-five pounds on him that gravity doesn’t like to give up on so easily.”

I passed him the joint and he took a long hit, blowing the smoke out of his nose and mouth.

Owen put the truck in drive and started back down the dark
road.
The humming of the huge tires on the sketchy pavement echoed
inside the cabin of the truck. The dashboard vibrated and the blue light of the clock became blurrier as Owen increased speed.

“Uncle Cole told me what happened to your granny. I’m sorry,” Owen said, as he passed the joint back to me. The sudden change in
conversation caught me off guard. Owen’s apology sounded
genuine, but the mention of Nan brought back a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I pushed it out and shrugged my shoulders.

“Thanks,” I said before I changed the subject. “What are you
doing out here anyway? Don’t you got some girls to be chasing?”

Owen laughed. “Abby, Abby.” He put his hand over his heart
and feigned being hurt. “You know the ladies come to me, not the other
way around. The only skirt I ever chased was yours, sophomore
year, and I do recall you telling me—and I’m quoting now—‘You’re not
my type, Owen, and you never will be’!” He spoke my part in a
high-pitched feminine voice, but his attempt at mimicking me sounded more like Julia Child’s voice than it did mine.

“I said that?” I asked, even though I knew damn well I had. I
also remembered telling him to fuck off, and all he did was stand
there and laugh like he’d never been told off before, like my refusal was amusing to him.

“Oh yes, you did. You broke my poor little hillbilly heart that day.” He stuck out his bottom lip in a phony pout.

“Okay. I may have said that, but I sure as hell don’t
sound
like
that.”

“That’s true. Your voice is much lower and much, much
angrier.” This time he used a voice closer to Cookie Monster when he recited my rejection.

“Well see, that worked out for the best, ‘cause here we are,
still… friends?” I used the term ‘friends’ for lack of a word describing “a person who didn’t disgust me as much as others.”

“Of course, we’re friends, Abby.” Owen flashed his big, brilliant,
straight-toothed white smile. I could see how girls fell at his feet.
Girls
who were interested in boys, anyway. I certainly was not one of
them—
not that I was into girls or anything. Sometimes, I’d think I just
wasn’t put together like everyone else was. Other times I’d think that I was put together the same way they were, only they’d been left whole while I’d been torn down and put back together over and over again.

Most kids in my high school were into cheerleading and football,
trucks and fishing, and the rodeo. Most of all, they were into each
other.

The only thing I was into was self-preservation.

But if you were a
normal
teenage girl, you definitely would’ve
thought Owen was a good-looking guy. His emerald green eyes
were so brilliant they looked like colored contacts. His skin was tanned from spending most of his days out on his fishing boat. Casting fishing nets all day was no doubt the reason for his well-developed biceps and forearms that flexed as he turned the wheel.

The roads were so dark even the headlights didn’t seem like they did much to light up the night. Owen had grown up in Coral Pines
and probably knew those roads like the back of his hand. He
probably could’ve driven them without any lights on at all.

We each took a few more hits. I snuffed out the cherry in
between my thumb and forefinger and then placed the joint back into the front zip pocket of my backpack.

“So, where you heading?” Owen asked.

“Bubba’s. Gonna see about a job.” Also, Bubba’s was the only place open late, and I didn’t want to tell him I didn’t have anywhere to go just yet.

“You gonna sleep over there, too?” He laughed and pointed at the backpack at my feet.

“I was at the beach for a while... you know towels, sunscreen
and such,” I lied. Owen eyed me skeptically, but accepted my answer and didn’t press for more.

“You want me to take you over there?” he asked. “It’s not far.”

“Sure.” It was still early, but I figured I could get something to eat before finding a place to crash for the night.

I looked over at Owen as he watched the road, his face
illuminated by the blue dashboard lights. I guess he could feel my stare. “What?” he asked with a smile.