You know that feeling you get when you pull a Band-Aid from a cut too early and the whole scab comes with it and you start to bleed? That’s what leaving Franklin Street felt like. Like I was ripping the bandage off too early and if only I had a little more time to heal, it might not hurt so much.
Tuesday, Mindy had got the call from the state that made her sink into the wicker chair by the window, black portable phone pressed firmly against her ear. I was sitting on the piano bench letting Tera braid my hair. Mindy hushed me when I yelled at Tera to be more gentle.
I slept on the braid that night and it unraveled. When I woke up the next morning, everything was a tangled mess.
Mindy’s eyes were red as she helped me pack my suitcase. I sat on the bed and watched her, staring at a spot on the lilac wall. She didn’t tell me to help her like she might have if this had been an ordinary day. She just continued reaching into my drawers, neatly folding my clothes and placing them in the dark purple suitcase until the chest was empty.
“Will you visit me?” I picked up the stuffed dog that she had given me for my birthday the year I first arrived. I was too old to sleep with toy animals, but I hugged it to my chest anyway.
Mindy paused her folding. She had moved on to my closet. My pink Sunday dress was in her hands. “Yes. Of course.” She laid the dress over the suitcase and came to sit on my bed. “If the judge allows it.”
I swallowed and looked her in the eyes without smiling. She blinked fast, nervously fighting off tears. “We’re going to fight this, honey.” Mindy took my hand and squeezed until my lips twitched into a small smile. “I’ve got colleagues looking into it right now.”
I nodded. She had taken the day off work to help me pack. The law firm she worked for had granted her emergency leave. Was this really an emergency? It felt like one.
The desperation I had felt in the courtroom earlier that day had worn off, leaving me in a numb stupor that did little for my productivity in packing my belongings. Luckily, Mindy was here to help. Tera had begged her mom to let her stay home from school, but Mindy had said no.
I was glad. I didn’t want to cry in front of Tera. It had been a challenge to keep my cool in the courtroom with the demanding voices of the lawyers and the angry thump of the judge’s gavel. A challenge I failed. I flopped over on my side, laying my cheek against the floral bedspread as I remembered the hot tears that had snuck through my resolve.
Mindy stroked my hair. “He seems nice. You might like living in the country. It might be good for you.”
I wiggled around so that I could see Mindy’s face. Her lips were pursed in a slight smile. She did not think moving to the country with my father would be good for me. I grasped the thin hope that she really could do something legally to let me stay here, or at least come back soon. The fuller my suitcase became the less likely it looked that I would ever return here.
The closet was empty now. The framed pictures had been cleared off my dresser by Mindy and tucked safely in the suitcase somewhere. Glancing at the pile of shoes beside my bed, she went to go get another suitcase. I closed my eyes to keep from looking at the posters that lined the walls. Mementos from movies that Tera and I had gone to see last summer. I let the stress of the day cocoon me in a protective sleep. Mindy let me nap until Tera got home. When I woke up, my bedroom was empty of everything that made it mine. All that remained was the paint on the walls and the bedspread.
“You’re up,” Tera flicked on the light. It had gotten dark.
“Yeah.”
“You forgot this. I didn’t know if you wanted to take it or not.” In her hand was the big blue journal filled with stories we had created.
I shook my head. “You keep it. Keep writing stories.”
Tera hugged the book to her chest. “I’ll send them to you.”
I didn’t sleep at all that night.
Mindy’s head peeked into my room, flooding the space with yellow light from the hall. Too soon. This was the morning that the Band-Aid had to come off. Darkness still covered the little neighborhood when Mindy ushered a sleepy Tera and I out of the house and into the beige Volvo.
Mindy guided the car along the silent street. Tera and I sat in the back. We didn’t speak. The trunk was filled with my luggage. Three large pieces and a small tote in all. You accumulate a lot of stuff in four years.
The forty-five-minute ride to the airport seemed too short. I kept my eyes open during the drive—forcing myself to memorize the streets we passed, the sleepy face of Terra and Mindy’s worried pug brow in the mirror—despite the fog that had settled into my mind and the lulling rhythm of the car that was rocking me to sleep.
As we wound our way into the airport drop off station the lights grew brighter. Tera sat up in her seat, blinking her sleep-filled eyes. “Are you scared?” she whispered.
“Yes,” I said softly so Mindy couldn’t hear.
Tera reach over and grabbed my hand. “Write to me, okay?”
“Definitely,” I smiled for her sake. I could see now, as the lights from the airport filtered in through the car windows, that more than sleep filled her puffy eyes.
The Volvo rolled to a stop in front of the curb with a large banner above it, printed on it was the name of the airline. Mindy rested her hands on the steering wheel for a moment before unbuckling her seatbelt.
“Ready?” She twisted around in her seat to look at us. There were tears in her eyes. “My girls,” she swallowed.
“We’ll be together again,” Tera reassured her mother, squeezing my hand which she still held. I said nothing.
Mindy got out of the car and started unloading the trunk. Tera and I got out. I looked around for the face of the old social worker who would visit every month. But I didn’t see her hunched frame or her white head in the group of people on the curb.
“Mrs. Thomas?” A young woman carrying a notebook and a small overnight bag stepped off the curb and approached Mindy, her black heels clicking on the pavement. My hand stilled on the handle of the car.
The woman introduced herself to Mindy. My new social worker. Where was Ms. Jones? Oh, she was assigned a new case. A new case. I felt like a basket case. I slammed the car door. The woman looked over at me.
“You must be Gwen.”
I looked up at her, trying not to glare. “Yeah,” I swallowed. Her voice was too cheery.
She kept talking but I didn’t pay attention to what she was saying. My luggage was handed over to an airline official who was wheeling into the building on a cart.
Tera embraced me and the scab began to tear. By the time I got to Mindy I was bleeding inside. I looked back at them as long as I could while the social worker tugged me through the double doors. They were crying. I was bleeding.
I asked to go to the bathroom three times before we boarded our flight. The woman had insisted on walking me to the restrooms the first time but by the third time she left me go alone. I guess she figured I wouldn’t get lost. I let my tears fall in one of the dirty stalls, remaining in the bathroom each time as long as I thought I could get away with without the woman coming to look for me.
By the time we were allowed to board our plane my eyes were so red that anyone who could see knew I had been crying. The social worker pretended not to notice. She chattered about something as we walked to our seats. When the plane began to move she said, “You can grab my hand if you’re scared.”
“I’m not,” I said, turning to face the window. But that was a lie.
The flight was long, giving me plenty of time to come up with Band-Aid analogies and work my stomach into a knot until I felt I might throw up. When I told the social worker, Stephanie was her name, that I was nauseous, her face paled.
“Are you going to be sick?” she asked.
“Maybe,” I swallowed.
She handed me the brown paper bag from the pouch in front of her and dug a bottle of hand sanitizer from her purse. She squirted it onto her palm and rubbed it up her arms. I took the bag and leaned my head back on the seat, closing my eyes.
I must have fallen asleep because Stephanie was shaking me awake as the plane’s wheels scraped the runway. I sat up and rubbed my eyes. The bag had fallen to the floor and the nausea had passed.
“Are you ready?” she smiled sweetly.
I didn’t respond. I had said goodbye to my family three hours ago and I might never see them again. Nothing was right about the situation. I was in the middle of coming up with another comparison—flying analogy—when the stewardess opened the door to the plane and the people all around surged for the door. Stephanie stood.
“Ready?” she asked again
No.
I was going to meet my father.
