“Gusby barely has cell phones or the internet. This shit hole is so behind they probably don’t even know who the president is,” he said.
He turned his head and spit as I got up and headed toward the barn door.
Mason yelled at me as I walked out of the barn. He had no idea where I was going so it didn’t take long for him to be hot on my heels to find out.
I knew I’d regret a lot of things in my life, but there was something I had to do. I would probably hate every minute of it, but I was going to go see my mother.
“Are you kidding me?” Mason asked, trying to stop me from heading down the street my mom lived on.
Give or take a few houses that had been modernized, everything on Jasper Way looked much the same as I remembered.
I didn’t have a single happy memory here. Most of my memories consisted of drunken fights, squealing tires, and a parade of men coming in and out of the house like a revolving door.
When my childhood home was mentioned, Aunt Wanda was usually in a drunken rage and went on about how horrible my mother was. She was always horrible in Aunt Wanda’s eyes.
“What do I have to lose?” I asked. The old house came into view with every step closer. It showed signs of improvement—no more peeling paint and all the windows were intact. The house number was hanging in place—not crooked or missing a number. Even the steps were new. It looked like a whole new place.
I wiped my sweaty palms on the front of my t-shirt as I studied the house. I felt slightly sick as I came to a stop in front of the gate. I looked down at the ground where green grass had replaced the blanket of dirt scattered with rocks.
I closed my eyes for a second and took a deep breath.
Was I really standing outside the gate of my childhood home?
Was I insane to think that I could really come back?
“Kendall, what’s there to figure out? Your mom might be standing in there right now on the other side of that door,” Mason warned me.
He knew at one time the mere mention of my mother would send me running for the hills. She was never someone I wanted to talk about, let alone see in person.
Mason’s face was pale. He looked close to grabbing me and running for it.
“Who are you?” a tiny voice called out.
Mason and I looked at each other confused. We knew it was the voice of a child, but we couldn’t see anyone. Then a small, brown-haired girl slid out from underneath the porch.
Her long braids danced side to side as she made it to her feet. She stared up at us with big blue eyes and round cheeks. She was cute.
She wiped her nose with the back of her hand and pulled eyeglasses from her shirt pocket. She shoved them on and used her pointer finger to slide them up her nose.
“I said who are you,” she demanded.
Mason kneeled down, getting on her level. “How old are you?” he asked, avoiding her question and plying her with one of his own.
“Can’t you see I’m five?” She was not amused by him or the smell of cheap booze on his breath. She dramatically waved her hand in front of her face, scrunching her nose in disgust.
“You’re very small for five. When I was your age I was two heads taller,” he said.
“If I had a giant fro like yours I’d probly be taller too,” she said, letting out an accomplished giggle. She clutched at her belly and fell in an exaggerated fit of laughter.
I couldn’t help but laugh. The girl’s unintentional rudeness and the look on Mason’s face in response was priceless.
I wondered if my mother was inside and what she was doing or thinking at this moment.
“So, who are you?” she asked, jumping back up. She tipped her head back, getting a really good look at Mason and me.
“I’m Mason. I used to live around here long before you even existed. Way before you was annoying the shit out of your mother,” he said, looking up at the house.
I slapped him in the arm. “That was rude.”
The little girl removed her glasses and shoved them back in her pocket. She gave Mason a once-over, then spit on his leg before taking off in a flash and slipping back under the porch.
Mason cursed and grumbled in irritation, wiping at his leg. “It’s not even funny, Kendall. What kind of kid does that? That’s no kid, that’s the spawn of Satan.”
This only made me laugh even harder. Mason glared at me as I covered my mouth, trying to stifle the laughter.
A familiar screech filled the air. Mason and I immediately looked at the front door. We both knew that sound all too well. The door still screamed in pain just like when we were kids.
I looked away as fear took over. I couldn’t bring myself to look at her. Little by little I forced myself to take her in. First the black strappy sandals, with perfectly polished red toenails. She was wearing a pair of black dress pants and a red blouse that clung to her tiny waist.
I bit my lip as I took it all in—my eyes fixed on her face. It was my mother. I was overcome with emotion. She looked the same as I remembered her, only now, it looked like she took better care of herself.
“Hi there,” she said when she saw us. “Have either of you seen a little bitty girl with pigtails?”
She started down the steps.
“She’s under the porch,” Mason spoke up. He was stunned at seeing my mother after all these years.
“Dixie Jean!” she yelled, getting down on all fours. “What did I tell you about crawling under there?”
The little girl came out quickly at the sound of her voice. She latched on to my mother, holding tight to her as she stood back up.
“Thank you,” she said, smiling at the two of us.
“No problem,” Mason said.
I felt like the life was being sucked out of me. I tried to form words, but the words wouldn’t come.
“Momma, if I promise to never go down there again can I have some cookies?” Little Dixie asked, playing with her hair.
This was my sister. My mother had another kid.
“Of course. Now off into the house. I’m sure there’s a reason these two are standing out here. Shoo,” she said, hurrying her off.
Dixie stopped on the stairs looking back at us. She nodded her head, a big smile on her face.
“He said his name is Mason. He said he used to live around here. And I spit on him because he said I was annoying,” Dixie said. She let out a giggle and ran inside.
I looked at my mother. Her expression shifted from pleasant to total confusion. She studied Mason closely. Her eyes widened and she brought her hands to her mouth as realization sunk in. She instantly looked at me next.
Mason grabbed me by the arm, sensing my hesitation. My legs felt like rubber.
She stepped closer to me. “Kendall?” All the color drained from her face and she screamed before dropping at my feet and covering her face with trembling hands.
Mason held on to me. Neither one of us knew what to do and I was in a daze. Alarmed by my mother’s scream, the neighbors came to their doors to see what was going on.
Little Dixie ran down the stairs to our mother to see what was wrong with her.
She looked back up at me, tears mixed with mascara streaming down her face.
There were no words to describe her reaction. It wasn’t what I expected.
She was hysterically sobbing at my feet.
“Say something,” Mason whispered, jabbing me in the side.
I couldn’t speak. I was dumbfounded.
“Joy-Ann?” Mason started with.
She nodded, getting back on her feet. Dixie climbed the stairs and took a seat. She was crying, too. The poor child was confused and scared for her mom. I watched her as she wiped away her tears. She reminded me of myself at her age.
By some miracle, my legs worked well enough to make my way to Dixie. I took her hand and sat down beside her.