Sorta Like A Rock Star Part 14

We take a cab to Ricky's house, where I tell Donna the whole story as Father Chee makes coffee.

I can tell that Donna is mad at me for not telling her how bad things were with my mom and my living on h.e.l.lo Yellow for months, because, very loudly, she says, "Months?"

And when I nod, she asks me why I didn't tell her earlier, and I start to cry again because I am so weak and stupid-even though I'm sorta mad at her for not figuring it all out earlier. Why else would I need to take a shower at her house every morning?

Father Chee serves us coffee, and then Donna makes a few phone calls.

I hear her talking to the police, and then to some sorta private detective.

At one point I hear her say, "Money is not an issue."

Donna's young a.s.sistant shows up without makeup and without her hair done, making her look less intimidating.

"You're getting a raise," Donna says to her a.s.sistant.

"Are you okay?" Jessica says to me, and I can tell that she is sincere. I remember thinking how much I hated Jessica in the past, so I start crying even harder now because I'm such a little girl.

"If we're not back, don't tell Ricky anything when he gets up in the morning," Donna says to Jessica. "Tell him I had to go to trial early, let him eat whatever he wants for breakfast, and then take him to school. Oh, yeah. Feed the dog a can, and then let him out. Okay?"

Jessica nods, and then FC, me, and Donna are in her Mercedes driving back to h.e.l.lo Yellow.

We call Mom's name and search the parking lot with flashlights.

Mom's not in the parking lot.

Mom's not on h.e.l.lo Yellow.

"Grab your things," Donna tells me, so I get my trash bags from under h.e.l.lo Yellow and Father Chee takes them to Donna's car. "Where else might she have gone?"

"She might have met a man?" I say hopefully, because it's better than any alternative of which I can think. "She was always trying to find a man with an apartment so we'd have a home."

"Did she ever leave you alone for an entire night before?" Donna asks.

"No," I say, but then feel like I shouldn't be lying now. "Well, not very often. Sometimes. But tonight is different. I feel like something very bad might have happened. I sorta just know it somehow. You have to trust me on this. Seriously, Donna, I'm really scared."

"Okay," Donna says, and I can see in her eyes that she is worried-that this is bad. Very bad. So terribly messed up.

The three of us drive around aimlessly looking for Mom.

We cruise the ghetto, all of the major Childress streets slide past the pa.s.senger-side window; we pa.s.s all the bars and liquor stores of which we can think and then go back to the bus lot when it is time for the bus drivers to pick up schoolchildren.

Mom's boss confirms that my mother did not show up for work today, and none of the other bus drivers have seen her. Mom didn't call out sick either.

I start to feel as though I am very alone in the world.

When we get back to Donna's house, Ricky is gone, and BBB has shredded the arm of Donna's leather recliner.

When Jessica comes back from dropping off Ricky, she apologizes for the mess, and Donna says, "My fault. I forgot to tell you to lock up Bobby Big Boy whenever you leave the house."

Even though Donna doesn't say anything about my dog ruining her expensive furniture, seeing the damage makes me cry again for some reason.

I'm so tired.

After a few phone calls, Donna convinces the local police to come interview me. She leaves Father Chee in charge, and then the lawyers shower and dress and get ready to go to Donna's ongoing murder trial.

Father Chee just sits next to me on the leather couch BBB ripped earlier, and we take turns petting B Thrice.

FC doesn't say anything stupid, like most adults would, but just sits with me, which I appreciate.

Right after Donna and Jessica leave, two nice uniformed officers come and ask me a bunch of questions about where Mom and I were living, Mom's drinking problem, and her long list of past boyfriends, all of whom I describe in great detail, while the cops write it all down.

Donna told me to tell the truth, and so I do.

I give all of the same answers to the private detective Donna hired, who shows up seconds after the police leave. He's a twitchy man with a big yellow mustache and acne scars all over his face. He also writes down my answers-all the secrets I have been keeping for months now.

When we finish, it's almost noon, which means that-besides the hour or so of sleep I got on the bus-I have been up for thirty-some hours straight.

"Are you okay?" Father Chee asks me.

"I'm so tired," I say, and then because I really need to, I snuggle up to my Man of G.o.d, resting my head on his shoulder, and cry some more.

Somehow I fall asleep.

PART THREE.

Puke and Cry.

CHAPTER 13.

It takes them nine days to find my mother's body, but when they do, the story is the lead on every TV news station and is on the front page of every local paper, especially since my mother's killer is immediately linked to the other rape-murders that had happened in the area, so I'm sure you know all of the gruesome, unreal, s.a.d.i.s.tic, and childhood-ending details. I'm not going to list these details here, because I don't want to give the facts any more credence than they already have.

I'm pretty numb now.

Maybe even numb enough to be an official nihilist like Joan of Old.

For some things there are no explanations-no reasons, and so, when these things happen, there is nothing to talk about really. And it is best not to dwell on said things for too long, because you will find that life has no real meaning if you do.

Maybe you think I am only saying this because I am in a state of denial or shock, but that's just not the case. I'm being honest, maybe for the first time.

With Father Chee and Donna, I go to identify the body, even though Donna says I don't have to.

For some reason, I need to see.

I insist.

I'm a real cat about it.

Maybe I want to know, just so I won't be wondering for the rest of my life-like I do with Dad. And as selfish as it might seem, knowing that my mother is definitely dead is better than thinking she might be out there somewhere having abandoned me in an effort to live an easier life without her stupid daughter to worry about.

I go to the morgue.

I see the facts.

It's worse than anything I could have ever imagined.

My howling stops them from uncovering more than Mom's head and shoulders.

I don't want to see any more.

I crumble.

I melt.

I evaporate.

They cover what's left of my naked mother back up with a sheet and push her into a wall, which is when I realize that she is in some sorta freezer.

I do not talk for three days.

I sit.

I stare.

I see my mother's naked dead body in a dark freezer.

Sometimes I shake.

It seems like I am in a constant nightmare.

Donna brings me soup and crackers and toast-and takes care of BBB's needs.

At my request, Donna pays to have my mother cremated.

Fire. Warmth. It's better this way.

I promise to pay Donna back, and she says it's not necessary.

The very next day, at my request, Father Chee performs a private ceremony at the bench where Mom and I used to feed ducks.

BBB is the only other person invited to the ceremony, because this special childhood place is mine alone-it's what I have left, so I don't want to share it with anyone except FC and BBB. Not even Donna and Ricky are invited.

Father Chee does a very good job eulogizing my mom, especially since he never met her. He says a lot of things about Mom going to heaven and my seeing her again, which is pretty nice, especially since Mom was never baptized or confirmed as a member of the Catholic Church-and I'm pretty sure she never went to confession-so I know FC is supposed to say Mom was going to h.e.l.l and all.

Maybe the Pope is p.i.s.sed?

I don't care.

FC says he doesn't care either.

I'm not going to tell you exactly what Father Chee says at Mom's funeral, but it was very beautiful-as beautiful as Private Jackson's best haiku, which is saying something. True.

We spread Mom's ashes on the water and gra.s.s around the bench-and I pray flowers will bloom there in the spring, which is a girly and maybe silly sentiment, but a nice thought too.

CHAPTER 14.

Donna takes me in, buys me a bed, gives me my own room, and begins sorting through the legal red tape involved for her to become my legal guardian, which is complicated since no one knows if my father is still alive or where he might be-and I don't know of any living family I may or may not have since my mom left her home out west early on in life, hitchhiked east at the age of thirteen, and never told me anything about her parents whom she hated and refused to even name. I never even knew my own mother's maiden name.

Donna says she knows enough people to keep me out of the foster care system at least until I turn eighteen this summer, provided that I will state before a judge that I want to stay with Donna and Ricky, which I do.

The police arrest a man with huge brown gla.s.ses and strange hair.

I am sure you read all about him in the papers or see him on television.

His face is everywhere.

He becomes famous.

He admits to doing what he did, but his lawyer stresses that the whole thing was random, an accident even, because my mother's killer went off his medications, but is now back on meds, as if that matters at all to anyone.

Along with the families of the other victims, the prosecution contacts me and says I will be made to testify, which I will hate doing, even though I have Donna to help me out-and I'm not going to tell you about the trial, because it will prove to be too horrible.

My mother's killer uses my name whenever he talks to the press.

Through the media he apologizes to all of his victims' family members, but the only name I really hear him say is Amber Appleton.

He says he is sick.

He says he deserves whatever he gets-and his unfeeling mechanical voice makes me shiver.

He has a long criminal history.