Shattered (4 page)

“Let’s not think about that.” Lola reaches for a tube of lip gloss. “We need to focus on making this the best night ever.”

“Right.” I slip in my silver hoop earrings, then dab on some mascara. “Uh-oh, we need to run to catch the bus.”

Lola makes sure she’s got the tickets, then we grab our bags and head over to the bus stop. “This is actually more fun than driving,” Lola says as we get onto the bus. “More of an adventure.”

“And we don’t have to worry about parking.” But as we take our seats and ride toward the metro station, I feel guilty. My mom would have a cow if she could see me right now. She would totally flip out. When an older guy starts to eye us, trying to make conversation, I start to feel nervous. But Lola seems totally at ease. And I try to follow her lead. Fortunately the guy gets off at the next stop.

“I have an idea,” I say quietly to her. “Let’s speak only in French.”

“Huh?” Her brow creases in confusion.

“Just for fun. We’ll pretend we’re French tourists.”

She giggles. “Okay, but you’ll have to help me.” My French is superior to Lola’s because I’ve been taking French since middle school, and this is only her second year. But we do our best, and ironically, it’s like we create this bubble that no one tries to break into. As we board the metro tram, we continue to jabber at each other in French, giggling at our private joke as we point out all the “sights” along the way. And it’s weird. As we pretend to be seeing things for the first time, it becomes more interesting—almost like we really are in a foreign country.

All in all, our commute into the city is seamless, safe, and fun. So much so, I almost wish my mom could see us now. Almost. We get out right in front of the Coliseum. Easy breezy.

“That was awesome.” Lola fishes the concert tickets from her bag.

“Oui! Fantastique!
”

“Okay, back to English now,” she tells me as we get in line.

Before long we’re inside, and keeping my promise to Mom, I buy Lola and me some pizza. Okay, so it’s not delivery. And it’s not at home. At least I can honestly say we had pizza—even if it did come from one of the vendors. Soon we’re in our seats, feeling happy, and the first band begins to play. Although they’re pretty good, I find that I’m distracted. But at least Lola’s having a great time.

“Did you already put your phone on silent mode?” Lola asks me as she’s turning hers off.

“Good idea.” I reach into my bag only to discover my phone’s battery is dead. I can’t believe I forgot to charge it this afternoon, especially considering how we’re out traveling around and about the city tonight. But at least Lola’s phone works. Still, I can only imagine what my mom would say if she knew. And, of course, this just makes me start thinking about my mom again.

I try to focus on the music, to enjoy the concert, but this evening seems to be contaminated by a nagging feeling of guilt. As hard as I try to push it away, it’s like an obnoxious little dog that keeps nipping at my heels. And it doesn’t help when the lyrics we’re rocking out to involve concepts like truth and integrity. Still, this night is about Lola. I’m doing the best I can to make it special for her. And by tomorrow it’ll all be just a memory—a really fun memory.

As we listen to a song about forgiveness, I decide I will absolutely confess what I did to Mom... eventually. After I’ve given her enough time to get over being angry, she’ll
have
to forgive me. So really, it’s not such a big deal. I just hope (and pray) we have no problems getting home tonight.

As the concert’s winding down, I glance at my watch to see it’s well past ten o’clock. Commuting home on the metro and transit bus at this late hour might be different than traveling in the daylight.

But as we exit the Coliseum, I keep my concerns buried deep inside me. No way do I want Lola to know I feel worried. I don’t want anything to spoil this evening for her. We get on the metro, and it’s obvious that the commuters at this time of night are a bit different from the ones we saw earlier.

The woman opposite us looks tired or perhaps even sick. She’s clutching a raggedy purse and a plastic bag with her eyes downward. Or maybe she’s asleep. A couple of guys in the back of the car look a little scary. In fact, I’m sure my mom would assume they were “druggies,” as she sometimes calls them. An older guy near us definitely has a dark look about him, like he’s angry at the world. Still, I could be all wrong. These people might just be down and out and Jesus still loves them.

“Should we talk in French again?” Lola whispers to me in a way that suggests she might be a bit nervous, too.

I consider this but then question the idea of appearing to be tourists with this kind of crowd—what if they perceive foreigners as an easy target? “Maybe not.” I sit straighter. Then I attempt to make small talk with her, hoping to distract us and pass the time.

Finally it’s our stop, which looks relatively tame in the middle of our sleepy town, except Main Street is dark and pretty much deserted since it’s past eleven now.

“The bus still runs, doesn’t it?” Lola asks with wide eyes.

We check the schedule and discover that it does run, but only until midnight. “I’m glad we got here when we did,” I tell her.

She nods. “It’d be a long walk home.”

Soon we’re on the bus, along with a couple of questionable-looking people. But I remind myself not to be judgmental. Just because someone looks like a thug doesn’t necessarily mean he is a thug. I realize how influential my mom’s overly cautious attitudes have been on me. And I hope that I can overcome some of my unreasonable fears before I go to school next fall. Parents really should be more careful about the paranoia and phobias they pass on to their kids.

It’s nearly midnight by the time we make it back into our neighborhood. Although I’m relieved to be back, I feel exhausted from the long evening, which seems ironic since it was supposed to be fun. Although in some ways it was pretty cool... it had its moments. And I think Lola had a great time.

But, for me, tonight was like a tainted layer cake. First was a layer of guilt from knowing I’ve disobeyed my mom, the next layer was stress (worrying that something could go wrong on our way to or from the concert), and the final layer was the anxiety of how my mom will react when she eventually finds out. Although I don’t plan to confess for a day or two. Unless she somehow found out already. It’s possible that the icing on this spoiled cake will be when we walk in the door and my mom makes a huge scene and ruins the whole evening for Lola.

In fact, I’m tempted to suggest that Lola spend the night at her house after all, except her stuff is already in my house. Plus she doesn’t even have a bed to sleep in, and I have a perfectly good spare trundle bed in my room. So, bracing myself, I unlock the front door and tiptoe inside.

“Maybe my mom’s already gone to bed,” I whisper to Lola.

She nods like this makes sense, and I’m thinking there is no way my mother would be sleeping if she knew where I was tonight, so perhaps it’s a very good sign that she’s oblivious. Some of the lights are on, and there’s a small hot-pink gift bag on the breakfast bar, which must be from the bachelorette party, so I know Mom’s home.

Putting my forefinger over my lips, I tell Lola to keep quiet on her way to my room. “I’ll get us something to snack on.”

Before long we’re safely tucked away in my bedroom with root beer and tortilla chips and Mom’s homemade salsa, and I’m feeling relatively relieved—like we’re
home safe!
I’m so happy I’m almost giddy, and it turns out that neither of us feels very sleepy.

“I’m going to set my phone to wake me up at five thirty,” Lola tells me.

I groan. “That early?”

“Yeah, Mom wants to hit the road before six.” She sighs. “I can’t believe this is our last night, Cleo.”

“I wish your mom would let you stay here.”

“You’ll come visit me in San Diego after graduation, won’t you?”

I nod eagerly. “Yeah, if I can talk Mom into it.”

We talk awhile longer, then decide to watch one of our favorite movies, which I pop into the DVD player. But it’s not long before I can hear Lola making sleeping noises and I feel like I’m nodding off too. I turn off the TV and am about to say my usual bedtime prayer, mostly telling God what I’m thankful for and the usual stuff, but I realize it would be wrong to thank God for letting me slip beneath my mom’s radar tonight. So I don’t pray at all. I promise myself to make up for it tomorrow.

It seems like I’m barely asleep when Lola taps my shoulder. “I gotta go,” she whispers.

I blink into the gray dawn light. “What time is it?”

“Almost six.”

I sit up in bed and we hug each other, and I can tell Lola’s crying and I feel like crying too except I’m barely awake. “Have a good trip, Lola.”

“I’ll call you later today,” she promises. “Or when we get there. But that won’t be until late tonight.”

I hug her tightly. “I’ll miss you!”

“Me too.” And then she wipes her nose and tiptoes out of my room.

It always takes me a while to wake up, and by the time I’m finally fully awake, I wish I’d walked Lola outside, stood on the curb, and waved good-bye. But when I hurry out to do this, I’m too late. Their car is gone... their house looks abandoned and empty. They are gone.

Now I cry. I stand there staring at the house, feeling like I’ve just lost my best friend. Then I realize it’s true; I sort of did just lose my best friend. Maybe not permanently. But it still hurts.

I return to my house, tiptoeing back into my bedroom. I close the door and climb into my bed, which is still warm, and decide to sleep in as long as possible. I know part of my rationale is that I am postponing the inevitable—confessing to my mom that Lola and I snuck off to the concert last night. Or maybe I’m hoping my procrastination will somehow soften the blow.

Still, I remind myself as I’m drifting off,
Mom has to forgive me.

I
‘m shocked at how late I am able to sleep in. It’s 11:40 by the time I finally crawl out of bed, which is a personal record for me. But I can’t believe Mom hasn’t been in here to wake me up yet. That’s so not like her. Or maybe she thinks I’m still at Lola’s, though that makes no sense. Whatever the case, I’m beyond ready to get up. However, I’m not sure I’m ready to face the music quite yet. Although it might be best just to get this thing over with—the sooner the better.

I wander out of my room, thinking I’ll just spill the beans and get it out in the open. I’ll contritely confess my transgression and beg her to forgive me. I’ll even offer to do some household chores as punishment. And I won’t protest if she grounds me. It’s not like there’ll be much to do with Lola gone anyway.

But Mom doesn’t seem to be around. The house looks exactly like it did last night. It also seems strangely quiet. I go into the kitchen and am surprised to see that Mom hasn’t made coffee yet. And the hot-pink bag is still sitting on the breakfast bar, just like it was yesterday. I peek inside to see chocolates and some other goodies, and I’m sure it’s a party favor from last night.

I look for Mom in the laundry room, the family room, the backyard; I even go down to the basement. This is a space my mom renovated for me when I was in grade school, complete with a hardwood floor she installed herself, a wall of mirrors, and a ballet barre. I’m expected to spend an hour practicing on weekdays, which I skipped yesterday, but I can make up for it this weekend. Maybe I’ll put in three hours today as a form of penance. Of course, Mom isn’t down here. I don’t know why I thought she would be. I turn off the lights, promising myself to return after I eat some breakfast.

But as I go up the stairs, I get a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach—like something is wrong. Is Mom okay? What if she’s sick in bed? Perhaps she even cried out for my help, but I was sleeping so soundly I didn’t hear her. I’m sure there was drinking at Trina’s party, but my mom is a teetotaler, a social drinker who sips ginger ale in a wine glass in a pretense of imbibing. So it’s not like she’d be suffering a hangover the way Lola’s mom sometimes does. Still, Mom could’ve eaten a bad piece of fish or caught a flu bug or perhaps she tripped and sprained something.

I tiptoe down the hall to the master bedroom and tap on the door. When no one answers, I feel seriously concerned. “Mom?” I crack open the door. Her bed is neatly made and nothing looks amiss. I figure she simply got up early and made her bed, perhaps even made coffee, then cleaned everything up and went out somewhere. I should’ve thought to check the garage for her car.

Trina’s wedding isn’t until tonight, but maybe she had to run out and get something for the wedding. Maybe new shoes. My mom could use a new pair of shoes. Only I wish she would’ve asked me to go with her. She’s a little fashion challenged sometimes, and I like helping her out.

Before I leave her room, I check the master bath where, as usual, everything is in place. I just shake my head at the perfection here. This is a skill I have so not mastered. Finally I go peek in the garage to discover her car is gone. She’s obviously out doing something. Although it’s weird she didn’t even leave a note. She is a stickler for notes. But maybe this is a step toward independence—for both of us. As I return to the kitchen and pour myself a bowl of Cheerios, I remember how I told her yesterday to get a life. Maybe she’s just trying to teach me a lesson.