Short Fiction

Memphis

Published in Print in DSTL Aurtistic Zine Vol. 4

My bedroom had been hit by a tornado. The vintage rock posters lay hanging off the walls in shreds, next to my paintings of flowers. The books surrounded my bookshelf like a shrine of literature on my floor. The curtains my Aunt had sewn me were tattered and shredded like they had been slashed with a knife. The hidden 8-pack of beer I kept in my dresser had been thrown onto the bed, each can smashed into my covers, which reeked of booze.

“Holy…”

 My whisper felt wrong hanging in the air, like laughter at a funeral. I stepped one foot into my room, my escape which now felt foreign. Glass crackled under my sandal. I lifted my foot and knelt to pick up my only framed photo of me and my mother from where it had been smashed with intent. A small piece of glass cut my hand when I turned it around to see the spider web cracks distorting the face of the infant and my mother. My dead or deadbeat mother left me with the fucking tornado named Dave. I threw the picture across the room.

He wasn't home. He wouldn't be back until midnight at the earliest after hitting up his favorite sin din bar. It doesn't take much to upset the man, but in this case, I had done absolutely nothing. Nothing I remembered at least.

 I sat lightly on the corner of my beer-soaked bed.

“Eff you Dave!” I yelled in a sweet rage that always shriveled in his presence.

 I didn't do anything. I did not deserve this. I did not deserve to be afraid to sleep with my door unlocked.

 I looked down at my hands. Did my mother's hands look like mine? Did she ever love the long past his expiration date, low-body Rockstar, scheming insurance salesman wannabe? I surely never felt the obligation to. I could hardly believe that I was related to the man.

 I zoned out, looking into the eyes of my ratty old Build-A-Bear from the fourth grade on my shelf. The brown bear was wearing a ratty T-shirt with “My Name is”  and my name scrawled in my child’s handwriting, Memphis. 

“You know what?” I asked the bear. “Why do I even deal with all of this shit? I'm done. I'm finally done. Sometimes you never know how true things are until you say them out loud right? Well, the world has gone bananas, so why does mine have to be as well? You know, yes, that is the only thing that makes sense.”

I grabbed my old duffle bags from high school track and started stuffing all of my clothes and treasures in. Dave always says ‘The only things a man needs in this world are entertainment, electricity, and an exotic woman’. Hence he always packs light, but he packs intending to see home again.

I grabbed my Polaroid camera, my high school yearbook, my journal, and my art book. I grabbed my paints and chewed pencils last and threw them in the bag. The smell of booze cooking in the heat was starting to make me nauseous. The second bag ate all of the semi-acceptable clothes I had managed to shoplift or borrow. I grabbed my favorite book of Robert Frost's poems, and I shouldered the two bursting duffle bags. I did not look back at my violated home as I left.

 I dumped my bags in my car and went back into the house. One last thing to do, withdraw a bit of Dave’s debt to me. All that stolen birthday money skipped meals, and a shitty full-time high school job to pay for rent, with a little interest. 

I threw open the door to his rotting manhole of a room and flicked on the lights. Clothes and trash, are everywhere. On his bed, he had created a Frankenstein monster of clothes and a trash bag sleeping next to his empty indentation. The shutters were drawn and the shadows made sly smiles on the suspicious stains littering the walls. Dave’s favorite ‘Dave-ism’ played in my head in the gravely crunch of his voice.

“‘Always keep your valuables n’ shit where you leave your…’  well, you know,” then he would laugh as the funniest comedian in the world had bowed to him. 

I gagged a little bit when I unstuck the door to his bathroom. I averted my eyes from the assortments of hues in piss yellow, shit brown, and blood black, and set my course straight for the semi-recognizable toilet missing a seat. I lifted the yellow crown to the porcelain throne and whistled at the stash. Three airtight baggies floated in the murky water. One, a gun. Two, some little white bags. Three... my chosen prize.

“And behind door number three…” I said, fishing out the bag with a thick roll of bills.

I giggled like a little kid as I unfolded the bills and smelled the aroma of hard cash, toilet robbery successful. I stuck it down both sides of my bra. My own little lesson, Keep your valuables close to your heart. Who's the tornado now? As I made my way out of his room, I stole his favorite bong from the side table. I smashed it right on the front porch. I hopped into the driver's seat of my jeep, and I turned the key. 

Ten minutes later I still sat at the top of the driveway staring at the garage door. Was I really doing what I think I was about to do? I blinked, and I had already pulled out of the driveway. See you never, fucking Dave. I flipped off the shack house that I had mostly paid rent for three years now, I put the pedal to the metal, and let out a scream.

I drove on interstate 75 for four hours, passing through Grayling and Westbranch on the route to Ohio. I cranked up my radio and opened all the windows, as I sang along to the first four of Mariah Carey’s albums. 

I felt like I was flying down the highway like a canary in my bright yellow jeep. At dinnertime, I passed over the Michigan border to Ohio and I pulled over to the side of the highway right next to the “Welcome to Ohio” sign. I snatched my polaroid camera and took a shot with the buckeye state holding up the peace sign. I put the photo in the pocket above my sunshade. Dave didn’t know where I was. Everything was perfect. I laughed at the thought. I felt so light and unburdened, and I thought I could practically float away. I had nothing holding me back in Michigan. I laughed louder when I realized I never had to go back to my shitty job as a waitress at the Ride and Shine bar. I wouldn’t even call to quit after how Joe treated me when he got the assistant manager position and I didn’t last week. Let him deal with that mess as the new shiny Ass-istant Manager. 

I didn’t have any friends who would miss me. All of the fake friendships ended after high school graduation. Everyone had hugged and danced and cheered. Promises to always stay in touch and to see each other every school break flew through the air. A year later, no one had even reached out to me, my texts and calls went unanswered, and the only ones to stay in our town were the ones without a plan for our lives past next Wednesday. I guess that made me one of those too. The thought occurred to me that someone might notice my disappearance and reach out, trying to find out where I am. They might text my phone. Oh my god. My phone. If Dave went to the police about his missing 2k, and his missing car which was mine, just still in his name, they would track my phone. 

I pulled off at the nearest rest stop. I bought a pack of licorice at the vending machine and tossed my phone in the trash can. Goodbye phone. I could live without it. Connect with my inner 90s kid my old English teacher Mrs. Benner would say. She hadn’t believed in phones or practically any technology. I told her one 2nd-period AP Lit class that she was born in the wrong era as she tried to navigate the perils of Excel. She heartily agreed. 

I ducked into the ladies’ washroom and checked to see if all the stalls were empty. They were, and I pulled out my shampoo and deodorant. I looked at myself in the grimy mirror. 

If I was honest with myself, I did not look like someone who had it all together. My blue hair was fading, and the black roots were more than showing. My eyebrows were bushy and untrimmed. My eyes were red and heavy, I’ve always hated them. My teeth were stained grey. My shoulders hunched in my hoodie. I looked down at my body. My knees were knobbly, and my feet were too big for the rest of my body. The only thing I had going for me was my height. I’ve always loved being 5’10. I loved towering over the other girls and being the go-to dunking girl on my basketball team. That was until I got myself kicked off the team with my bad grades. 

I made an angry noise and I rubbed my eyes vigorously. I do have everything together, it doesn’t matter what my outside looks like. I was on my own now. I could be whoever and whatever I wanted. I just had to figure out what that was.