Pushes to the Edge
I’ve never seen such a disgusting and muscular man look so closely into my eyes before. As he hovered above me, with his overwhelming vodka breath and overpriced cologne, he just looked at me. I felt him touch me, but not too much. I settled with him kissing me and forced myself to become everything he wanted me to, “his darling.”
“Same time next Friday?” the far too aroused thirty-five-year-old man asked me as he slide he button his wrinkled polo up to cover the obscene amount of hair on his chest.
“Yeah, I got it down!” I said back to him in excitement as I lit another cigarette in “our” beaten up motel room.
Before leaving the room, he grabbed my face and looked me into the eyes, once again. Doesn’t he know this isn’t the time, place, or person for this. He planted a wet one on my cheek and wave goodbye with a “charming” smirk on his face. When I finally left, I could finally breathe and leave, I couldn’t be late for her 3:30 pm showing.
With curly black hair, sparkling brown eyes, and a body that has become so unsteady because it has been on so many stimulants, I’ve never seen a human so beautifully broken exit a high school. She loved Michael Kors, a coked-out football player, and marijuana. The boy she “loved” was far too damaged for her own good. You could tell by his eyes that his hobbies consisted of lines of coke, as well as minimal showers, which is shown through all the dirt the flows out of his dirty blonde hair. But this is not about him. It is about her.
I can remember what the sound of her voice was like so clearly. When I heard the faint sounds of her voice from a small distance apart for the first time in years, it was sounded like a young smoker stepped into her vocal chords and completely overcame them. Her dresses are far too pretty for my taste, but not for California’s taste. Who am I to judge? She’s fortunately and successfully sixteen. She’s far to ignorant to realize that this all won’t last, but because of who she is I let myself allow it.
***
I wanted her to remember how her blood used to clot. I wanted her to know that I miss when her blood used to heavily flow. I used to live to hold her nose up and pull out the blocks of blood within it. It was the most disgusting thing I ever had to do for a four-year-old, but I just wished that I was doing it again every minute. I liked to think that she remembers how I made her young soul my biggest priority. I liked to think that she counts all the time that has elapsed since we first interacted just like I do. I liked to think that she remembered who I was. For the last thirteen years, everything about her has lived on as a constant technicality.
***
“Lizzy, Lizzy!” my little Caroline screamed at me as I walked through the broken-up screen door.
“Hey, sweetie. What are you doing home so early?” I asked softly, knowing I would not like the answer.
“Doug never took me to school.”
“What? Where is he?”
“Kitchen.”
“I’ll be right back. Sit tight for a few minutes, okay?”
Caroline nodded back at me as she resumed playing with some blocks. After that, I banged open the kitchen door to find Doug rolling a few joints and scattering meth out on the table.
“Good, god,” I whispered to myself with a disappointed look on my face.
“Don’t judge me, tramp,” Doug yelled back at me as he threw his hands up in the air.
“It seems awful in here, just so you know. Whatever, why isn’t Caroline at school?”
“Because she’s lazy and doesn’t want her to learn.”
“That’s bullshit. Why didn’t you fucking take her?”
“I got shit to do. Why didn’t you take her, huh?”
“Maybe because I had work for four hours before school started?”
“You bitches are lucky I even took you in both in in the first place. If it wasn’t for me, you both would be on the street.”
“Doubt that would have been all that better.”
“Excuse me?”
I rolled my eyes, grabbed my water bottle, and stormed out, quick enough for this asshole foster parent to not even notice.
***
The Masons: Dead and Imprisoned. That’s all the Masons were every known for. Did anyone document the fact that Mrs. Mason was a very successful pediatric surgeon? Did anyone mention that Mr. Mason was a successful lawyer at some point? Once the story of the Masons became one of the newspaper headlines, were the names Caroline and Elizabeth even acknowledged? Nope. Those names were just referenced to as, “the four-year-old and sixteen-year-old daughters, who have a dead mother and a felon of a father, are now being placed into the foster care system.” Basically, Caroline and I were just two lonely girls looking for a home, which always make for a better sob story. Grandparents were dead, cousins were uninterested, and family friends lived in another state. Truthfully, Caroline and I weren’t all that interested in having another person fall under that whole “beloved family” position. We never liked to ask for too much.
No mattered where we ended up, I promised I’d find time bring her to the swings at the park until she got tired of it. I promised her I would get a job so she would never have to worry about money. I promised her I would rock her to sleep and sing her the acoustic version of “Sweet Caroline” until she fell asleep, just like mom did. I was never the type to make any promises with anyone, but with Caroline, my commitment to her would have been endless.
***
First and only house since the death of the Masons: falling apart, reeking of liquor, and keeping us steady. The attic was always making some creaking noise, despite the fact that no one went it. The tables in the kitchen were always surround with middle aged men snorting some type of drug on a Sunday afternoon. It truly baffled me how this toxic and self-destructible excuse of a man actually managed to make his way into the foster care system. Logan Patterson was anything but a mentor, anything but a parent, and anything but a giving human being. Like I said before, we never asked for much. He put us each into a different and decent public school and gave us one room to share. Some nights he was affection and loving, but those were my least favorite versions of him.
The first time he loved me was when he squeezed my ass, which was his favorite activity of the month. You know how dads typically come into your room to kiss your forehead goodnight? This was his form of a “goodnight kiss.” Every night, he squeezed, and every night, I wept. Was I just an item of his pleasure? I tried not to think too much into it, but that didn’t last long.
After a month of this nightly ritual, I felt that ass clench ritual turn into his finger going up my skirt for the very first time on one of his least sober of nights yet. The second he did that, I continued to simply say stop, but as I felt it go even deeper, my mouth yearned for an excessive amount of oxygen that it was already inhaling. Finally, I pushed him off my bed and told him no. As he got off of me, he winked at me and said, “maybe next time.” Well guess what, there was no next time of that, but the ass grabbing was always. Couldn’t have it both ways.
***
“The two of you, get the fuck in here,” Logan screamed at us through the kitchen door.
Shaken with fear, Caroline gripped onto my hand as I led us into the kitchen.
“Which one of you did this?” Logan angrily questioned us as he pointed to all the cocaine that was splattered all over the floor.
“Who says we did it?”
“Enough of the excuses, Liz. Look at this mess. Do you know how expensive this shit it? Pretty damn expensive.”
“Again, I don’t get why you’re”
“I did it,” Caroline softly interrupted.
“I fucking told you bitch!” Logan screamed and pointed his finger back at me.
“Alright, buddy. Calm down. C, how’d this happen?” I asked Caroline sympathetically as I wiped the tears off her eyes.
“I don’t know. I was just- I was really hungry, so I ran in here to get a snack or something. But while I was looking through the cabinet, I banged into the table by accident and everything fell off it. I’m so sorry.”
“You are such an idiot,” Logan told this sweet innocent soul as he shook his head at her.
“You need to calm-,” I asked Logan slowly and patiently.
“It would be nice, if you just didn’t take everything for granted. You kids don’t know anything! Who’s giving you a place to live? Me. Who’s took you in when no one wanted you? Me. I’m making a business for myself, and the one thing you could do is not screw it up.
I watched as Logan stepped closer and closer to Caroline. With sweat dripping down his face and anger burning from his eyes, I knew what his next movie was going to be.
“This is all your fault. You had one job, and that was to stay out of my way, and you couldn’t even do that right. This shows that kids aren’t shit. Congrats, you’ve disgraced your whole generation are you proud? Huh, answer me”
Logan grabbed Caroline’s wrists tight enough for her to scream out in pain, a scream I had never heard from her before. As Logan continued to look deeply in Caroline’s puffy eyes and clench tighter onto her fragile wrists, I forced myself in between them. I aggressively pushed Logan onto the floor and off of Caroline, who instantly ran away. As I saw Logan start to get up, making it quite clear that he was going to chase after Caroline, I made my way to exit of the kitchen. I watched him struggling to get some balance, due to his immense amount of weigh, and saw that as my best chance. I grabbed one of the empty beer bottles on the counter and took my place. As Logan has taking his full course to take charge at Caroline and go towards the kitchen’s exit, I beat him to it and hit him in the head with a beer bottle, knocking him out cold.
“Open up! We got a noise complaint!” a loud male announced through the door as he banged on it heavily. As I walked slowly toward it, I saw my sister weeping on the staircase. Once we made eye contact, I picked her up and kissed her forehead. In that moment, I ignored all the bangs and all the drama. My moment was her. And once it ended, I picked up her and held her in my arms as I opened the door
***
“Mason. Visitation,” the guard in front of my bed announced to me.
As I approached the metal table, I saw a female in an oversized pantsuit and fancy black blazer staring back at me.
“Elizabeth Mason?” she asked me with her hand out for a handshake.
“Um, yes. Who are you? Where’s Caroline? How was her night?” I asked anxiously, as this was her fight night without out parents when she wasn’t with me.
“I’m your social worker, Meghan Kane. Caroline’s fine. We found her a nice home for a few nights. Now, this is about you.”
“What about me? How could they just take her away from me? These policemen just came in, asked me all these questions and took me away when I told them how I defended her. And then they put me, in this-this trap when I begged them not to.”
“Elizabeth- this- this is a Juvenile Detention Center. You committed a serious attempt of violence when you attacked Logan Patterson.
“Are you kidding? He was hurting my sister! You have to believe me!”
“There were no signs of physical damage on Caroline. She came off clean.”
“Did you see this guy’s living room. A total meth house, hello! What does he get for that?”
“He isn’t getting anything off easy, Elizabeth. Once he’s stable, he will be sent to a local prison. And we promise, foster child will be ever admitted to a home like this again, ever.”
“All those broken promises are all fine and dandy, really. But what about Caroline? Can I see her? Can she come here?”
“Unfortunately, her current foster parents are unable to follow through with that request at this time. And while we put her through a process of getting adopted, I have no power to do anything either.”
“She’s getting adopted? But-but I’m her family.”
“From here you cannot be, and I am so sorry.”
“Well, how long do I have to be here for “protecting my sister?”
“Two years.”
“You can’t do this to me. You can’t,” I responded to her with my voice shaking and putting my hair back behind my ears.
“It isn’t up to me, sweetie. But I promise, the second you get out of here, we’ll get you back on your feet.”
“I-I wouldn’t let myself say goodbye. I just- I promised her I didn’t have to say goodbye. I broke our first promise,” I sobbed to the overly-perfumed lady in front of me as she clenched onto my hand.
***
My body is what sells. My movements is what sells. Sex is what sells. Logan would be so proud of me for this, that damn pervert.
Does Meghan hate me for abandoning all the hope she had for me to become someone better than what I’ve been told? Even though she may have housed me for a few months when I got out at eighteen, I found an easier way out without her that would allow me to truly avoid all my underlying and maybe even dangerous feelings.
That mentality worked for a while, until I finally got tired of living for sex. Finally, a year ago at age twenty-seven, I made my move to try and get my B.A. at a local community college. I could have afforded something better with all this sex money, but that’s not something that my brittle bones were capable of reaching for.
***
In two days, I will officially approach her after ten years of disappearance. The Kate Spade iPhone case in her hand and Pandora bracelet around her list will finally become her eye level. I’ll watch how she flats her pink skirt as she sits down in her chair or how she makes her cheekbones more prominent with the retouched of her highlighter in class. These are all the little things that I continue to imagine her doing, an unfortunate imagination that I easily believe will become a reality. Has she become everything we never were or everything I grew up being jealous was in high school? Does she have a job at a coffee shop like I used to when I was her age? Or is all this fortune from the unconditional love of her new mama and daddy?
As a part of my BA program, one of my professors took a chance on me and helped me find a position as a TA. Teaching was never really something I considered, but I couldn’t see why not. And of course, the second he asked me which high school I wanted to look at, I responded with New Bay Charter School. I knew for a fact that this was where Caroline was, which wasn’t all that hard to discover with the help of Facebook, even though she is now Caroline Mason-Lewis.
It wasn’t until she was fourteen and started going to this high school did I discover her Facebook profile and watch her from a distance. Gazing at her every day for about half an hour a day has been a daily activity for two years, while the other six years since I’ve been out have consisted of nothing but disgusted in myself. So hopelessly, I remain to look on and see what I assume to be her new sister pick her up from school in a bright silver porsche, a porsche without a spec of dirt or scratch. How unbelievably perfect.
***
“Dear, could you help that student over there?” the economics teacher with a lipstick stain in her teeth asked me.
“Um, yeah of course,” I responded nervously.
I turned around and looked at the girl I was supposed to be working with, and it was her. I just thought to myself, do I tell her? Does she even want a sister who’s still a hooker when she has one who’s a billionaire? Maybe Logan still haunts her in her dreams like he haunts me. Or, has Logan been completely wiped out of her mind because of her newly privileged life. Could I be everything she’s always wanted? Or the one thing to tear her apart? Will she hate me if she discovers who I am, I know I would.
“Caroline?” I asked her, even though she was still scrolling on her phone.
“Yeah, one sec,” she said back to me while typing some text to somebody.
“I-um. I’m um.”
“You’re the TA, right?”
“Yes, that’s right, I also-uh.”
“What?”
“I- “
“Listen I know teaching is hard but can you help me with this? Numbers are completely and absolutely useless to me. Economics is too much math, don’t you think? Want some gum?” Caroline asked me as she pulled out some Winter fresh from her pocket.
“No, I’m good, thanks.”
“But yeah, you can totally help me, right?”
“Yeah, let’s tackle this problem.”