Stories for my Mother

"How long does it take you to make a turn oh my GOD," I mutter under my breath, my road rage and anxiety getting the best of me. What was only a few seconds seems to last minutes as the person ahead of me turns into the hotel parking lot and I follow. Please don't be a creepy guy, please don't be a creepy guy...

The silence of the night is broken by the sound of two car doors slamming shut, and I try to glance over at the other person realizing it might just be an employee, but instead see a girl about my age dragging a huge suitcase and with a bag slung over her shoulder. She has light brown skin with dark hair in braids stretching down her back, and wears a flowing dress that looks right out of the 70's, odd apparel for a car ride and a stay at crappy motel. She's the kind of girl you'd see as the lead singer of an indie music band, and someone who turns my curiosity to all time high. Someone who if I don't speak to, I will write a story for later. Her becoming a character seems much more likely than me willing myself to actually say hello.

I quicken my pace as to get to the door before her, even if she didn't strike me as interesting, she will clearly need help. She has a ridiculous amount of stuff, either she's traveling to somewhere new for a permanent stay or planning on affording months in hotels. A bell chimes through the night, so loud in the stillness, so loud I worry it might just disturb the stars-the one AM sky is always stunning- and the girl starts to walk faster as I'm holding the door open. "Thank you," she says, surprising me with a light southern accent, and brushing on by. In the light, a splay of freckles is visible across her face, making her a billion times prettier. Not that I noticed or anything.

We both walk up to the counter, her with her huge bags and me with an average sized suitcase, and I allow her to ask for a room first. The guy behind his counter does an overly obnoxious loud chew of his gum before speaking. "You two together?" He asks, taking a swig of his Mountain Dew.

He- Jason according to his beat up name tag- looks and speaks like someone who genuinely wants to be punched in the face, with a overly exaggerated "Ugh girls want me and racist jokes are funny" tone to his voice for someone who most likely got this job through a creepy uncle and hasn't had a date in two years. I immediately tense up.

"No, we are separate," she responds, speaking slowly, almost as though she's trying to get rid of her accent. "I'm Nia and-"

"We only have one room," Jason rudely interrupts. "Two twin beds. So you share a room or one of you-" he claps twice, then makes a *poof* motion with his hands, "-has got to go."

God he is am ass, he definitely got this job from a creepy uncle. Shit. I can tell this Nia girl has got a lot to deal with already, so it looks like I'm finding another motel-hopefully a Jason-free one-or a nice spot where I can sleep in my car. "I'll head out, always a motel around," I say, awkward laughing at the same time. Before I get the chance to leave though, Nia grabs my wrist.

"I couldn't let you do that. You look kind enough, how about we split the price? I'm only staying a night, I'll be gone by eleven tomorrow mornin'."

Her offer shocks me a bit. Picturing myself in my head-short dark hair, ridiculously pale skin, day old makeup, and 5'2"-I'm not the most intimidating person, but I wouldn't imagine a complete stranger trusting me that quickly. Maybe it's not so much a trust in me as it is a lack of trust in Jason. I'm not about to turn it down though, I need a place to stay, and the only thing scary about her is that she still looks beautiful at 1 in the fucking morning.

"I'm much the same, only one night. Sounds good to me. I'm Jade," I tell her, offering her my hand. She takes it, tells me it's lovely to meet me, and we are back to Mountain Dew boy.

"One night?"

"Yes. How much will it be?" I ask.

"If you're out by noon tomorrow, 35 each."

Neither of hesitate to pay as a most-likely-clean room sounds good enough after being on the road far too late. He mutters "lesbians" in a rude tone under his breath as we walk towards the elevator-we are floor 2, room 9- and the glare Nia gives him would be enough to make me shit my pants, no joke.

"So," she says when the elevator door closes, "would you rather drown him in Mountain Dew or put chewed gum in all his shoes?"

I burst out laughing, not expecting that to be the first sentence not regarding hotels I hear her say. "Definitely the gum. Though I think I'd want to stick some pieces in his hair just for good measure." She laughs at that, and we are interrupted by a ding followed by the elevator doors opening.

We walk in a comfortable silence to room nine, which was harder than expected to find. The room greets us with very off blue colored carpet, two twin beds with very off white bedspreads, an old TV set (VHS tapes included!), a tiny bathroom, and the smell of a senior living center. Exactly what you'd expect of a motel. Nia throws her bags to the floor and giggles, walking over to what I just realize is a sliding glass door.

"Ladies and gentlemen and all those who don't care to call themselves either, get ready for the real sight of the show." A smile so huge takes over her face as she slides open the door, revealing a not too well taken care of balcony over grown with weeds that has two old lawn chairs on it. She kicks her shoes off and walks out onto the balcony, collapsing into one of them. "You comin Jade?" Nia asks.

Despite being a bit confused at how I barely know this girl and she's asking me to come stargaze with her, I find myself saying "Give me a minute," and getting ready to head outside. I run into the bathroom, slipping out of my ever uncomfortable jeans and t-shirt combo and into some loose shorts and a far too oversized t-shirt. I change quicker than I ever do, for some reason incredibly excited to get to this run-down balcony. Clicking off the bathroom light, I immediately head out and plop down in the chair next Nia. The sky tonight is breathtaking, as though someone had far too much fun splatter painting.

"You're out here at 1 AM, at a shitty motel, why?" She asks.

"Right away?" I ask her, surprised that she's so forward in wanting to know my story, per se.

"Yes. I would ask it eventually anyways, why not now? Life's too short, Jade. If I convinced you to come out and look at the stars with me, you're someone worth knowing about. What else are we meant to talk about under the stars? The weather?"

"Alright, you have a point. I'm on my way to visit my aunt, that's it. Nothing exciting to it."

She groans. "No, you dumb-dumb. Why? What led to this? I'm a curious person."

I knew that's what she meant the first time, but I was kind of avoiding it. With a deep breath, I begin. "I'm 24, my name is Jade Eliza Clark. My dad died when I was 8, didn't bother me much because he wasn't a good person. He always hurt my mom emotionally. Wouldn't lay a hand on anyone, but wasn't afraid to hit you hard with words. You're told your supposed to look up to someone who just looks down on others and you build up some anger, you know? I was an angry kid because of him. It went away for a bit when he died. Then one night I was at my grandmothers, was messing around, and hurt my arm really, really badly," I pause, waving my prosthetic arm at her, allowing a smile to grace my lips at her realization. "Got angry again after I lost it, felt like I wasn't able to do anything anymore." We sit in silence for a few more moments while I try to put together the rest of the words to tell her.

"I was an awful daughter, and my mom blamed herself. I didn't have any friends, I wasn't happy, and I had no idea where I was going in life. When I turned 17, I started writing out what I felt and loved it. So I majored in English at a school in Virginia. My junior year of college, I was 20, I got a call from my Aunt saying my mom killed herself. Here comes the anger again, but with that was even more writing too. I finished college, had amazing grades, and started working for a publishers company and my mom wasn't there for any of it. The anniversary is today, and I told my aunt I'd come up to see her. So here I am." I take another deep breath in, realizing I'd just spewed out my life story to a person I met thirty minutes ago, realizing how strangers are the easiest people to talk to.

"Now there's the story," Nia says. She pauses, not needing me to ask why she is out here. "Alright now my story is, I guess in a way, happy. I'm 23 and I've known for years now that I'm gay-" she stops mid sentence. "-No comment on how I don't look it? Good, I like you even better now. Well anyways, as I'm sure you can hear my accent, I grew up in Alabama, raised by two extremely religious parents. I have been staying at home while searching for an apartment as I just finished school, majoring in fine arts. I came out to them three nights ago, and they told me I had to find a place right away and have no more contact with them until I found the right path in life. I have a friend just a few miles away now who offered to let me stay with them, and that's where I'm headed now." She sighed, and wiped away a tear she clearly didn't want to let out.

"Didn't you say this was happy? Are you angry?" I ask, because while telling it, she didn't seem to have even a bit of anger in her.

"No, I'm not. My parents are clueless. They are. But building up anger against them isn't worth it. I'm still upset yes, but no longer angry. If you keep holding onto anger, it just hurts you, and you lose even more people. I've lost too many to be angry, and I'm getting a chance to start new. I don't want to be angry anymore."

Now it's my turn to cry, as I realize that the anger I've held onto towards my mom for years has stopped me from living fully. We both sit in silence for a while longer, knowing that we needed this, someone to talk to, a stranger who was strange enough to understand. We sit until we are both shivering despite it being September in South Carolina, and until our eyelids get heavy. Eventually, we both head inside, collapsing into our beds, and sleeping until eleven, having ignored our 10 AM alarm.

We both throw on new clothes for the day, her having slept in the 70's style one and changing into a bohemian style dress. Even in the morning, she still looks stunning.

"1145, just in time," Nia says as we walk out the door. "The ass hat did say BY noon, so we are just fine." I laugh at her mention of Jason again, and hope he isn't there.

Sadly hope isn't enough, and as when we walk downstairs, Jason is just sitting down for his new shift. "Sleep well?" He asks grumpily as Nia places the key on the desk.

"Wonderfully," she retorts.

Once again, he smacks his lips together whilst chewing his gum, and I lean over to Nia and whisper "Maybe a whole pack in his hair." She laughs, and we head for the door.

Before we go our separate ways, she leans in and hugs me. "It was lovely meeting you. I'm always one for a new story, especially one you can learn from. You did not disappoint."

"Neither did you," I say, and it's honest. "I do hope our paths cross again. Who knows, maybe you could make a collection of all the stories you've heard and come to the publishing company I work for. We'd make a good team."

"I believe we would too," she says. With a smile from both of us, we walk towards our cars, the sound of two doors slamming adding to the noise of the day.

On my way to my aunts, I stop at a grocery store, picking up a small bouquet of flowers and drive to the cemetery I haven't been to in four years. I walk, and I walk, until I find the spot where I collapse to the ground, placing the flowers in front of me, and muster up the words anger has stopped me from saying since the day my mother treated a bottle of pills like a glass of water.

"I love you, Mom."