Everyday of my life feels like I’m missing something.
You would assume having anything more than nothing would count for something, but it simply does not.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for everything I do have, especially my daughter. She is 8 years old and she’s the light of my life.
You always hear people say having a baby saved them or some kind of cliche life quote about having kids but boy oh boy… did she.
A little over 10 years ago, my siblings and I lived a simple life. I won’t tell you we were rich with a huge house towering over hills and two parents nestled inside, but we were rich in spirit.
I was the eldest of my brother and younger sister. We lived in what you would call the projects, in a three-bedroom apartment.
It was a time when my mother was working, even though we didn’t have everything, we had each other, and that was enough… up until it wasn’t.
I’ve always had a peculiar relationship with my mother—being the oldest, the one with sense.
The secret keeper.
The babysitter.
But mostly, wanting to please her.
“This is my oldest baby,” my mother says to her best friend. “I know she’s not gonna say anything to her grandma.”
Her friend laughs and passes her a lit cigarette—although even at 12 I'm sure it’s not just a cigarette.
I watch out the car window as she smiles and laughs. The moonlight causes the light reflecting off her dark skin to appear blue. She’s truly beautiful. I wonder if she knows it.
As you could imagine, I don’t say anything. I typically don’t. If my mom needs me to be quiet to protect her, I am quiet. How else was I going to be able to ride off with her at night or be treated like a little mini me?
What goes on in this house stays in the house. My mother’s motto.
I try to focus my eyes elsewhere while the grownups laugh and pass that funky cigarette back and forth. I’m terribly ready to go home but I suck it up and try to occupy myself by looking around the dark field. I catch a glimpse of a beaten up shack in the distance, moss hanging from the roof and chips in the wood where it had been eroded by the outside elements. I can hear animals rustling in the brush near the property line where a light post flickers on and off, serving as the only light source I can see.
My mother and I had left my grandma and grandpa’s and come to her friend’s house a little over an hour ago, right as the sun was going down. I overheard her talking hushly on the phone: “I’m gonna bring Naomi, nobody will ask any questions then.”
And she’s right, I yell goodbye to my grandmother and hop in the front seat of my mother’s 2007 Chevy Malibu.
“She's gonna be the one to have your back forever,” my mother’s best friend Brandy says.
“She sure is,” my mother says, just as I sure am flows through my brain.
On the drive home, my mom looks over at my sleepily, “Don’t tell anybody where we came today or what you seen, okay?” I just nod and then pretend to sleep. I’m just happy to be with my mother.
Once we arrive back at my grandparents house, my grandfather looks at me, “how was your little get away with your mom?” “Fine.” I say