Chapter Two – Luna
I remember the exact moment I became aware.
Fifth grade.
The ground sank beneath my feet and everything faded into a blur.
All I did was think: waking myself out of childhood’s blissful ignorance and into realizing I was going to die young.
I’d seen death’s shadow for a while – behind the constant attacks on me from my parents, siblings, pastors, at school, even from complete strangers.
It was everywhere.
Watching me.
Getting closer every day.
“You’re never going to make it on your own! Dammit! You’ll see! You know nothing about the world!” Via’s voice jabs out from my phone’s speaker.
Being raised in a conservative religion meant that hell was defined every Sunday.
I can say with certainty that I knew more about it than heaven.
Hell is a realm where sinners are forced to live in daily torture.
How, I painfully asked myself, was that different from my life?
“How could you do this to us? Ungrateful bitch. You’re making me curse. God, please forgive me. It’s this girl that’s tempting me to sin,” she continues.
We all grow up with a certain degree of loyalty to family that makes us value them over anything.
I genuinely love mine.
Not because of how they treat me, it’s just who I am.
It’s why I hate myself.
“Mom, I just need a few days to think. I’m staying at a friend’s house,” I repeat for the tenth time, hoping she’ll somehow understand.
On planet Evel and in my household, I’m nothing but a punching bag.
I’m pathetic and fragile in a world where cruelty is currency. The more harm you do to others, the higher your title and therefore wealth.
Kindness and honesty make you a target.
That’s why, as I felt death’s persistence, I lost any sense of fear about it and became intrigued instead.
Perhaps it was a legitimate option to permanently get away from my misery.
It didn’t seem so bad to go into the nothingness.
But.
I had another option.
To leave my parents.
I hadn’t decided to go for it. That’s why I wanted some time alone to process what that choice would mean.
I’d seen hints that my heaven exists. Somewhere.
Just not here.
Not with them.
“You’re selfish as always. Don’t bother coming back. You’re not welcome here anymore,” she commands.
The line goes dead.
I’m outside.
The workday is over.
A bag of clothes, toiletries, and my laptop is all I packed this morning, assuming I wasn’t going to be away for long.
I take measured steps toward my car in the lifeless parking lot.
A lamp post flickers.
Gravity interferes with my pace.
Didn’t expect to be kicked out.
What did I think would happen?
I’ve been rejected again.
Abandoned.
I’m smart enough to not believe I know it all.
My parents made sure to seclude me in their neglect so I’d only know how to function within it.
Lack of experience and street smarts wasn’t going to hold me hostage anymore. Nor were the many warnings and fears I’d grown up with about showing independence.
I’d turned eighteen. I had to figure it out.
Especially now that the choice was made for me.
Panic punches at my nervous system.
It deafens me.
With its primate intensity, all I feel is that I’m in danger.
My legs concave on what feels like an eternal walk to my car.
It’s not until I reach it, sink into my seat and try the ignition that I notice the violent shaking of my hands.
I’m going to be sick.
Choking back tears, I tell myself to toughen up.
I didn’t matter to them. So what. No point in being weak about it.
Remember the sexual advances from your father, the constant criticism from your mother, the violent intensity in your brother’s eyes, and the hatred in your sister’s – they all wanted to kill you, and in their own ways, tried.
Repeating those truths does nothing.
My parents hid behind their childhood trauma and religious authoritarianism – something I tried to help them out of.
I thought I could show them that I genuinely cared and wanted a fulfilling future for us.
It was useless.
Give a victim power before healing and they’ll destroy everything.
That’s what they did.
Now I’m on my own before having a plan.
They’d rather see me fail.
Still, I feel like a horrible person.
I’m tense and exhausted.
What did I just do.
“Hi, Luna!”
Nicole, whose place I was going to sleep over for those days, enthusiastically shouts out from the other side of the open window.
I’m grateful for the interruption.
I had time earlier to explain my novel situation.
She offered me a couple of months at her place free of charge until I figure things out.
We’re taking my car to her apartment. I haven’t met her boyfriend Dick but don’t have another housing option.
We’ve known each other for six months. The little I’d told her about my parents had her cussing them out. It felt great to hear that from another person.
She’s been there for me so I take it on faith that he will be decent.
Maybe not everyone on Evel is bad.
My social brain kicks in, overriding any former sense of crippling anxiety.
“Hi, Nicole. Thank you again for letting me stay longer. You’re a life saver,” I say, unlocking the door.
“It’s no problem at all. I’m so glad you left your fucked up parents,” she says while getting in.
“Yeah,” I reply.
“Let’s grab something to eat. You deserve a treat tonight,” she states.
I agree – too tired to think.
We drive to a nearby sandwich shop.
My phone hasn’t rang since Via’s explosive call. It angers me but I can’t stop thinking about them.
Nicole grabs a meatball sub and I get a veggie-loaded one, then ride in silence.
Following the GPS takes us to a typical, stacked apartment community. It’s a set of five green buildings by a busy road. Some trees stand around it like an unfinished fence. Pavement greets us in uninspiring roads – the one to the right leading to her unit.
“You can park in B-3,” she says.
I move robotically.
Pull in, put the car in park, turn off the ignition.
She gets out first.
I follow, grabbing my stuff from the back seat.
With a smile she leads me down a flight of stairs and to a door on the basement level.
I halt before getting to the doormat.
My eyes are met by a large figure waiting at the entryway.
“Hi, Luna. I’m Dick” says an overtly friendly male voice.
I’m instantly uncomfortable.
“Hi, Dick. Nice to meet you,” I say, shifting in place. Lying.
He’s a 6’2 pale old guy. Nicole is twenty five and had told me he was thirty years older. I was open minded to age differences but nothing prepared me for an obese senior.
What the fuck Nicole.
Nonetheless, this was my stop. Too late to find an alternative and I don’t want to be offensive.
I walk in and close the door behind me.
They show me around making small talk.
A dinky, cluttered room is where I’m staying. It smells stale. The window faces the sidewalk.
I set my bags down and come out to the living room where they both sit.
A Sitcom moves in the framed screen.
I’m offered a plastic chair covered by a brown fleece blanket. They use it as part of their normal furniture.
Hundreds of paperback books stacked against ceiling-height bookshelves, a light-brown box television is centered against the wall. Side tables are filled with small objects; from porcelain angels to other glass figurines. Even the couch that faces the TV is the pinkish floral pattern found in the 60’s.
Not my house. Can’t complain.
They let me be while I eat my sandwich, getting through only half of it before excusing myself.
I’m restless in my quarters, getting a total of four hours of sleep.
I’m alone the next morning.
Time for work. I’m not known to miss a day.
Drive-thru breakfast settles my hunger pains.
Autopilot is helping me get through each step.
It’s my turn at the front desk of the bookshop when I get a visit from Angel, my older sister. She marches in as if holding our parent’s dignity on her shoulders.
“You’re not welcome anymore. Give me your house key,” she demands.
“I’m working. Can you wait until lunch? It’s in 30 minutes. I can’t just leave for the break room,” I plead.
“Mom’s in the car waiting. We need the key now,” she insists.
I ask my coworker who is restocking the shelves to briefly cover me, and speed-walk to the back.
Can’t have her causing a bigger scene. No time to process what’s happening.
In a hurry I walk out of the break room, hand her the key, and watch her walk away like a champion who’d just pulverized her opponent.
These people don’t love me.
The following weeks turn into a cruel ritual of nightly phone calls from Via.
I’m not living with them anymore but they still tormented me. Leaving was supposed to end it all.
I stopped answering the phone.
It’s another evening sitting on that hard, plastic chair. No one’s home yet, they will arrive soon, but I was raised to following a routine so there I am. Waiting in my spot.
I haven’t made any progress in finding my own place. Everything’s so expensive. The clock is ticking. I need to move soon.
The door opens, interrupting my thoughts.
“Hey, Luna! We got you a bottle of Crown Royal. I know you didn’t ask for it but it’ll help. You’re not of legal drinking age yet so don’t tell anyone we bought it for you,” Nicole says.
She sets a heavy, honey-colored bottle of liquor on my lap.
Dick’s lips curl up – malice lingering behind his pupils.
Without question, I drink.
