A Penny on the Tracks Page 4

  She caught the sticks and then ripped open the bag of marshmallows.

  I finished the pillows, lay down across the grass, and leaned my head against the crisp leaves and broken sticks. Nature wasn’t very comfortable by herself, so I placed one of my arms behind my neck for extra support. I noticed Abbey had done the same.

  We ate our blackened marshmallows right off the stick. I shielded my eyes from the sun as I lay back into the grass.

  “We should do this at night,” I said. “It’d be so much better.”

  “No way am I comin’ here at night, and besides, my mom doesn’t let me go out alone at night.”

  “We wouldn’t tell her, dummy. We’d tell our parents that we’re staying at each other’s house, but come here instead.”

  Her eyes widened. “You mean you want to spend the whole night out here? All alone?”

  “Why not? It doesn’t have to be so scary. We know the place. We’d have to bring lots of bug spray and stuff, but it’ll be fun. Don’t you think?”

  “But we could do this in one of our backyards, and it’d be safer,” she said.

  “How can we build a fire in our backyards, stupid? Neither of our parents would let us do that. What are you thinking?”

  “I guess I wasn’t thinking,” Abbey said.

  “You never think,” I murmured under my breath and smothered the last piece of the melted marshmallow gooeyness into my mouth.

  I closed my eyes and some time had passed. I relaxed underneath the warmth of the sun. The hot rays against my face tickled my skin, sending a sensation so soothing to every muscle in my face that I was sure I could fall asleep right where I lay in the soft grass.

  “Oh shit, Lyssa. What time is it?”

  I jerked out of my peaceful state. “I’m not sure. It can’t be that late.”

  Abbey jumped up and wiped leaves and grass from her clothes. “We better go, just in case.”

  I sighed. I didn’t want to leave, but knew the shit Abbey would catch if she was late.

  We left the Hideout, but I was sure someday I’d spend the night at the place I loved so much, with or without Abbey.

  Chapter Three

  DEREK WAS SITTING on his rock, smoking a cigarette when we rode our bikes to our spot the next day.

  “I’m low on cigarettes today, kid. Don’t have my backup pack,” he said.

  I hopped off my bike. “That’s all right. I don’t have any money, anyway, just a penny.”

  Abbey plopped down beside Derek while I drifted off toward the tracks. I reached into my back pocket and pulled out a shiny penny. I placed it on the rails, hoping it wouldn’t be long before a train roared by.

  “Lyssa wants to camp here one night, just us, all by ourselves,” Abbey said.

  I snapped my head at her. “Why do you have to tell everyone what we’re gonna do?”

  “I’m not gonna do it. And it’s not everyone. It’s only Derek.”

  I shot him a look. “Don’t you tell anyone about this and mess up our chances.”

  “You mean your chance,” Abbey chimed.

  “That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” he said. “It is utterly insane.”

  “Who asked you?” I asked Derek and then shot a hard look at Abbey.

  “What?” she asked, innocently.

  “I’ll sleep here someday, but you won’t cuz you’re scared.”

  “Be quiet. You always act like you aren’t afraid of anything.”

  “That’s because I’m not.” I sat down, cupped a handful of gravel from the ground and spread my fingers apart and watched the tiny pebbles pour slowly to the ground.

  Derek tossed his cig into some bushes. “Well, you should be afraid. Do you know what happens to little girls who camp out in the woods all by themselves?”

  “What?” Abbey asked with a quiver in her voice.

  “Stop it, Derek,” I warned.

  He looked at me. “If you’re serious about spending the night out here alone, go ahead, but don’t try to drag Abbey with you cuz stupid shit like that can get you killed.”

  “Who would kill us?” Abbey asked, her breathing slowing to a point where she was barely breathing.

  “Who? Sick fucks, that’s who.” Derek pushed himself off the rock. “A crazy perverted guy who likes doing things to little girls, and when he’s done having fun with them, he chops them up into teeny, tiny pieces.”

  “Stop it, Derek,” I said.

  The expression on Abbey’s face changed so that I knew she was imagining being cut up into teeny, tiny pieces.

  “Why should I stop?” He tilted his head and lit another cigarette. “It’s the truth. You kids don’t read the papers or watch the news, but it happens all the time.”

  “It does?” Abbey asked.

  “All the time.”

  “Knock it off, Derek.” I turned to Abbey. “It doesn’t happen all the time. He’s lying.”

  “If you don’t believe me, then sleep in a place where no one will hear you if you scream or find you if you’re hurt. See what happens,” he said, and Abbey started crying.

  “Shut the hell up!” I yelled.

  “Make me.” He smirked.

  I jumped to my feet and charged at him, but he stepped aside at the last second and kicked his leg out in front of me. I tripped and slammed my knee hard against a big rock. I winced against the burning sensation pulsating inside my skin as blood ran down my bare leg.

  Derek hovered over me. “Are you okay?”

  In the corner of my eye, I saw Abbey rush toward me and knock Derek out of the way so she could be as close to me as she could.

  “Lyssa! You’re bleeding.” She knelt beside me. “Why did you do that?” she yelled at Derek.

  I looked at Derek, but he turned his head away. My right knee was cut and bleeding pretty badly. It hurt when I bent it, so I kept it straight.

  Abbey held her arm out to Derek. “Rip my sleeve.”

  “What?” he asked.

  “Tear my sleeve off.”

  He easily tore the thin fabric of her long-sleeved shirt, and she wrapped it around my wound. The pressure stopped the bleeding, but it burned against the open cut.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Sure.”

  “I didn’t mean for you to get hurt. I was only goofing around. Here.” Derek dropped his pack of cigarettes next to me and left.

  Abbey and I watched him walk away, but neither of us said a word to him. When he was out of our sight, I flipped open the pack—almost a half a pack. Abbey helped me up. The pain wasn’t so bad once I got used to it, but riding a bike was out of the question. I couldn’t bend my knee.

  We walked our bikes home. Abbey offered to wheel both bikes, but I knew it would be too much for her. As long as we walked slowly, I could do it, but I was limping the entire way.

  “He was only trying to scare us, you know,” I said.

  “And he did.” She looked at me. “I like our Hideout, but not enough to get cut up into little pieces for.”

  “That’s not gonna happen. Stop being so dramatic.”

  “I’m not being dramatic. I’m being scared.”

  I stopped walking, grabbed her bike and held it still, forcing her to stop. “I won’t let anything happen to you. Ever. I promise.” I paused for a bit. “And Derek’s not cool. I take it back. He’s a jerk like most boys.”

  “He did seem really sorry, though,” Abbey said.

  “He should be.”

  We started walking again.

  “And he did give you his cigarettes, and those mean a lot to him.”

  “I deserve a full pack.”

  “You try to trip me all the time.”

  I frowned at her. “Why are you sticking up for him?”

  She shrugged. “I like him. He’s nice most of the time. I could tell he didn’t mean for you to get hurt.”

  “But I did.”

  “It was an accident. Unless you’re gonna stop trying to trip me all the time, you can’
t really be mad at him cuz you could hurt me like that, too.”

  I hated when Abbey made sense and I was the jerk. “Fine. I’ll talk to him next time we see him, but for now, I wanna be mad at him.”

  “Hey, look.” Abbey dropped her bike and picked up something from the grass near the side of the road. “It’s a tape.”

  She turned the cassette over and screamed. “Lyssa! It’s Bon Jovi! Slippery When Wet.”

  “No way.” I snatched the cassette from her hands. She was right. It was Bon Jovi’s latest release. Abbey and I would watch MTV, waiting for Bon Jovi’s video to come on so we could get another look at the gorgeous lead singer with the perfect rock-n-roll hair and brilliant smile.

  I wanted to be him.

  I stared at the cassette in my hand like it was Willy Wonka’s last Golden Ticket. “I was gonna beg my mom to get this for me.”

  “Now you don’t have to.” Abbey grabbed the tape back. “We’ll take turns. One week with you and one week with me.”

  As soon as we got to my house, I rushed as fast as my bad knee would let me into my room. I grabbed my dual tape-deck radio off my dresser and limped to the garage.

  “Should we close the garage doors?” Abbey asked.

  “Yeah. We’re gonna play this loud.”

  I placed the radio on an old shelf and slipped the tape into the deck. I turned the volume knob as high as it would go and pressed play. I grabbed the two old and worn tennis rackets Abbey and I hardly used for tennis anymore from a hook hanging loose in the corner of the garage.

  “Here.” I tossed one to Abbey.

  We stood in the middle of my small garage, waiting for the first song to begin.

  We held the rackets like guitars, pressed right against our hips, and at the first loud strum of the guitar note and a strong beat of the drum, we rocked our tennis rackets as though we were playing in front of eighty-thousand screaming fans.

  I was sure Abbey was no longer thinking about getting cut up into tiny pieces, and I was no longer thinking about my cut knee.

  After we had played both sides of the tape, twice, we needed a break.

  “Want something to drink?” I asked.

  Abbey nodded and rubbed her throat. “My mouth’s dry from singing so loud.”

  I headed inside my house with a stiff limp. I was back to thinking about my bad knee, and it hurt like hell. Then I thought about my mom. If she were here she’d make my knee feel better.

  I grabbed a liter of pop from the fridge, pushing thoughts of my mom out of my head, and filled two cups. I opened the utensil drawer, where I knew my mom kept her lighter, and shoved it deep inside my pocket.

  Back in the garage, I handed Abbey her cup.

  “Thanks.” She grabbed the cup and immediately sucked down her drink. She belched louder than I’d ever heard her burp before. “Sorry.”

  I laughed. “You really were thirsty.”

  She wiped her mouth with the sleeve she still had. “Yeah I was.”

  “Well, we rocked it pretty hard.” I tilted my cup toward my mouth and drank with a lot less fervor than Abbey.

  “Yep,” she said.

  “Want some more?” I asked.

  Abbey shook her head. “I’m good.”

  I put my cup down and dragged two white buckets close to the garage door. I turned the buckets upside down and we each sat on one.

  I pulled a cigarette from the pack Derek had given me. I lit it with the lighter from my back pocket. I inhaled a drag. I was starting to get used to the taste of tobacco in the back of my throat. I hoped, soon, I’d swallow the flavor with the same appetite Derek did.

  I lifted the garage door just enough for the smoke to get out, but not high enough for anyone to see what we were doing.

  I knew if my mom were home, like I sometimes wanted her to be most days, then Abbey and I wouldn’t be able to smoke like this. But I figured if she were home, like most of the other mothers, then we’d just find someplace else to smoke.

  I passed the cigarette to Abbey. I didn’t give Abbey her own, even though I had plenty because she never finished an entire cigarette by herself, and I didn’t want to waste one. I shared mine despite the fact that Abbey always drenched the tip of the cig with her saliva because she didn’t know how to properly hold a cigarette between her lips while keeping it dry at the same time. She rested it too much on the inside of her lips, rather than on the outside. It bothered me, but not enough to waste a cigarette.

  She took a light puff and handed it back to me. I wiped the mouth end before smoking it again. I wasn’t sure if it hurt her feelings when I did this. I looked at her, sitting across from me with only one sleeve, and felt guilty for being so blatant about wiping off her spit.

  I decided I wouldn’t wipe the tip off the next time she passed it to me, but when it was her turn, she waved the cig away.

  “I’m done,” she said, and then motioned toward my leg. “How’s your knee?”

  “It’s okay.”

  I kept Abbey’s sleeve wrapped around my wound. I’d gotten used to the pressure and didn’t want to go through getting used to a different sensation with another bandage.

  “Do you have to go home soon?” I asked.

  “For dinner. What time is it?”

  “I dunno. Let’s go inside and check. If there’s enough time, we can watch a movie.”

  “I get to pick. You picked last time.”

  I rolled my eyes because I knew she’d want to watch Meatballs. She always wanted to watch Meatballs.

  “I want to watch Meatballs,” she said.

  “Of course you do,” I mumbled.

  I WAS LYING on the couch, nursing my scraped knee with a warm wash cloth, when I heard my mom walk into the house.

  “Lyssa! I got off early tonight. I called you to tell you not to eat, that I would cook dinner for you, but you didn’t pick up the . . .” She appeared at the threshold of the living room and stopped. “Phone. What happened to you?”

  “I scraped my knee,” I said, and within seconds she was kneeling at my side, inspecting my cut.

  “Did you put rubbing alcohol on it?”

  I shook my head.

  “How many times have we gone through this? The first thing you do to a cut is clean it. Otherwise it could get infected.”

  “But that shit burns.”

  “Watch your mouth. It only burns for a couple seconds.”

  “But this is a deeper than usual cut. It’s gonna burn like hell.”

  My mom placed her hands close to my knee and took the wash cloth from me.

  “Don’t touch it,” I warned.

  “I’m not going to touch it.” My mom leaned close to my injury to get a real good look. “How’d this happen?”

  “Me and Abbey were playing and I fell.”

  “Playing what?” she asked, her eyes locked on me.

  “Just playing.” I turned my head away from her, but she placed her hand on my chin and brought my gaze back to her.

  “Were you climbing the sides of apartment buildings again? Swinging from the fire escapes?”

  “I already told you we don’t do that anymore.”

  “Then what we’re you doing?”

  “I don’t remember. I just fell.”

  My mother shook her head. “I wish the two of you would play with dolls or something.”

  “I hate dolls.”

  “Then jump rope or play hopscotch like all the other neighborhood girls. I bet they go home with clean clothes and no bloody knees.”

  I smirked. “Abbey and me hid behind some bushes one day and threw rocks at those hopscotch girls. My rock hit one of ’em right in the face.”

  “You better be kidding.”

  “Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not.” I shrugged. “But how would you know, right?”

  A sudden look of hurt washed over my mother’s face as she took in my unexpected harsh comment. I knew I’d kick her where it hurts.

  “Are we doing this again?” Her voice was soft
, trembling, though I was sure she meant to be stern.

  I turned away from her and slowly moved my sore leg off the couch, but I couldn’t reach the floor because she was in the way, and my mother made no attempt to move back.

  “Alyssa. Are we doing this again?” she demanded, her voice a bit stronger.

  I knew she wasn’t going to let this go. I didn’t want to start an argument with her. I only wanted to say something to hurt her, and then walk away from it. Sometimes I needed that; to throw in her face that she wasn’t around when I needed her.

  It wasn’t my plan to start with her that evening, but the words flew out of my mouth before I could stop them.

  Sometimes anger sneaked through me that I didn’t even know I was feeling. Like right then, watching my mother fuss over my cut. I was bitter because I didn’t want her to care for my cut five hours after I got hurt. I wanted a mother who was home when the wound was fresh, when the pang stung the most. By the time she got to it, I didn’t need her anymore.

  “You want to punish me?” she asked, heartbreak still marked in her voice. “Is that what you want?” She rose slowly from her knees and stood over me as I slumped into the couch. “You want to hate me? Fine. Hate me. I’m not here enough. I’m a single mother who works. There’s nothing I can do about that.” She let out a soft sigh and smoothed a hand across her forehead. “But I got off early tonight, and I wanted to come home and make you a nice dinner.” Her voice was drenched in disappointment. She held the wash cloth out to me. “Go into the bathroom and rub some alcohol on that cut. Then I’ll make you something to eat.”

  “I already ate.” I stood up, took the washcloth, and left the room.

  MY BEDROOM DOOR was cracked open and the faint glare from the TV in the living room crept inside my room. It was late, and I assumed my mother had fallen asleep in the recliner like she usually did.

  I knew she was exhausted when she came home from work most nights. She moved slower. She didn’t smile as much, and sometimes, she yelled over little things.

  My mom had come home tired that night from working a double shift, but she still wanted to make me dinner. I could have given her the moment of fulfillment as a mother she desperately sought, but I didn’t because she wasn’t home when I needed her to be.