Page 102 of This Love
Trust only this handwriting.
The man on the bench stared at me, his jaw working back and forth like he was going to talk. His beard was thick and wild, and his pants were torn at the knees. He leaned toward me. My fear of what he might do or say, that he might know my mother or tell her where I was, became bigger than my pain.
I launched away and walked a little farther until the pain got too bad again. I reached an empty bench and almost stumbled trying to sit down. Something was making me weak. I couldn’t keep going.
I stretched out to cover the entire bench, so no one could sit next to me. I rested my head on the bag and watched people walk by and cars move along the street. No one looked at me for long, their gaze darting away when they spotted me. The sun shone down, so I closed my eyes.
I lay there until finally, the pain lessened. I no longer felt like I would collapse.
I sat up and unzipped the bag. Something jingled. I dug along the side and pulled it out.
Keys.
But for what?
One of them read “Ford.” Another had only letters and numbers. A disk held them together, worn and rough around the edge. It was bright blue with a coffee mug on one side. I flipped it over.
Big Harry’s Diner. Good eats. 430 First Street.
Is this where the key fit?
I peered out beyond the sidewalk. What street was this? How could I tell?
Cars passed, the sun blasting off the shiny paint. The pain started to rise again, throbbing like a heartbeat.
Maybe I should go back to the hospital.
I went through more of the bag and pulled out a green bottle. The words were strange, sideways, but I could read them. Mountain Dew. I untwisted the top, and pale liquid spewed everywhere. I held the bottle over the sidewalk until it stopped.
My hand was sticky and wet. I licked it, and the taste was so good, so perfect, that I quickly brought the bottle to my lips.
The liquid was sweet and warm and made my stomach stop rumbling. I drank half of the bottle before I stopped for a breath.
So much better. I was still in pain, but I felt like I could go on.
I twisted the cap back in place and wiped my hands on my jeans. There was more to look at, including the important notebook.
I glanced around. A woman watched me closely, then turned her gaze to my book.
I covered it with a shirt from the bag. I couldn’t read it out here. It wasn’t safe.
I was about to zip the bag again when I spotted a small bottle. I stared at the label. “Ibuprofen tablets. 200 mg. For pain relief.”
Pain relief. I needed that.
I read the label out loud. “Take one pill every four to six hours. Two pills may be taken.”
I tried to open the top. It wouldn’t twist like the Mountain Dew did. I banged it on the bench, but that didn’t help. It was too tough. I wanted to cry. I needed pain relief.
I set the bottle down. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
Car after car after car drove by. Another woman approached. She was talking to herself. I listened to what she was saying.
“Lila, we can’t accept that offer. It will put us upside down.” She huffed. “I won’t do it!”
Her tone made me shrink back against the back of the bench. Not her. I couldn’t ask her.
No one else was anywhere on the sidewalk.
