Page 10 of Paging Dr. Hart
Melanie: Ethan’s nice. You’ll do fine. Need help?
Tiffany: Cover biopsies again?
Melanie: No problem.
Tiffany: Thanks.
Melanie: No worries. Remember, you’ll be a great teacher.
Tiffany: If you say so.
Melanie: Hey, did U get Resident of the Month?
Tiffany: Nope.
7
Past, Las Vegas, Nevada, Age 5
The small apartment I share with my mom is just minutes away from the famous Las Vegas Strip. The faint neon glow from the big casinos reflects on my bedroom wall at night. They’re like a nightlight, comforting me when I wake up with nightmares, which is often. That brightness chases away the shadows in the darkened corners of my room.
It’s been a magical time, just me and my mom. Days spent at the park or wandering the musty aisles of the local library. Nights cuddling on the couch with a bowl of popcorn between us, while she runs her fingers through my long red hair. Disney princesses promise happily ever after on the television. My mom dances with me around the kitchen, twirling us in circles until my head swims with dizziness, until my heart could burst from happiness.
Over the past few weeks, Mama has become more withdrawn. Worry etches the soft lines of her face, her eyes tight, and her words clipped. No more spinning around in the kitchen. Rose petals fall onto the kitchen table, and she doesn’t clean them up.
“Mama’s going to have to get a job soon, Kitten. Money’s running out,” Mama says.
This scares me. A job means I won’t always be with Mama. I hate the thought of something stealing her away. I’m Mama’s special girl, and we belong together, the two of us against the world. That’s what she says, anyway.
She tells me brightly one morning, “You have a play date today. There’s a little girl downstairs who can’t wait to meet you.”
I’ve seen the girl from far away and am curious. She always has a dirty Barbie doll clutched in her hand. I’ve been itching to get a closer look at it. Asexciting as it might be to play with that doll, I still feel unease knot deep in my stomach. Mama spent the morning carefully putting on makeup. Covering her faint freckles with ivory concealer and twisting her blazing red hair into a spiral of curls.
“Don’t touch! Too hot,” she warned repeatedly, holding the curling iron far away.
I think my mother is beautiful, like one of those cartoon princesses. I’m not the only one who sees it. Strangers turn their heads to watch her walk through the grocery store. Men stare at her long, slim legs. Before today I thought my mama didn’t care about her looks, maybe didn’t even realize she was so pretty. Now I’m not sure. The easy way she applied her lipstick and fluffed up her hair made it seem like she’s done it before, many times. There’s something unrecognizable in this painted version of Mama. I don’t trust it.
After slipping into some brand new clickity-clack heels, Mama takes my hand. We walk together down the stairs to knock on the neighbor’s door, which opens to reveal a lady with hair dyed so blonde it’s almost white. There’s a faint line of darker roots at the base of her hair, contrasting against overly tan skin.
Mama bends down to my level. Her hazel-green eyes are the same shade as mine. “Baby, this here is Ms. Brandi. She’s going to look after you today. You be a good girl for her and listen to what she says. Okay?”
I nod solemnly. She doesn’t ask for much, so I’m eager to please. I gulp against the fear choking my throat. “Are you coming back soon?” I have a sudden terrifying thought that I may never see her again.
“Of course, Kitten. I won’t be gone too long. Don’t you worry.” Mom looks away quickly but not before I see the faint sheen of unshed tears in her eyes. That makes me want to cry too, but I’m a big girl so I don’t.
My mom stands to talk to Ms. Brandi, and now I see the little girl peering curiously around her mother’s legs. She stares openly at me, brown eyes scanning me from head to toe. A warm smile breaks over her face as she steps out into the doorway with a quiet, “Hi.”
“Hi.” I’m suddenly shy. I’ve played with kids at the park before but never spent more than an hour or two with another child. I’m not sure what therules of friendship are. Do we hug? Share each other’s lunch? I try to think of the movies and TV shows I’ve watched for clues but come up blank.
Luckily, the other girl is more self-assured. She grabs my hand with sticky fingers and pulls me deeper into the apartment. “Come see my toys,” she shouts over her shoulder as she drags me along. A thrill of excitement tingles through me. I’m bored with all my toys at home. The thought of playing with something new distracts me so much that I barely hear Mama call out good-bye before the door closes.
“I’m Shelly. What’s your name?” asks the girl as we walk into her room.
“Tiffany,” I answer, looking around in awe. It’s pretty and girly in here, with pink-painted walls and a ruffled bedspread.
“I thought maybe your name was Kitten, because that’s what your mom said.” Shelly tilts her head, a tiny wrinkle forming between her brows.
For the first time, I’m embarrassed by my nickname. “No, that’s just something my mama calls me.”
