Lonely

Daisy

I didn't tell anybody. I don't know how I justified that back then. I think I just honed in and focused up, allowing Madame Marie to punish me into forgetting that I was essentially an orphan and living on my own at sixteen.

Until of course I had to pay for a new season of lessons but didn’t have enough cash. Carson did never send any money.

I could drive. Check. I could heat things on the stove with minimal damage. Check. I could remember to lock the doors at night and when someone came calling for Carson, usually one of his thirsty drinking buddies, I could mention he was out of town visiting his mom or on some emergency mechanic job out of state. It wasn't hard to fool someone who was less interested in Carson than he was his beer.

I did okay at school and flew under the radar. I had "friends," a girl who sat next to me in English named Patrice and another one, Claire who once attempted to mold David in all his glory during fourth period art class. They were somewhat funny, immensely tolerable, and were the type of company that made me seemingly fit in... somewhere.

When I got home, it was another story. The house was lonely. I thought about tracking down a stray dog one day, thinking maybe that was the answer to all my problems. People couldn't be trusted. Obviously. But what about some down and out mongrel who just needed somebody to love?

I tried not to think about the similarities.

Everything was fine for awhile. And I mean that. I'd take quiet walks on the weekends to pick up a few groceries, allowing the outside air to freshen up the staleness inside of me. On these walks, I'd watch the bird make patterns in the sky or the way mothers loved their children at the park. I'd be in the world, but not of it, an extra appendage nobody knew what to do with.

And then one day. The phone rang. It was Granny.

"This Daisy?" was what she asked before I could say hello.

"Yes."

"Carson there?" Oh boy.

"No. Not right now."

"When will he be back?"

"That's a good question," I said, dangling it out like bait. I could feel her rooting around for something, paper crinkling.

"I found something," she said. "I'd like to show it to you."

"Okay, well, I'm not sure I'll be back in Fayetteville any time soon."

"Don't matter. I'm here. Pick me up at the Texaco near your house," she said, and hung up by way of goodbye.