Consolation

“Hey kid! You a scavenger? This neighborhood is protected!” A gruff voice called to me from the sagging porch.

I deepened my voice to prevent it from trembling, “I traveled 650 miles, through the mountains to visit my mother.”

A White middle-aged man sauntered up with a baseball bat on his shoulder. “Think you might be lost, you don’t belong here, boy.”

I had come too far to back down now. “She lives on Harmony.”

He backed off. “Well, there aren’t many people left. You know they just opened a new community less than 5 miles from here.”

I let my voice break, maybe if he knew I was girl he wouldn’t beat my brains in, “If it’s all the same to you, I have been walking for 6 weeks, and I’d like to see for myself.”

He paused to study me; my heart raced. This was a gamble; the neighborhood, as I remembered, was solidly middle class making it the prime area to serve as a social retaining wall safeguarding the rich from poor. In this moment, I am at the mercy of protectors. Sure, ammunition is scarce, but that doesn’t mean they won’t lynch you. “Carry on, but we’ll be watching.”

That was close.

I remember when Noni came up with this plan. It was a rare clear evening in May. Noni and I sat on a balcony overlooking the sea. The heat of the day had dissipated with a gentle breeze. We could hear the waves hitting the shore.

“I wish every night was like this.”

“When we first moved here, it was, remember?” Noni said before pointing out to the rooftop islands in the distance. A stark reminder that the sea level rises with every storm. “The storms are expected to be worse this year.”

“Yeah, but we are far enough inland.”

“It is everywhere. I don’t want to scare you or sour this beautiful evening, but I need to tell you something important.”

“Of course, Noni.”

Noni drew in a deep breath and I knew this was not an easy conversation. “¬¬¬The agency is having case mangers cover homes this season.”

“What? They have never done that! You mean you won’t be here with us for hurricane season?”

“I’m saving up, this will be the last season. It is time we move back home to Ohio.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “No Noni, we can’t. Mom and her new family live there.”

“I know this will be an adjustment for everyone, but the weather is so much better in Ohio, we could have a life. I mean yes the summers are blistering hot, and the winters are long and cold, but we could go outside and.”

“Noni, we can’t go back there!” I interrupted.

“Who is the parent?” Noni asked with a stern look. I knew this wasn’t up for discussion. “If there was another place for us to go, I would investigate it, but it is the safest place. There is another thing.” Noni hesitated. “If there is ever a day that I don’t come back, you pack up what you can, and take Grammy and Michael to stay with Aunt Jasmine.” She paused. “And when you get there make amends with your mom.”

I wanted to argue this whole plan. How could I get Grammy and Michael to Ohio?

The adage is if you want to go fast go alone, if you want to go far go together. Grammy’s wheelchair can only move so fast, and Michael’s “pancake feet” cause him to lumber and grumble with every step, but despite their limitations, I wouldn’t have made it without them. We made camp an hour walk from here. I am relived they sat this leg of the journey out.

Every night since the last storm, I have asked the universe for two things, to protect Noni and to get us to Ohio. So far, the universe had delivered us safely to Ohio, and now I hoped it would reunite us with Noni. I couldn’t bear to think about the alternative.

Standing in the rubble driveway I found myself silently calling on the universe again. “Watch over Noni and give me courage.”

I wrapped Noni’s leather jacket around me tighter. The smell reminds me of Noni’s hugs. They would place a hand on my shoulder. “You can do this; it is never too late.” But Noni was not here.

Looking at the two-car garage, I was reminded of loading up Noni’s crossover and through my tears committing the house to my memory. It looks nothing like I remember it, but I guess that is what happens after 7 years of extreme storms. Back then it was a typical suburban house, with windows on the top and lower story, a two-car garage, a brown picket fence around the back and flowers in the front. Today, the lawn is overgrown and filled with weeds, wildflowers, and tiny saplings. The drive is barely distinguishable from the yard, and all this obscures the landscaping. The bushes were untamed and blocked the windows. The siding is pealing off and the roof sagged from the weight of many heavy snows.

I wondered if Mom even still lived in the house. Part of me hoped she had moved on, but another part had traveled all this way to tell her off. Sure, Noni said to make amends, but while the world ended for everyone with the first storms, my world ended 6 months earlier when Mom cheated on Noni.

Drawing a deep breath, I walked through the tall grass to the door. I knocked, no answer. I banged my fist until it hurt. She had to be home. The door was locked. I jumped down into the bushes and peered into the window. It was dark inside even with my flashlight.

The sound of glass breaking pulled me out of the furry-filled spiral, and back to reality. In my frustration, I had thrown a cinderblock through the window. Instinctually, I ducked down and watched for Protectors.

I lay down in the dirt for a few minutes, but as time passed it was clear no one was coming. I dusted myself off and tugged a sleeve over my hand to I sweep the broken glass onto the floor. The living room carpet was gone leaving the plywood subflooring was exposed. The house smelled of mildew.

In the kitchen I saw a calendar that still said September. Across the last week “Cruise! 😊.” That was 3 weeks ago.

The man she married is rich. When it was clear the storms were only going to get worse, and fires threated the food supply, some billionaires started a company that took people on commercial space cruises. They aren’t luxurious, and there isn’t a destination, but people pay to spend months, even years on route to orbit Mars, while enjoying food, and a break from the relentless storms, power outages, and people fighting to survive.

A photo collage hung by the staircase, a recap of Mom’s past 7 seasons. Each entry showed her new family growing up.

The upper floor was updated. I continued to my parents’ old room. It once was a refuge from the monster in my closet. Her vanity is still filled with makeup. Rage bubbled up again, people are starving from of the droughts and fires out west, and she was spending money on luxury makeup?!

This was a mistake. Michael had tried to warn me in his own way. He called it a “bad memory place.” I had brushed it off because well, he probably did only have bad memories. He is on the Spectrum and his behaviors were severe when he was younger. But now standing here in a space that we were forced to leave, I think he was right after all.

I flopped down on the bed. I felt like I could cry. Why had Noni encouraged this extra stop? Tears trickled down my face and I felt a lump forming in my throat. No, there is no need to cry, nothing had changed. Mom was still the neglectful, hurtful woman she had always been. Just because Noni’s dad died before she forgave him, didn’t mean I had to forgive mom.

I looked around for a tissue in the nightstand. There was one of Michael’s early creations. He still makes toys, but this was probably his first one. A sock stuffed with cotton balls with multicolor yarn hair and googly eyes. His work was much better now, and it made me giggle looking at it.

Through the haze of tears, I fumbled around and found another childhood treasure. I couldn’t believe mom had kept it, but there was the Love is Love locket. I remember we were at the last Pride festival. The parade had just ended, and Noni had me on their shoulders as we ventured to the vendor booths. I was especially excited because Michael was home with Grammy. The crowds were too much for him then and it was agreed that I deserved a special day just me, Mom and Noni.

Mom spotted the photo booth first. Mom and Noni picked a photo strip, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the rainbow heart-shaped locket. At the time, it filled most of my chest and fit perfectly in Noni’s hand. It is plastic on a string of rainbow Mardi-Gras beads. Mom said it was gaudy, but Noni said if I wanted it I could have it.

“I’ll never take it off! Promise!” I begged.

I heard mom laugh “That’s what I’m afraid of. What about the button instead?”

No, my heart was set on the locket. We took pictures, some with funny hats and one especially funny picture with Noni in a feather boa, but my favorite was the one where I sat on mom and Noni’s knees with my arms up. We were so happy and were a real family. Looking at it even now I felt their unconditional love wrapped around me like warm blanket. Naturally, that was the picture in the locket. The last photo of the three of us together.

In the months after Pride, when Noni and Mom would argue in hushed voices, they didn’t think I could hear, I would lie awake clutching the locket to my chest and running my fingers over the beads like a nun with a rosary. I would close my eyes and beg the universe to let us stay a family. One night Noni sat on the edge of my bed. “Mom wants us to leave.” I had never seen Noni cry, but tears were forming in the corners of their eyes.

“Why do we have to go? There are 4 of us and one Mom. Why doesn’t she go? She is the one who ruined our family with that guy.” Questions never asked or answered ring in my ears.

The day we left, I ripped off my necklace and threw it at Mom. “You were right it’s disposable, just like your love.” Harsh words for a 7-year-old. Noni spent the next 7 years trying to explain wasn’t true.

There is so much I want to tell that little 7-year-old about the world, but sadly could not. Looking at the picture I remembered good times with mom. Her making costumes, and doing my makeup for my kindergarten play, singing showtunes during my bath. She took my least favorite task, clothes shopping, and made it a game where we found the most ridiculous outfits for each other to try on. She wasn’t all bad. Sure, Noni had told me thousands of times, it wasn’t the end of the world, just a fresh beginning. Mom still loved me and cared about me in her own way.

I wanted mom to wrap me in her arms and sing like we used to, but she was gone. I put the precious items in my pocket.