The Leather Couch

Margo woke up from the heavy knocks coming from the front door. She had forgotten where she was and she was shocked into it too so it made her panic for a moment before focusing on a nearby object. Her father’s desk reminded her of him and it made her remember she was in his home office. She had fallen asleep on the leather couch he had kept in there. It was comfortable enough to sleep on which she found herself doing the last couple of nights. She liked the way the soft leather felt against her skin and she liked the way it smelled like old leather. It soothed her when she needed to be soothed. And so rather than sleep in her own bed she instead decided to draw the curtains to the room until she was in the dark and then rested her head on its arm rest until she was asleep. Doing so reminded her of when her father let her do the same when she was younger, back when she didn’t want to sleep alone, back when she was afraid to do so. Margo remembered her father as he sat behind that big wooden desk in his chair—curtains drawn too so no other light except from the monitor of the computer he would focus on while using the mechanical keyboard he preferred to use over the one that came with the machine. Margo liked it too if only because of the melody its clicking created when her father added or made changes to his work. It was better than any fairy tale read or glasses of warm milk. It gave her peace and it was missed.

This had been her routine for a couple of days now. The first night she had brought in the blanket from her bed and had left it there ever since. She brought her meals there too and would use her father’s computer to watch movies or shows or play games in attempts to distract herself and would only go to the kitchen and the bathroom when she needed to. All the other rooms were off-limits. She missed them from time to time but knew what entering them would do to her if she did.

The multiple knocks that woke her continued until eventually she gave in to their power to annoy and she answered the door. She knew who they probably came from which is why she avoided them until now. The social worker greeted Margo with a smile, “are you ready?” she asked.

“Ready for?” Margo asked even though she knew what this visit was about.

“Are you packed?” the social worker asked again, her smile she had used to greet the young Margo weakened.

“No.”

“You promised you would be packed by the time I came to pick you up—"

“I know, but—"

“You promised that you would be ready to go—"

“I know, but—"

“You promised that you would be ready to go—"

“--I know, listen—"

“--You promised you wouldn’t give me any fight if I let you stay here for one more night—"

“--I know, but, listen—"

“What?”

The smile was gone from the social worker’s face as she waited for Margo’s excuse, knowing it was not good enough, “well,” she asked again.

Margo considered the few answers she could come with at the moment but she knew none of them were good enough.

“Can’t I just stay here? I’m doing fine.”

“You’re not doing fine, you think you are but you’re not.”

“Why can’t I stay here?”

“Because it doesn’t work that way.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s too dangerous.”

“I don’t want to go to a home.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“I don’t want to leave my home.”

“It’s okay, we’ll take care of you.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“You can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s against the law.”

They stood in standoff on the stoop of the house Margo had grown up in. They stood there for what seemed like forever. But it wasn’t forever. That would mean Margo wouldn't have to leave if it was. But she did have to leave. Eventually, Margo had to give in and agree that she would go with the social worker.

“Let’s go pack your stuff,” the social worker offered.

She started to follow Margo but Margo stopped and blocked the way.

“What now?” the social worker asked, her tone turned impatient and sour—she had shit to do.

“Do you mind if I go ahead and pack myself?” Margo asked.

The social worker looked at Margo trying to figure out if the fight was worth it. Instead, she made the decision to pull out a cigarette, placed it between her lips and started to light it, “you know what, go ahead. I’m tired.”

“Thank you,” Margo said, going back into the house.

“Ten minutes,” the social worker added.

"Thank you."

Margo entered her home for the last time. Ten minutes was not enough to pack up her life so far and it seemed unfair to ask her to do so. She wanted and needed more time but she only had the ten minutes. What would you pack in ten minutes?

The first place she paid a visit to was her father’s office--her final time. She ran her hands on that leather couch again in order to feel its material against her fingertips, in order to remember how it felt when she needed it. After she was done, she made her way to her father’s desk and picked up his set of keys which she placed in her pocket, a magazine of technology her father had a subscription to and liked to thumb over—something to read in case they didn’t have the material where she was going--and then a photo of herself, her father and mother. She held that close as she made her way up the stairs, hoping it would make her brave enough to continue her final tour. It wasn’t enough and so she closed her eyes too, walking the rest of the way up toward her room by using the memory she had of doing it so many times. When she made it she started opening drawers and started placing clothes into her gym bag. She packed a couple of things, not caring about what they were exactly—she just hoped she was taking enough. She then placed her framed picture on top and zipped up the bag. And then she sat on her bed and scanned her room in an attempt to memorize more of what was once hers. To save as much of the little details as she could so that she could recall them when she was in the dark, when she was cold and when she’d no longer had the safety of the leather couch in her father’s office. She scanned until her eyes reached the window. Before she knew it, she was climbing out and onto the fire escape just like she planned.

The fire escape outside of her room was where her mother kept her garden—their garden. She had put Margo in charge of all the flowers while her mother took charge of the tomatoes and zucchini she had growing in planter boxes. It was their project a few summers ago and even though her parents had a similar escape through a window in their bedroom too, she and her mother decided to place it just steps from Margo’s bed so that whenever she wanted to—whenever she needed to, she could go out there and step into a world they created together. The last safe place before Margo was confronted with the real world. As soon as she climbed those stairs and hit cement, she was on her own.

After she climbed a few fences and walked a few blocks from the world she had known all her life, she spent those first few hours on her own at a coffee shop. She only had a few dollars on her and she didn’t know how much she was going to need to survive the next couple of nights and so just held onto the one coffee she had bought until it became cold. But she continued to hold it, taking the occasional pretend sip so she could stay. She stayed until the shop almost closed for the night and one of the employees had to go over and let her know they were going to. They must have seen the sadness in Margo’s eyes when they instead let her know she could stay until they locked the door and gave her another coffee on the house. She thanked them for that kindness by offering them half the money she had in her pocket by attempting to put it in a tip jar. A different employee who was putting the finishing touches on closing stopped her from doing so. They said it was okay and then they offered one more bit of kindness by asking if she was okay. Margo didn’t answer the question exactly but she thanked them again and wished them a good night.

She stayed in the shadows the empty streets had to offer until she was feet from her house. She wouldn’t get any closer in case they were keeping an eye out for her. Rather, she reached for her father’s car key she had pocketed earlier and used it to unlock his car. She climbed into the back of the SUV and placed her head down to stay out of sight. She was tired and she was sleepy and she felt comfortable enough to give in to both. She pretended the back seat was made of leather, to the point that she had wished her father would have taken the upgrade. But at that moment, the safety of the family vehicle was enough.

She had the company of the cold air the night had to offer, the cold air that made its way up her nose and clung to her skin. She had the chills and wished they had kept a blanket back when the car was in constant use. She was tempted to turn on the car so that she could take advantage of its heat but she was worried that they would catch her by the noise the engine and its comfort would make. She was close enough to the house that it would look suspicious. She wouldn’t take that risk. She had her arms to keep her warm and she wrapped herself in them and that had to be enough for now. She only had herself to keep her warm now, to keep her safe. It shouldn’t have been, but for at least that night it was enough to keep her comfortable enough to give in to the sleep she wanted. The car smelled like her father’s cologne and her mother’s shampoo and helped a lot too. It helped in her comfort.

When she woke it was four in the morning according to her watch. It was early enough for her to attempt trying something she had never done before. Without getting out of the car, she climbed to the driver’s seat and inserted the key into its ignition. She turned it and it roared the vehicle to life. She then sat there trying to gather enough confidence until she was able to place the vehicle into “drive” and then turned the wheel away from the curb it was parked next to. She took one last breath before she let go of the brake in order to let the car go onto the street—she was soon driving slower than the speed limit but fast enough that she was away from her street, from her home, from everything she knew in moments. This was how she learned to drive.

She drove a couple of miles before she parked the car in a neighborhood she didn’t recognize. The new neighborhood made her feel safe enough to go back to the back seat and go back to sleep. She would dream of her parents; she would dream of her father working at his desk while she slept on his leather couch. She would sleep well, at least for a couple of more hours.