Apartment 2B (3 page)

I lead her over to the sofa and motion for her to sit down while I take a seat in
the armchair. We're both quiet as we study one another. I’m completely captivated
by her. She looks professional yet approachable in her grey suit and pink camisole.
The fact that she wears bright pink matching heels makes me think she is a fun person—as
if I would know about that sort of thing.

“I’m sorry about your mother,” she begins softly, watching my reaction carefully.
I feel like I am a specimen under a microscope. My skin begins to crawl, and I feel
like sending her away so I can go shower.

“Well, me too, I guess,” I reply. I didn’t mean to slip out the last part, but it
happened. Something about Tina makes me want to tell her things.

“You guess?” she queries.

Yeah, this woman doesn’t miss a thing.

My eyes begin to dart around the room as I try to determine how to back myself out
of that one. Finally, I sigh and meet her eyes.

“She wasn’t exactly nice to me. It’s sad, but I almost feel relieved.” There, I said
it. After living eleven years with a mother who abused me, I suddenly feel happy to
have said the words.

Tina looks at me sympathetically and nods her head. The gesture is one that sparks
something inside me. Like maybe it’s okay for me to feel this way?

“Sweetie, what’s your name?” she asks me.

“Sidney. Sidney Hunter.”

Her smile at my answer has me beaming once again in response. What is it about her
that makes me do that?

“Well, Sidney, it is very natural for someone to feel that way if they have been in
an abusive relationship. Do you feel that you were abused by your mother?”

Here is the moment of truth. Admitting what I knew all along. My mother was terribly
abusive—not just physically, but mentally as well. From what I read in the library
books and on the Internet, I was the recipient of abuse. No brainer there. Problem
was, I always had trouble figuring out what to do about it.

“Yes. I know that I was abused by her. I’m glad she’s gone. I don’t feel terrible
about it either. In fact, I can’t wait to start my life,” I rush out quickly before
I lose my nerve.

Her face is sad and full of compassion as she regards me. I’m not used to seeing someone
look at me in such a way. Momma was the only one who ever really looked at me, and
it was definitely on the opposite end of the spectrum.

“Sidney, what kind of abuse?” Her eyebrows furrow as she asks the question.

I decide that I am taking control of my life. Hopefully this woman will help me.

“Uh, let’s see. Mostly just whippings with her switches. Those are manageable. The
baths—the baths are horrible,” I confess, and a shudder racks my body at the thought
of one. Tears fill my eyes, but I force them away by blinking wildly for a moment.

“You are speaking in present tense. Sidney, she can’t ever do those things to you
again. You’re safe now. Together, we’re going to get you through this.”

And for the first time in the past eleven years, I am suddenly filled with a very
foreign feeling—a feeling of hope.

It’s been a week, and in that time, I’ve learned that Momma paid rent on a month-to-month
basis with no lease obligations. She also had a very meager amount in her account.
It is imperative that I find a job and soon. Today, I have the classified ads spread
over the table as I search for a job that I could handle.

There are many positions for fast food restaurants if I wanted to be a cashier. The
problem with those is that I’d have to talk to people, and I just don’t know how ready
I am for that. Unfortunately, because of Momma, I am severely uneducated. She homeschooled
me, if you could even call it that. Everything I learned came from library books.
As far as college goes, that’s not an option.

I scan until I find the miscellaneous section. One ad in particular piques my interest.

Looking for help caring for elderly woman. Must be able to cook and clean. Position
would be required for weekdays only, 8-5. $10 an hour plus free rent and utilities
at apartment complex where duties will be needed. To apply, complete application at
Hollow Wood Apartments.

This might actually be something I can handle. I cooked all of the meals for Momma,
and since she was such a neat freak, I can handle cleaning. The address is actually
around the corner from the library not far from here. I excitedly jump up from the
chair and walk into my room to search for something presentable to wear.

Momma always insisted that I wear long pants and sleeves to keep the toxins from landing
on my skin so easily, so there isn’t much to choose from for this warm weather. After
settling on some loose-fitting black slacks and cream-colored cardigan, I slip on
some flats.

My hair seems so boring, so I pull it into a ponytail as an attempt at a style. Maybe
I could ask Tina how to apply makeup. She has called me every day to check on me.
I actually find myself anticipating her call each afternoon. After I find my purse,
I walk outside and squint at the bright sunshine. When you spend so much time in the
house, you tend to feel like a vampire when you go outside.

I walk purposefully and with an eagerness I cannot contain toward the apartment complex.
The walk only takes about twenty minutes before I finally stop in front of my destination
to take it all in. It is a small building that can hardly be called a ‘complex.’ The
grass is overgrown and the building is in desperate need of a paint job.

Now, my nerves are starting to build. The idea of having a job is much better than
how I feel it actually happening. Biting my lip, I tell myself to calm down and get
it over with. I have to survive, and surviving means finding a job. Slowly, I make
my way up the steps and into the building. To the right is a small office where a
dark-haired middle-aged woman sits watching an old television. She is smoking like
it’s her duty, and I almost choke on it.

When a small cough escapes my lips, she turns to me.

“Can I help you?” she asks with a gravelly voice that indicates years of smoking.
There isn’t a trace of a smile, which makes me nervous.

“Um, yes, I, uh… I am here about the ad,” I finally manage to sputter out. My hands
are fidgeting with the hem of my shirt as I anxiously wait for her to speak.

“Yes, we don’t have that position filled. Complete this application please.”

She hands the paper over to me and I accept with shaking hands. Her eyes fall to my
hands and her lips purse together.

“Hon, there isn’t anything to be nervous about. The elderly woman is my mother. It
is too hard for me to care for her and the building. I’m just looking for someone
to help me out with her during the day. Have you worked before?” she questions gently.

People must see something in me that I cannot see. They treat me as if I’m made of
glass.

“No, ma’am,” I sigh as I confide the truth. “My own mother just passed away—hence
the reason for needing a job.” My lip trembles a bit, and I curse myself for being
so weak.

The woman studies me for a few seconds before reaching for the application I’m holding.
She doesn’t look happy, and my eyes immediately fill with tears. I want this job so
badly. I need it.

“Please,” I beg, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’m a quick learner.” Even though
I am unsure if that’s true or not, I say it anyway.

I see indecision war over the woman’s face. When her gruff look fades a bit, my heart
skips a beat.

“Fine. You can start tomorrow. I’m Donna, and my mother is Leta. She’ll eat you up,
which is the only reason I’m hiring you since you clearly don’t have any skills. I’ll
show you to your apartment. You are welcome to start moving in tonight. It’s furnished,
as all six units are. Mother is in 1A, and I’m next door in 1B. You’ll be above me
in 2B. I expect that you’ll be quiet.”

She picks up a set of keys from the desk, and I follow behind her to a stairwell just
past the office. The building is old and smells musty. When we reach the stairwell,
I realize that it stinks even worse than the lobby. My skin starts to crawl as I quickly
stomp up the stairs, eager to get to the second floor. Thankfully the smells aren’t
as bad on this floor—probably because she doesn’t chain-smoke up here.

“There are only two units on each floor. In the basement, you’ll find the laundry
room. Since I’m including the utilities in your pay, feel free to use the laundry
soap that’s down there. Okay, here we are.” She unlocks the door, and I follow her
inside. While she rambles on about the size, new refrigerator, etc., I make a beeline
for the windows to make sure they open. It takes some work, but I finally get one
open and gulp in the fresh air. If the window wouldn’t have opened, it might have
been a deal breaker.

“The only downside to these units,” she says as I follow her into the bathroom, “is
that there aren’t tubs. All you’ll have is a shower.”

“I’ll take it!” I say with a little more excitement than someone should have over
such a dumpy place, but she had me at no tub.

Once again, she narrows her eyes at me like she’s trying to peek inside my head.

“You’re a strange girl. Can I count on you to take care of my mother properly?” she
asks pointedly. I don’t blame her for questioning my abilities. In fact,
I
question my abilities.

“Of course. I will do the best I can. I’m not half bad at cooking and I am somewhat
of a clean freak. I promise I will do my best to not let you down, Donna.”

“Okay, hon. Welcome to Hollow Wood Apartments.”

It’s been a couple of weeks, and I am getting the hang of things. Leta is sweet as
they come. She may be half deaf and mostly senile, but she adores me. Leta is what
I imagined a grandmother to be like—funny, caring, and sweet. It isn’t hard for me
to pretend that she’s in fact my own blood. I certainly haven’t told Tina that. There
are some things better left unsaid with her.

Tina has become a crutch for me. She has aided me every step of this entire transition
into having my own life. With her help, we got my things moved to my apartment, sold
everything else, and took care of handing the place back over to the landlord. Once
I was settled into the new place, she took me to Walmart, where I was able to find
groceries and more temperature-appropriate clothing. She still calls me but not as
frequently. It is nice being able to talk to someone about why I am the way I am.

“Leta, do you need anything else before I head out?” I ask her as I set a fresh glass
of iced tea on the table beside her recliner.

“What?” she practically yells. Most days, she doesn’t hear my mousy little voice.

I turn to her and speak much louder this time. “Leta, do you need anything else before
I head out?”

“You’re going out on a date? Why, that’s wonderful, child. Have fun on your date.”
She smiles sweetly at me as she sips her tea.

Instead of correcting her, I just wave, snatching my keys on the way out the door.
Normally I would peek my head in at Donna and give her an update, but she’s on the
phone, so I head for the stairwell.

Everything about my new life is better than I could have imagined. I control everything
in it for once, and it feels wonderful. The only thing I hate is the stairwell. There’s
only one light bulb, and it’s situated halfway up the stairs. When I leave Leta’s
in the evening, it’s dark and I get the chills every single time. I’m getting some
pretty toned calf muscles because I bolt up the stairs every single time like my life
depends on it.

Reaching for the door handle, I take a deep breath before I open it. Finally, I slip
inside, and just as I am about to run up the stairs, I hear a noise from the dark,
shadowed area in the corner. A man steps forward, but I can only see the light reflecting
off of his face. My heart beats wildly in my chest as I worry if he’s planning on
trying to hurt me or not. I haven’t seen him before in the building.