Nicole Johnson

     It has been a few months since my dad and I moved from the east coast. I wasn’t quite sure what was going to happen when I moved here, or if I would like it. I had gotten used to the hostility of the people in the city that my skin thickened from the abuse. When they spoke, their accents already had street credibility that it was often intimidating if you weren’t used to being cursed at every five minutes without provocation. Part of it rubbed off on me too, which often got me in trouble.

We’ve taken residence in Salmon Creek and by the looks of the houses, it’s a relatively new housing development. Ryan helped us move our things into the new home.  I’ve never lived in a place that had a backyard before and it’s far from his mom’s house in Felida. I absolutely hated packing and unpacking. I’d rather hire someone to put all of my things away like they did all of those times we moved all over the world, but am very grateful for the support that Ryan has given me through this big move.

The more boxes that were opened and its contents stored,  the more I began to think about my mother. It felt like yesterday when the media swarmed our home, camping out on the sidewalk, just waiting for one of us to exit the building so they could snap a picture. It was like I was a celebrity, paparazzi followed Pierre and I around town and snuck into dressing rooms where I changed, just waiting for their photo opportunity. They chased and hounded my family for weeks, waiting for one of us to crack.

I didn’t have a clue as to what was going on, or why I was being followed. No one ever said a word to me. The paparazzi never spoke to me, they just stalked me. Luckily for school, they weren’t allowed on campus. I felt a tinge of ease once I was there, but that never lasted long. The voices of the staff and students were forever present. They whispered among themselves, pointing and snaring as I passed by. My own friends knew what was going on, but never said a word to me.

Often enough, I found them with their heads plastered together, in deep thought. If we were in a room made of glass, it would have shattered from how quickly they separated once they had an audience potentially listening in. I couldn’t stand it! I couldn’t take anymore secrets. It was driving me crazy knowing that everyone knew something that I didn’t know. I remember the look on their faces when I finally asked. They said that there were rumors going around about my dad sleeping with a prostitute.

I still couldn’t believe how it all went down. My dad having an affair with someone was definitely a tough pill to swallow, but the fact that he had one with a prostitute was like a horse pill lodged within my esophagus. My mother shrugged it off like it was no big deal. It was as though she had a secret of her own that trumped his and it was a tie. They had the most bizarre of relationships. It felt more like roommates than a marriage. I would have expected her to scream and tell me that I was a liar. Hell, I would have settled for another slap to the face, but there was nothing. She sat there so nonchalantly and didn’t care.

I wanted to shake her senseless, but deep down I knew that wouldn’t have made a lick of difference. She was too far gone. I watched as she sat in her Yves St. Laurent chair and sipped on on a glass of Gewurztraminer. She never looked at me from that moment on. The sounds in her head were drowned out by the alcohol as it seeped down her throat.

I haven’t seen my mother in five years. Her voice rang over and over in my head from time to time. “I’l be back for you,” she said reassuringly.

Where was she going? Why did she leave? Why didn’t she come back? These were all questions left unanswered. I needed to find her.