Take This to Your Grave

My mom, in her large white wedges, stopped in front of me. I sat on my two duffle bags and watched her watch me. That big explosive glare, to match the words that would soon come spewing from her mouth.

Her perfectly pink lips, and her pointy nose, and those dark eyes we share. Her drawn over eyebrows furrow to knit in a scolding manner. She's pissed and she doesn't get why.

"You disrespect me, but not him? What's wrong with you, Naomi?" Her voice is shrill, she has a hint of an Italian accent; it's minuscule, but there.

I don't have an answer. I do, actually, but it's like speaking to a person whom is deaf and dumb.

"Answer me!" She stomped her foot at me.

I opened my mouth, "He respects me."

She threw up her hands; "Of course he does! You're both children!"

Out the corner of my eye, I see my half-sisters running after one another. I keep up the stare with my mom. I have a headache, and winning the battle was so far away.

I blinked. "You're the one who told me to move in with him since you're having a baby." I muttered.

My mom blinked, too, stepping back and crossing her arms. Outside, there's a familiar, welcoming sound of a beat up truck. I smiled, stood and grabbed my bags; my mom opened the door and looked out; "I'm talking to him." She interjected as I walked around her to the outside.

I watched my dad get out of his truck and stretch. My dad is tall, with long limbs; my body is shaped like his, except for the fact I'm not as tall. His eyes squint from the sun, his hand threading through his dark hair, "Hey, kiddo, are you ready?"

My mom pressed her hand to my chest and stepped in front of me; "We need to talk, Lee."

My dad's smile faltered, his hands moving to wipe on his old sweats, "What about? I thought you wanted Naomi to come with me?"

"I do, but we need to talk about her attitude." My mom stated, tossing her hair back.

"It's not your problem anymore," my dad took one of my bags, "C'mon, Naomi."

I exhaled, watching my dad take my bag and walk down the steps of the brownstone and towards his truck. I looked at my mom, "Goodbye."

My mom's lips turned down, her hand patting my back, "Finish high school."

I gave her a nod and followed my dad to his truck; we both had placed my bags in the truck bed and then climbed inside. I waved to my mom as she stood on the porch, watching me. She looked very relieved; almost happy; her lips twitched up in a smile. Her thin hand, with long red painted fingernails lift to wave at me. I felt alive about leaving; I made my mom and her replacement family happy.

"What did you do now?" My dad asked as soon as we were a few blocks away from her brownstone.

"I wouldn't date one of her friend's kids from Albany." I told him.

My dad laughed, "Is he Italian and very religious?"

"Yeah." I put my fingers to the gold cross around my neck. It was an Easter gift from my step-dad's mother. She said I needed Christ in my life. "She doesn't get that I don't really believe in that stuff."

"What do you believe in, then?" My dad looked at me.

"Fries and milkshakes." I said with a laugh.

"Is that a hint to eat and skip the Jesus talk?"

"Yes." I smiled at him, "Besides the fact that I am starving for junk food; I don't have anything against Jesus Christ or God. I just believe in being a good person."

My dad patted my knee, "You're too smart...for your own good, kid."

"Mom says that too. She thinks I can't hear her over her large hair and gold jewelry."

"Your mom is superficial, Naomi," my dad sighed, returning both hands to the wheel, "Give her some time."

"I gave her 16 years." I smirked, mostly to myself.

"Give her a year and a half. When you're 18, she'll see how much you've grown up."

"I'll never grow up."


Oakwood was insight as we got nearer and nearer to my dad's home. It was early in the morning, driving and stopping from Manhattan to Chicago. We were so close; I was surprised my dad wasn't exhausted. He had taken cat-naps along the way. I even offered to drive, but he doesn't trust me on the freeway.

As soon as I saw the familiar scenery, my heart began to beat rapidly. I was excited to be in Chicago; I haven't been here in almost two years. My dad yawned, "Excited?"

"Yeah, actually," I bit at my bottom lip, "Has anything changed?"

"Nope," he answered, "I still live on Boringsblock."

I rolled my eyes at his joke, "Good one."

"I'll be here all week." He joked, giving a funny laugh. "Anyway, you know my neighbors? The Wentzs?"

"Yeah, I used to play with their son Andrew."

My dad hummed, giving a nod to his head; "Dale wants to know if you'll walk her dog 3 times a week. She'll pay you."

"Doesn't she have 2 kids?" I asked with a laugh, "Are they too busy to walk a dog?"

My dad chuckled, "They have 3 kids, and 2 dogs. Their oldest son came home last year and he walks one dog, but she says it's too much work to bribe Hilary and Andrew to walk the little dog."

"What kind of dog is it?"

"A Pomeranian."

I grimaced and answered dryly; "Awesome."

"She'll grow on you." My dad winked.

"We'll see."

My dad and I remained quiet as we got to his house. It was all the same since I had last seen it; the grass was cut perfectly, the birdbath was still intact and the fence still had a black smudge mark from when I kicked it over 2 years ago. I felt so at ease; it felt like home.

"We need to get some real sleep." My dad said as he grabbed my bags.

"You said it." I muttered with an exasperated sigh.

I followed my dad up the porch and into the house. It was cool inside; my dad led the way up to my bedroom, pushing the door open with his foot; "I left it alone since you've been gone. Hopefully you haven't changed your mind about your taste." He jested with a laugh.

"No, I'm still the same from when I was 14, dad." I fell onto the bed; the blanket and sheets smelled freshly washed, "Did you wash my bedding?"

"Yeah," he nodded, "I couldn't have my kid come home to stale bed sheets."

I stood up and hugged him, "Who taught you to use the washer?"

He laughed, "A friend of mine. You'll be meeting her soon."

I pulled back and hummed suggestively, "Ooh, her? Does Her have a name?"

"Her name is Amy." He smiled and patted my arm, "Now, get some sleep, we still have shit to do later."

I saluted him, "Yes, sir."

My dad shook his head at me and then left my room. I fell back onto the bed and kicked my shoes off; it took an effort for me climb beneath the sheets. I felt too tired to move.