Hooked On Love

STEPHANIE'S POV

Chills rise up my spine as Momma spins around quickly and locks the door. She pulls on the handle for good measure, making sure the lock is secure.

Nervously, I grab ahold of my suitcase tighter and wrap my arms aroundme. A breeze blows past, making my body shiver.

I don't know if it is the nightaround us, or all that we are attempting to escape, but suddenly a knot begins to form in my stomach and fear rises all around me as I stand on the front porch and wait for my next instruction.

"I won't stay here to be made a fool," Momma grumbles in her thick Georgia accent as she stashes the key in her pocket and turns to face me. Her eyes soften for a moment as she sees me and takes in the look in my eye.

Gently, she reaches up and cups the side of my face. She smiles tenderly for a moment and somehow just that gesture alone eases some of my fear.

"It is just you and me Stephie," she whispers in the night before quickly turning and looking around her as if scared that someone might hear.

My ear hears a noise in the background and we both jump. Birds take flightout of a nearby tree and I watch as they coast through the sky far away from here and I frown knowing that we are about to do the same and there is nothing I can do to stop it.

Soon, everything I ever knew will all be gone. Every place and every person I have ever met will be but a distant far awaymemory. Tears prick my eyes as I turn back and look at my mother.

The tenderness in her stare is now gone, and she grabs my hand tightly, pulling me down the steps from the run-down shotgun house I grew up in and out onto the gravel road.

"Come on baby," she insists, as she tugs my hand harder forcing me tofollow along faster. "I know you don't understand now, but one day you will."

Her words, though worrisome, somehow start to make everything a little more okay.

Momma is the only thing I have. Over the years growing up, I tried to make friends at school; every time I did, they didn't last long. No one wants their daughter associating with white trash. At least that is what I heard one of my short-lived friend's mother say when I was just ten.

The one night I was fortunate enough to attend my only sleepover I have ever been to in the 15 years I have unfortunately been alive.

When I was younger, it was easier to ignore even though I always heard parents whisper when I would come to school. Holes in my sneakers, stains on my dress, I was oblivious to it all. Until the night I finally got up the nerve to beg Momma to let me go to Tracy's party.

Ten years old is young, but old enough to learn the lesson of where I belong, and I didn't belong on the other side of the tracks, no matter how hard I tried.

Momma tugs my hand tighter as we make our way out to the road. Holding my hand is a gesture she hasn't forced since I was little, but tonight she is hell-bent on not letting me go as if she is worried that I am old enough to make up my own mind and fight. Fight to stay behind, in a world where I am not wanted.

And even though the thought occurred to me, I would be lost without Momma. The only choice is to follow. After a few more minutes, I force my hand away and she turns to look at me over her shoulder but never breaks stride.

Once she sees I am not turning around, that I am still following, she smiles and faces forward. We walk in silence as I try and piece together everything that led to Momma's sudden decision to flee. To leave everything behind in the middle of the night. I can't help but think whatever it is has to be worse than I could imagine.

Momma is a strong woman. She always stood up for me and always took my side when kids would tease me or when bullies follow me home. I could never imagine a reason why she would run. She always had more courage than anyone I ever knew and faced everything in life head-on.

She's been fighting for almost as long as I can remember. Soon after Daddy died when I was five, Momma got sick and has been in and out of the doctors since.