I tuck my stilettos under my arm and run. The asphalt ripping my bare feet; a sticky mess of mascara and tears paints my face. I run till my chest gets cold, then collapse onto the curb in front of someone’s house. Lisle is the kind of town with more churches than stoplights, obscure and inaccessible.
I reach into my purse and pull out my Camel Blues; they smell like dad’s jacket. My shaky fingers finally get the cigarette lit. I take a long, uneven drag – like coming home.
“Hello.” I whip around.
A girl, no more than nine. She has short hair and red-rimmed glasses.
I sigh, “Hello?”
“What happened to you?”
I wipe my face and stretch my skirt over my knees to hide the bruises on my thighs.
“Nothing.”
“Are you alone?”
I bring the cigarette to my lips. Exhaling, I wave the smoke away from her.
“Sorry, mama says I talk too much.”
I shift my weight. “Isn’t it a little late for you to be out here by yourself?”
“Mama said I could catch fireflies.” She cranes her neck, and I follow her gaze. The trees are filled with illuminated lightning bugs, like precursors for the stars. “When I grow up, I’m gonna be an entomologist.”
I smile, despite myself. “I don’t know what that means.”
“A bug scientist.”
“That’s cool.”
“What are you gonna be?”
I graduated today and I still have no idea. The streetlight flickers above us.
“Why are you sad?”
I pick at my fingernails, “Sometimes growing up is hard.”
“Mama says even the sky can’t rain forever.”
My lips curl, Dad says that too.
A woman’s voice booms in the distance. “Lucy c’mon it’s time for bed!”
“I gotta go.” She turns and starts walking. “By the way,” she stops to meet my eyes, “smoking is bad for you.” A laugh escapes me as her footsteps fade in the distance.
I take a drag and let the tears come. I watch the ember die out as I press the cigarette against the pole of the streetlight. I take a deep breath, straighten my skirt, and take out my phone to call my dad.
He answers on the first ring.
Grace Quilliam is an aspiring writer from CT. Along with being a writing minor at Central Connecticut State University, she is an editor for the poetry section of Helix, the literary magazine. Grace recently had the pleasure of reading her work at the Connecticut Literary Festival.