Finding Home

By Emilia Keller

Arly Graber didn't run away from home. Home ran away from her. Fifteen-year-old Arly is accustomed to her mother's occasional absences, brought about by her addictive lifestyle. This time, however, her mother doesn't return, leaving Arly without a permanent home. Arly is conflicted between loyalty to her mother and anger for being pressed into a life of deceit in order to survive. She finds occasional reprieve in the care of her next door neighbor Cheryl, but the relief is temporary since Cheryl has her own personal struggles to deal with. Ultimately Arly discovers that home is more than a place... and that we are never really alone.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Word Alive Press
• Release date: Jan 4, 2015
• ISBN: 9781770695771

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FINDING HOME

© 2012 Emilia Keller

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Scripture quotations taken from the New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

EPUB Version ISBN:978-1-77069-577-1

Word Alive Press

131 Cordite Road, Winnipeg, MB R3W 1S1

www.wordalivepress.ca

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Keller, Emilia, 1958-

Finding home / Emilia Keller.

I. Title.

PS8571.O784F55 2011 jC813’.54 C2011-907673-X

Dedication

To my daughters—both born and given—strong and beautiful.

Chapter

One

I can hardly believe I’m sitting here. I gaze down at the black cloth draping my lap. It means something to me—the color, I mean. I suppose in one way it could stand for freedom, but it also reminds me of my life, especially the last few years—sometimes hopeless. I glance around. A lot of people are here for me, except Mom. Most people would have their parents around them at a time like this, but not me. Somehow that doesn’t matter anymore. There’s only one person I really wanted to be here today anyway, but that can’t happen . . . and that’s Nick’s fault.

Most people think I’m just a typical dysfunctional teenager. They don’t believe it when they find out the truth. Never mind a dysfunctional home, I didn’t even have one. I guess that qualifies me to be called homeless. Homeless—what a horrible word. It conjures up images of stinky old drunks sitting on the sidewalk begging for coins. Yeah, even kids end up on the street, usually because they run away from home.

But I didn’t run away from home; home ran away from me.

It started at the end of Grade Nine, when I was fifteen. I lived with Mom in one of those low-rental housing blocks. There were two units to each building, like a duplex. Our landlord owned three of those buildings on the block. Hardly any of the tenants tried to keep their yards neat. Most of them barely kept the grass cut and there was always junk lying around.

The landlord was short, unshaven, and greasy-looking. He always looked dirty. In the summer, he wore the same old sleeveless white undershirts that revealed a farmer’s tan. The blaring white, pimply skin of his upper arms always reminded me of a plucked chicken. His gut hung over shiny, greasy pants.

As usual, Mom was late paying the rent. The landlord had come around a few times already, and this last time he and Mom got into a really big fight. He threatened that if she didn’t pay up soon, he was going to kick us out.

She had no choice but to tell him a lie. Mom was a good liar. Even if you didn’t want to believe her, you would, because believing what she told you was always better than what you knew deep down inside to be true. This time, she told him that she was leaving in a day or two to go tree-planting up north.

There were always big campaigns when I was growing up about replacing the forests and becoming environmentally conscious. All the hippies and environmentalists would migrate deep into the bush to plant trees and earn enough money to live off for the rest of the year. Some would go on unemployment for the winter, and those with more physical ambition would head out for the mountains to be ski bums until spring. Then they’d come back and do it all over again. Everyone knew you could make a lot of money if you were a good planter, so Mom told the landlord that for sure she’d be bringing back a lot of cash and would pay him in a few weeks for the overdue rent.

A few weeks! he snorted. It’ll be July by that time, and you already owe me for June!

I know, I know, but what am I supposed to do? I just got the call yesterday! she yelled back. She reminded him about how much money tree-planters got paid and sincerely promised that as soon as she got back, she’d not only be able to pay off rent for the summer, but for the rest of the year, too.

I guess the landlord figured there wasn’t a whole lot he could do if she was up in the bush, and he wanted his rent. He agreed not to evict us, on one condition.

I’ll give you until the first week of July, he said, shaking his finger at her menacingly. Then I want to see rent money for June and July, or you’re out!

Well, how am I supposed to pay if I’m up in the bush?

Wire the money, I don’t care. Make a special trip down. How you do it is your problem. Just do it!

Mom slammed the door in his face.

I knew full well that Mom had no intention whatsoever of paying him, especially since I knew she had no tree-planting job. She had other plans.

She took off that afternoon with Bill, the guy she was with at the time, and went somewhere to get smashed. They were gone all night.

I got up the next day and went to school. When I got home that afternoon, they still hadn’t come back, so I went over to Cheryl’s.

Cheryl was our next-door neighbor, the one whose housing unit was connected to ours. From the outside, our homes looked exactly the same except that they were mirror images of each other. We shared a wide, covered porch at the back separated by a center wall, and each side had four steps that ran down into the yard. A long stretch of wooden fence divided the backyard in two. The fence wasn’t very tall. I think it was there more to mark where one property began and another ended than to provide privacy. It was so low that I could hop over it with ease. I did, and walked up Cheryl’s porch steps, gently knocking on the door.

Hey, Arly!

She was glad to see me. Cheryl was younger than Mom by almost ten years. She had mousy brown, shoulder-length hair that was always just brushed but never styled. Her eyes were the kind of soft brown that make a face look gentle, and Cheryl was that—soft-spoken and gentle, and always polite. I don’t remember ever hearing her swear. She really didn’t belong on this side of town. She was shacked up with some guy named Nick, the same loser type as my mom’s boyfriends, and they had a little kid, Tyson. I just called him Ty.

She invited me in.

Where’s your mom? Cheryl asked. Usually we came together to visit.

Oh, she and Bill took off yesterday afternoon and they’re not back yet, I answered.

There was silence for a few seconds. Neither of us made a comment about Mom taking off and leaving me like that without saying where she was going or when she’d be back—because that was normal for us. I grew up with Mom taking off now and then and showing up after one, two, or several days, as if that was the most natural thing in the world for a mother to do. Nick did the same thing to Cheryl once in a while. It was the drinking.

I liked visiting Cheryl. Even though she was older than me, she was easy to talk to—and she always listened. She was quiet, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t funny. She would come out with these little outbursts of sarcastic humor that were so unexpected because of her shy appearance and quiet nature. I noticed that she didn’t do that as often when Mom was there, and never in front of Nick. As it was, he was always telling her how stupid she was.

We talked about school, which was almost finished for another year, and everyday stuff. Her main topic, of course, was Ty. He was just over two years old but small for his age. He was always quiet and I often wondered if that was his personality or because of the trauma of living with Nick screaming all the time. Nick didn’t pay a lot of attention to his kid. He’d kind of acknowledge him, but I never saw him change a diaper or feed him or just pick him up and cuddle him. If he did have to pick him up, he’d grab the kid by the arm and yank him up.

I spent one more night alone.

Mom was home when I got back from school the next afternoon. There was no sign of Bill, so I figured that Mom and I would just settle back into our daily routine of dysfunctional living as single mom and teenage daughter. She looked awful—scraggly hair, all hungover. She was tidying up the kitchen, walking from room to room picking up things and throwing them into bags. She smiled at me as I came in through the back door.

Hi, sweetie. Since you’re right there, grab the mail, okay?

I held the door open with one foot while I reached over and emptied the mailbox that hung outside the back door—just junk.

No family allowance? she asked.

I shook my head.

She slammed her cigarettes down on the counter, cursing to herself, then grabbed a smoke out of the pack and lit it.

I needed that money, she said, glancing up at me.

A certain look came over her face; I knew it well. Cogs were turning in her head. She wanted to tell me something and was scheming how best to do it.

You know I gotta find a way to get some money, she started. Bill’s got a brother north of Hinton who can give us some work. He’s just gone to pick up his stuff and fill up with gas, then he’s coming to pick me up.

She waited for my reaction. I had heard the name of the place before but didn’t know exactly how far away it was from where we lived.

How long to get there? I asked.

Only about a couple hours’ drive.

Why can’t you just get a job around here?

Because there’s nothing here, that’s why! Besides, like I said, I need money!

Why don’t you just go tree-planting? I said sarcastically.

Don’t get smart with me! she snipped back. I gotta get out of here before that sleazeball of a landlord comes back. You’ll be okay here for a week or two. The landlord won’t be back for at least that long. I already went over and talked to Cheryl. She’s agreed to look out for you till I come back to get you.

I don’t want us to move again!

Well, that’s just too bad. You have no choice. I ain’t staying in this town!

Then can’t you at least put off going for just a couple more days? You promised you’d come to watch me get that writing award on Friday! Then school’s finished for the year and I could go with you right away. She ignored my pleas with silence. What’s a couple more days, Mom?

She wouldn’t look at me. She kept cramming stuff in bags.

Bill and I are going to stay with his brother for a while, she finally said. His place is real small, so you can’t come yet. I’ll send for you as soon as we get our own place.

It was only a crummy little award, but I was so proud of it. Mom had acted proud, too, when I first told her about it. She even bragged about it to everybody. I guess it didn’t mean that much to her, after all.

You promised you’d come!

Listen, Arly, it’s not like you’re seven years old anymore. You don’t need Mommy there! You can show me that award when you join us later, and I’ll be just as proud of you then.

The rumble of Bill’s truck came through the screen door. The horn blasted.

Bill’s here, gotta go. She gave me a peck on the cheek. Love you. Be a good girl. I’ll call as soon as we’re settled.

And with that she left, slamming the door behind her.

Chapter

Two

Most people, especially kids my age, would think me crazy for going to school when I could very well skip and have a mother who really didn’t care, but I liked school—not so much the schoolwork, but the atmosphere. I liked being around a lot of people, because at home I was usually alone.

Still, I never let myself get too close with anybody. If I got along really good with someone and they started asking to come over or hang out after school, I would slowly begin distancing myself. I never wanted to bring friends home. I never knew when I’d come home to find Mom passed out on the couch, or worse, in the throes of partying with some of her friends. When she drank, she was really embarrassing. She’d overdo it, trying to make herself look cool by talking to them as if she was our age. I would just want to die. It happened a couple of times and then I swore to myself that it never would again, so close friends were out of the question.

The only exception was Heather, from the last town we lived in. She knew about that lifestyle, so I was never ashamed for her to know anything. In fact, she had it worse than me. When I met her, she had just moved in with a new foster family. She’d told me all kinds of horror stories, about how her parents’ drinking turned into fits of rage. Her dad would always end up beating up her mom. Finally, Social Services took her and her brother away and put them into foster care when she was eleven. The mom and dad and sister in that family had been kind to her, but she ended up getting molested by the older brother. They took her out of there.

The second foster place she lived in was packed with kids and it was always loud; everyone screaming all the time and attacking each other because they all came from really bad homes. When I met her, she was in her third home. It was good so far, but she never trusted anybody or anything, and she always expected things to end up bad for her.

Arly, she’d say to me, swear that you’ll never, ever let yourself be put in foster care.

I already was, but I don’t remember, I said to her.

You were?

Yeah, when I was about four. Somebody reported Mom to welfare and I got taken away for a while. But then, when they found out Mom’s parents were willing to keep me until Mom went through rehab, they let me stay with them. When Mom got out, we still stayed with them for a while. But then Mom started going out again all the time and fighting with them about it, so we just ended up leaving.

You were lucky you had your grandparents, Heather replied. But if you were alone, like me and my brother, that would be different. You’d have to go to some stranger’s place, and you’d always have guys after you. They’d use you, and there wouldn’t be a thing you could do to stop them.

Every time I thought of that conversation, that pained and bitter expression on Heather’s face, it made me feel sick. I wondered what she was doing now and where she was. After we left that town and moved, I phoned her one day and they told me that she didn’t live there anymore. They wouldn’t tell me anything, either. I often wondered if she was just in another foster home or if she had run away.

When I got back from school that day, I made myself a peanut butter and banana sandwich for supper. There was only a bit of milk left in the fridge, and even though I wanted to have some with my sandwich I mentally calculated that if I wanted to have cereal for breakfast the next day, I’d better save it. Life with Mom meant never having very much money, so I just naturally learned to either do without or stretch what little we had. I found some peach crystals in the cupboard and made some juice. Luckily, Mom never drank that. Stuff like Coke or any other pop or orange juice never lasted in our house, because Mom used it as mix for her drinks.

I ate my sandwich and went over to Cheryl’s.

Those first few days that Mom was gone went by really fast. I got my award on Friday morning and Cheryl brought Ty over to the school to watch me get it. After the ceremony, school was officially out. Cheryl cashed her family allowance check and took me and Ty out for fries. It made me feel good, like somebody really cared, but I have to admit it didn’t totally take away the sting of my mom’s absence.

Later on, we just walked around town and took Ty to the park. It was