when they call my name

ch. 1

alexandria

There are moments between dawn and dusk that I often search for direction. A sign that the prayers I'd been praying are being heard. I cry out even more when the chains of my anxiety weigh into me so heavily. When it feels like all the blood in my head is cut off, and it takes everything in me to not think of the nightmare I've had since childhood.

Eddie, my guardian, thought therapy would be a good idea, but his mother insisted I just needed to pay more attention in Mass. She would scold me every time I opened about such thoughts, telling me I was a "stupid little girl" and that I should know better than to pray like that.

Maybe that's why I'm sitting in front of the Riverside County Regional Medical Center. Every year I avoid coming here, and every year I somehow end up in the parking lot of the psychiatric wing.

I should be able to go in and see her on my own now. Before high school, Eddie and I would come visit every six to nine months to check on my mentally ill mother. Make sure she's receiving the proper care and whatnot.

The last memory I have of her was the deciding factor of never wanting to see her again, but only until I was old enough to face her as an adult. Until I proved that I am nothing like her and that I am a better woman than she ever was.

Every time I would get close enough, I would turn tail and run away. I haven't been able to get myself to go inside in over two years.

But for some reason, this parking lot makes me feel safe. This side of town is known for its unusually high crime rates, but this spot is safe to my soul.

I hate this feeling. The nausea, the headaches, and the constant reminder of who she turned out to be.

I sense my cell vibrating in my lap when I see it's a text from Eddie.

Oscar called in. Could you cover his shift?

I stare at the building again and look back at my phone. At least I now have a real reason to not see her today.

I take a deep breath. "One day, Madylynn." I don't know what I'm supposed to feel from that, if anything, but it's something.

There's some kind of darkness that swallows me whole when I get to the bar later that afternoon. The smoke that is evaporating takes its time, as if the devil is pointing and laughing as if I am a circus dog. If there is one thing I take seriously, it is the things that lie still in the night.

During weekday daylight hours, the bar is slow. From the break of dawn to midnight, I am in this building serving breakfast food and bottomless mimosas to whiskey that burns more than nostrils. Why a place like this in the middle of the Los Angeles strip, I cannot be certain.

When we get understaffed like this, I usually find myself in the kitchen helping out the others. Another waitress and I confronted Eddie about hiring more people, but nobody in their right mind would want to work in a beat-up biker bar.

"Where are those wings I asked for?" Jocelyn cries out. "They should have left fifteen minutes ago?"

Pietro, the main line cook, turns sharply towards the pixie cut waitress. "I said wait, woman!"

Jocelyn is gone and two more tickets come through. Pietro sighs heavily, sweat practically ruining his shirt. It's nearly the middle of summer and the fact that there is no A/C running through there is concerning.

"Have you been back here all day?" I call out.

Pietro ties his long dark hair in a low ponytail. "Lewis was here this morning and left a little around noon." He shrugs. "You know how it gets at this hour."