Ghost Bird Fanfiction: Sang's Lyric, The Story of Sang Sorenson's Mother

Fresh Air

I knew better than to go into the house. They were just drunk enough, I was sure, that they would give up finding me easily, but I didn't want to risk it. I crept through the darkness, bypassing the shed entirely, and went to the back of the trailer.

Hay bales surrounded the base of the trailer. Our landlord had placed them there to keep out drafts from sweeping through the thin walls and floor. I moved one and pulled out a garbage bag I had stored under there.

"LYRIC!" Tim called, making me jump and my heart start pounding. "Goddamnit it girl! Fuckin' bitch never listens," he complained to my mom.

"It's fine, Tim," my mom said. "She keeps her babysitting money in her drawer. I'll grab it and we can leave."

I let out a shaky breath. They wanted money for the bar, that was all. I had stuffed five dollars in my sock drawer, and while it wasn't much, it was enough for a pitcher of beer to get them started.

I pulled the garbage bag out from under the trailer and put the hay bale back carefully, before standing up and making my way into the forest.

As soon as I was in the trees, I opened up the bag. I had stored a small penlight and sleeping bag from the Salvation Army in there. I took out the light and made my way deeper into the forest, being sure to keep the light trained on the ground.

I would stay out here, wrapped in the sleeping bag tonight. It wasn't safe in the trailer, and if no one bought my mom and Tim beer after they emptied their pitcher, they'd return mean-drunk and not pass-out drunk. I knew which one I preferred.

My entire body shook with the force of my shivering, and I realized my body was damp from the culvert. I needed to get warmed up, so I couldn't go as deep into the woods as I wanted. I took out the sleeping bag and a plastic tarp that would protect me from the ground, and crawled inside. I snuggled down as deep as I could, dipping my head under the bag to conserve body heat.

It was getting too cold to do this much longer and I'd have to figure out something new; a new safe place to sleep when Tim was over. I was too big to sleep on shelves or in cupboards if I needed to hide, the way I used to when I was younger. I had started using the sleeping bag at the beginning of the summer, when Mom first brought Tim home. But winters in Maine were brutal, and a dinky sleeping bag wasn't going to protect me from the elements.

Unbidden, the faces of the boys I had met tonight appeared in my mind. James' kind brown eyes, and Taylor's mischievous green ones. I had felt safe with them; something that never ever happened. I lifted my hand up to my face and held it there. I could still feel the imprint of Taylor's hand when he helped me out of the culvert.

I fell asleep, with my hand on my cheek, pretending it was someone else's.