Pillars

Chapter 18: Triggers (Lorin)

As the plane taxied to the terminal, I hesitated before turning my phone on. It pinged repeatedly with missed calls, text messages, and voice mails. Only one call was from Adrian, but I didn't listen to his message. Instead, I texted mom, "Landed @ LAX T1," and then put the phone back in my pocket.

I followed the swarm of people to the baggage claim area, but I had no baggage to claim. I had left New York without so much as a toothbrush, not knowing if I'd ever go back. My flight response always kicked in when I felt out of control. I hated that about myself.

When my phone rang I silenced it. I didn't feel like talking yet. Mom texted, "OMW. Are you ok?"

"idk," I replied.

A rush of warm air mixed with exhaust fumes hit me unexpectedly when I exited the terminal. I sat on a iron bench listening to the cars, buses, and taxis honking at each other as they made their way to pick up passengers. I felt like one of those concrete pillars standing still, while the world moved all around me.

Two young men in athletic shorts argued about where they were. One spoke into his phone loudly over the roar of the traffic, and the other pointed in the opposite direction. Frustrated, they briskly walked away. A woman, no more than my age, dressed in military fatigues, embraced a man who kissed her and said he "missed her so much." Admiration and envy welled up in my eyes. I got up and walked away, unable to bear the sight any longer.

I nearly fell over when a little girl ran passed me and jumped into a suited man's arms, squealing, "Daddy!" I had to lean heavily onto the edge of a cement planter. How was it that everyone else in this life was so lucky? Sucking in breaths and willing myself to relax, I began pacing. Suddenly, a hand grabbed my shoulder from behind and spun me around.

"Lorin?" I hardly recognized my mom's panicked, weary eyes. "Are you okay?"

All I could do was shake my head and bury my face in mom's shoulder. She hugged me tightly and lead me to the Uber waiting by the curb.

A stifling silence filled the tiny Hyundai as it merged into the thickness of the 405.

"You don't have to talk," Mom said. "You can if you want. But, you don't have to."

I wanted so badly to talk, if talking would help me swallow down the massive lump in my throat. But these feelings had no words, only sharp splinters that dug deep into my tired and worn body. So I just laid my head on mom's lap.

"It's stuffy back here. Could you turn the air up a little?" Mom asked the Uber driver.

A hint of vanilla traveled on the cool air and into the back seat. My body tensed as I grew nauseous. The smell reminded me of those cheap flower cookies with the hole in the middle. I used to stick my little finger through the rings and see how many I could stack until I ran out of finger.

My memory flashed to the tan brick house across from my old elementary school. In the afternoons, when daddy picked me up from kindergarten, we would stop at his friend's house to chat. Although they weren't related, daddy's friend insisted that I call him Uncle Nick.

One day, daddy had to pick up Kelci early from the sitter. I whined because I had not finished my snack yet.

"I'll keep an eye on her," Uncle Nick said. He grabbed a cookie from my tiny finger and stuffed it in his mouth. The little brown mole on his cheek moved up and down as he chewed.

"Uncle Nick!" I protested. Uncle Nick raised his think eyebrows as if he had done nothing wrong, then he tickled me playfully as I burst into fits of giggles.

"I'll be right back, pumpkin," daddy said, kissing my forehead.

"Ok," I chirped.

I continued stacking the cookies on my finger. Then Uncle Nick and I took turns eating them. When we finished the cookies, he swooped me off the bar stool and carried me into the living room like an airplane.

"Can we watch Sponge Bob?" I asked.

"Absolutely. We can watch whatever you want." Uncle Nick propped me up on his lap and began flipping through the cable menu, looking for Nickelodeon.

With a belly full of cookies, I snuggled in to watch my favorite show. At some point, Uncle Nick took my hand that was resting on his belly and slid it down into his lap. His thick jeans grew underneath my hand. When I tried to pull away, he grabbed my hand and held it there pressing it harder against him.

"How about a kiss for Uncle Nick?" he said.

I leaned my cheek closer like I always did. He turned my face toward his and kissed my mouth. His tongue touched mine, and the taste of cigarettes and vanilla cookies made me gag.

"Relax," he whispered in my ear, pressing my hand harder into his lap. His hot breath and rough stubble burned my face.

I scrambled to get off the chair. Uncle Nick grabbed me by the thigh and slid his hand between my legs as I struggled to get away. At the sound of daddy's car door, I was free.

Fourteen years later, in the back of an Uber on the jammed freeways of Los Angeles, I sobbed quietly. Mom stroked my hair until the whimpers subsided, and I drifted off to sleep.