Little Girl, Little Girl (Short Story)

Little Girl, Little Girl

Little Girl, Little Girl

 

He wasn't surprised when he woke up in a room that wasn't his.

The bed underneath him wasn't comfortable; it was a bare mattress, with a spring poking irritably into his lower back. Turning his pounding head, he noticed the naked woman splayed on the stained mattress beside him. He felt disgusted; her skin had an odd gray tint to it, sagging on her skinny frame. He observed her visible ribs, skinny legs and prominent hipbones. Ragged hair framed a face littered with disgusting sores, as if she had picked at it with untrimmed fingernails.

That's when he realized she was dead.

Horrified, Noah jumped off the mattress and ran erratically out of the room. Feeling nauseated, he tumbled to the floor. He lay there, clutching his stomach, hoping that he wouldn't vomit. A few minutes had passed and when his stomach seemed to settle, Noah heard quiet giggles. 

Whipping his head up instantly, he looked straight at a little girl who was laughing at him. Gazing down at him with half-closed eyes, she covered her mouth with one small hand and pointed at him with the other.

"Funny," she squeaked, still giggling softly.

Embarrassed, Noah clambered to his feet. He looked at the little girl with a sharp stare, before feeling that familiar pain - it was sudden, but instead of falling to the floor crying like he usually did when overwhelmed by those awful memories, Noah searched for the kitchen. He knew the little girl was following him as he stumbled into the dirty kitchen. She was still giggling uncontrollably, but Noah ignored her.

Noah approached the dish-filled sink and turned on the tap, which spewed out an unsteady stream of water. He quickly ducked his whole face under it. The cold water splashed onto his feverish skin, refreshingly. He gulped some of the water, and it washed away the taste of stale alcohol. For a single moment, all of his problems washed away - even the dead woman seemed to disappear.

After turning off the tap, Noah remember everything like a fresh, nasty wave. He was relieved, though, to hear that the little girl was done giggling. He turned around and realized she was staring up at him with a curious gaze. Noah sighed warily, hoping desperately that she would run off, so that he could leave or call the cops.

"What do you want?" Noah barked, roughly. He squeezed the counters to keep from shaking - the child's mother was dead, and Noah had been right beside her when she passed away. He was terrified, disgusted and, for some reason, ashamed.

The little girl didn't flinch at Noah's loud voice. She only stared at him with those blue eyes, wide and interested. Noah crinkled his nose at the stench that radiated off of her; he knew she hadn't been under running water for a while. He looked at her oversized shirt, which hung limply off of her skinny shoulders. It fell down to a soggy diaper, which looked extremely heavy. 

"What do you want?" Noah asked again, impatiently.

"You mommy friend?" she asked, unfazed by his bitterness. Her eyes then brightened with excitement and she shouted, "Mommy friend!" 

A pang of pain hit Noah squarely in the chest. He looked away, trying to swallow a heavy lump that formed in his throat. Her mother was gone, dead, and the little girl had no idea. "No, I'm not your mommy's friend." He grew irritated when the little girl continued to jump up and shout with excitement. "Stop!"

 The little girl smiled brightly. "Mommy friend! You stay?"

Noah was not sure how to react. "What's your name?"

 "Bobo," she answered, clapping her hands so hard that Noah thought she'd break her thin wrists. 

"Bobo? Is that a nickname or something?" he asked.

 Bobo gave a high-pitched squeal, grabbing Noah's hand. "You funny!"

Noah felt even more pain - when would he not, though, unless drunk? He had remembered that his own daughter used to squeal "You funny!" when she was younger, as he tickled her relentlessly. "Daddy, stop, you funny! You funny!"

 He blinked back pathetic tears. 

"Come?" the little girl said. She smiled brightly before running clumsily into the next room. Noah followed her reluctantly, and before he could wonder why he was even doing so, the two entered an awful room.

Fist-sized holes littered the peeling wallpaper. Many bottles of vodka, beer and rum were laying on the floor, a few scattered in jagged pieces near the wall - as if they have been thrown in desperate anger. Cocaine sat openly on a scratched coffee table. Noah watched with shock as Bobo climbed on the couch, ignoring the drugs on the table, and turned to look at Noah.

"Come!"

Noah shook his head. He needed to call the police, get things sorted out, and drown himself in more alcohol. He turned to leave the room, but Bobo cried out loudly, chasing him. She grabbed one of his legs, fingers digging into his skin. Noah simply shook her off, ignoring the obviously abused child - those damn bruises on her arms and legs - and walked stiffly into the kitchen.

"No leave!" Bobo protested desperately, wailing loudly, tugging on his hand. 

Noah shook her off viciously, turning to her with an angry expression cast across his features. "I'm not leaving right now. But I will once I-  you stupid-" He didn't continue. It was her expression that stopped him, causing Noah to feel terrible immediately. Bobo was cringing, her shaking arms covering her head. She was expecting to be hit, something that was most likely familiar to her.

It registered in Noah's mind, just now, that Bobo was only a young child. She had been refused the love and affection from everyone in her life. Her mother wasted her money, time and body away in drugs and alcohol. Bobo's father could've been anyone, someone who had a great night with her mommy and left without a goodbye to the woman. Bobo probably had no one in her life who showed her love.

Little girl, little girl, he thought, oddly.  Noah sighed shakily. He struggled to push away the pictures of his wife and his daughter that had appeared in his mind.

He kneeled down, gently taking Bobo's hands, which were covering her face shakily. He pulled them away, revealing large eyes. "Bobo. I need to tell you something, okay? I'm not going to leave just yet, though." She nodded uncertainly.

He nodded, too, and said,"Your mommy is, um, she's-" He bowed his head, squeezing his eyes shut. This moment felt too familiar. It felt as if he was back in his own house, kneeling down to tell his twelve-year-old daughter that her mother had died. "She's dead." 

"Dead?" Bobo asked. She didn't understand.