I Wish I Had a Story to Tell You

Part I

I have petitions all related to Black Lives Matter under my conversations, I elaborate more there and at the top of Part VI!

I was seven when I was given up to an old lady in a crumbling apartment.
    It was for financial reasons, of course. The Depression had hit most everyone pretty hard, and it surely didn't bother to spare my parents. I vaguely remember my mom coming home from work that day in December of 1931. She looked the same as she always did, except for her eyes. There always seemed to be a spark of hope in them, but the light was gone. "They don't need a secretary anymore," she had said. That was it. That was the last thing I remember her saying.
    It was days later when Arelle, who was eight at the time, and I were sent away. Arelle was going to our aunt's, but our aunt could only afford one child. Thus, I was sent to live with Ms. Hattie, an old woman who could afford to take care of a seven year old. Except, something went wrong in only six months.
    Ms. Hattie died. I was alone.

1938

I walked down Bellevue, Washington's 106th avenue with a feeling of apprehension. Rightfully so, I suppose. I've faced thieves and murderers, but family- well, that's another story.
    I was on my way to my new home, with only my messenger bag and trunk in tow. The fog made it difficult to see the signs on the storefronts, but I could make a few out. There was the bank, the dry cleaners, the clothing shops, and the cafe with mediocre tasting bagels.
    I was a little startled at how simple the streets seemed when I had a place to retire for the night, a place where I could find my family and eat dinner with them. It was as if all of the menacing doors to the city's dark secrets had closed. Good, I thought, but I knew that they would only keep me out. There was no protection from what could be let in.
    "Good evening, young lady," a cheery man called to me. "How do you do?"
    "Quite alright, thank you," I said in return. Be nice. Be who you want to be for Arelle and Aunt Pearl. Be modest, smile. I had to change my demeanor for everyone I met. I couldn't try to make any enemies. Plenty had found their way to me on their own without my help.
You don't have to do this anymore.
    Habit got the better of me.
    "Is everything alright?" the man asked. "You seem rather serious."
    "Yes, yes of course," I replied with a flourishing smile. "I was just in deep thought. I tend to have a serious face when I walk." I could have said I was nervous, or something at least closer to the truth. Perhaps I do look serious when I walk.
    "I suppose you do," the man said, starting to walk. "Stay safe young lady. Good day to you."
    "To you as well," I replied, and I was on my way.
    It didn't take me too long to reach the apartment after that. Within ten minutes I was standing in a chilling breezeway, raising my fist to knock on the door. I knocked lightly, and then I waited. There was barely anything besides darkness and leaves in the breezeway. From the scarce light that a dim lantern illuminated, I could see that the paint on the doors was chipped. The walls didn't seem to have cracks though, so that was a good sign. No bullet holes either, I thought. Let's keep it that way.
    "Come in!" an eager voice called.
    I tried the handle, which didn't give at first. Then, after a few tries, I reached into my messenger bag. Before I could remove anything, the door swung open.
    "Vera?"
    The girl in front of me was older than I remembered, naturally, but it was most certainly her. She had aged into her teenage years smoothly. She had lost her childish appearance and traded it for the stance of a young woman. The only thing that told that she was still a mere fifteen years was her smile. It was awkward, but it was meaningful. It was Arelle's smile, most certainly. It hadn't aged alongside her. Maybe the same would be for Arelle's personality.
    "Arelle," I said. I felt myself smiling. It had been a while since I'd shown an emotion involuntarily. I wondered what my smile looked like after seven years. I doubted it had stayed as young as Arelle's.
    Then Arelle threw her arms around me. I allowed myself to return the embrace and bury my head into her shoulder.
    "Seven years," Arelle muttered. "Seven."
    "Yeah," I laughed, "seven years."
    "God, it's been way too long," my sister whispered.
    I felt my smile fade a little. "It really has been."   
    A woman a little taller than ourselves burst into the room. Her eyes were wide and slightly crazed, and her grin was blinding. "Vera!" Aunt Pearl screamed. "Vera! Vera!"
    "Hi," I said as my aunt wrapped me into a suffocating hug. Aunt Pearl was in her early thirties, but she acted like a fifteen-year-old and an overly enthusiastic grandma all at the same time."How was your time with Miss Hattie? I'm sure you miss her already. Here, lets make you at home," she said, grasping my shoulders. "You should settle in just fine." Aunt Pearl pulled me in for another suffocating hug, and gestured towards my new room. "Show her around, won't you Arelle?"
    "Of course," my sister replied. Arelle grasped my sleeve and led me to the room. My new living quarters sported two small twin beds (one of which was considerably worn looking), each with a faded pink comforter. The nightstand had a simple vase on the top, with chipped paint and pastel-colored flowers that seemed only half alive. The sun had set- our only light source was a cracked bulb placed above the two beds. It was heavenly.
    "It's not much-
    "It's wonderful," I let slip before I could stop myself. "It'll be perfect."
    Arelle beamed. "I'm glad you think so. She brushed some dust off of her skirt and marched to the quaint little closet tucked in the corner of the room. Arelle coughed as she opened the closet door with a high pitched squeeeee of the hinges. "Well," she said, "why don't you unpack?"
    "Sure," I replied, sitting on the nicer of the two beds and laying my trunk next to me. Carefully, I unlatched the fastens and threw open the lid to reveal my remaining possessions. I layed each article of clothing out one-by-one: an old striped shirt that I like too much, some dark blue pants that I also like too much, a white button-down blouse, black pants, nightclothes, a couple more blouses, a few more pants, a simple dress, and two skirts that weren't exactly the height of comfort. But they worked.
    "These skirts could use some work," Arelle said, observing the plaid one's hem. "Are they comfortable? Like you know, for gatherings?"
    "Trousers are more comfy for gatherings. Easier to walk in," I replied.
    "You can always borrow one of my skirts should you need one," Arelle said, moving the skirt to the closet. Those clothes will work for most days, but what if Aunt Pearl has friends over? You'll want something besides that dress. Say, where'd you get it?" Arelle asked, picking up the dress and raising it in the air in approval.
    I stole it. Can't say I remember where exactly its from. "One of Ms.Hattie's gifts. She was a generous woman."
    "How lovely," Arelle smiled, hanging up the dress and turning to the trousers. "But I still think you'll want to borrow a few of my clothes if some of Aunt Pearl's friends start coming over. The same dress everyday won't do."
    "I wear trousers, or I avoid social interaction. It's quite simple, Arelle." Then I caught myself. She's your sister. Wear the stupid skirts. You won't have to run from the building when Aunt Pearl's friends come over. "I'm kidding," I added quickly. "I'll gladly try on some of your," I glance back at her wardrobe selection, "lovely outfits."
    We worked quickly to transport the clothes from the bed to the closet. I closed up my suitcase and slid under the older of the two twin beds. Arelle paced the length of the room, and then she gasped. "Oh, that's what we need to do." She opened the nightstand drawer and turned to face me. "Why don't we unpack the rest of your things?"
    "Huh?"
    Arelle pointed to my messenger bag.
    "Right," I replied with a shaky laugh. "Forgot about that."
    "You can put everything in here, assuming it'll all fit," Arelle said, backing away from the night stand to allow me room to unpack.
    "That's okay," I started to say, but then Aunt Pearl barged in out of nowhere.
    "Dinner! Have you girls been unpacking?"
    "We were just finishing up," Arelle said. I simply nodded.
    "Well, don't let the soup get cold!" Aunt Pearl shouted, leaving the room.
    "She has a flair for the dramatic, doesn't she?" I said. "Actually," I turned to face Arelle, "I've been walking in these clothes all day, and I think I'd care for a change."
    "Of course," Arelle said, "I'll see you in a minute." My sister closed the door, and I was left with my messenger bag, which I set to work unpacking. I didn't want to Arelle to see its contents. Not yet.
    I removed a knife, another knife, and a wad of cash from the bag. Then I took out a lock pick, a multi-tool, and yet again, another knife that looked like a small dagger, and a plush penguin that belonged to my mom once. That I consider to this day to be priceless, and a great way to confuse your enemies. Then I took out the random bits and pieces that I found useful: paper clips, twine, hair pins, and a sewing needle with thread. What do I do with all this, I thought to myself. Then I moved to the closet and investigated the back corner. I knocked on the wood until I found a hollow spot. I slit the wood with the knife, and eventually made a little hiding place. I relocated the messenger bag's contents to the floor, and after closing the hiding place's door, placed the messenger bag in the back of the closet. I quickly changed into a blouse and a skirt and made my way to the living room. I made quick work of my hiding place, and I didn't worry that my aunt and sister thought I was taking a suspiciously long time. I was used to working under a time limit. Still, I was glad to get into the dining room.
    "There she is!" Aunt Pearl exclaimed. "Join us, love."
    I sat down next to Arelle and used a spoon to investigate the contents of my bowl. "It's tomato soup," Arelle informed me with a grin.
    "Right." It was then that I realized that I couldn't eat hastily like I always did. Well, I could have, but any little habit I had picked up on the streets couldn't show itself in front of my family. I paced myself, listening to Aunt Pearl chatter away about her day with Arelle chiming in whenever she could. So this is what normal people do. Of course I knew what normal people did, I had to know to survive the streets. The thing is, it felt completely different when I became the the normal person. I felt out of place, like a thief of their perfection. Arelle was smart, and she could talk to anyone. Aunt Pearl was hospitable and understanding. As for myself-
    I carried around knives and buried them beneath the floorboards. My training in mature conversation was centered on manipulation, and my charisma came from a sense of dark humor. I could steal, and I could take out burglars. I could save people from murders, sure, but who was I in the end? A thief? A liar? Or just another pitiful example of what the Depression did to families? Arelle had family, I was an orphan. Alone. Homeless. So there I sat at the dinner table, wanting to be anywhere else, and wanting to never leave all at the same time.
Maybe I could get better, I told myself. Maybe I can see who I would've become if the Depression hadn't come barreling into our lives. Maybe I can convince Aunt Pearl, and maybe even Arelle, that I can be as good as them, that I can be decent.
    "Vera."
    "Hello," I said quickly, snapping out of my thoughts.     Arelle playfully tapped me with the handle of her spoon. "Vera, Aunt Pearl was asking about Ms. Hattie."
    "Right, sorry," I replied quickly. "What do you want to know?" I asked her, taking another spoonful of tomato soup.
    "How did you and Ms. Hattie spend your time?"
    "We collected stamps," I lied with confidence. I'd figured this would happen. "It wasn't much, but it was something."
    "How simple life must've been with an old lady," Arelle laughed through a mouthful of soup.
    "It was a simple life, but it was a comfortable one too."
    "It's a shame she moved away, but at least we get to have you around now," Aunt Pearl said.
    I told my Aunt Pearl that my dear Ms. Hattie was moving away to Pennsylvania to be with her newborn grandson and couldn't afford to take me with her. I had told her this through a telegram, and within a week I had packed my suitcase and made my way down 106th avenue. Aunt Pearl was so thrilled about having me back with Arelle that she didn't think to ask further.
    "It was, and I'll miss her, but not more than I missed my family," I replied.
    "Aw, you really are darling," Aunt Pearl laughed. "More soup?"
    "No, thank you," Arelle and I said in unison.
    As Aunt Pearl swept up the bowls and brought them to the kitchen, Arelle leaned over to me and let her head rest on my shoulder. "I've missed you."
    "I've missed you too," I replied, resting my head atop hers. It was true: I had missed Arelle more than anything over the past seven years. She wasn't like my parents. She hadn't any say in anything that had happened. She couldn't fight. Arelle was the innocent one in my mind, and she was my sister after all. I did love her, and I hoped my sense of relief to be next to her again would overpower the fear of her finding out who I was.
    "Dessert?" Aunt Pearl shouted from the kitchen, despite how close it was to the dining table.
    "Yes please," Arelle called back. I smiled.
    "What does she have for us?"
    "Apple pie."
    "I'm sorry if the filling is too sweet," Aunt Pearl said, hurrying into the dining room with a pie in her hands. "I think I botched measuring the sugar."
    Arelle eagerly took her plate. "It's fine, I'm sure it'll taste great."
    "Thank you," I said, taking my fork and scooping up a modest bite. "It's wonderful." The apple was an explosion of flavor in my mouth. I usually didn't get treats like this, even when I lived with Ms. Hattie. Her pies were always stale.
    The taste transports me back to the back door of the bakery. I would wait there, hoping to score at least a little treat before the worse band of thieves showed up. I almost laugh at the thought of little me, knife in hand, ready to strike when the coast was clear.
    "Shall we get ready to turn in for the night?" Aunt Pearl said. "Then we can play a board game until you two get so tired you fall asleep on the dice."
    "That sounds like a good idea," Arelle replied, gingerly picking up the last bite of pie on her plate with her fork.
    "Sure." I picked up my plate and set it in the sink. I moved to turn on the faucet, but Aunt Pearl waved me away quickly.
    "Get dressed for bed. I'll take care of the dishes."
    Arelle scooted her chair in and motioned for me to follow her. The door closed and I moved towards the closet. Then it hit me.
    On the streets I hadn't cared about the scar on my back, the one just behind my right shoulder. I had taken a bullet there a while back, but I never truly cared. I just realized that I was living in more intimate conditions with someone. I didn't know how long I could hide the scar from Arelle. All I knew is that she couldn't see it that night.
    I grabbed my pajamas and ducked into the bathroom to change. I made sure to sleep in an old blouse. I didn't mind my nightgown, but the lace made the scar easily visible. After tugging on some loose fitting pants, I left the bathroom, where Arelle was leaning on the dresser. "What board game do you want to play?" she asked.
    "Don't know," I replied, opening the door. When we entered the living room, we faced Aunt Pearl, who sat on the couch with her mouth agape.
    "What's wrong, Aunt Pearl?" Arelle asked as she rushed over to her.
    "The building is foreclosing."
    "Oh, no," Arelle breathed.
    "When do we need to be out of here by?" I asked, leaning on the couch.
    "They're giving us two weeks."
    Arelle began to pace the quaint living room. "Oh for heaven's sake. Couldn't they have given us a little longer?"
    "It'll be alright. I have a contact out in North Carolina."
    "North Carolina!" I exclaimed. "Don't tell me we just have to go to North Carolina because the stupid building is foreclosing."
    "I don't have the money to live anywhere else. We'll have to go to North Carolina to see your grandparents.
    "We have grandparents?"
    "I haven't talked to them in years, but they'll work. I think you have some cousins living there too. Pack your bags, we head out tomorrow. Does six-thirty work?"
    Arelle's face fell. "So soon?"
    "We can leave at seven if you want."
    "No." Arelle hesitated and looked around the apartment. "Six-thirty is perfect." With that, my sister went to what was now our room and shut the door.
    "I think I need some fresh air," I told Aunt Pearl. She nodded and I was out in the breezeway once again.
    I felt terrible for Arelle. This place was home to her, and it's just been swept out from under her feet. I guess that's what my parents felt when my mom lost her job. At least we wouldn't lose each other this time.
    I walked out into the open air and looked at the streets before me. They had been the closest thing to home for me, but I wasn't going to miss them. Getting away from this place would help separate me from the old wounds. The scars I was hiding from Arelle.
    How long would it be, by car? I hadn't any clue. At least we had a car. It was the only possession Aunt Pearl had held a firm grasp on during the Depression.
    I planned on a long road trip with Arelle and Aunt Pearl. I planned on this trip washing my slate clean and bandaging my past. I thought it could wipe away some of what I had become and let my life get back to what it was.
    I thought that a road trip would send the ghosts running.
    I didn't realize I had gotten their direction wrong.
    I thought that old scars would heal.
    I didn't realize that bandages don't come cheap.
    I thought I could run away from a killer.
    I didn't realize killers can run too.