~Sierra~
June 1985
'Hawkins faced yet another blow to the independent business scene as Starcourt Mall has attracted the majority of its clientele upon its opening'.
Nope, too long. I clicked my tongue and pressed a balmy hand against my forehead. It was over 86F and it was the one day the aircon in the entire building had stopped working. Every part of me was a sweaty nightmare. Alright, let's try this one again.
' Hawkins faced yet another blow as businessman Anthony Nightingale opened the doors to the grand Starcourt Mall'
I paused, leaning back in the cheap office chair, and scrutinized the neon green, fuzzy words on the screen. How could I spruce this up? How could I best present the truth all of Hawkins deserved? I bit the bottom of my lip and pushed myself forward until the words began to blur.
'The same Anthony Nightingale is also an abusive bastard who is using his father's terminal illness as a way to sustain control over his children. He got partial custody of his son despite his daughter finally speaking out. Don't believe the act, Hawkins. Don't believe Starcourt Mall is all good. Shop independent. Believe Sierra Nightingale'.
As quickly as I'd typed the words, I erased them. With a loud, infuriated groan, I pushed myself away from the desk and clutched onto my head, massaging my temples in a desperate attempt to stop the vicious pummeling my brain was receiving right now. I'd been at this for 3 hours now and the light bulb of ideas was finally on fire, fizzling into nothing.
"Hey, Nightingale, don't let the boss see you like this. You know he's already looking for any excuse to get on yours and Nancy's asses" Jonathan bluntly reminded me as he entered the room. He was wearing a checked white and brown shirt and a loose tie that irritated me from the moment he'd walked through my door. My hands were itching to tighten it for him, but I was so fed up with doing simple jobs for men already.
After placing his camera on my table, he scooted over to me on another chair. He was right - my boss was a misogynistic asshole who was ready to pounce on either Nancy or I at any given moment. We were two of the four women working here and the only two female journalists. The other two were secretaries and note takers who wanted next to nothing to do with Nancy and I. Too ambitious, they called us. Nice as pie to our faces, but it all came out in hushed voices on their lunch breaks.
"I just don't see how I'm able to write this without appearing biased" I sighed. This article I'd been assigned to was about the impact Starcourt Mall was having on Hawkins independent businesses and despite the ideas of what to write flashing in my head rapidly over three hours ago, I was hesitant to string a sentence together. Jonathan extended his arm to offer me a potato chip. Immediately, I took his offer. "Literally, I need all the comfort potato right now, man"
I was just so bemused at how I could write this article without any personal allusions lacing the words. Personally, I supported the independent businesses because they had been here serving Hawkins locals for decades and abhorred how they were suffering as a result of gentrification. They were good points to touch upon, but how far could I delve into this before my own ethics shone through? So far, the '80s had seen the demise of simplicity and an uprise in decadence. Brands and whatever was biggest from hairstyles to cars were the trends taking the decade by storm. But even if I tried to convey that, and show my support for independent businesses, there would be the same answer: Why is she doing this to her dad? A recent poll had already shown the majority of Hawkins were for the opening of Starcourt, it was only a tiny amount who opposed it. However, if I were to appease to the masses and write in favor of Starcourt, then I really would appear biased as fuck. Wow, he's got his daughter promoting it now? What happened to good ol' fashioned, unbiased news? I wasn't about the nepotism life. This article was a pain in my ass. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't totally against Starcourt. It had given Hawkins an opening in the job market which had been spiraling for years now. Despite their reluctance due to who owned the business, Pepsi and Steve got jobs working at Scoops Ahoy at the mall's food court. They were struggling to find work in Hawkins, so without Starcourt, they were looking at a good hour commute to work each day. The entire article was just a massive headache, but I didn't want to give Tom Holloway the satisfaction of surrendering. Honest to God, whenever I hung out with Pepsi and Heather - who had officially declared themselves as secretly exclusive - I really had to hold in the urge to tell Heather how much of a twat her father was.
"You know what," I paused for a second, scouring the area in search for someone whose ears were just a little too tuned into mine and Byers conversation, and leaned in towards Byers. Upon seeing his confused expression, I motioned desperately for him to mimic me. "I genuinely think he's done this to set me up"
"You don't say" Jonathan replied sarcastically. "You and Nancy are the first female journalists here. I've heard the way they talk to you in the boardroom"
Ever since Nancy and I showed up here, Tom Holloway had made it very clear we were only here because the mayor ordered him to hire more women. Diversity reasons, he had said contemptuously. For the first two weeks, he'd had Nancy and I running errands all over town for him. Grab a latte from Gina's Coffee, no sugar, but with extra vanilla. Like, did he not know extra vanilla was literally all fucking sugar? Nancy was the 'sandwich girl' and I was the 'coffee girl'. In our first meeting with all the other journalists, who were unsurprisingly all white males in their '40s, they had no qualms talking about doing an make-believe adult special. But only if the women had nothing less than a D-D cup size and blonde hair. Nancy and I went bright red. If I thought that was bad, one of the biggest chauvinist pigs I had ever had the so-called pleasure of meeting, Bruce Lowe, then dismissed Nancy entirely from being in this non-existent special and pointed at me before arrogantly snorting out that I would be perfect for it.
"Could we get back to talking about real news instead of my tits, Tom?" I managed to snap without sounding like I was completely losing my cool. Whilst I was seething with rage at how I'd been so explicitly objectified, I didn't want it to show it.
"Whatta'ya mean? This is real news, right? Besides, this is what - what'd you call them? - those feminizers want, huh? You want sexual liberation, we'll give it you ya! Christ, they just want everything now!" Bruce had exclaimed indignantly like this was an issue really keeping him awake at night.
"You mean feminists?" Nancy rebutted, arms crossed over her chest and eyebrows raised. "If you're gonna use an agenda to make women equal against said-women, then at least get the word right"
"Jesus, kid, take the compliment!" Bruce had groaned and attempted to pass me a lit cigarette which I had done nothing other than glance at scornfully. "Although, you'd have to dye your hair. Anyway, back to serious issues: I need a latte with extra foam and BLT pronto. So, vamos, kids! Sierra, you'll know what that means. Your mom was one of those Latina hotties, right?"
Long story short, I told Bruce to get his own fucking coffee. As a result of my protest, I was told to calm down and given this story. It would never get published. Nope, this was just punishment for speaking out. Then Tom and Bruce could say they'd given me a chance and send me right back to the coffee run. As for Nancy, she'd been sent out onto the fields to interview independent business owners. Oh, and she was upgraded to coffee and sandwich girl. We were under explicit and strict instructions though that I had to write the article. So I really had to stick to my guns and make this work.
"You're a great writer, Sierra. Honestly, I think you're gonna show them a thing or two" Jonathan whispered, pushing the bag of Lays towards me.
"Like how to leave the office and get their asses to Gina's?" I groaned and ravenously grabbed a handful of potato chips. "Do you think they'd even know how to order their coffees?" I dramatically speculated and smirked.
That would truly be the day. Imagine it, Tom and Bruce lining up at Gina's, trying to babble out an order. The guys would be completely clueless if they'd ordered an Americano or latte. Believe me, I'd tested the theory. Once, when Bruce had made a lewd remark about my ass, I ordered him an Americano with foamy milk and the guy had no fucking idea. Petty, but it made me grin as if I'd gotten some satisfying retribution. Dear God, this place was the bane of my life.
"Nightingale!" I suddenly heard Tom bark harshly. Flinching slightly with potato chips flying, I spun my chair around to face Tom Holloway leaning against the doorframe in his usual attire of a crisp, dry-cleaned and pressed white shirt and a red tie with the flag of Hawkins pinned on proudly. His entire demeanor suggested he wasn't actually mad at me. Nope, the guy just wanted to shit me up. "How's the article going?"
"Mm!" I voiced enthusiastically as I tried to munch quickly on the Lays in my partially covered mouth. I gave him a thumbs up which he mirrored with as much gusto as a miserable server at Chuck E Cheese - outwardly energetic but dead behind the eyes.
"My readers aren't just after a thumbs up, Nightingale" he said brashly and walked on over to Jonathan and I, helping himself to a potato chip.
"I'm just brainstorming, Tom. There's a lot of points I could cover" I blurted out after finally swallowing.
"I'm counting on you, Nightingale. I don't usually give interns a chance this early" Okay, well that was a blatant lie. Eugene McCorkle, another intern journalist, had been assigned to help Bruce with a story on crop failure on his first day. What he really meant was, he doesn't give female interns a chance to explore beyond Gina's Coffee and the photocopier this early on. "I'll leave you to it. Hey, Byers, make sure you get a photo of Nightingale and Wheeler for the publication. Gotta let our readers think these girls can do everything!" I bit the inside of my lip, focusing on the dull pain instead of how much I yearned to sock the bastard. Tom slapped a stiff Jonathan on the back with a snort of derisive laughter and painted an exaggerated, unfazed expression on his face when Jonathan didn't react. Now dealing with a silent room and our bewildered stares, Tom made a fist and raised his arm in mock solidarity. Oh dear fucking God help me. "Gotta support the feminizers"
"Feminists, Tom" I said in a flat voice. "We're called feminists"
"Them too! Get 'em all involved! Hey, we'd finally be able to get a doughnut girl if we had enough of you!"
Keep your cool, Sierra. Don't knock his lights out just yet. Just imagine him choking on a doughnut instead and hope it comes true.
When Tom finally disappeared down the corridor, the echo of doors slamming closed found its way into my office, I released the suppressed, theatrical groan I'd been keeping prisoner since he'd entered my peripheral vision. Taking my head in my hands, I continued to let out the elongated groan and let out feebly fake weeping noises.
"Why do I work for such an asshole?" I whined. I felt the plastic film of the chip bag brush against my fingers and dove in for another large handful.
"Wow, Tom been that bad today?" Nancy voiced. I lifted my head to find Nancy placing three dark green disposable coffee cups on the desk and let out another loud groan in response before stuffing the Lays into my mouth. She was wearing a stylish black and white geometric, linen dress which both complimented her and kept her cool. I should have taken a leaf out of her book today. I'd been too stubborn and chose to wear a sleeveless white blouse and dark green, wide pants as a way to communicate to the men here that I was both their equal and deadly serious about being here. According to my Nana, that was what pantsuits were invited for and I'd naively believed it. I was pretty sure my ass cheeks had sweat patches from festering at this desk all day. I wasn't proving shit to these pigs. "Should I ask?"
"It's the 'feminizers' fault, Nance" Jonathan chuckled. I grabbed another handful of chips and tossed them at him.
"You can clean that up" I murmured through bites. Before he even had the chance to utter another word, I pointed accusingly at him. "You dare make a joke out of that, Jonathan Byers, and I swear I will shove one of these Lays where the sun doesn't shine"
"Well, if you do that, how are you going to eat anymore?" he suggested, poking his tongue out at me which I returned with all the sardonic energy I could muster.
"I said I'd only put one where the sun don't shine. I'm saving the rest of the packet to comfort eat" I muttered.
"I've become way too accustomed to the set up of the meal deal section in Melvald's, so Sierra doesn't have to worry about that" Nancy sighed and fell back into the chair opposite my assigned desk.
I'd set up the desk quite nicely, despite knowing it was probably only temporary. But hey, I wanted to get a proper feel for the life of a writer. I'd been given a tiny room with no ventilation and only one small window which had previously been used as a workout room for the men on their breaks. It took days to get the stench of stale sweat. On my day off, I'd organized a box of what I wanted in the office. Lined neatly in front of the computer were my fountain pens, a journal I scribbled furious notes about how much I loathed Tom and Bruce, and ideas for stories, and three golden photo frames. The first was of Zack with my grandparents from Christmas about three years ago, the second of Steve, Pepsi, Nancy and I after a football match last summer, and the third of Billy and I before graduation on my grandparent's staircase. Replacing the smell of residual sweat was calming sandalwood notes from the oil diffuser I'd brought in. The other men I shared the corridor with had belittled me endlessly for it, saying they only wanted to smell nice things when they came home to their wives. Jesus, I felt sorry for those women. They probably had to deal with a man criticizing food he'd never cooked and them cumming in missionary before being left to finish the rest themselves whilst he snored annoyingly in the background. My idea of absolute hell. There was still a punch bag in here, hanging in the corner, and sometimes Bruce would waltz in when I was trying to work and throw a few punches, letting out the most exaggerated, guttural noises I had ever heard. Wow, I really did feel sorry for his wife if that's what she had to listen to. Bad moans and 10 seconds of vanilla sex? Poor woman.
"Anyway, I finished some interviews today, and interestingly, I think I've found something" Nancy declared. I nodded at the door in a gesture for her to close it. I'd learned to mistrust the others in this joint. They'd snap up a story that wasn't their idea and claim it as theirs. Once the door was closed, Jonathan and I leaned in, ready to heed whatever Nancy had unfoiled. "So, I was interviewing Donald Melvard after picking up Tom and Bruce's lunch. I was asking how Starcourt's popularity had affected his store, and he told me whilst it hadn't really done much to him, he knew some stores had closed as a result. He gave me some names and most wouldn't talk, but one did"
We were all silent, waiting for Nancy to continue. What did these store owners have to keep a secret?
"Nancy, don't do a Pepsi and have a dramatic pause" I sighed, snatching the Lays packet from Jonathan. He threw me a disgruntled look. "It's been a day, Byers, okay?"
"Granted, Nightingale" he responded and flung his arms up in defeat.
"Sierra," Nancy did that dramatic pause again. God, I knew she and Pepsi had been hanging out way too much, but we were on a time limit here. This article wasn't going to write itself. "Your dad has paid people off to close their stores"
"Wait, what?" Jonathan gasped. "That's the majority of downtown Hawkins"
"Why are we surprised here, guys? He's been doing it for years" I stated, unaffected. It was true. If there was competition, Dad would order his lawyers to whip up a non-disclosure agreement and next thing you know, the competition would silently fade into the background and enjoy a luxurious life on the Bahamas. This wasn't news to me.
"Sierra - " Nancy started.
"He's been doing fishy shit for years, Nance. He either gets them on board or pays them off. He even gave it a fucking name. The Leap of Profit" I rolled my eyes. Ugh, I always hated that phrase.
"Right, but why try and pay off a convenience store when the mall doesn't have one? Why pay off businesses that wouldn't pose as competition?" Nancy inquired, genuine concern and intrigue etching her eyes.
"Because there are some things the convenience store has which the mall doesn't - it's local, convenient and you can just go in and out. Really, Nance, I don't know why you're treating this like some big mystery" I slumped into the back of my seat and stretched out, moving my neck from side to side. I grabbed my fountain pen and flicked through the pages of my journal for a fresh page. Fiercely, I wrote 'I am utterly screwed'. "Everywhere is having sales because of that place anyway or has moved over there. Radio Shack, the laundromat - "
"What about Merrill's Pumpkin Patch?" Nancy interrupted. I snapped my head up from my illegible handwriting to look at Nancy who sat there with a content smirk on her lips. "Last time I checked, the mall doesn't need a pumpkin patch. The convenience store is one thing, but the pumpkin patch is something entirely different"
Even I was stumped here. I tried to remember the minutes I'd scrawled down after Dad's meetings, my mind enduring endless flashbacks of lowering my head to look at the notes whenever he would raise his voice. My curls swayed with the gentle movement of my head as it shook in confusion. The only thing I could think of was more land to expand. But even that was a dead-end. The farm was right on the edge of Hawkins, the mall a good four miles away. As far as I was aware, he'd never had a single meeting with Merrill Wright.
"Eugene and Bruce are covering the crop failure right now at Merrill's" Jonathan pitched in, his voice faraway in the mystery we were all trying to solve.
"Wait, isn't that where the tunnels were last year? To the… you know" I couldn't say it to this day. Whenever I did, a shiver would dart down my spine and the sound of that damn clock would reverberate.
"And the crops are failing to grow again" Nancy muttered worriedly. It had been on all of our minds since the last time we had witnessed those demonic dogs wreak terror on this town. "Do you think - "
"How does this relate to Starcourt, Nance? There's not a link here. It's just a mere coincidence the crops are failing to grow and Dad's trying to pay off Merrill" I grumbled. I wasn't saying her findings had no substance, but it was impossible for the two to be interrelated. They were completely separate issues. "It's a hot summer" I said bluntly, regretting even mentioning the tunnels. "Hawkins has reached peak temperatures this summer and we're in the middle of a drought. Of course crops are going to fail"
"I just don't think we should be dismissing this, Sierra" Nancy stated, keeping her cool at my constant devil's advocate perspectives. "Crops aside, why is your Dad even trying to pay off Merrill Wright?"
"I don't know, Nance. But either way, if I report on that, then I'm gonna be in a heap of trouble" I paused, actually contemplating on why someone would trust not just a journalist, but an 18 year old girl with such classified information. "Wait, how did you even find out?"
Nancy shuffled awkwardly in her seat, eyes deflected to her white Mary Jane shoes. I raised an eyebrow, silently pushing her for an answer.
"I mean, I may have had a little snoop around" she murmured. Slowly, she reached into her bag and revealed an envelope with the word 'PRIVATE' in a bright, foreboding red ink. Simultaneously, mine and Jonathan's eyes widened.
"Jesus, Wheeler!" I snapped in a hushed voice and snatched the envelope from her as if someone was going to discover us right this second. Jonathan sprung up from his seat and lunged towards the sole window in the room, slamming it closed and bringing the blind down. A tad excessive if you ask me, but I also did not want someone lurking around to find out about Nancy stealing a secret, law-binding contract. "Where did you get this?"
I began flicking through the pages frantically. At the top was the emblem of Starcourt Industries, below it in bold print, 'Nightingale Corporation'. I found Dad's signature, a messy one of loops in each letter, and Merrill's. He'd been paid a grand sum of $1,000,000 which would explain why he'd started driving a Mercedes around downtown to pick up fertilizer now. The Mercedes, the money, had a price of its own though - 'Subject to the sharing of classified information'. Wait, did Merrill know the same secret we'd all been keeping under lock and key since November? If so, did this mean my Dad also knew? But what did this have to do with Starcourt Mall? My eyes crinkled, brows knit together in bewilderment, when I reached the last page.
Why the hell was the final page in Russian?
"Wondering the same thing I am?" Nancy asked.
As if the premise of this scheme to pay off a farmer wasn't enough to confuse me, this one really messed with my head. Dad was a staunch Republican who despised communists. Whenever he'd have a shot of vodka, he'd curse the Russians who'd made it first. So why was his signature even close to a Russian document?
"Something's not right here" Jonathan murmured as he scrutinized the contract. "He's been paid a million here, Sierra. How much did your dad make from getting Starcourt up and running?"
"Close to $500million" I whispered. I really hated saying how rich the fucker was.
"A million is like popcorn kernels to him, but to someone like Merrill, whose livelihood is quite literally dying, that is a lot" Nancy stated.
"But why Merrill? Eugene's dad also has a farm and his crops are dying" I sighed and buried my head in my hands again. "I don't get why he'd pay off Merrill in the first place when Starcourt isn't anywhere close to his farm. Building on his land is a no-go"
"And it doesn't say anything in this contract other than Merrill's been given a million smackers and only briefly mentions classified information. That could be anything from knowing about the Upside Down to keeping this pay-off a secret" Jonathan said, hunching forwards and letting out a sharp exhale. "And the farm is still up and running, despite the crops"
"And why isn't Merrill talking to Eugene's dad about the crops? Why talk to a contractor?" Nancy asked. "But also," she slammed another contract onto the table "why is there one with the mayor too? Exact same writing, exact same contract"
"Guys, like I said - these two things aren't related" The gauge of my frustrations were reaching peak temperature, just like the sun beating down on us and making me boil in this goddamn office.
"But, Sierra, the mayor - "
Suddenly, the boisterous yells of our pig coworkers reverberated down the corridor and we snapped back into work mode as they passed by. It was a Friday evening, 5 o'clock on the dot. Boys beer night, they called it, and they weren't leaving one second late which meant we needed to shift now or face even more endless taunts.
"We can't mention this to anyone, okay?" Nancy whispered, glancing at Jonathan and I sincerely. "Not Billy, not Steve, not Joyce - we tell no one"
"Agreed. This stays in this room. You need to get those contracts back though, Nance, before Merrill notices they're gone" I said and slipped the documents into her bag, placing several items on top of them as an extra precaution.
"Wait, shouldn't we talk about this further? All of this screams something bad" There was a tremble in Jonathan's voice. The crops were dying, the first sign of the Demogorgon making its comeback over a year ago now. Next was his brother, and after that, any innocence we once had was robbed from us. What more could the Upside Down take from us? "The crops, the Russians, keeping people hushed with contracts. This isn't good. We need to at least tell Hopper"
"It's called two things, Jonathan. Two things that are completely independent of each other" I held up a finger and intently stared into Jonathan's eyes. There was no need to get so worried about this. At least, those were the words I kept telling myself with a desperate hope I'd believe them. "The first is crops die in the middle of a drought. The second is corruption. The only similarity between these two matters are that they happen on a daily basis all over the world. I know we want a good story to prove our worth here, but this isn't going to cut it. If anything, it'll end up with us getting our asses sued and fired, so like Nancy said, this stays between us, alright?"
"Sierra, I get you're worried about your dad coming back, but - "
"No, Jonathan, don't even go there" I snapped. I was fed up of my father managing to slither his way into every aspect of my life. He had invaded my new home, wormed his way into my Nana's mind and now he was at the center of my first story. Was that so much to ask for? "Come on, we've gotta move quick. Those bastards are gonna get their tighty whiteys in twist if they get to the bar late"
"You can't not see what's going on, Sierra" Jonathan stuttered as he hurriedly picked up all of belongings. I opened the door to leave my stuffy office, officially ending this conversation. Jonathan glowered at me and slowly raised his arm to pass me my bag. "We'll talk about this later" Jonathan marched past me, leaving Nancy and I in the debris of his silent frustration.
Nancy and I didn't utter a single word until we were in my car and away from Hawkins Post. Not even the radio was switched on, a rarity I saved for processing thoughts and moodiness.
"He has a point"
"I know, Nancy"
"Something weird is going - "
"I said, I know, Nance!" I snapped. As we reached a red light, I softly braked and rested my forehead on the searing hot leather steering wheel. Breathe in, hold for 10, and breathe out. Repeat. Calm down. "I'm sorry, there's just so much going on. This is Zack's first weekend with my dad and no one to supervise, Grandpa's on a palliative health ward and this article is literally the bane of my life right now. I'm sorry for snapping, Nance"
"Look, it's alright" Nancy sighed and gingerly stroked my back.
My entire body was on 'fight or flight' mode, even when it shut down as I slept. Every part of my being was on edge, awaiting the next bad thing. This was it. The fear we had all felt tightened in our lungs since November. When Nancy and I saw the thick, black entity fly out of Will, we knew it would find its way back. We just didn't want to believe it. We wouldn't believe it. We wanted our lives to be simple, free from any drama, especially otherworldly drama. This didn't mean The Mind Flayer was back. But it was a sign. Simultaneously, this could all be just a coincidence. As for these contracts Nancy had pilfered, they were messing up my head. I had so many questions. Ultimately though, I knew for a fact they wouldn't get answered. Dad was a powerful person and powerful people's weapons were their secrets. An inkling of this getting out meant firing up those weapons.
There was just too much. Everything was too much. Even I was getting too much. I was clutching onto a fraying rope that was about to throw me into a hellish oblivion. There were too many truths to confront - Grandpa dying, Dad coming back into our lives, moving away from Hawkins, and now this. I was so scared. Scared of where all of these truths would lead to, scared if the reality would be worse than what I'd conjured in my already active imagination.
"This isn't going to leave us, but likewise, we can't let it leave us. We need to follow this, Sierra. This could be huge" Nancy whispered, as if we were still surrounded by the prying ears of the office gossipers.
I tapped my fingers on the wheel and waited for the green light. It was taking longer to turn on today. The sweltering hot rays of the sun beat down on the car and a film of sweat around my hairline irritated me like something chronic.
Nancy was right - this could be huge. But it could also be our demise.
If we weren't careful enough, we'd lose everything.
Oh God, it was starting again. There was nothing stopping it. No one to help soothe the inner kid who was screaming for someone to believe her, for it to all just stop, or even pause. This wasn't me. I knew for a damn fact it wasn't. But all the air was being taken from me.
Him choking me. Losing air. Losing my mind.
Every image flashed in the bundle of thoughts at the speed of light. One fist to the face. You're like your fucking mother. Another to the ribs. Your Mom was one of those hot Latina's, right? The note. Her number. Her voice. His voice. His hands. How violent his hands were. The bruises. Zack on the staircase. Watching, wailing, waiting for it to be over. Small hands over his ears.
"Sierra, are you okay?" Nancy's sweet voice sounded miles away.
I wasn't okay.
I wasn't here.
I was just lost in the whirlwind of panic.
Panic was a thick smoke, contorting its way around my throat.
My body felt so far away.
The drone of the clock sounded.
My ragged breaths were out of control.
Green light.
I pushed my foot on the accelerator, speeding towards a free spot close to the pavement.
"Nance, I can't do this" I wept, tears plummeting down my face. Nancy's eyes softly landed on mine and I felt her warm hand cover mine. Stiffness relaxed and I reminded myself of where I was. Nancy was here, I was in my car, and I was on my way to the pool with Billy with Nancy. We'd done this every Friday now. You're okay, you've made it. You're alive again. But are you really? "Everyone is going to college, going on about their lives and I'm doing something I really don't want to do" Nancy waited patiently for my next words, gently nodding her head. "I got into fucking Brown and UCLA for God's sakes. Ever since I can remember, going to college and making something out of myself is all I've wanted to do. Getting out of Hawkins was my dream"
"It still is your dream, Sierra, and it's one you can make true still" Nancy said in a calming tone, soothingly stroking my back to beckon back the remainder of me still lost in the smoke of panic.
"You don't get it, Nance. No one seems to get it. If I leave, then Dad gets full custody. I'm the only one helping Nana. If he gets full custody, then Zack will either turn into him or be at the end of his fist" There was no denying he treated Zack better than he did with me. But there was once upon a time when I was the little princess, the one adorned with new clothes, luxurious presents and the gift of his company. But it all changed. His decision to give me love fluctuated with his moods. If he'd had a good day, then I would be loved. If he'd had a bad day, I'd be hit. Between those moods, I just waited to see which side of him I'd face. "I can't have Zack go through that. I can't, and the worry about it is fucking killing me. I feel like I'm losing my mind, I'm losing fucking everything"
I was losing Grandpa, eventually I would lose Billy. When his dad let it slip about his scholarship, I was both overjoyed and something more sinister. It was only a morsel, something so small that I could let it go if I truly wanted to. But that was the problem. I didn't know what needed to be let go, what needed to be out in the open. I was fully aware of how depressed I was, how much I felt like I was getting lost in the tidal waves intent on drowning my voice.
Lost. That's what this feeling was. I felt lost. Lost at sea, alone. It just seemed like no one else got this. Everyone couldn't understand why I wasn't just leaving. They had no idea what was at stake here. I didn't want Zack to end up like me. The thought of someone else abandoning him was heart wrenching. Constantly, I was lost in between the interchanging feelings of intense guilt and anger. No one was putting any demands on me other than my conscience. I'd been given a choice about my role as Zack's carer months ago when my grandparents got custody of us. Whilst it felt like freedom was being ripped from me, the choice never left. Choice and liberty to live life as I truly dreamed it was still here.
"I want to go to California with Billy" There it was, out in the open, never to be taken away. "I want to write. I want to live in a house by the sea and know everyday that I can just go out there and swim. I don't want to be a parent yet. But I don't want my brother to suffer. I suffered because of the choice my mom made. I don't want him to suffer because of the choices I want to make"
I slumped into the back of my seat, feeling the leather burn through the fabric of my blouse. If the seat could swallow me right now, I'd welcome it. Just for a brief moment before throwing me back into reality. I had a choice, but the things influencing my decision weren't under negotiation. Grandpa had a month tops to live. Dad would eventually get full custody of Zack. I knew the inevitable conclusion to all of this: I wouldn't be able to protect Zack from everything. Suddenly, I reached for my bag and began rustling through it, carelessly tossing items to the backseat and wiping my eyes. My face burned. Everything burned. But, perhaps, what I was looking for would be the one thing to stop everything.
"Sierra, what are you doing?" Nancy asked as she watched me recklessly remove everything from my bag.
Once I'd retrieved what I was looking for, I leapt out of the car, slamming the door behind me. Nancy followed, shouting my name. But I had two destinations right now. The first one was right in front of me. The phone booth reeked of week's old piss and booze; it was vile. But I was adamant on punching in the numbers.
"Telephone directory, how can I assist you with your call today?" the sweet and obliging voice of a woman said from miles away.
"I want the number for 44 Bloomingdale Avenue, Chicago"
"Please hold"
I held. I waited. I prayed.
The drone of the waiting tune drummed in my ears.
Please, just let it be her.
I saw her. For the first time in years, I saw her in my mind. She wasn't a blurry figment of my imagination anymore. The doe, eternally twinkling green eyes lined with thick, dark lashes. All of my thoughts stopped, fleeing back to one moment in time.
The gentle breeze of a spring's day. Fresh aromas of flowers and plants mingling in my nostrils. Her soft voice, unaged, singing me a Spanish lullaby. Sitting together, side by side, on the grass. Our feet being tickled by blades of grass. A linen cloth hiding my face in this innocent game we were playing.
"Hello, my sweet girl! Where did you go?"
I'd never gone. Wherever she went, I followed. I was her shadow, her baby.
Tears cascaded down my face. Finally, the smoke was fading. At long last, I let out the shuddering breath of relief I'd yearned for years. If only it was her, if only she picked up.
This - she - was my choice.
Lips parting, I was ready to say the one word I had lost. If I found her, I could find myself. Someone picked up the phone and the droning buzz turned into silence. I held my breath again. Please, just let it be her.
"Mom?"