Late Summer 2009

Shortly after the visit at Mercer Hospital, Sara had contacted her landlord about terminating her almost two-year-old lease. The next month and 16 days consisted of virtual communication and postage service. Three days after her daughter turned 21 months old, she received an email from Frankie Tucci in Long Island City. It said:

Dear Miss Johnson,

I am writing to inform you that someone has expressed interest in renting #2D 1138 51st Avenue. Since you're unable to gather the remainder of your possessions, I recommend you call United Van Lines. Please note that perishable foods will be discharged. You must have the townhome cleared out by November 14, 2009. I will return your security deposit when you do so.

Sara sighed and began drafting a bilateral list of items she wanted to have in the house. She also pondered on placing the rest of her and Samara's belongings into self-storage; after all, it wasn't their roof they were living under. The single mother entertained the idea of having a yard sale. It would help make the first mortgage payment. And forget about the lottery. The chances of possessing a winning ticket were one in a billion. That was something else both Sara and her father used to agree on. Still, she would need to attain a steadier income as soon as possible.

Roy was fully detoxed by the time his 45 days at Southwood Interventions were completed. Nonetheless, the specialists thought he wasn't ready to return home yet. They decided to have him live at Henry's Sober Living Home. Of course, Roy's brain fog remained persistent. He would absent-mindedly ask questions. Once, he forgot he left Sara and her mother when she was five. Mr. Johnson would also struggle to focus on most occasions. The good news was that he responded better to the sober home. The former trumpeter felt like an ensnared bird at the rehab because he presumably hated being alone. In addition, he seemingly rubbed elbows with the other tenants.

The only people Sara told about her father lived over 12 hours away. Zoe was disappointed that she couldn't give her and Samara a proper send-off. A month before they left, the bohemian lovers of New York were flourishing in their respective fields. Franz Klein had worked with performance artists in Brooklyn. Zoe Thompson was landing several failed auditions until recently. She was making her theatrical debut on Off-Off-Broadway. Consequently, the alumnae resorted to text messages for their chats.

SJ: What's the play about?

ZT: It's a retelling of William Shakespeare's "Love's Labour's Lost" set in the 60s America. I play Rosalyn, one of Princess's three friends.

SJ: Isn't it supposed to be Rosaline?

ZT: Benny thought it confuses the audience with Rosaline from "Romeo and Juliet". I told him no one's gonna care. He persisted that the name should change because he said he's the director. Enough about my career. How is your portfolio, Miss Choreographer?

SJ: I've put it on pause since, you know, my dad and all.

ZT: Oh, how's Mara handling the move?

SJ: I think she's doing a better job than I am. I mean, she's still too young to understand why Pop-Pop won't be home for another three months.

ZT: At least he'll be out before the next year, which is an all-new decade. I've always wanted to know. Why didn't you talk much about this Derek guy when we were in Juilliard?

SJ: I'm pretty sure I'd told you about him a few times.

ZT: You'd never say why you two broke up. You were like, "It's over. It's over. It's over."

SJ: I don't wanna talk about it. Besides, you didn't mind after I started seeing Miles.

ZT: You and Miles were a fling. I may never meet Derek, but he obviously meant something to you.

SJ: "Meant". Past tense.

Sara distracted herself from the conversation by getting Samara ready for bed later that night. The latter wasn't fussy during her bath time but persisted in choosing what she wanted to wear.

The next morning, the former was about to prepare banana pancakes for breakfast when she observed she was low on milk, eggs, and bananas among others. She quickly wrote down a lopsided shopping list. The unemployed single mother went upstairs to investigate a noise outside the kitchen. A barefooted Samara was running back and forth in the small hallway. She was instantly caught in her mom's arms. "Get your shoes on, honey. We're going on an outing today."

"Yes, mama." Not wanting her daughter to starve, Sara gave her an applesauce pouch to snack on the go. She herself wasn't feeling very hungry. They rode a taxi to the Englewood Community Mart. Hand-in-hand, the mother-daughter duo entered the food market. It was overcrowded with people; Sara got a little worried by this condition. "Stay close to me while we're here, okay?"

"Okay." Everything was going well within the first 30 minutes. Sara decided to make things fun for Samara by turning it into a game. Each time she found an item on her mother's list, she was allowed to choose where to go next in the store. Halfway through, the older Johnson regretted not eating anything at home.

"Um, listen, why don't we make a slight detour? Make that two detours."

Her daughter queried, "Where?"

"First the bakery, and then the refrigerated section. I need a muffin and a protein shake." About an hour later, Sara was carrying three plastic bags full of groceries. She reached for her Motorola V70 to call another taxi when she looked down in horror. Her left side was vacant. She looked around her surroundings. "Sweetie?" There was no sign of the hazel-eyed toddler. "Samara, where are you?" As the fretful mother began rechecking the aisles, she was submerging in a wave of panic. So many faces were visible, but none of them was that of her young daughter. Sara was verging closer to having a nervous breakdown. "Samara!"