Free Life's A Cappella by Yessi Smith

pinpoint what it was about music that captivated me so completely. It was the only outlet that allowed me to cease to be me and just be. It transported me to a place where worries and sadness did not exist. And with the band playing for us, that’s exactly what I did. I was elevated to a place of peace I otherwise had no way of getting to.
    My heart sank a little when I realized they were playing the last song on their set. As much as I enjoyed my reality, I didn’t want the music or the night to end. I wanted to continue to let go of everything and simply fly for just a little longer.
    After the concert we went to a nearby 24-hour diner. We didn’t talk much. Maybe there wasn’t anything that needed to be said. Maybe Imagine Dragons had already told us everything we needed to hear. Or maybe I was just being corny.
    Back at Trent’s apartment, Camilla slept off her drunkenness on his couch while I cozied myself close to Trent in his bed. I kept calling it his apartment or his room or his bed, but it kind of felt like mine too. That was all Trent’s doing and a part of Trent I treasured. Almost from the beginning he made me feel like I was a part of him.
    ***
    The following morning, I filled Trent’s and my bowl with cereal and, to my delight, the perfect amount of milk while Camilla searched Trent’s apartment for soda and medicine to relieve her headache.
    “I’m gonna be sick,” Camilla told us as she put her head down on the kitchen table.
    “Shoulda drank more water,” Trent reminded her.
    “Go be annoying somewhere else,” she retorted, and Trent lifted his chin at her and gave a pathetic Chewbacca type grumble, which forced a smile out of her.
    Just as the toast popped out of the toaster, someone knocked on the door, but I continued to butter the bread while Trent answered the door.
    “No, Gonz,” Trent told whoever was at the door.
    And like a nightmare, I heard it. The name I hadn’t associated myself with and didn’t want to recognize being called. Camilla looked at me alarmed, watching me inch my way to the front door and step in front of Trent.
    “Are you Jordyn Kerr?” a police officer asked me and I stared at him.
    Was I Jordyn Kerr? I heard myself repeat the name and cringed. I immediately hated him for accusing me of being Jordyn. And I hated Jordyn and all the memories that encompassed her. Jordyn, poor little Jordy with the bruises and mismatched socks. Poor little Jordy with the mom who would show up to parent-teacher meetings too drunk to form a coherent thought. Poor little Jordy? Fuck her and the insecurities she carried with her like an essential piece of clothing.
    “No,” I squared my shoulders and told the policeman as he showed me a picture of myself at eighteen, just before my escape years ago. “You have the wrong person.”
    “Ms. Kerr—”
    “My name is Erin Lewis,” I interrupted the man Trent had called Gonz.
    Gonz dragged his fat fingers through his balding hair and said, “Before you were Erin, you were Jordyn. I have the papers,” he told me, handing them to me. He smelled like old coffee, I noted, wondering why I was noticing such minute details. In a matter of moments, Camilla and Trent would finally know me and hate me. Fat fingers, the smell of coffee, who cared when the tiny bit of normalcy in my life was being stripped away from me?
    I took the papers from him, holding my composure, not allowing myself the luxury of a meltdown. “Well, then,” I told Gonz coolly. “Why bother with formalities if you already know your answer?” I deliberately turned away from him and Trent, not wanting to look at Trent.
    Camilla searched my face, but I didn’t give away what I was feeling. She had no idea how badly I wanted to cry. To curl up into a little ball and cry. But I couldn’t, so I sat down on Trent’s couch and waited to see what Gonz wanted with me.
    “Ms. Kerr,” Gonz began, “I regret to inform you that your mother has passed.”
    “What?” I