Free Love in a Carry-On Bag by Sadeqa Johnson Page A

strong suit and with no help and her little ones to care for, depression had an easy time finding her on the kitchen floor scraping up peas, in the basement doing the laundry, and on the sofa crying softly over the constant smell of shitty diapers. Her life proved to be a repetitive guilt trip. She longed for an escape from her mundane existence, and found it in Bonnie, a mistress disguised in housewife’s clothes, who one day at the neighborhood bar handed Gweny freedom in a fancy glass.
    At first the change in Erica’s mother was subtle. She began oversleeping, and forgot little things like changing the clocks for daylight savings time. The laundry started to pile up and it seemed as if they were eating their dinner from a can more often than not. She was known to run their house on a familiar schedule and like all children, Erica thrived on predictability. Gradually her mother started losing track of time and Erica found herself being picked up later and later from nursery school, until one day she was the last child. The memory was as strong to her as the smell of ammonia, and she could remember waiting on the industrial rugged stairs, wringing her fingers in her four-year-old lap, trying to quiet the urge to poop.
    “I’m so sorry,” her mother said the first time it happened, bursting through the double doors fussing with her dark sunglasses, while muttering a stream of excuses. After helping Erica into her scarlet wool coat, she carried her down the stone stairs without paying the late fee. Erica’s ponytails flapped in the wind as she wrapped her arms and legs around her mother, searching for that familiar scent. Inside the car, the stitched vinyl seats were toasty because she had left the engine running, but Erica wanted her mother’s attention and cried that she was still cold.
    With her mother hanging out and her father’s short fuse it didn’t take much for their house to fall into a place of conflict. Her mother would come home late and her father would be waiting for her at the door screaming about money missing from his wallet.
    “You got a babysitter here every night. Why can’t you stay home?” he’d roar and the violent moments would stay stamped in Erica’s mind no matter how hard she tried to wash it away: him turning the kitchen table over, splashing her mother’s blouse with spaghetti. In the living room, he hurled a rotary telephone at her, bruising the skin around her eye, and Erica didn’t know if she should help or hide. In the bathroom, her mother’s arm went through a window and Erica fretted that the neighbors would hear. Upstairs, in the long hallway was where her father dragged Gweny by her ankles kicking and screaming and, as she watched, Erica worried that her mother would get a splinter.
    Soon her parents stopped sleeping together and her mother became Erica’s burden, moaning and turning in the canopy bed that she had once loved, but now hated to share.
    Over the next few years Erica constructed a shell around herself, searching for her mothering elsewhere. She was a likable girl and had no problem finding nurturing in her favorite card-cataloging librarian, bubbling camp counselor, sugar-faced lunch monitor, or doting classroom teacher. These women were generous with cleavage-filled hugs, nourishing smiles and tongues that spun encouragement. And from the moment Erica stepped into Claire Downing’s sun-drenched corner office, Claire became one of Erica’s women.
    President and executive director of B&B’s publicity, Claire Downing was the epitome of corporate professionalism. As one of the highest ranking women in publishing, Claire’s experience spanned close to twenty years. She was credited with building the career of the most successful authors in the history of the business. Her petite five-foot frame commanded respect. When her velveteen voice opened up in a room, everyone listened.
    The chemistry between Erica and Claire was apparent in their first meeting