Free Found by Jennifer Lauck Page B

spend that college money.” Or, “I didn’t plan to save that money, not ever, I just said that to the man from the VA in order to look good in front of him.” Or, “I screwed up, I made a mistake. I’m sorry. How can I make it up to you?”
    None of this was said.
    Perhaps it is too much to ask from people who have been so wounded—somewhere in their own pasts—to make things right. Perhaps all I can do is let it go and apply a bit of healing amnesia to this situation. I don’t know the answer. Perhaps there is no answer. Perhaps this is just life, which is complicated and unfair and sometimes even cruel. Maybe it has to be this way in order for me to finally and fully appreciate how life is also simple, sweet, and beautiful.

FIFTEEN
    SWEET INDEPENDENCE
    ON THE DAY I moved out of Richard and Peggy’s house, a gust of bitter wind blew over Spokane and then it began to snow. A blanket of white covered the lawns, the streets, and the rooftops. So much snow came down, I felt as if it were a sign. The past was gone and a new start was in front of me.
    My feet slipped on the sidewalk as I carried my bookcase to the front door of my new apartment.
    Up ahead, in the tumbling and swirling snow, stood a young woman. In the glow of the porch light, she looked like a snow angel.
    “Here,” she said, stepping forward. “Let me help.”
    She grabbed the other end of the bookcase and together we went the rest of the way.
    “New neighbor?” she asked.
    “Yep,” I said, “1A.”
    “2A,” she said.
    “Nice to meet you, 2A,” I said, and this made her laugh.

    I shouldered the door open and we carried the bookcase into the living room.
    My new place was a one-bedroom apartment near the community college where I was a full-time student. The living room was scattered with boxes and my princess bedroom set.
    “Actually, I’m Patty,” she said.
    Once the bookcase was deposited, I stomped snow off my feet and extended my hand.
    “Nice to meet you, Patty,” I said.
    She was about twenty-five years old and shaking her hand felt like holding a little bird—her bones were so fine. Patty looked around at my meager belongings, a smile fixed to her face.
    “Do you have a daughter? ”
    “What?”
    She pointed at the disassembled princess bedroom furniture, scattered between the boxes, and I finally understood. She thought I was a mother!
    I laughed so hard, I had to pinch my side. A mother? Me? That was a good one.
    At this point—having just left home—motherhood and I were not on good terms. In my wake there had been Peggy, Deb, and Janet—not to mention the mother who left me in the hospital on the day I had been born. Motherhood translated to mean inhumane in my vocabulary. I’d become a giraffe before I’d become a mother—or so I thought as I laughed in front of this stranger.
    “No, I don’t have a child,” I finally said, wiping tears of mirth
from the corners of my eyes. “I’m saving this furniture. It’s mine. I’m not even married.”
    “Oh,” she said, put off by my borderline hysteria. She crossed her arms and shifted a little from side to side. “I’m getting married,” she finally said. Her ring finger held a very impressive rock.
    Since marriage was about as interesting as the subject of mothers, I could only muster a tepid response.
    “Congratulations,” I said. “Very pretty.”
    Patty did a hop and clapped her little hands as if marriage were a pinnacle of accomplishment.
    I squinted as I considered her. She seemed familiar to me.
    “Have we ever met before? ” I asked.
    She shook her head. “I don’t think so,” she said.
    “Huh, you seem very familiar.”
    “Yeah,” Patty agreed. “You too.”
     
     
    FOR THE FIRST month of being on my own, I slept for twelve hours a day.
    I wanted to purge Peggy and Richard and all that had been. I didn’t want to know them, I didn’t want to think about what had passed between us as a so-called family and I didn’t want to be their