Two Pink Crosses

The prompt: Write a story that begins, “The last time I saw my mother was fifteen years ago.”

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DOLORES:  

The last time I saw my mother was fifteen years ago. I don’t remember it, because I was only a baby. There is a photograph of me and my mother. She looks so beautiful. Her long black hair is in a thick ponytail, and she is holding a little baby, and looking at it with so much love.

Right after my Aunt Naomi took that picture, my mother put me in her arms, and walked out of the house to go to work. She never came home.

I don’t remember her. When I was a little girl I used to look at her picture all the time, wishing I could remember what she was like. Sometimes I would make up memories and pretend like they were real. And when I would lie in bed at night, I would hold the picture and talk to it about the pretend memories.

But it was all a big lie, and I knew it, and it didn’t make me feel any better, not really, so I stopped doing that after a while.

My aunt raised me, but she doesn’t love me. She doesn’t even pretend to. She loved my mother. Maybe she would have loved me if my mother were still alive. I guess I’ll never know.  My friend Elena’s mother was killed, too. And her abuela raised her, and her abuela is very strict with her. She won’t let Elena do anything. But I can do anything I want to. I don’t, though. Not really.

But I’m starting work now. We don’t have very much money, and my aunt says that it’s time I start contributing to the family income. I’m a little scared, because it will be dark when I get off work, and it’s a long walk from the bus stop. I wanted to ask my aunt if she would meet me at the bus stop, but something in her eyes made me afraid to ask her.  I bought a whistle, and I will keep it with me, and if anyone tries to come near me, I will blow as loudly as I can on my whistle so that someone will hear me and come help me. Because I don’t want to die like my mother did, when she was only 17 years old.

NAOMI:

Oh, my God. What have I done?

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