Concrete Angel

Inspired by the Martina McBride song
I carefully pull on the dirty cotton dress from the second hand store, pulled on by my hands many more times than twice. I wince as the sleeve slips over the spot on my arm, its pain and scars still fresh. I try to smooth out the wrinkles covering the front of the old dress, but it is no use, it still looks as if I've worn the dress for days in a row. It speaks the truth I cannot. I walk from my room, and peer around the corner, into my mothers. She sits upright against pillows on her bed dirty blue bed, a cigarette hanging from her mouth, putting off rotten fumes, an ash tray she used on the bedside table, at least it was the least of her addictions.
I quietly walk to the kitchen, picking up my usual crumpled paper bag, with the lunch I packed. A sandwich on old bread with some peanut butter, a random apple, and the old clear water bottle filled with tap water. I grab a sweater to cover the wounds still fresh, and shield me from the bitter cold. As the front door slams behind me, signaling my exit for my mother, and my freedom for me, the only thing holding me back outside my home walks past.
The other kids.
Supposed to be my friends and playmates, there to comfort me and lift me from this place, are my constant tormentors. They mock my clothing, my meek attitude, and my faraway look. The look I get when I dream of the only place where I'm truly free and happy, the place that keeps me safe, where there's people like me, there to give me a hug not a bruise. I dream of a real mom and dad, a mom and dad who love me, who take care of me, who don't ever get mad and hit. I dream of a friend who never teases or taunts me, he comes to visit sometimes, Jack, he says he's always with me, whenever I need him. As I walk up the school steps all alone into my classroom, putting my lunch bag in my cubby, I set my books on the table for a moment so that I can take off my jacket, I hang it on the free hook, pulling my dress sleeve down to cover the three finer shaped bruises. I then take my books, move to my seat, and try to concentrate on Miss Christopher, but my mind wanders, back to my made up mom and dad, and my friend Jack. My mom and dad are making me cookies, as I hear Miss Christopher walk by, I see her look at me curiously out the corner of her eye, then look away. I wish every day, that she will see the bruise, she would hug me, take me away from mom, and save me. But every day, I am let down.
Recess is cold, I sit on the bench alone, watching the other kids from my class playing dodgeball in the distance, I wasn't invited to play. I sit alone, day dreaming, and a usual thought comes to mind, why did my mom have a baby she didn't want? Why did she just not have me? Sometimes, I wish she hadn't. I'm deep in thought as Jack sits next to me on the bench. As we talk and laugh, I realize Jack is so different from my other friends in my imaginary place, he comes out, the others don't. I wonder sometimes why he is so different, so special, but I never ask, I'm afraid if I do, I will lose my friend, even if he isn't real.
Later that night, after I am home, I'm sitting alone in my room, I just finished my homework, when I see Jack in the house next door, calling for me out the open window, I lean out my own to talk with him. Just moments after we begin, I hear footsteps, I frantically turn around to face the noise, and see mom, her eyes are wide and confused, she smells funny, like she does after she's done the other addictions. I don't know exactly what this one is, I try not to be around, I tend to be punished less if I cause no trouble and she does not see me. But tonight, I was seen where I have privacy, and I was still being punished,
"What are you doing?" she yelled gripping my shoulders, shaking me,
"Nothing Mom nothing!" I replied, tears starting to sting my eyes as her fingers dug into my shoulders hard
"You were talking to someone weren't you? You were! You were telling them lies!" she shook me harder digging in with her finger nails, tears began to slide down my cheeks,
Mom pulled me from the window, into the more hidden corner of my room, I scream as her hand comes down on me, time after time, I cry, I scream for help, but all of it becomes useless, as I see the shadows of light disappear from the neighbors home.
I feel myself becoming weak, and light, pulling away from this tormented world, this place where no one cared for me. Hit after hit, makes me lighter, freer, I float farther ad farther away. I hear sirens, I hear the footsteps, but it's too late for me, I'm already gone, soaring away from this place, this place of no love, into warm and loving, arms.
I stand in the shady spot behind the tree, right behind the small group of people gathered around the stone, my teacher, the four neighbors, and Jack.
I can see the stone in the shade from here, with the stone angels glistening, it's face turned happily towards the sky, looking happy. The stone engraved Angela Carter 1995-2002, my name, the year I was born, and the year I was set free. Jack joins me in the other side,
"Ready Angela?" he asked with a smile
I nodded and we ran up the hill, to join the warm, loving arms of the other children on the hillside.
*This story is completely fictional and inspired by the song Concrete Angel by Martina McBride, but of you know someone facing real abuse, repot it please, abuse I completely real and completely painful. Don't let anyone experience it*