Chapter 2: The Departure

The day I left home, my mom fainted from crying more than once. She pressed her only keepsake—a velvet hair clip—into my hand. I took half the money in front of everyone and quietly slipped the rest into my mom’s palm.

Her fingers squeezed mine, cold and trembling. I could smell the faded lavender from her hair as she pressed the clip into my palm, like it would somehow keep me safe out there. I can still feel the imprint of her hands, desperate and shaking.

I told her, no matter what, she had to look after my little brother and sister.

I tried to sound brave, like one of those kids in the movies who promises to come back. But really, I was just a scared kid begging my mom not to give up on the family.

The snow was falling thick that day. Dad was still away, working in the city. Mom stood in the yard in her threadbare house slippers, hair coming loose from her bun, clutching my little brother and sister close. The cold cut right through us, and she didn’t even have a coat.

Her cheeks were pink and raw, the tips of my little brother’s ears burning red. Even then, she managed a wavering smile for me, her arm wrapped tight around the two smallest, as if she could shield them from the world.

The pickup truck carried me farther and farther away. The wind and snow stung my eyes till I could barely see.

I watched the mailbox and the faded red barn shrink until they vanished in the white. As the truck pulled away, I pressed my face to the window, memorizing every snowdrift and fence post. I didn’t know if I was running away or being erased.