The shelter was on a sketchy part of town. We could go across the street to the public park in the day time if our mother came with, but in order to come back in, you had to be buzzed in. I hated being buzzed in. There was something unsettling about not being able to let yourself into where you're living and being dependent on someone else to let us in. We were told we could never tell Dad where the shelter was which meant he could never pick us up. We had to wait for Mom to be ready to take us to him.
In August, my mom was going to enroll me and my brother in that city's schools instead of our small town's so that we could be with her more of the year. She said it was "to keep us safe." Something happened though: maybe my balked at the school change? All I know is that she changed her mind the day before registration. We moved to a new place in the beginning of August as well. Apartments in the downtown area. It was refreshing to have our own place. Our own beds. Our own clothes in our dressers instead of living out of suitcases. The Apartments were owned by the people who owned the women's shelter. The ladies would pay low-income rent off of alimony or jobs. The theater around the corner had a free movie night once a month for all of the residents.
The thing was that Mom didn't have alimony as the divorce wasn't finalized and she didn't have a job. So things were tight. We got food stamps and food from a local food pantry. We would use the food stamps for whatever we couldn't get at ECHO. My mom was so poor that we couldn't afford gas nor the bus. So that meant whenever we went groceries, we had to walk a mile to get there and then a mile back. That may not sound so bad. But remember on the way back.. we're carrying groceries. And groceries are heavy. I don't blame my mom for any of this. She did what she could and had to do to help us survive.
Well, one day [and I don't know why to this day] she got mad at me. Maybe I was mouthing off. I did have a tendency to speak my mind even as a teen. What I remember is after we were done grocery shopping my mom yelling at me:
"You have to repent!!!!"
"Repent of what?" I asked.
"REPENT!!!! Or you will face the wrath of God!"
"I don't know what I did, so how can I repent?"
"You're a lying bitch! Go down on your face."
I laid down on my face, and she took off my shoes and socks. Keep in mind. It's August. The peak of summer.
"Now you will walk back home!!!"
"Can I have my shoes back?"
"NO!!! Bitches like you don't need shoes!" she yelled as she threw my shoes in middle of the busy road. The cars honked at her, giving her dirty looks. "Now if you want your shoes, You can go get them because you MADE me throw them in the middle of the road."
I looked at my options. I could walk home in the heat of summer barefooted or I could get run over...
... yeah I walked home barefooted.
I got home. My feet were blistered and bleeding, but I was alive. I tended to the sores. I wore flip flops the rest of the summer because that's what I had.
I remember my dad asked at the beginning of the school year if I had outgrown my old tennis shoes
I didn't have the heart to tell him that they were probably squished in the road by some car.
