No One Listens To Me

That morning, her mother and she--after a night of arguing and fighting and late-night icy silence that got neither of them anywhere--got a notice saying they were evicted from their motel.

“You can’t send us out on the streets like this! You’re a fool for doing so.”   

Who her mother was talking to, we'll never know, reader.         

The mother slammed her fist against the motel’s metal door, the banging ricocheting again and again like that of a heavy gray prison door installed in the middle of a wall of steel bars. Screaming now, the mother jerked a huge bang out of her eyes as she, fists balled, clenched her teeth, almost shaking from the consuming fury about to explode either onto her nine-year-old daughter or onto the authorities or government. Too bad she couldn’t just march into a social security office building and demand her eviction note torn from the door upon seeing it prove her confusion and frustration and everything else boiling at the surface justification.

The mother and her daughter were kicked out of the motel for failing to pay rent.

“It’s the only home I’ve ever known. Hope you know your resident has a daughter—”

“Mom.”

“Who is cold and lonely—”

“No, I’m not.” The daughter spoke in a shaky voice, and the mother looked over.

“Then why are you shaking? Your breath is coming out—I can see it!”

The mother swung around, grabbing two duffle bags and headed out towards the car. Grumbling under her breath as she crossed the long hallway, the mother stomped towards the stairs and descended down towards the half-muddy, half-rocky asphalt road driveway of the motel. Hiking towards the ugly blue Minivan and unlocking the car, the mother yanked the sliding door’s handle. Her hand instantly latched onto it but her daughter called out that she heard a little snap. Or would should the mother keep going.

Her hand shaking, the mother barely spat the words, “Do it yourself, then” when the daughter calmly took the handle and pulled it so the car door slid open. She had a poker face the whole time the mother and she unpacked and made their home right in front of the motel. Right in the car. The daughter, with her knitted cap, blinked and hid in the dark. she rubbed her hands together, but that action did no good. She slid her words out like a meat grinder slowly let out the meat that has been sliced and diced by this metal contraption.

After a solid minute or two, the mother stopped her bed-making and looked at her daughter. “What’s wrong?” She said strongly. Hurtful.

Her daughter didn’t say anything but suddenly grabbed the door handle and let herself out. vanishing into the darkness of the frigid night, the daughter let her mother’s angry, frantic calls get lost to the wind. She ran and ran, having no idea where she was going, but having less interest in where she was going or whether she’d return. She stopped when she was out of breath, and looked up at the sign towering over her. She looked down.

That sign was her mother. Always thinking she needed to just listen to her daughter because she took care of her. Supported her. Put her through school. Fed her. Paid her taxes, bills and filled her stomach with food. Put a pillow under her head. Put a bed under her body.

Freaking birthed her.

But the daughter blinked back forming tears of unfairness. She didn’t deserve any of this suffering from the mother because they were evicted from their only home. It wasn’t like she was expelled from school, or anything bad. She was just a nine-year-old daughter living with a single woman who hated the fact that she had to possibly waste her life living from her own car. What would happen tomorrow? Even tonight? Would she have to sell her car to send her daughter to school? To feed her child? To…

The daughter, having aced all chemistry, physics, biology, neuroscientific and analytical data sequencing in her accelerated classes, dashed back to the car, grabbed the supplies out of a black canvas bag and went to work on the wheels, trunk, headlights and tailgate. Then she went back to her mother, told her what her idea was and then told her mother to drive to a car shop. Her mother did so.

When they got there, the daughter told her mother to get some cardboard out of the trunk of the car. Then they both spray-painted the boards, telling her mother to just spray the square. Better yet, get a bigger cardboard square. The mother threw down the cardboard and lunged for a huge piece of cardboard, the daughter watching her in disappointment and shaking her head—

“Hey—I saw that!” Her mother threw down her cardboard rectangle and stormed up to her, jerking her finger in her face. “You can—”

“Mom,” the daughter hurtled everything in her hand onto the pavement. “I’m sick of this temper tantrum! We’re evicted from our home. The consequences of not paying rent. I’m tired of it, too, but do you see me angry? Sure—I am. Hate the fact I have to walk to school now with something called a car for a house. But please—for the sake of my health. Look at what’s going on.”

Before her mother could answer, the daughter pointed out some old gentleman with wrinkly coffee-brown skin. He was beckoning her into his restaurant, the daughter saw, as she looked at the teal and rose-pink overhang below the neon sign. The daughter still wore a frown on her face as she entered the place, followed by a sour-faced mother. The restaurant owner served them, a smile so radiant—possibly more radiant than that blindingly glowing neon restaurant title—the daughter couldn’t help but smile a little.

“Hey.” The restaurant owner spoke softly as both mother and daughter picked away at their waffles despite rumbling stomachs. “I understand some things are hard. I’m the owner of this restaurant and for five years, I couldn’t get anyone to eat my breakfast items. That’s why I served them at night—because breakfast at dinner was cool. Well, I still serve them, but dinner food is important. So eating breakfast food—” He slid the waffles away and put out real chicken nuggets, ketchup and a hamburger, “is no longer an option!”

Both mother and daughter looked appalled—like they’d been told they’d been stealing the food. However, this kind gentleman’s attitude served them when he gave them all free glasses of pink lemonade and Coke. The mother moved the Coke aside, but the daughter chastised her. The mother smirked.

“Whatever.” The daughter sipped her drink, seeing whether her mother would treat this man with more disrespect. Like a four-year-old!

“Hey,” he invited, throwing his hands out, “come by on Saturday. I’ll treat you.”

“No,” the mother started going through her wallet, pulling out a credit card. “Here’s the bill.”

“Please.” The man gently put his hand on hers. “Please. Don’t. It’s free.”

The mother jerked the hand away, stuffing her wallet with the card again. “Fine.” She ordered her daughter to come with her, but her daughter stormed out of the restaurant. She grabbed her sign and told her mother to hold one up, too. Her mother did so, her once-soft blue eyes cold, hard daggers. The daughter begged for money and food and clothes from passersby, but the mother tried stopping her. She finally yelled for her mother to back off and then told begged individuals to help feed the homeless.

“No. I don’t want you doing that. We’re not weak.” The mother grabbed her daughter, but the daughter yanked, ordering her to stay away. She started disrespecting her mother, but she snapped her fingers to get her to shut her mouth. The daughter yelled at her mother to grow up, and stomped back to the car. The mother started talking to the people around her.

See what I care. I mean, I’m just going to live in this dump forever, right?

The daughter thought back to how she made her car-turned-home into something she could use to attract people to give her money. Now that her car was a home, she could at least make a couple of cents out of…

Hey! The daughter scrambled about, looking for things to put on the car and around the car to make it more pitiful. But as soon as she succeeded in forming the car into a cardboard box, her mother grabbed her arm and glared at her, causing the daughter to call her something that widened the mother’s eyes.

The mother said quietly that she envied her daughter’s talent. She had always lived vicariously through her, saying others’ comments and compliments made her daughter special.

The daughter stared at her. “So I’m just a—”

But the mother stepped slowly away from her daughter, eyes wide and hands outstretched like she had a knife in her hand, and dashed off. Like her daughter had, the mother ran away. Away from all the stress and anger of taking care of a daughter too smart for her own good. A daughter who would solve the problem right in front of her with her own genius mind. Even at nine years old. A daughter who cared about hard work, and who got paid for it in academic success and popularity.

The daughter went after her. But the mother wouldn’t have it. Standing there in the frigid cold, the daughter reminded her mother that she always wanted instant gratification. But now she had to put up with homelessness.

Something she assumed would never happen.

“You always relied on me. I’m a genius. But I’m also your daughter.”

The daughter looked at her mother. “Knowledge didn’t birth and raise me. You did. Besides, I’m not really interested in excuses. I’m interested in getting off the streets. I’m interested in you seeing me at graduation and me seeing you at work. Just because I’m smart doesn’t mean you can’t be perseverant—”

“That doesn’t help!”

Yes, it does!

The daughter opened her mouth to say something, but then heard something. her mother’s thoughts!

I can read minds? The daughter widened her eyes, and ran up to her mother. “Mom. You’ll never guess—I can read minds—”

“Then read people’s attitudes, too. Maybe you’ll make a couple of cents worth of—”

“Fine—bye!” The third-grader ran away back to the car and continued selling for real this time. Then she returned to her mother, ordering her to see that she made a couple of bucks off of a customer. The mother swung around, horrified.

“Are you stealing—”

The daughter shook her head viciously. “Just got some bucks from a kindly stranger who happened to be the brother of the owner of the restaurant.”

The mother turned away, her hands sliding her pockets. “And I’m the dishwashing servant—”

“And the window washer, and the car lubricator and the selfless restaurant owner.” The daughter said. “Mom, I’m sorry. But please, understand me when I say you need me, too. I can’t go on like this. Maybe we can work together. Get a job at his restaurant. Please?”

Silence. And then—

“You know what, mom? If you’re going to sulk, I’d rather just do it myself! Like you’ve ever cared. The only reason you’re my mother is because you had the stupid idea of having a child. It’s not like you’ve should’ve. You were just a stupid woman raising a real woman-to-be. And that’s what you’ll get—someone who’ll prove her mother was never meant to be.” The daughter ran away to the restaurant owner. She asked whether she could work for him—regardless of pay, or even for free—and the owner chuckled, his dimples showing.

“No, I can’t have a little girl in charge of my kitchen—”

“You don’t understand!” The girl begged. “Please. You know—”

“No.” the man shook his head firmly. “Please. I can’t!”

The girl bit her lip, shooting the man a disappointed look. She slowly turned away, but then stopped, turned around and told the man she read his mind. And cursed those thoughts.

The man stared at her, open-mouthed, and told the girl to stay away from him. He shut down the restaurant, told all the passersby to go home and shooed the daughter away. The man jerked a finger in the daughter’s chest as she backed down the driveway, and then turned and called back to the voice charging at them.

“Mom!”

The daughter whipped right to the man, snarled an apology and dashed away, her mother calling after her. Tripping and falling, the daughter got up. Mom’s not going to believe me. Even when I tell her the truth. She’s just saving her own skin.

The daughter pressed on, unsure of whether she was going to make it in this world. Well, with her smarts, she could. The daughter skidded to a halt, right as a car was about to crash into her! The car honked, the daughter did a roundabout and dashed back to the minivan, throwing herself into the place. She huddled, her mother telling the man to back off. She then climbed out of the home, told her mother that she wasn’t going to scare people anymore.

“Why did you shut us out? The restaurant could’ve saved us.” The mother rounded on the daughter, but she glared at her, saying her mother was too much of a jerk to work anywhere. The man would never hire such a rude woman.

“Or a rude daughter.” The man’s voice came forth sternly. The daughter only responded slightly less disrespectfully than the mother. The mother spat in the man’s face, and told the daughter to stay with her at all times. The daughter only obliged, walking out and around the car. She looked at the man, and his kindness returned. The daughter looked at the mother. She was acting as if the man was going to morph into this millionaire who would transform their lives right now. Crinkling her face into one that would think that this person is a crazy fool, the daughter turned away, wishing she was on her own. Old enough to get a job saving her from this stupid poverty. 

The man slapped a hand on her shoulder. “Tell you what. You guys get out of here, and I’ll erase all memories of a girl reading minds from anyone’s, well, mind!”

“Okay…” the daughter didn’t really know how any of this would spark hope in the mother (or her to be exact), but she listened. At least she did. The mother wasn’t buying it. Finally, the daughter said that she wasn’t leaving if her mother was just going to be a bully. The man tried getting her mother to obey, but the woman just wouldn’t budge.

“Mom!” the daughter screamed, making her mother whiz around. “Stop! You’re my mother. You raised me. Please. Can we just go? We’ll find a place. Besides, I can tell whether people need us.”

“Yeah…” But her mother swallowed after looking back at the silent man. “Okay.” They drove away. The daughter told her mother a motel was nearby. They stopped there. The janitress tried befriending the mother. She blatantly ignored her. The janitress told the daughter to love her mother, regardless of her atrocious attitude. The daughter nodded.

Then when the mother told her daughter to hurry it up, the daughter twirled around, telling the janitress she could read minds. Her mother spun around, but before she could say anything, the janitress raised her eyebrows. “Oh!”

“Yes. It’s weird—”

“If only I could. I’d get my workers to help me in no time!”

“Well, you can if you try. Just follow me.” Soon, as the girl worked with the janitress, the woman grew weirded out, leaving her with Respect others, no matter what. The daughter stopped all telepathic connections with anyone, except her mother. After all the late-night parties at the bar and restaurants, the mother drove herself completely bankrupt, corrupting herself with stuff she needlessly wasted her time using to escape her desperation. Her daughter told her to work at the restaurants and bars. Her mother vowed she’d never work a stupid job like those areas. The daughter kept insisting, but to no avail. The daughter trashed any hope of rescuing her mother. She didn't want to be seen with such a lousy woman. She deserved it. So, reader, the daughter left. Read the circus animals’ minds now, befriending them. Became an acrobat. But the circus did little to ease her anger and sense of loneliness. She returned to her mother years later, but her mother just ignored her.

The last time I heard of the daughter was back at the traveling circus. Where others—freaks—made it without a family, too. She became popular, eventually starting her own family. Traveled around in the ringleader’s circus train. Her husband reminded her of that janitress’ words: Honor your mother.

“I will…” But then, she remembered her promise to the ringleader and her fellow freaks. I’ll see my mother again. We’ll be reunited. Once again. Hopefully forever.

The daughter knew she was backsliding. Had since she’d join the circus. She returned to her mother. Her mother wanted nothing to do with the act—called it a literal freak show. Even threatened to burn it down. However, the daughter always remembered her mother. Even inviting her to see her perform alone in her own backyard. But the mother just walked away after staring blankly from her dirty kitchen window out of her trailer.   

Her mother spat that she was married to the green monster that woke her up and put her to sleep every day. Her daughter said that she made a promise to love her mother, no matter what. And, today, at her funeral, the daughter gave the best speech ever. She even cried, not from depression or even sadness—but from knowing people believed in her. Even when her mother didn’t.