LOVE HEALS

LISA,S MISFORTUNES

Lisa grew up with her mother; she had never seen or heard of her father. Maybe he died, or he was rotting in jail. She did not dare to ask her mother because this led to a lot of anger and beatings on her side.

Rain leaked through a hole in the ceiling again. Lisa, now five, had learned to place bowls under the drips without waking her mother. The apartment smelled of wet wood, old cigarettes, and something sweet that clung to her mom's hoodie.

Lisa's mom, Cara, was beautiful once. That's what the pictures suggested, anyway. She smiled widely in the older photos before the drugs, before the men who never stuck around, and before the lights were turned off every winter.

Lisa kept silent. She liked school where it was warm, there was breakfast, and the same teacher every day. She was shy but observant, memorising grown-ups' faces to be aware if she was threatened. Cara would sometimes disappear for days, and Lisa would live on cereal and library books, inventing stories to herself in the hallway.

By age eight, Lisa had learned to lie without blinking. She smiled when school teachers asked about home, even if she hadn't eaten since Sunday. She said her mom was either working late or had been working late when someone noticed how Lisa's clothes hung off her shoulders.

The social worker came by once. Lisa told them all they wished to hear to keep her distance. She did not want foster care. She did not want to be kept from the one person who, when sober, still called her "baby girl" and spoke to her of better days to come away from this solitude and poverty.

It was a cold afternoon when Lisa gladly came home from school because it was her birthday.

" Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me. How old am I now? Nine." Lisa sang with a smile as she went through the gates of the old, rusted apartment that was home.

"Mama, I am home. Do you remember what today is?" Lisa said as she opened every door looking for her mom.

When she opened the kitchen door, her mother was on the floor with no response. Lisa picked up the old cellphone on the table and called the paramedics," Please save my mother. She is sleeping on the floor." She said as tears ran down her cheeks." Don't hang up. Stay on the line. We will be there in minutes," the doctor on the other side of the phone comforted her.

She sat in the kitchen corner, frightened and confused. Cara was the sole human being in her life, even with her chosen life. To Lisa, she was the world's best person. Lisa muttered a prayer, which she improvised because she had not crossed the door of any church but was sure that God existed.

In a few minutes, there was a knock on the door. Lisa hurried to the door and opened it. The paramedics were there with all the first aid kits needed. Lisa knew her prayers were answered and that her mother could be saved.

Cara was put in a stroller and wheeled to the ambulance, which was packed outside.

All of the neighbours stood in their doorways with worried looks on their faces.

Lisa followed her mother to the ambulance but was restrained by a nurse.

" We will do our best, just stand here, please," said the nurse.

"Is Mommy gonna be ok? Please save her," Lisa said, tears running down her face.

The paramedics tried three times to resuscitate Cara, but she did not respond. Cara was pronounced dead before she could be taken to the hospital. This was caused by a drug overdose.

Lisa was put in a police car nearby and taken to the station.

She never cried or spoke throughout. She knew that all the small world surrounding her had come crashing down.

At the station, Lisa was asked if she had any other relatives, but no one knew her.

She was to be placed in a residential care unit. This was one of her worst nightmares, but she had no choice left.

Lisa sat in the backseat of the social worker's car, knees tucked to her chest, her eyes staring at the blur of streetlights outside the window. She didn't say anything. Not when they came to pick her up from the police station, nor when the woman beside her said," Don't worry, life goes on, everything will be alright." Not even when they drove by the shelter.

Now they were here.

A big, square house with too many windows and kids' bikes scattered outside like forgotten dreams.

“This is safe,” the woman said. “You’ll stay here for now.”

For now. That meant nothing. “Now” meant her mom was just asleep, not high. “Now” used to mean maybe they’d have dinner if her mom got her check. “Now” used to mean everything would get better soon. It never did.

Lisa didn't move as the woman opened the car door. "You want to carry your bag, or should I?"

She clutched her small backpack like a life preserver. It had underwear, her sketchbook, and a box of busted-up crayons. No clothes. No toothbrush. No goodbye.

It smelled like noodles and bleach inside. Children's voices were upstairs, laughing, yelling, and maybe fighting. A tall woman with a name tag that said "Miss Tanya" crouched down to eye level.

"Hi, baby. I'm Tanya. Are you hungry?"

Lisa shook her head. She was, but not for food.

Tanya took her to a room that contained two bunk beds. Three girls stared at her. One whispered something behind her hand.

Lisa stayed by the door.

"Top or bottom?" Tanya asked.

Lisa didn't say anything. Tanya took the bottom.

"Got a stuffed animal?"

She shook her head again.

"That's all right. You can borrow one tonight. We'll go through the donation closet tomorrow and get you your own things."

She didn't feel real. Like her body was here, but her heart was still back in her old room. Under the blanket, her mom sold it for twenty dollars.

That night, the lights were too bright. The footsteps in the hallway are too loud. She did not cry, not even when she heard another child crying across the hallway.

Instead, she opened her sketchbook under the blanket and drew a house. A real one. With doors that were locked. A mom who didn't leave. And a kitchen that smelled like pancakes, not pipe smoke.

She didn't know how long she'd be here. Didn't know if her life would be okay. But she had her sketchbook. And for now, just now, nobody was yelling.

She could sleep at least. She held on to her stress book tightly as it was the only friend left in this unfair world.