Rebirth: Lady of the River

“Go.” Standing in the doorframe, staring at my mother, as she swooned over her glass of wine and a nearly empty bottle.  “You ungrateful swine. I know it was you who called the police-” I hadn’t. As much as I had hoped she’d be sent to rehab, I knew it wouldn’t work. All efforts I made now were just to be certain that she didn’t get herself killed or die in her sleep from vomiting. Why did I love her? She had never really been kind to me, but she was my mother.  “Mom, just… what’s going on?” I finally managed, trying not to look at her boyfriend who was lounging on the couch lazily, his legs spread disgustingly wide. “I have to go to court now because you tattled on me. Said I was outside of the house-” “I didn’t. When would I have time? I’ve been working at the textile mill to make certain we don’t go under!” my voice hitched, the thought of losing what place I had to stay more frightening than any other prospect. I already had enough problems in town with people treating me dubiously because of my mother. Many thought I was also an alcoholic and that I just tended to hide it better. “You heard her, you little harlot. Get out!” her boyfriend, John, sat up. He was stained from his time in the mines, caring little to clean up or change before he came to our house. Maybe she’d let me come back later. Maybe she just had an odd thought in her head… but I was beginning to doubt that as I carried a small sack on my back with the few changes of clothes I did own. My shoes were worn almost all the way through the sole and the money I had was meager, as everything had been put into maintaining the sleazy apartment.  I needed to go. I was an adult now. Perhaps a new start was my best bet. I knew how to sew, embroider, and create dresses. My skills in tailory would be enough to keep me from starving. What was waiting for me in this miserable town anyways? Nothing but smog, horse s**t, and sour attitudes of people I’d never fared well with. If no one knew my mother or my history, then perhaps I could make a better name for myself. I paused on the bridge leading out of town, glancing down at the polluted river that was swirling with chemicals and dyes from the nearby soap and textile mills. I remembered when otters used to play in the channel and I could find freshwater clams in the mud. It had been over a decade since then and the industrial revolution had consumed my home. “Watch it!” someone snarled, horse hooves splashing in the muddy water behind me, the rushing beast passing me swiftly and dangerously close to the walking path.  I staggered back, my hip hitting the stone railing. Rather than have the time to catch myself, I toppled over the barrier, the freedom of falling enveloping me before I smashed into the surface of the murky water.