Teresa

I knock on the door. Silence. I'm a little impatient because it's cold out here, and raining. I knock on the door again, and finally the door opens. It's a middle aged black woman, possibly in her mid forties. Her skin is a high olive complexion, and her dark eyes match it. Her black hair is in a high bun, and in the middle of her hair it is dyed white. It's a distinguished look. She's slim in body, and tall. Taller than me. I'm only five two.

I smile, "Hi, I'm Kara-"

"Roberts," She finishes before smiling, "Of course, come in."

She opens the door and I step inside. It's a beautiful, clean house that's very spacious, and it smells great in here.

"Let me show you the room," She says. I follow her to the kitchen and to the back door. She opens it, "See, just like you saw on the internet."

I step inside. It's warm and cozy inside. The bed is made up. There's a desk, closet, dresser, and a large mirror. The desk is in front of the window.

"Yeah, just like on the internet. It's for real!"

"Presentation is everything. I like to keep a clean house."

I turn to her, "How much for this room again?"

"It's $100 a month."

That wasn't bad. The room wasn't exactly large, but it was spacy.

"That's fine."

"May I ask, why aren't you just renting an apartment of your own?" She asks.

"I'm not financially able yet."

She nods her head, "Ah, I see. Are you financially able to rent this room?"

I don't know if I should be offended or not when she says that.

"Yes, definitely."

"Then it's yours. I just ask that you keep it quiet around here, and keep the room clean."

"I'm a very clean person, but do I like, have to buy my own groceries and things like that?"

She laughs, "No. You're welcome to anything in the refrigerator, but if you eat all the food, then you'll be required to buy groceries, and your rent will go up."

"That will never happen."

"So what do you do?"

"I'm a waitress, I live off of tips."

"Where do you waitress at?"

"Eatz," I answer, "It's a restaurant not too far from here."

"I see, so you work everyday."

"Monday through Friday."

"Good."

"So um," Now I feel awkward, "What do you do?"

"I'm retired, I tried my hand at many things."

"Have you?"

She smiles, "I've been around."

I frown, "How old are you anyway?"

She raises an eyebrow, "It's impolite to ask a woman her age."

"Oh, sorry."

"Don't be. Anyway, when will you be available to move in?"

"As soon as possible. I thought you were going to interview me."

"Do you drink?"

"No."

"Smoke?"

"No."

That was a lie. I picked up smoking after my Grandmother died.

"Do you have a lot of friends?"

"Nope, just one."

"Okay, I've heard enough."

"That was it?"

"Yeah, I already know enough about you just by asking those simple questions and the way you answered them. You strike me as someone who's very truthful."

"Oh I have to be. I'm a very bad liar."

"Are you?"

"Yeah, that's not my sport."

"Mine either. Well, congratulations. The room is ready for you anytime you'd like to come in. I'll have to supply you with the house keys."

"Okay, sure."

-

"So, when are you moving in?" My best friend Paula asks me.

"Tomorrow, that's when Larry is coming back."

"Ugh, his name bugs me. I can't believe your Mom married him."

Larry is my Mom's husband. He molested me countless times from the time they married to now, and I'm twenty one years old. Mom knows about it, but she did nothing.

"Your Mom knows you're leaving right?"

"Even if she didn't, I wouldn't care," I zip my bookbag.

"Just asking."

"Larry's coming back from his business meeting from Maryland. He'll be coming around twelve thirty. Mom's going to pick him up at the airport. I'll be gone before then."

"Cool. I can't believe you're actually leaving though. It's the best thing you could do for yourself."

"Yeah, I can't believe it either."

"So this woman you're moving in with, what's she like? Is she married?"

"I saw no ring on her finger."

"Does she have a boyfriend?"

"Um, I don't know. I didn't ask her."

"How old is she?"

"I dunno, forties maybe."

"Dude, you're moving in with a Mommy type, you should have checked out a room from somebody our age?"

"Paula, you're just saying that because that's what you would do. Not everybody is like you."

"Exactly my point."

"Besides, I have no problem rooming with someone older than me. I like older people, they're far mature."

"Says the young girl who doesn't hang around older people."

I stick my tongue out at her.

"What's the place like?"

"Dude, I showed you the pictures over the internet. Short term memory loss?"

"Okay, so I forgot all right?"

"It's better in person. And clean. She's probably one of those OCD types."

"Go figure. Does she have any kids?"

"I don't know, I didn't ask."

"That's something you'll have to start doing."

"I know, but I didn't think it mattered. If she had kids she wouldn't rent that room out."

"You have a good point."

"So, can I visit you?"

"Of course you can you dork!"

There's a knock on the door. I know it's Mom. I sigh.

"Come in."

Mom opens the door, and there's a blank expression on her face. She looks at my packed bags.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm moving out," I answer reluctantly.

"Are you? Where to?"

"Not too far from here."

"That doesn't exactly answer my question. I mean you are of age so there's no problem with you leaving, but as a parent I'd like to know where you'll be just in case of emergency."

"I have your number Mom, I'll call you."

"Don't get an attitude with me young lady."

I look at my Mom. I actually look at her. She's about five seven, busty, shoulder length blonde hair, high cheekbones. She's very pretty.

"It's not because of Larry that you're leaving is it?"

Now I'm pissed off.

"Not only that."

"Is it me?"

"That too."

"You are so complicated," She says before closing the door.

"Bitch," I whisper. Paula just stares. I feel a panic attack coming, so I take my medicine and try to calm down.

"That happens every fucking time!" I yell. I'm shaking, and Paula hugs me tight.

"I hate this fucking family," I cry, "I can't wait to get out."

"I know," Paula says.

-

Later that night, I'm in the living room watching TV. Mom comes downstairs in the same black business suit she wore earlier, and has her Prada purse over her shoulder.

"I'm going to pick up Larry from the airport, and I'm stopping to the store. Was there anything you'd like for me to pick up?"

I don't answer the question,"I thought he was arriving tomorrow."

"I thought so too, did you want anything from the store or not?"

"No."

Mom sighs, rolls her eyes and walks out. I glance at the wedding photo that's on the table next to me. Mom's hair was longer then. Larry still looks the same, with his slicked back jet black hair. I miss my Father. He and Mom had a bad falling out when I was ten years old, and he left but never came back. I dreamed of him coming back, and would wake up thinking he was in the house. That moment never came. I had to go to therapy at a young age because of that. Due to Larry molesting me and my Mom knowing it, I suffered panic attacks and developed anger issues. The first time Larry touched me was six months after he married Mom. Mom was working at a law firm then, and worked overtime. So it was just Larry and I.

I always felt negative vibes from him, and didn't understand why Mom couldn't see it. Mom caught him touching me one day, gasped, and slammed the door. Larry immediately stopped what he was doing, and told me to put my underwear back on. I heard both of them arguing, but it all it took was him to make love to her to make her forget about what happened. Bastard. I don't even want to be here when he comes back.

-

"I'm glad you decided to leave now," Paula says. We're in her car, and she's taking me to my new home.

"Me too. Imagine what would've happened if I stayed."

Paula doesn't respond, but she turns on the radio and flips to a pop station.

"You have to step back into the dating scene," Paula says.

"I know, but guys are dicks. It's hard to date them."

"Gee I know, but there are nice guys around. Remember Will?"

"Paula, he was a dick. Puh-leeze."

"Well he was cute."

"Yeah, that's it. He wasn't smart, considerate, or nice."

"Okay so he was a bad decision. What about Chris?"

"Chris was just as bad. I need a real man. Maybe I'm not ready to date again."

"You just have to find yourself," Paula answers.

"Perhaps."

Paula turns on Henry Street, where there's an array of apartments on one side, and houses on the other. She parks in front of a brown house, three houses down from where I will be staying. We both step out, and she unlocks the trunk, and takes out two of my suitcases. I have a gym bag, and my purse with me. We walk up to the Cape Cod house, and she presses the doorbell.

"It doesn't work," I answer.

Paula knocks.

"Harder, so she can hear you." I say.

Paula knocks harder.

"Ow, my knuckles are going to be red thanks to this."

I smile.

"What's her name by the way?"

"Teresa."

There's footsteps, and Teresa opens the door. She's wearing a silk black robe, and her hair is pinned up. It looks like she just stepped out of the tub, because her skin is damp. I can see the outline of her breasts. She frowns.

"I'm sorry, did I come at a bad time?" I ask.

"No," She answers, "Come in."

We step in, and the living room lamp is on.

"You can go to the room and unpack, I didn't know you were coming so soon."

"I didn't either."

"Who's your friend?"

"Oh, I'm Paula," She extends her hand.

Teresa shakes her hand, "Teresa."

"Well, we'll get out of your way now. Nice meeting you Teresa. Beautiful house!"

Teresa smiles, "Thank you."

We head to the basement downstairs, and turn on the light.

"Wow," Paula exclaims, "I can see why she's renting it."

"Beautiful isn't it?"

"I wish I had found it first."

"Too bad," I answer, "You wanna help me unpack?"

"Sure," Paula answers.

As we're packing, Paula says, "You know, black women age very well."

"Random," I say.

"No really they do. This Teresa woman is striking to be an old lady."

"She's not that old, at least she doesn't look like it. I don't see any wrinkles on her face."

"No her skin is smooth, like a baby doll. I guess a person twenty or thirty years older than us would be considered an old lady."

"Shh, she'll hear us."

"Oh sorry, I forgot how loud I speak."

"Girls," Teresa calls from outside the door.

"Yes?" We answer in unison.

"There's food on the stove if you're hungry."

"Okay," We answer.

When we finish packing, we go upstairs. This time Teresa is wearing a silk black pajama pants set. Her top is long sleeved.

"Wow will you look at the time," Paula says checking her phone, "I'd better go."

Teresa smiles, "It was nice having you. Drive safely."

"Thanks, nice meeting you," She turns to me and hugs me, "See you."

"Bye Paula," I answer. She leaves.

Teresa turns to me, "She was nice."

"Yeah, she's my best friend."

"I can see why you're best friends. May I ask why you moved so sporadic? I wasn't expecting you until a few days or a week."

"Family problems."

She slowly nods, "Oh, I see. I don't mean to pry."

"Oh no, I don't look at it that way."

"Good. Anyway, there's food on the stove if you're hungry."

"I'll grab something later, I'm really tired. I just want to go to bed."

"I understand that. Just so you know, I washed your bed covers with Dreft. My skin is very sensitive, I can't use anything else."

"I like Dreft," I answer, "My skin is sensitive too."

"So you understand. That's all I can use or I'll have to take numerous trips to the dermatologist."

"So do I."

"At least we have something in common."

I smile.

"Well, we'll talk later. I'm going to bed. Enjoy your stay," She says before going upstairs.

"Thanks. Good night."

-

I actually have a good sleep the first time in eight years since Mom married Larry. I hated going to sleep when he was in the picture. I had to worry if he was going to sneak into my room. This time, I felt safe. Sleep came very easy. I turn on my phone. 5:31 it reads. It's slightly dark outside. I have two missed calls from Mom, and one voice message. I don't bother to listen to it. I turn the phone off and lie back down.

Teresa makes breakfast that morning. Blueberry pancakes, eggs, bacon, and rice. It's really good.

"Do you have any kids?" I ask.

"Twins," She answers, "One is overseas in the military, and the other is in California modeling."

"Wow, how old are they?"

"A little older than you. I presume you're in your twenties?"

"Twenty one."

"So young, they're in their late twenties."

I frown, "How old are you anyway?"

She just looks at me.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I forgot."

She laughs, "How old do you think I am?"

"I thought you were in your forties."

"A little older than that, and I'm not telling you."

"You look great," I answer.

She shakes her head as she continues laughing, and drinks her coffee. I'm embarrassed. Sometimes I blurt things out, and say things I shouldn't say. I have the nerve to be insulted when people laugh at me when I say stupid things.

Later that day at work, Mom shows up at my job. I have the most splitting headache. My boss, Mr. Harris, tells me to take off early. I tell him I'll work the rest of my shift, and I'll be okay. Just seeing her makes me sick. She's sitting at the table, with her hands bracing a cup of coffee. I serve a table of teenagers their food, before going to her table and sitting down. I say nothing.

"You left so soon," She says, "I got scared. You didn't return my calls."

"I know."

"I was worried about you. You never gave me your new address."

"I'm sorry Mom, but I don't want Larry finding me."

She freezes, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Mom, the man is sick and you know it."

"Why don't you just forgive him."

"Forgive him after what he did to me?" I shout.

Most people turn to our table, and I quiet down.

"Mom, I can't do this anymore. You'll have to leave."

"I didn't want things to go this far. I didn't come here for this."

I walk away. I head to the bathroom, and feel like I have to throw up, yet I don't have to. I splash my face with cold water, and dry it with paper towels. I look at myself in the mirror. I look tired, and flushed. I go out, and Mom is gone.

"I saw that," Mr. Harris says. I turn around.

"What was that all about?" He asks.

"Um, family problems."

"That was your Mother right?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"What?"

"Yes," I answer.

"You look very tired, and sick. Why don't you swallow your pride and take the rest of the day off to yourself? Go home, and take the load off."

I barely smile, "Thanks Mr. Harris."

"Don't mention it."

I take the bus to my new home, and unlock the door with my keys. There is no sign of Teresa here. I go to the half bath downstairs, and open the medicine cabinet to take my anti-depressants. I go upstairs to shower. The bathroom smells like vanilla and coconut. I take a hot shower, and imagine myself washing my depression away. By the time I come out, I feel ten times better. I dry my hair with a towel, and put on shorts and a baggy t-shirt. I look like a young teenager dressed like this, definitely not like a twenty one year old young woman. Teresa comes in with two bags of groceries.

"Are you okay?" She asks.

"I'm okay."

"You're home early, I'm making Lasagna for dinner. Do you like Lasagna?"

"I love it, but I'm going to catch myself a nap. Wake me up when it's ready," I turn to go downstairs.

"Are you sure you're all right?" She asks with concern.

"Yeah, terrific." I quickly go downstairs to keep from crying in front of her. I can't stop thinking of Mom's appearance in the restaurant. I do cry when I go downstairs. I cry myself to sleep and put my face in the pillow to muffle the sounds of crying. Then there's peace, and I fall asleep.

-

I wake up two hours later, and by the time I wake up, I'm well rested. That was what I needed. It's six thirty when I wake up. I stretch, put some jeans on over my short shorts, and go upstairs. The kitchen smells great. Teresa takes the Lasagna out of the oven.

"You made it just in time."

We eat, and talk.

"So, you said you tried your hand at different things, what all did you do?"

"Many things," She takes a bite of her Lasagna, "I've modeled, that was before I had my twins. I've worked at the airport, worked for a temp agency, the post office, and I worked as a receptionist."

"Wow, that is a lot. The most I ever did was waitress. Before this job I used to work at Dunkin Donuts."

"Did you?"

"Yeah, I liked that job better."

"Why so?"

"At least at that job men didn't grab my ass every time I walked by," I snap out of what I say. I literally cursed in front of her, "Sorry."

"Don't be, I understand. I used to get that a lot when I worked at the temp agency. I quit because my boss sexually harassed me."

"Really?"

"Yeah. It's hard working with someone like that."

All of a sudden, I have the sudden urge to tell her about Larry, now that she's bought up her experience.

"What's wrong Kara?"

"Oh, nothing," I eat the Lasagna. It's very good, and filling. Much better than my Mom's.

"You know, even though I'm still a stranger in your eyes, you can talk to me about anything. I am older than you, I can probably help you."

"Oh it's nothing, it's just," I pause.

Teresa waits.

I sigh, "Nothing." Teresa sips her wine.

I go through her photo book after dinner. It's quilted. She sewed the outside of the book in rainbow colors. It's beautiful. There's a picture of her in her modeling days that really strikes me. It's a black and white photo, and she's wearing black and white underwear, in a ballerina pose. Her body looks well formed, and tight. There's not an ounce of fat on her body. Amazingly, from her fitted clothes, her body still looks the same.

"I was a young thing back then," She says, "Did I tell you I used to be a dancer?"

"A dancer?"

"I traveled with Alvin Ailey's dance troupe. Imagine that."

"No wonder, you posed like you knew what you were doing."

"Yeah, plus my Mother put my sisters and I in ballet as children."

"I did ballet when I was fourteen, and it was so hard. I told my Mom I didn't want to do it anymore, and she called me a loser."

"That's a strong word."

"Yeah, there was a lot of pressure. I couldn't take it anymore."

"I understand. You seem like the type to run away from your problems."

I look at her, "What do you mean?"

"My Father always told me, there are two types of people in this world. Face people, and runners. Runners are people who run away from their problems, and face people are those who strongly face their issues, and overcome them, whatever they may be."

"I don't run away from my problems."

Yes I do. I was just embarrassed that she spotted it, and she just met me!

"I didn't mean to say it like that, but I didn't know any other way to say it."

"It's okay," I close her book and give it to her. I proceed to go downstairs.

"Kara," She rises from the couch, "I didn't mean to be rude."

"No it's okay, you're right. I'm a runner."

She doesn't respond. I slam the door that leads to the basement and lie down. I'm evaluating myself. Teresa is right. I am a runner. Running away has always been something that I've been doing all of this time. In school, I was known as a pushover, because I always walked away from things and never defended myself. Perhaps it's time to grow up.