❝breadcrumbs❞

𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍

Grasping the smooth, gold polished handles of my dresser drawer, I slid it open gently. The drawer got stuck for a moment as I was pulling it out, and I gave it a little tug, lifting the bottom up with my opposite hand. I could hear the sounds of the wood sliding against each other as it gave way, revealing the neat, organized stack of my t-shirts, separated by light and dark.

Reaching my hand underneath the stack of white shirts, I pulled out the photo album I hid below them. My fingertips grasped the smooth, soft, yet worn black leather cover, which had begun peeling around the edges, giving way to the gray material underneath. Pushing the drawer closed with my hip, I moved to the side of my bed, sitting down on the floor with my legs crossed over one another. My back pressed against the white metal of my bed frame, and I could feel the hardness against my bones and muscles - only slightly cushioned by the messy sheets that were sliding down the side of my bed.

Birds chirped loudly outside my window, and I could hear the sounds of cars passing through the neighborhood, their wheels crunching against the asphalt.

Sunlight crept in through sheer, pale pink curtains, bathing my window pane and the plush, cream colored carpet below in a soft shade of yellow. The sun's rays inched over my room - highlighting the clothes that cluttered my floor and the white, floral designed tote bag hanging from the doorknob of my closet.

I breathed in the cool, crisp air that wafted in through the open window, exhaling deeply with a body rattling sigh.

Laying the photo album open on the floor in front of me, the sun shone across the weathered, worn plastic sleeves that protected the pictures inside. Cherished memories filled the pages of the unfinished album, highlighting moments in time from my childhood, giving me a mere glimpse back into happier, more joyful times. This photo album was one of the few things I made sure to take with me when I left - and I could remember spending hours looking through these photos in the low light of my room into the early morning hours, feeling the comfort that wafted off these pages.

Filling the pages were pictures of my small family when we were younger - pictures of me and my mom, my grandmother, and other family members who I didn't recognize. There were pictures of my mom and Uncle Charles from when they were younger, along with pictures of Adriana and I from the summers we used to spend together. Sometimes our parents would dress us up as identical twins, all the way down to our hairstyles.

It was a lie to say that I wasn't feeling homesick - and it felt like such a foreign, unrecognizable feeling, one that seemed to wash over me. I didn't know why I was feeling that way either - it wasn't like there was much for me to miss back in Queens..but yet, the feeling stuck around, making its home in my chest, staying there firmly. 

Something about the grainy, brightly illuminated flash photos made me smile as I turned the pages, each flip like a new set of memories - one that filled me with a rush of happiness.

Coming to a section with empty sleeves, a couple of photos laid tucked in between the pages. Adriana had given me some photos of her own after I had shown her the photo album the other day, and the first thing she did was run out and buy a bunch of disposable cameras. We probably spent the whole day afterwards just taking pictures of things around us, the two of us making a point to drive around the city and take pictures of all the popular landmarks.

My fingers left small fingerprints across the glossy film of the pictures, and I slid them carefully into the sleeves, filling up the leftover spaces on the next few pages.

The last picture was a picture of Adriana's mom, her dad, and my mom.

I recognized the background as the basement of my grandma's old house. Before she passed away, my mom and I used to live with her, and the two of us lived in her basement. It was like we had our own mini apartment - I remember the cookies my mom used to cook in the small, yet complete kitchen, and the playdates Adriana and I used to have in my room.

In the photo, the three of them were sitting on the couch, my mom off to the side of Adriana's parents. They wore big smiles on their faces, but my Aunt Patrice stuck out to me the most. She looked thin, sickly, and behind her soft, brown eyes held a certain pain - one her smile couldn't completely erase. With a bucket hat on her head, she rested into Uncle Charles's arms, who seemed to wrap around her like a safety blanket. Even though her eyes showed uncertainty, I could feel a familiar strength behind her small frame, the same feeling I felt from Adriana all the time.

My Aunt Patrice passed away when Adriana and I were kids from breast cancer. And ever since then, it's just been her and her dad.

If it wasn't so sad, it would almost be funny how one day,  things could just come crumbling down at the drop of a dime. And it didn't matter how good, how great the day was before it. And that's what made it hurt that much more. It was a constant reminder that reality was truly a fickle, careful thing - one had us constantly racing against a metaphorical clock that would could've even see. 

Closing the photo album and putting it back in my hiding place, I headed downstairs.

Pink tie-dye teddy bear slippers covered my feet as I descended the dark, cherry stained wooden stairs, which creaked in certain spots as I dropped my weight against them.

The house was quiet - Adriana and my uncle were at church - which left the peaceful tranquility of the house to myself. Any other Sunday, I'd be sitting right next to my cousin in the very first pew, listening to Sister Stephanie's soprano voice and feeling scrutinized under her harsh gaze as I listened to the sounds of tambourines and the church organ. If it wasn't for my blood stained sheets and a series of rough, gut wrenching cramps - I'd be sitting right there listening to my uncle as he preached the heavenly gospel of God, making believers of nonbelievers and washing away the sins of the damned.

After moving my now clean sheets to the dryer, I wandered over to the kitchen, digging through the fridge for some milk, and grabbing the box of Frosted Flakes from the pantry.

Glancing back and forth at the early morning cartoons that played on the television in the living room as I poured my milk, I was careful not to overpour, watching carefully as the cereal floated to the top of the bowl just underneath the rim. I cozied up on the couch with my first meal of the day, trying to push back against the nausea that stirred in my stomach and the thoughts my mind seemed to drift off to, attention unkept and unbothered by the bright lights and loud sounds that spilled from the television.

As peaceful as it felt to have the house to myself, I couldn't help but think about the way my mom and I used to do the very same thing I was doing now - watching reruns of old Scooby-Doo episodes.

It made me want to go back to the pictures in my photo album and jump right back in - returning to a happier time to stay there forever. Before Adriana's mom passed away, before my grandmother passed away - and before I ever realized that my mom first had an issue with drugs.

I don't remember the first time I realized that my mom was an addict. She was so great at hiding it. It wasn't like she stopped being the mom I had known yet - she would still pick me up from school and we always stop for a snack on our way home before getting on the train. We would still sit there in front of the tv on Sunday nights as she greased my scalp and made sure my hair was perfect for school the next day, but as she fell further into her addiction, days like that became few and far between. Her facade began to crumble - and only became easier for me to see through the cracks and holes that she called our new "normal" by the time I was a teenager.

I went from having my hair done by my mom on Sundays, to standing in the bathroom in front of Black as he struggled to wrap rubber bands around haphazard sections of my hair he called a hairstyle. I remember that each time afterward, I'd either have to fix it, or if his girlfriend of the month took pity on me, they'd fix it for me. I still appreciated the fact that he would try, though.

Back then, I was too young to understand the gravity of the situation, how bad things were getting. But eventually my mom could no longer explain it away - or maybe she didn't care to.

I was probably eleven years old when I first walked in on my mom completely strung out.

By then, I had a pretty good idea of what things were, and what was going to be defined as my new normal.

The sound of the doorbell broke up my fragmented thoughts, and first, I ignored it, trying to finish the now soggy cereal that floated in my bowl. I figured it was a delivery driver and that they would leave the package at the door and go away, but the doorbell kept ringing - leaving me with really no choice. Getting up with a sigh from the couch, I poured my now ruined bowl of cereal down the garbage disposal, listening to the doorbell continue to ring as I watched water run down the drain from the faucet, the sound of the loud churning and sloshing of the garbage disposal temporarily drowning the sound out.

Part of me assumed that it was one of those Jehovah Witness groups I had seen around the neighborhood before, but as I made my way to the door I could see the silhouette of just one person standing outside, their appearance hazy and partially blocked out by the patterned glass of the front door.

"Can I help you?" I unlocked the door, meeting the eyes of the man on the other end of the door. Separating us was the clear, glass storm door, so I had to speak up, my voice unintentionally filled with the sour attitude that seemed to fill my sentence at the moment.

Standing tall as he stood on the concrete steps just beyond the door, the man was dressed tastefully in a forest green Polo shirt, with a gold chain peeking out just behind his collar. A spiral, tribal tattoo descended up into the short sleeve of his shirt on his right arm, the black ink slightly faded. Black dress slacks and matching black loafers covered his bottom half and an expensive looking, white gold watch wrapped around his wrist, the shade of gold complimenting his brown skin. It held my attention as he reached towards his face to remove the black sunglasses that covered his eyes. I recognized them as a pair of Versace sunglasses Adriana had been looking at in the mall a few days ago.

Ignoring my tone, he smiled, revealing a set of white teeth hidden amongst his thick, black beard and full lips.

"Aren't you pretty," he complimented, diverting back to his main topic, "I'm looking for Charles Fulton. Is he available?"

Pulling back the grimace that lurked behind my lips, I looked past the man at the door, staring at the Lincoln Navigator parked at the bottom of the driveway. From here, the car looked spotless, its white paint twinkling in the sun that stretched high into the sky. When I looked back at the man, he was still staring at me, a soft smile pulled across his features.

I shook my head, "Not at the moment, no," I told him, "But I can tell him you stopped by, if you want me to?"

At the sound of my next sentence, his smile fell, and he shook his head. He looked down at his watch, "No need, I was just in the area and figured I'd catch him."

I nodded, beginning to close the door, ready to end our interaction and get back in bed after swallowing down another ibuprofen, but the sound of his voice prevented me from doing so.

"You look familiar," he started, smiling at me again. He tilted his head to the side, analyzing me up and down.

His smile didn't exactly meet his eyes - more like he was doing it to lull me into what felt like a false sense of security. His gaze ignited just the smallest flame of uneasiness in my stomach, and in my simple, oversized purple t-shirt and black shorts, I felt like he could see almost straight through me. But then again, I could've been overthinking things - I wasn't so sure if the unsettling feeling that lingered was because of my period, or a sign of something more.

"Aren't you his niece? I remember him mentioning that you were in town. You probably don't even remember me," he chuckled, "But I used to be really good friends with your mom."

Slowly inching the door closed, I knew better than to answer that question. So I came up with my next best thing - a lie.

"The phone's ringing - I'll let my uncle know that you came by, okay?"

I pushed the door closed, practically slamming it back into the door frame as I locked both locks back. I stood off to the side as I peered into the window, watching the man turn on his heel, and walk back down the steps, following the winding pathway that led back to his car. I could see his keys in his hand, and he walked tentatively, analyzing his surroundings before getting in his car and driving away.

It wasn't until I was watching him drive down the street that I realized he hadn't even told me his name.

And as if to provide cushion to my lie, my phone started to ring.

My phone vibrated on the kitchen counter, next to my half empty bowl. It rattled against the countertop, subtly shifting in one direction from the force of the vibration, almost like it was dancing along to the melody of my ringtone. It slid across the smooth granite countertop, and I flipped it over, the name that flashed across my screen making my stomach do flips, settling in with an even worse nauseating feeling.

Black.

Conversation between the two of us had been more than spotty recently - it was harder than ever to get him on the phone. And more often than not, when I did manage to get him to pick up the phone, half the time it wasn't even him - it was one of his associates. I figured now that we were so many miles apart now he'd want to keep up with the things I had going on, but it was feeling more like I was an afterthought.

And our conversation last night definitely wasn't making me feel any better.

I had asked Black what was going on with my mom - cause even though I had my own, troubling, complicated feelings about her, I still wanted to know if she was okay. With my absence, there was nobody to pick up after her and make sure the house didn't fall in on her, nobody there to nurse her back to health after withdrawal. I wanted to know if she missed me, or had even noticed that I was even gone.

I knew wishing for an answer like that was like wishing on a shooting star, but it only made me upset when Black completely beat around the bush, and even more so when he cut our call short since he had some "business" to attend to, promising to call me back later that night.

I didn't want to feel like I was chasing behind him, hounding him down for answers - so it was his turn to chase me.

Declining they call, I rolled my eyes, turning to put my bowl in the sink. My phone kept vibrating even as I dumped my clumpy, cereal filled milk down the drain and washed the bowl out - calls coming through back to back, one after the other. And I continued to ignore them, completely uninterested in talking to him. My phone continued to vibrate and ring, and the more I seemed to ignore it, the louder my ringtone seemed to get until I couldn't take it anymore.

"Leave me alone!"

"Damn cousin, it's just me. Who botherin' you like that?"

Hearing Adriana's bubbly, soft voice on the other line, I sighed, pushing hair out of my face. My nerves seemed to subside, the feeling in my stomach temporarily settling, much like waves retreating from the shore. Shaking my head like she could see me from her end, I cleared my throat, "Nobody - just a spam call."

"I hate those, I block them every single time," she scoffed. "Are you feeling any better?"

I wanted to tell her the truth - that I felt like a nervous, anxious, moody ball of emotions, but I plastered on a fake expression, hoping that it would wash away what I was feeling, even if for a moment. "Yeah, I took some ibuprofen, and I might go lay back down."

In the background, I could hear the deep, baritone sounds of the church organ, and the melody it played along to.

"Good, I have a heating pad in the closet if you want to use it," Adriana paused, sighing, "Hopefully we'll be on the way back soon. Daddy can go on forever."

Overwhelmed, I did exactly what I told Adriana I was going to do - lay down.

After swallowing back the two ibuprofen I found in Adriana's medicine cabinet, and digging through her messy, full closet for her heating pad - I settled beneath my cool, linen sheets. My mind was foggy, and my body was more than tired. My stomach was in knots, twisting and turning in pain and bloated from the cereal I had, and my nerves were shot - I couldn't function like this.

Cranking up the heat setting as I adjusted the heating pad between my legs, the soothing heat beat back against the rough cramps ravenging my stomach. Turning over and wrapping myself in the cover, I could feel my eyelids get heavy as I stared out of my window, watching the birds hop back and forth between the branches on the tree just beyond the glass. As soon as I was about to drift off to sleep, my phone vibrated underneath me, along with the muffled sound of my ringtone.

Glancing at the screen before shoving it back underneath my pillow, it was a text message from Black telling me to call him whenever I got a chance. I rolled my eyes, turning back over and facing the door, shutting my eyes tightly.

Downstairs, I could hear the sounds of the garage opening, and my uncle and cousin coming into the kitchen. I wrapped the covers around myself further, circling my head with them as I heard the sounds of footsteps coming up the stairs - and I recognized the distinct pattern of Adriana's light, yet quick footsteps as they trailed to my door.

"You sleeping?" Adriana opened the door, poking her head in through the crack she left. She was smiling widely at me, almost like I didn't look like I was wrapped up in a blanket cocoon.

"Trying to," I mumbled, "I got your heating pad."

"You need anything else?"

I shook my head, and Adriana continued, "Okay, just let me know. I'll see you in a few."

She began to close the door, retreating her head from the space she left, but opened it right back up, this time only wider.

"Before I forget," she leaned her head against the doorframe, "Tell me why Sister Everdeen was wearing a banana yellow pantsuit today, with a bright orange hat, and red shoes?"

She laughed, allowing the picture she painted of her to settle in my mind before continuing, "Lookin' like a toucan. Then had the nerve to be telling me that I could dress more modestly. If dressing modestly means looking like I'm gonna be the focus of an Animal Planet documentary, I'd rather not."

The thought of Sister Everdeen stranded in the middle of the rainforest made me laugh, and Adriana couldn't help but laugh more, her energy relieving some of the stress and nerves I was feeling. "Okay, I'll let you sleep," her laughter slowly subsided, "Love you!"

"Love you too."

Adriana blew me a kiss as she closed the door, and I closed my eyes, finally drifting off to sleep.

When I woke up, my bedroom was blanketed by a thick layer of darkness. It was disorienting - my eyes hazily adjusting to the