How do I start this?... Uh... Ok. Well for starters mama's getting herself ready for her four-day stretch where she would force herself to stay awake. I know she's already tired. She always is, She does this every year. Four days straight no sleep then back to work. I feel bad. She's done this for seven years... because of me. I wonder if she's still mad at me. I'm not sure.

Even if she was, I can't change anything. I couldn't do it then and I still can't do anything now. I could have left, but I promise mama that I wouldn't be going anywhere so... here I am. She's always too busy to notice me, or too tired to play. But that's fine. I find ways to entertain myself.

Right now I was standing at the window sill not looking at anything in particular. Mama pacing behind me. She lost her keys. Again. I knew exactly where they were. They were in the same place they always were every day. On the coffee table with all her pills. Her loud huff and puffs were proof of her growing aggravation. I looked at the clock. An hour until work, Or more like an hour until she arrives five minutes early, and an hour and a half until she gets annoyed by a customer and has to walk away before she pours scalding coffee on them.

Mama said her job was not for little kids to roam unwatched. She was right in a way, cause give it two weeks, and news of a little girl my age goes missing. They never really found the person responsible. Mama was a bundle of worry and fear from what I have seen.

I'd be fourteen today if mama and I celebrated my birthday anymore but, we don't. That too stopped about seven years ago. I don't mind it all that much anymore though. I can't eat the cake anyway.

Mama cussed and sighed heavily. Frustrated to the point of tears. It broke my heart to see her like that. But I knew better than to say anything. She slid her back against the wall until she was curled up into the fetal position against my locked bedroom door.

Yet another thing in this house that I don't use anymore.

"Fuck. Where?... where the hell are my keys?" She spoke out loud to no one in particular. Not that there was anyone to respond.

Turning around from gazing out the window, my attention shot to her keys. Shifting my gaze to watch her for a second as I maneuvered around the couch that was in my way. Swinging my legs in a way that they could comfortably be stretched out underneath the thick pane of glass delicately balanced on the intricate metal-work designed to hold more weight than it was already supporting. My arms heavily crossed on the surface. she started to tear up more, heavier tear drops threatening to trail down. I poked the keys on the table. They jingled in protest and her gaze shot. Locating the car keys. She stood up and raced to the table and out of the back door accidentally leaving the door open. I walked to the door closing it I basically Nudged at it until it closed fully then fumbled with the lock until it clicked. I would follow her... but... the car still tends to pull off without me. I learned not to care years ago.

It's when she comes back home and the things she does that's hard to handle sometimes.

The small honda clarity disappearing into traffic. I hated seeing her go so I would always look away before she disappeared fully. But the fact that I couldn't follow was worse. There are times my mama needs me and I can't do anything for her and that breaks my heart sometimes.

Occasionally I'll get visitors asking for my company or entrance to my home. There were special occasions where I say no but for the most part, I would always accept.

I made a promise to a man with a very familiar voice. He said if I don't speak I can stay. I have said anything since. They also said to do nothing that would draw attention to myself. I try to swear but occasionally I'll have someone stare or walk-up. They'll try to speak to me but I can't respond. Mama always said, "Make sure you only make promises that you can keep. And don't speak to strangers." I want to stay with my mama so I will keep any promise that would help me do so.

I've also met a woman who wasn't familiar at all and she too wanted me to do something. But she always sounds like she wanted to make a wager. Mama told me that's what my daddy always did. She also said it was a bad habit but I never met him. I wonder if he knows... he probably doesn't, but that's fine... I guess.

Finally coming to after blankly staring into traffic while my thoughts ran wild I made my way through the house, leaving through the front door.

I walked down the block. There were two directions I could no longer walk. Into town where mama went, and down the block to the right. Mama said bad people and things reside that way.

It was hard to believe at first because down that block is where my friend used to live. We used to play all the time. But one day she didn't come to school and her mama came asking me and my mama if we saw her. That was the first day of a consecutive week of missed school. Not long after that, she was all over the news. Mama was sad and horrified and I was depressed after being told that me and Jodie couldn't play anymore... Now I know why... due to a little personal experience with the only reason why Jodie and I couldn't play anymore.

It wasn't until 7 years ago today that mama told me for the first that when I walk to school I need to be with a friend at all times. I didn't have one anymore, so that wasn't always easy. Mama didn't trust our neighbor either. I thought he was extremely nice. He always gave me candy and walked me to school when I had no one to walk with. I thought it awesome I guess I was wrong.

The first time mama caught him walking to school with me she got super mad, Cursing and threatening him. Pushing me into the same car she came zooming around the corner in.

Every day after that incident I got driven to school. It made things harder for her. If she wasn't tired before she had to drive me to school she was tired now. It bothered me to do that so on her day off, I would always ask to walk to school. She normally said no every time but she allowed me to go this time. If only I could have stayed home.

Mama told me that a smart girl is good and a good girl goes to school. I wanted to be smart. So I made it my mission to make it on time every day.

But you know missions... sometimes they fail... and that day I failed. But before I explain that.

Just know that our neighbor moved down the block I was told never to go down.

I was running late for school when I saw him. Mr. Audrey, A fairly handsome man fairly young too, twenty-three to be exact with a charming personality. He was a tall lengthy man tan in color with dirty blond hair. His tan complexion was non-existent on his shoulders and chest. Not to be mean but the man was naturally pale. His tan evidence of long hours in the sun. His goatee was thick. The hair surrounding his lips and covering his chin. His eyes soft and kind when he saw me waving as he strolled over to me. His favorite plain blue shirt loosely hanging around the waist of his faded blue jeans. Black sneakers poking out from the bottom of the tattered cuffs he had them folded in. His feet heavily thudding against the bright pavement.

I remember it so clearly.

That man... that man is the reason I can't talk to her! He is the reason I can't touch her, ask her for hugs, get tucked in, eat cake on my birthday, ride in the car, Go To School!!! He's lucky I'm confined to my area or he would suffer. My jaw twitched at the thought of him being just out of reach.

The more I think of what he did to me the more helpless I felt. the more stupid I see I was.

he walked up to me looking directly down to make eye contact. the top of my head no higher than his belly button. the sick B... anyway I remember the conversation like we were having it right now.

"Morning Dion, are you going to school little one?" I remember nodding a smile on my face. taking a few steps back because my neck started to hurt.

"Yep. But I can't talk, I'm gonna be late." I marched on.

"Want a ride?" I stopped cold in my tracks and smiled. a twinkle in both of our eyes. although, the reasons were insanely different.

"You have a car?"

"Sure do little one. Wanna play western bandits on the way to school?" he pulled a blue bandana out and tied it to his face handing me a red one.

"Do I!?!" I quickly tied it to my face and followed Mr. Audrey down the block. The world casually got more and more dizzying dark spots undesirably decorating my vision. I tripped over my foot, my knobby crashing into the cracked and jagged concrete. No matter how hard I tried I couldn't push off of the ground my arms were too weak. I closed my eyes and that's all I remember until the sudden pain in my forehead. but given the location and situation, anything that happened to me afterward wasn't good if I'm stuck like this.

I missed school that day. Mama had picked up an extra shift at work but got a call from school and came home early that day searching my room to find my six-day-old helium balloons holding on for dear life, the backyard empty, friends parents knowing nothing, and neighbors swearing up and down they saw me pass. Mr. Audrey is hard at work in his garden.

The school day ended... an hour passed... I still haven't returned. staying calm was no longer an option for mama she started her search informing trusted friends and neighbors of the situation and asking for help she also called for the police and sent out amber alerts. Two days later they found me... in a suit... near a dumpster. My head with a bullet hole. Yep, you heard me. Right in the middle of my forehead. The only thing that keeps me tied to this area is my bracelet that's under my bed behind the only door locked in my mother's house, and whenever I go "out of bounds" I get pulled back to my bed.

I, like my mama, have learned to live with certain pains and grow a thick skin. But there are times where we lose heart, and any topic related to what happened a full week after my seventh birthday breaks us.

Have you ever sat two feet away from someone and listened to them cry themselves to sleep? No? Didn't think so. Oh, I got one, what about watching the one you love drinking themselves to sleep every other weekend and every anniversary. Packs of those ugly ass... pardon my language. Those unsightly tall grey cans, just laying around carelessly tossed to the sides once properly emptied.

Mama throws up and I can only play moral support... no... I can't even do that either, because even moral support can pull back her long pretty wavy brown hair. But no instead she fights against it alone. her face pale. her expression as she slips in and out of consciousness on the bathroom floor shower mat.

My visitor comes by fairly often and he doesn't even know about her and... never will... No one should see her like that, not even me.