Why Are You Here? by Cassandra Crossing

Why Are You Here?

By Cassandra Crossing

Creative Nonfiction

On this Monday, only the two of us were meeting at Oakton Community College. Others were either working late or on vacation, enjoying a hot summer day. I had started the writing group twenty months ago and haven’t yet missed one chance to get together with my writer friends. I arrived at six o’clock and walked into the spacious student lounge filled with beige, teal, and brown recliners, sitting areas, large low round tables, and small tall ones with high chairs.

A little girl greeted me. She was sliding on and off one of the seats as if she couldn’t stand still. “Why are you here?” She was quite inquisitive. Her blond hair hung past her elbows. My daughter’s would’ve looked like it at that age if her father had left it alone.

“I’m meeting someone.” I placed my laptop-bag on the rounded cushioned sitting-area.

“Who are you meeting?”

“A friend.” I glanced around. A young man—not old enough to be her father—sat near the glass wall that allowed a magnificent view of the lake. “Are you here alone? Where are your parents?”

“My mom and dad are in the room, working.” She pointed to one of the offices to the left.

I pulled out my iPad and begin typing: “Meet me upstairs…”

“Can you play Uno with me?” The little girl interrupted, looking up, eyes pleading, legs swinging.

“I’m supposed to print something in the library—”

“I can’t go there. Need to stay here.”

“Sure, I’m not asking. Your parents wouldn’t know where to find you. How old are you?”

“I’m seven. Please, please, play with me!” Her voice high-pitched, burst with excitement as she fidgeted.

I never left my children unattended at this age. I stared at the unsent message. “Maybe I can play one until my friend gets here.” I shut off the tablet’s display. “What’s your name?”

“Yay!” With skinny arms, she pulled out a stack of cards and began counting down seven in front of me. “Taylor.”

“Beautiful name.”

She was thin like my daughter the last time I’d seen her twenty-two months ago. The head of the counseling center stopped the visits, claiming there were no supervisors available. I’m afraid to go back to court. Her father would do something to hurt me. He could claim again that I was in his street. No doubt, the police would come and would throw me into jail. His wife and his father would testify against me. Again. It wouldn’t matter if I was at home, a half-hour drive away. They’d claim that my sons would say whatever necessary to protect me. I learned to play Uno in jail.

She put down a wildcard to begin the game.

“Keep that for later, when you need it.” I pointed at the black card with a circle of red, blue, green, and yellow in the middle. I never just let my children win because I wanted them to feel they earned it, but I would always help them along the way like I helped this little girl.

She placed a yellow eight on the table. I picked up a card. On her turn, she leaned over to pick one up, too.

“Do you have an eight of any other color?” I asked.

“Oh, yes!” Bright-eyed, the little girl jumped up.

She won the first game with six cards still in my hand.

“Wow! You’re great at this.” I encouraged her like I encouraged my children. The smile on her face warmed my heart. Seven. By this age, the judge reduced our visits with my daughter to supervised ones due to her father’s and grandfather’s lies. They lied that I tried kidnapping her, that I was stalking him. She lived with me until she was four.

The office door opened. A woman poked her head out, then shut the door—a clicking sound.

“Why does she have to lock it?” Taylor squirmed in her seat. “It was already closed.”

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“Yes. A brother, twelve. He’s five years older.”

“Where is he?”

“He’s with my mom in Ohio. I don’t see him much.”

“Didn’t you say your parents are in that room?”

“That’s not my real mom.”

“Oh.” A twitch in my chest became even more visceral. “Do you miss him?”

“He’s not nice to me.” She picked up another card.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” I wondered if she spoke from experience, or is this what they tell her? “I have a little girl, twice your age, and she and my son don’t see one another much either, but— they love each other.”

Our visits stopped, and their fathers don’t bring them together, although it was one of the reasons, the judge allowed them to be separated. They haven’t seen each other for twenty-two months, and it may be another four years until they meet again, when she’s eighteen, and he’s twenty. What do they tell my daughter?

“Let’s play another!” The little girl handed me the cards. “You fix them this time.”

She won again.

A black-haired woman—dark and exotic—came out of the room, holding the hand of a man with a light complexion. She strolled by his side with ease and fluid steps. They stood behind the little girl.

“At least, it’s an improvement; I have only five left.” I smiled at Taylor.

“I want to play one more!” She insisted.

“You like playing with her because she lets you win,” the woman said, “unlike us at home.”

“She’s smart.” I faced the couple.

Hands intertwined, they talked to one another. About how his mother will react negatively to whatever plans they had made, and she (the woman gestured toward the girl) would probably act out.

“Thanks for playing with her,” the woman said, condescending.

I sat there with two cards left in my hand, and I couldn’t help but perceive in this woman, the new wife who took my place in my daughter’s life. Does this mean I still haven’t fully forgiven her lies? Her part in causing me to lose my temporary custody?

I’m not sure, but this chance-meeting opened me up to refocus. Reminding me of how many little girls and boys must be living separate lives without their “real” mothers. How many bonds have been broken? How many mothers without their children take delight in playing a game with someone else’s daughter?

First Published by WOW! Women on Writing in October 2019

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The Author

Cassandra Crossing immigrated from Europe and now resides in the Chicagoland area. Poetry and writing have been her life-long dream. She writes from personal experience about love, despair, loss, and hope. Her work includes short stories, creative non-fiction essays, flash fiction, plays, and poetry. She’s also working on a few novels and novellas. Her creative nonfiction essay "Naked" won 2nd place in April 2020 in a WOW! Women on Writing contest and was published online. "Why Are You Here?" won Runner Up status and was published online in 2019, while "Sorrow" (2019) and her flash fiction “Allure” (2017) were finalists at contests by WOW! Women on Writing. An interview was published by them on January 5th, 2020. Cassandra’s creative nonfiction essay “Things That Matter”, her fiction “Parenting Advice” and plays “The Chair” and “Three Tickets for the Show” had been selected by her college as finalists to represent them in the annual Skyway Competitions in recent years. You can find some of Cassandra’s work on her website: ccrossing888.wixsite.com/cassandra and on Patron: www.patreon.com/CassandraCrossing.