Photo by Colin Davis
Why Are You Here?
Creative Nonfiction
On this Monday, a hot summer day, only two of us planned to meet at the college campus for the writing group I had started twenty months ago. 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 hair would’ve looked like it 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.
“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.
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!” She pulled out a stack of cards with skinny arms 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. They 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 red, blue, green, and yellow circle in the middle. I never just let my children win because I wanted them to feel they earned it, but 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 in to pick one up, too.
“Do you have an eight of any other color?” I asked.
“Oh, yes!”
She won the first game. Six cards left in my hand.
“Wow! You’re great at this.” I encouraged her like I encourage my children. The smile on her face warmed my heart. Seven. By this age, my daughter’s visits were reduced to supervised due to her father’s and grandfather’s lies claiming that I tried kidnapping her and 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. Followed by 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.”
“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. Their fathers don’t bring them together as they promised, although it was why 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 a man’s hand with a light complexion.
“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.”
I faced the couple. “She’s smart.”
They stood behind Taylor, hands intertwined, talking to each other 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 the woman the new wife who took my place in my daughter’s life. Does this mean I still haven’t fully forgiven her for the lies and her part in causing me to lose the temporary custody the judge granted me for the duration of the court battle?
I’m not sure.
This chance-meeting opened me up to refocus, reminding me how many little girls and boys must live 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?
I’m not alone.
First Published by WOW! Women on Writing in October 2019
The Author
Cassandra Crossing immigrated to the US 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 poetry and prose has been nominated to the Pushcart Prize and has been published in several literary journal and magazines like WOW! Women on Writing, Fresh.Ink Magazine, The Scarlet Leaf Review, Unlimited Literature Literary Magazine (UL-LitMag), Ariel's Dream Literary Journal, Beautiful Words by Ariel Publishing, The Illinois State Poetry Society, L.eX|Literary Excellence, and more.
Twitter: @CassandraC888
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