“ Danielle , aren ’ t you cold ? Danielle , come in , the bugs are biting ,” and my mother ’ s silence was my ticket to stay outside as long as I pleased . We exhausted the neighborhood and still my pumpkin was not full . My legs weren ’ t cold enough to complain just yet .
I don ’ t know whose idea it was to cut through the golf course behind the brush — mine was not a mother in the sense that anyone is , and she was very open to suggestions from my ballsy four-year-old self . I had been home with her for less than a year , and I ’ m sure she was eager to keep me happy , hoping that being the ‘ fun mom ’ would win my silence to the cold-eyed social worker . Regardless of whose idea it was , we cut through the brush , crossing a corner of the lush golf course quickly . We came out near the train tracks , behind the big cow statue and the beer store , a warehouse with cement floors and corrugated tin walls . Twice a week we walked there : my mom , me , and her boyfriend Gary , carrying Amanda . He preferred the beer with a leaf on it ; she was more of a Budweiser girl . I was never patient while they made their selections and usually got lost in the towers of beer cases , but at the end the cashier always let me pick a Saf-T pop , never grape , watermelon if they had it . Now , I think of all the times my friends have stopped there for beer , not knowing about the secret world of train tracks and low-income housing lying just behind the tree line .
The beer store was out of lollipops , so we headed back home . It was dark and cold , and I began whining . “ I ’ m cold .” My mom wasn ’ t the comforting type , and simply yanked my arm .
“ Hurry up , then .” She walked faster , pulling on my arm as we crossed the train tracks . The sky was quickly turning from a brilliant turquoise to thick black , and we could only see a few feet ahead of us at a time . I tripped and lost a shoe , but she was still going . My other shoe fell off as I chased her , terrified of being lost in the dark expanse between the beer store and the golf course . When I caught up to her , my heart pounding with fear , I grabbed her hand and held on tightly .
I didn ’ t go to school that week . When my foster mom picked me up that Friday for the weekend , she waited until I got into the car to crane her neck around the driver ’ s seat of her minivan and ask where my shoes were . I didn ’ t look at her , hoping I could avoid answering . I knew , by then , that the aching look in her eyes would feel worse than the silence .
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