Maggie ran breathlessly through
the crowd, her hair clutching at her face. The neon lights flashed crazily all
around, and the jostling of the masses jarred her. Hundreds of people filled
the streets, craving the numbness and empty bliss that came with partying and
dancing with strangers. She pushed through them, panting and choking. She bumped
against a man, knocking a bottle from his hand. It shattered on the pavement
and he called out after her, angry and threatening. Maggie didn’t stop. She couldn’t.
She didn’t look back, but always forward, running, running, running.
The night grew darker as she made
it out of the street mob and into the back allies of New Orleans. Rounding
corner after corner, she started checking locks. There: open. She pushed into
the dark apartment, sinking down into a stranger’s stiff couch. The lights from
the party still flashed through the windows. In the shadow of the corner,
Maggie caught her breath, pulling out a phone.
“Hello?” Came a cheery voice she
hadn’t heard in years. A thousand miles away, she could picture the face as
clearly as if it was in the next room.
“Mom?”
There was silence. “Mom, don’t
hang up.”
“What do you want?” The voice came
out cold and stiff this time. Maggie’s throat tightened.
“I’m just in a little trouble. I
was wondering, could I come home?”
“Who’s paying for your ticket?”
“I’ll find the money.”
“You mean you’ll steal it. Don’t
come home Margaret.”
“I was hoping to see Dad.” She
murmured.
“Your father’s birthday was last
week. I think he would rather you not interrupt his work, again.” Maggie could
hear her mother’s lips pursing.
“Will you tell him I called?”
There was a heavy silence, marred
only by the sound of Pasty Cline crooning in the background.
“Goodbye Margaret.” Her mother
hung up. Maggie dropped the phone and ground her teeth together.
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