One Woman Warrior (Switching Tracks Series) Read online

“Forget it and forgive it so you can move on, son. I have. Not everyone is as strong as you, Rome. Travis wasn’t a coward, just weak. There is a difference, and I am going to choose to think he does miss me.” Rome drops to the floor beside my sofa and holds my crippled-up, gimpy hand. I try to move it out of habit, but Rome doesn’t allow it.

  “Mom, you are the strong one. Not me. I am so weak and hurt right now. I’m scared to death. But watching you fake not hurting everyday and knowing it’s for our benefit… that pushes me every day to do right, to do better, to be better. However, don’t get it confused with strong because, when you leave me, it’s going to kill me. You are all I’ve ever known. I can’t tell you how sorry I am for being so bad, Mom. If I could change it, I would. If I had known you would have to leave me so soon, I would have never left you.” The tears are building in his eyes, but I don’t have the strength for tears, so I simply smile at him.

  “Rome, I have loved you from the moment I first held you. The first time I heard your heart beat, mine took up the same rhythm. If you think I am strong, it’s because of you. I do it all for you. I am so proud of you for everything you’ve done for me and will do for your brothers.” I try so hard to clench his hand in return, but my body denies me that pleasure. I can’t even comfort my son.

  “You can’t leave me, though, Mom. Who will love me? Who will hold me down when you’re gone? No one can ever love me the way you do.” His words shred me, leave me feeling so empty and useless, but I can’t give in. BE STRONG! I demand myself.

  “Listen to me, Rome. One day, someone will come along, and she will love you ferociously. It will happen, and when it does, you’d better grab her and love her more than you’ve ever loved anything or anyone. You hold her, honor her, cherish her, and sure as hell never leave her. She will come, and you best not mess it up. That girl will clench your heart so hard it hurts, and when she does, you take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Enjoy every second of it. Never take for granted what could be taken from you at a moment’s notice. You love her as you love me, plus some. You be good to her and know in your heart I am there watching over you. I will always be there, and when you do right by that woman, know I am the most proud of you I could ever be. You’ve amazed me this last year and a half. I remember when the only things that mattered to you were a hot little piece of hooker, your bike, fighting, and that guitar. Now, you are so deep I get lost in whom you are, son. You’re so devoted to your brothers and me. You are caring and considerate. That’s all a mother could ask from her child.” I have so much more to say, but my chest is tight, my lungs are burning, and I need to sleep. I can feel the darkness closing in on me, trying to take me away for good, but I’m not ready to let go, knowing I will never see his face again. Never see any of the faces I love so much again. I feel a slight tug, and realize my tiny toddler is pulling at my blanket. Rome places him on the edge of the couch between me and where he is squatting in the floor. Denver watches me. He may know what’s coming. Kids see and feel things we don’t. Maybe it’s an angel coming to take me home, or the devil coming to drag me off. I don’t know, but I feel the calm rush over me again as I look into his selfless little eyes. I suck in deep and fight off the coughing that tries to escape.

  “Rome, remember this one thing always for me. I may have lost the battle with cancer, but, honey, I won the war of life. I got to watch you grow up and become a fantastic man. I saw Rio lose his nose and find it again. I got to feel his innocence wrap over and around me time and time again. I got to hold Denver, and he gave me what I thought I’d never see again. He gave me home. You three boys are my home. I love you all so much, and it’s your job to remind these little ones of that. Don’t let them forget our life. Though it may seem like we don’t have everything, we really do. For me, you three are the world, so I had it all in every way.”

  I let my eyes slide shut, and I feel the cough slip away, too weak to push it out. I can hear Rome sobbing and saying my name repeatedly. I can feel Denver’s tiny little hand rubbing my blanket. But I can’t open my eyes. I feel the heaviness settling in around me, and I actually feel content. I’ve done the best I could, and I know Rome will heal and move on. With me gone, his load will lighten, and with time, his heart will, as well.

  In these last seconds of my life, I realize Rome was right—I am strong. Because sometimes being strong isn’t about fighting or surviving. Sometimes it’s about letting go. And I do…

  Funeral

  (Rome)

  I’m not sure how my mother thought for a second I will find anyone as amazing as her. I sit here on the sofa in this tiny room of this small church and watch Rio play in the floor with Denver. Only a few people come and go. She was sick for so long her friends and coworkers wrote her off long ago, but Gran, Amy, and our neighbor come, as does Mom’s old boss. I thought Travis might show up, but I should’ve known better. Of course, he didn’t. Besides, the boys are better off without him.

  The funeral director comes, and they wheel the coffin into the room where we will finish this show. I get the boys seated by Gran and Amy, and I walk up to my mother’s coffin and run my hands over it a few times. I’ll never see her face in the sun again, I’ll never hear her voice again, and I will never feel her arms around me, hugging me again. I could use her words of encouragement right now, but I will never have those again, either. Just her memory.

  I turn to the few in the room and speak. “My mother never required much to be happy, and she rarely asked much from me. Her one request was that I sing for her, but I hope you’re not offended because I can’t do that. I…” I wipe my tears and sigh, “I need to sing to her.” I don’t wait. I turn, sit in the chair by her coffin, and pick up the guitar resting beside it, never looking at the few people in the crowd. I sing one last time to my mother’s mortal temple. I worship the mother I had in her, the friend she always was, and the reminder of surviving she will always be.

  The song is finished faster than I’d like. I move to help my brothers out the back door, while a stranger pushes my mother out to the burial plot in the back. It’s an old church, and they donated the spot, knowing our story. I am grateful because I had no clue what I was going to do. Ms. Riaz helped a lot, too. Without her, I would have been lost.

  We all walk beside the hole the shiny metal box is perched over, ready to be lowered. I have Denver on my hip, and Rio holds Gran’s hand as we say our last goodbyes.

  “Give me.” I turn at Gran’s demand.

  “Ma’am?” I ask.

  “Give me Denver. I’ll get him in the car, and we will wait for you. Take your time.”

  I smirk, hoping it’s enough as I hand him over. “Thank You.”

  I’d like to point out her black dress is see-through, but it seems rude, and something tells me she wouldn’t much care.

  Once I’m alone, I turn and say my final private words to Lucinda Mint Tate. “I get it mom. It’s hard, and it hurts like hell, but I get it. You loved us enough to let go. You wanted Denver more than you wanted yourself because the mother in you saw Rio and me, and you did what you saw as right. I don’t like it, but I get it. I will watch over those boys, I swear it on my soul. They are all I have left of you. I understand letting go is sometimes harder than holding on. I will, in time, figure it out, I promise. I have faith. You taught me right, and I will get there. I’ll figure out how to let this pain go. I love you.” I turn away and walk towards the old car my mother drove, tears streaming down my face.

  I will figure it out for my boys. They are now my burden to bear, and I will do it with honor. For her. Because I know she would have done it for me. She did do it for me. She held back on her pain for my sake. I will sacrifice everything, give everything, to make sure these boys know the love that I knew. But I will never love another person the way she thought I would. I can’t. Not with a gaping hole in my heart. It’s not possible.

  The End

  Curious if Rome ever loves again? Or if he falls back into old habits and loses his baby
brothers? You can follow Rome and the rest of the crew in the Switching Tracks Series.

  Book One: TRAILER PARK PRINCESS

  Book One. Five: ONE WOMAN WARRIOR

  Book Two: HIGH CLASS HARLOT

  Book Two. Five: ONE SHATTERED SISTER

  Book Three: BLUE COLLAR KNIGHT

  Trailer Park Princess

  Switching Tracks Series

  Book One

  CHAPTER ONE

  Picture this: you start in a dreamy haze …HA! Yeah, right! Unless you are on the same drugs as my mom, no way is this a dreamy haze kind of life. OK, so seriously. We have always moved around a lot from town to town, park to park, wherever my mom could transplant us for a while in a pay-by-the-week dump. We moved here, to Monroe Falls, a month before school let out my tenth grade year, which should technically be my eleventh grade year. Thanks again, Mom. All the moving the last few years wreaked havoc on my attendance record, and no matter how good my grades were, it was not enough. Now, I am a year behind, yet I am still smarter than ninety percent of the graduating class. The end of the year is the worst time ever to start a new school. There’s plenty of time to be picked on, but not enough time to become part of the school or a clique. Then the next year comes around, and it’s like starting all over once again.

  I walk in on my first day, and the halls are lined with prom posters and game schedules. (GO TIGERS!) Everyone is wearing blue and gold, ready for tonight’s basketball game. I pass a few people, nobody that I know, but, of course, they all stare. I am not much on the eyes. I’m a small framed girl, weighing maybe 107 pounds. I’m somewhat scrawny, really. I am right at five feet tall, fair-skinned, (could not get a tan to save my life), and I have weird, fiery red hair. My best feature, I think, is my overly huge, almond-shaped eyes that are the same color green as Yoda. They sparkle, and they are the palest green you will ever see. This always causes a scene. At least I know they are not looking at me because I’m plastic material. I walk with my head down, my wild, barely brushed hair hiding my freaking super nerd eyes. My worst feature would be the light spray of freckles over the bridge of my nose. I really hate those.

  I hear the hustle of boys being boys, but not soon enough. Next thing I know, I am face down on the hall floor with my trig book open next to my head. And, of course, my newest Star Wars graphic novel is laying there with half the front cover ripped off. This alone is enough to send me into a girly tailspin of freaking out. I had to save for weeks to get that book, and now it’s ruined. I’ll have to hurry up and find a job so it can be replaced, like yesterday. I make an awful snivel and start picking myself up, along with my books, when a hand reaches to help me. I slap the hand away, wipe my tear-stained face and my snotty nose, and prepare to get out of here ASAP. Just like in the movies, my world stands still the second I look up and find his eyes. This warm, beautiful guy is trying to help me. His amazing, coffee colored eyes remind me of a Starbucks espresso, and his skin… ah, his skin…it’s like the sun lives there. He is beautiful. Yum yum, eat-him-up beautiful! I think I am in love! I may even be drooling at this point. As I get a grip on myself, I push up the rest of the way to standing.

  “I am so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t mean to slap at you," I say, barely above a whisper, all while trying to clean my face up. He just stands there smiling at me.

  "I run you over and knock you down, yet you are apologizing to me?” His voice is like music for my soul. I think I may need it to survive from this moment on. He hands me back my graphic novel, letting his fingers graze mine, as we stand there staring at each other like two idiots.

  "Hi, I’m Tobias West. You’re new here, right?” Not giving me time to answer, he continues, “Of course you are. I wouldn’t forget a face like yours. Welcome to Monroe Falls High.” He smiles and leans in close, "Be careful, beautiful. An animal as gentle as yourself will get ate alive in this tiger pride," he winks and turns from me. But, of course the nerd in me has to correct him.

  "It's lion pride,” I say. He turns to me, looking confused. “Lions…they live in prides. Tigers are loners, but if grouped, they are called a streak or an ambush, not a pride." I lose my voice in the end, realizing he doesn’t really care. He winks with that smirk again and turns away. Seriously, I am crazy. By far, the hottest guy in school just spoke to me, and I corrected him with useless nerd facts. Kill me please!

  I know who is behind me before I turn around because she’s the only person I know, thanks to us both being from the same row at the park… well, sort of.

  “Dear glorious God of night Rory, were you seriously just like two inches from TOBY MOTHER EFFING WEST?” Amandolette pretty much screeches the whole sentence, drawing more unwanted attention.

  "Who? Oh, that guy. Yeah, he knocked me down while horse playing and was just being nice." She is smiling like a wild hyena when she says, "Toby doesn’t just talk to people, Rory. Like, I mean, he is a nice guy, but he usually minds his own business. Unless you are in his circle, he doesn’t randomly talk to anyone.” Now she is jumping up and down with her big ole Mexican eyes bugged out of her head. She makes me sick, but in a good way.

  Amandolette Riaz is everything I’m not. The only thing we have in common is our height, or lack thereof. However, she has a figure, like hips that dip and thighs that make guys cry. Her eyes are a perfect fit on her perfect head. She has skin and hair that are the same color chocolate, except the few purple streaks in it. She's a wild girl when it comes to fashion, always sporting a mix of new age with a ‘90s twist. Today, she is in black tights, layered with a ripped up blue jean skirt and an awesome pair of vintage purple Chuck Taylors. Her top is a tank top, but not the tight kind. It’s one of the ones that flare, and its splatter painted. She has huge hoops in her ears that are lime green and is seriously rocking a teased ponytail. I can’t help but giggle looking at her. She doesn’t follow fashion; it follows her. I know this because it’s the one thing she is proud of.

  Amandolette’s not really from the park. Her gran refuses to move in with her parents (who hurt for nothing) and opts to stay independent. Therefore, Amandolette comes over a lot to check in on her. I think she would live here if her folks would let her. I find myself stopping by frequently, as well, and that’s how we met. She was my saving grace when I moved here 3 weeks ago, and she’s my only friend. It was an instant friendship, and she’s been over every day since I met her. Since my mom wasn’t around, I skipped the first week I was supposed to be in school and got my humble abode live-in worthy. I cleaned, unpacked, and hung out with Amandolette in the afternoons. Eventually, I figured I better get the first day over with and start showing up if I wanted to pass this year. Absence is my problem not grades. I pull straight A’s. Always have. It’s my one achievement, and I am damn proud of it.

  Even though my week off put me further behind than I would have liked, I’m glad for the time with Amandolette because at least there was one familiar face my first day. Another good thing about our instant friendship: Amandolette’s parents also own the local diner, which is where I plan to start working soon. Per Mando, they need an afternoon waitress, and per my bank account (an old pickle jar in the bottom of my closet), I need a job. Since I have connections, I’m pretty much guaranteed the job, which is a relief. Anything to make my life a little bit easier is a blessing.

  A week has passed, and today’s my third day on the job. I have not seen Tobias, or Toby as the rest of the school calls him, since that first day. Trust me; I have looked. I guess he was a fluke, a blip on my radar. I busy myself filling drinks and grabbing condiments. I like the work; it’s a cool diner. Fashioned like an old-time soda shop, we even wear red and white outfits that have a poodle skirt feel to them. I hear the bell above the door ding and without looking, I blurt out, "Welcome to The Diner. Grab a booth, and I will be right with ya." As I make my way down the aisle, I take out my notepad. Looking up to be courteous, I lock gazes with those dripping chocolate eyes. The sensation is what I assume an LSD trip is li
ke. I feel like I am skydiving, or more like freefalling towards rainbows and sparkles. All the while, a black and white maze spins behind me like a jacked-up version of the yellow brick road. I am just standing there staring like a freak of nature. “Hi, Yoda," he croons, while melting my panties without even knowing it. After a forever-long pause, I find my voice. “Hi, Tobias, what can I get for ya?" I turn my head, noticing the guy in the other seat. “And you?” I ask. “Know what’cha want yet or are y’all gonna need a minute?” I barely finish my sentence before Tobias says, “Give me a number one with a strawberry shake." I write it down along with the other guy’s order. “Give me just a minute,” I say, “and I will be right back with your shakes." I turn to walk off, giving him that extra shake of my own, hoping he notices.

  While I am getting his milkshake, I hear the other guy say, “Dude, seriously, do not be slumming with that chick. She's a park whore. I have seen her around there a few times, and even with an ass like that, she is not worth pissing your folks off over.” Then they laugh. I figure Tobias agreed with him. I mean, I know I don’t have a chance in hell, but a girl can still dream. When I return with their plates, Toby asks for a bottle of ketchup, and I wonder if it’s just an excuse to get me back over there again. Probably not. Nothing else really happens. I allow myself to look over once to check their waters, which are still untouched, and decide to clean the counters until they leave to occupy myself. Then, I can finish my nightly clean up. When they finish eating, the guy with Toby walks out first, and a few seconds later, so does Toby. I make my way over to clear the table. I pick up the ticket and the twenty bucks they left, and give them to Nancy at the counter because I have not learned the register yet. Upon returning to the table, I notice a folded piece of paper sticking out from under Toby’s plate. At the same time I pick it up, headlights flip on outside the diner window, blinding me. I shield my eyes and look up, squinting. Stupid huge Chevy, ugh. Turning my back slightly so I can see the paper without a glare, I open it.