Forgive Me by Stacy Campbell

abruptly when another patron walked down the aisle. The holey, New York Knicks T-shirt she donned hadn’t been washed in weeks; neither had she. Her cargo pants, equally dingy and sliced with a knife or scissors, offered a peek-a-boo effect to legs filled with scrapes and cuts. She scratched underneath the baseball cap she wore, stopping only to look atthe grime beneath her nails. When she opened her mouth to speak again, Lasheera winced at the jagged remains that were once teeth.
    â€œYou looking at me like you don’t believe me. Tell you what, you can take me up the road and I’ll show you my car. Matter of fact, Raymond is waiting in the car for me,” she said. She eased closer to Lasheera. “If you could help me out with some gas and something to eat, I’ll be so appreciative.”
    â€œI’m sorry, but I don’t have any money to help you.” Lasheera scrounged around in her purse, remembering the Popeye’s gift card Lake received from one of his former student’s parents. Filled with angst, she gave the card to the woman.
    â€œThis card contains fifty dollars. This should get you something to eat. I hope that someone else can help you with some gas. Have a good day,” said Lasheera.
    Lasheera turned too slowly before the woman swept her up in a hug. Nauseated now, Lasheera held her breath as the woman’s rank body odor filled her nostrils.
    â€œThank you. You just made my week. I’ll go out here and find somebody else to help us, but at least I’ll have something to eat,” said the woman. Satisfied, she clutched the gift card and disappeared through the magnetic entryway.
    Lasheera sat in a seat near the pharmacy now. She had to process the encounter. Homeless or not, the woman struck a chord with her. Did I ever do that to anyone? Lasheera shook off the guilt of her crack days and steadied herself at the pharmacy counter. Her favorite pharmacy technician waved to her.
    â€œPicking up today, Mrs. Carvin?” the young lady asked.
    â€œYes, there should be one prescription for me and two items for my husband, Lake.”
    The technician punched away at the computer and took Lasheera’spayment for the items. Too shaken up by the chance meeting with the homeless woman, Lasheera declined the post-purchase consultation.
    The woman’s smell saturated her scarf and sweater. Memories of Tawatha and the smell of the woman ignited a feeling that was becoming familiar. She wanted a hit of crack so badly she could taste it. She’d staved off the feelings lately because Lake, Aunjanue, and Zion needed her. They would never forgive her if she traveled down that road again. She made her way to the car in a haze, drove off, and stopped at the KFC drive-through for a Coke. She needed something to wash down her Extra Strength Tylenol. She pulled into an empty space in the lot and removed her pharmacy bag. She opened the bag, removed the bottle of pills, and noticed an error. The bag read Lajuana Carvel, not Lasheera Carvin . She eyed the bottle, fancying it a hush-hush miracle: Lajuana Carvel took Ambien.
    Lasheera remembered Roberta needing a sleep aid after the children’s deaths. Ambien calmed her down like no other drug. Lasheera couldn’t sleep, wasn’t eating as much, and found it difficult to keep her mind off drugs. I’ll take a few until things calm down.
    She placed the white bags back in the glove compartment and crept out of the KFC drive-thru. “Thank you, Walgreens, and thank you, Lajuana Carvel.”

Chapter 13

    T he art students met in the Majestic Acres Retirement Community’s recreation room per Onnie’s request. Mr. Wilson encouraged her drawing idea, and the Recreation Director green-lighted her Sunset Canvas Project. Onnie’s desire to spend more time with senior citizens grew stronger after Roberta isolated herself from family and friends. Gone was the vibrant, spunky grandmother who enjoyed