Through the Heart by Kate Morgenroth Page B

had changed drastically from the warm summery temperature of the day before. It had turned cold overnight, and out there, with no protection, the wind whipped through the stubble in the fields and through my jacket. I stayed out there as long as I could stand it.
    It’s only now that I can look back and see the truth—that those were my golden moments. It was out there that I found what I was looking for. And it was when I was most alone—the thing I was most afraid of. Will you believe me if I tell you that the thing we fear most is the thing we want most? No? Well, I wouldn’t have believed it either. I couldn’t see it, even with the evidence right there in front of me.
    I stayed out there, alone in the fields, longer than usual. I stayed until the sun went down and the temperature dropped even more. Then, when my nose and fingers were numb and I was almost shivering, I walked back to the car and drove home to my mother’s house.
    I went straight upstairs to take a hot shower, and then I took the time to blow-dry my hair, which I almost never do since it takes forever. I dug out the makeup that I hadn’t used for ages. It had been so long, in fact, that when I tried to use the mascara, I discovered it had dried to a solid inside the container. For the first time I realized how much I had let slip in the last three years.
    I put on the nicest dress I had, which was also the only dress I had. I’d bought it for the one date I went on in Chicago in the spring, and I hadn’t worn it since. Then I put a pair of heels in my bag and put on jeans underneath the dress and an overcoat on top of it. I knew if I went out in a dress and heels, and my mother saw me, there was no way I was going to get out of the house without an interrogation. And I wasn’t ready to be questioned—especially since I didn’t have any answers.
    Even with my disguise, getting out of the house proved to be tough. It was like my mother had radar for the times when it was most inconvenient for her to be difficult.
    She was sitting, watching TV, when I went downstairs.
    “I’m going out,” I told her.
    She turned to look at me, and I felt like she had X-ray vision, as if she could see right through the coat to the dress underneath.
    “Where?” she demanded.
    “Meeting Tammy.”
    “Tammy is more important to you than your own mother?”
    “Of course not,” I said.
    “Good. Then stay in with me tonight. I’m feeling low. I’ve been alone in this house all day. I need some company.”
    “Mom, I’m sorry. I can’t tonight.”
    “Why not? You see that girl all the time. Why do you need to see her tonight?”
    I spent practically every night with my mother, sitting on the couch watching TV. I couldn’t even count the number of nights she told me I should be going out instead of sitting around, that my life would be over before I knew it, and I’d still be sitting there on the couch alone because she wasn’t going to be there forever.
    “I promise I’ll stay in tomorrow night,” I told her.
    “I’m not talking about tomorrow night. I’m talking about tonight. Are you going to stay with me tonight ? That’s all I’m asking you. I don’t think it’s so much.”
    I realized that if I had really been going out with Tammy, I would have given in and stayed in with my mother. I knew it and she knew it. So by saying no, it was as good as saying there was something I wasn’t telling her. The only thing for me to do was to get out of the house as quickly as possible.
    “Sorry. Not tonight, Mom,” I said, heading for the door. “I’ll probably be back a bit late. See you tomorrow.” And I hurried out, not waiting to hear what was sure to come. I could hear her through the door, but, mercifully, I couldn’t make out the words.
    I drove far enough away for it to be safe to pull over, wriggle out of my jeans, change my shoes, take off the bulky coat, and put on some lipstick. Then I drove back to town and pulled up behind the now