Plastic Bags

The toothbrush jammed into her back is the least of her worries.

The day I needed it most, I couldn't find my duffel bag. After searching every room in the house, I gave up and went down into the kitchen. I didn't look at my parents, who sat on two separate couches as I pulled out plastic bags from the cylinder that hung from the ceiling. Picture, movies, necessities -my entire life- fit snugly in three bags. When I walked down stairs again, I looked at my parents and saw them staring at a blank television screen.

"Well, I'm off," I said, forcing an easygoing tone into my voice. "I'll send you a postcard."

Mom stood and brushed her shirt off. As she walked over to me with a stiff gait, I remembered her running toward me as a child, concern in her eyes when she saw a small scrape on my knee.

"Stay healthy," she said.

Stay healthy?

If she really cared about my health, she wouldn't be kicking me out.

I looked over at my father who still watched the television, as if his gaze alone could turn it on. With his powerful brown eyes, it didn't seem so far-fetched. I had those eyes. I used to be proud of them, too.

Dad said nothing, didn't even look at me, which signaled that I should leave. Without glancing around for the last time, I left through the door, the three bags swaying on my arms.

-

The train station swelled with people. It seemed as if they were trying to escape something outside, the way they crowded close together. I sat on a bench and looked up at the dark sky, wondering where I would go. I had friends, but none of them lived alone. No relatives wanted me, and I didn't want them.

I leaned on the bag I placed behind me, and felt my toothbrush dig into my spine. People glanced as they paced. What did they see? A no-good daughter? A homeless vagabond?

Both were pretty damn close.

Thinking of this, my mind became distracted. I heard her before I saw her. Rather, felt her. A bag crinkled and a weight fell upon my lap. I looked down at a head of orange hair.

"Oof," a female voice said. "That's a safety hazard."

"S-sorry," I mumbled. After a few seconds, I wondered why she was still sprawled across my legs.

Eventually, the woman straightened and patted her crazy hair. She wore many bracelets, which clanged together with each movement. A long jacket covered most of her thigh-length skirt.

"Hi, I'm Molly Hollard," she said, holding out her hand to me.

"Andy Cast," I replied nervously.

Molly looked confused for a moment. "Are you a boy?"

"It's a nickname," I said, feeling a small twitch in my eye. She definitely had some problems.

"For what?"

"A name I don't like."

She sat down beside me, placing a bag on her lap and sifting through it. "Are you going on vacation?"

"No."

"Why not? You're at a train stating with all these bags. Might as well go somewhere."

I looked around bemused, and then focused my eyes on her blue ones. "I am going somewhere. But not on vacation."

"Where are you going?" she asked, pulling out a photo album.

"That's none of your business."

I watched as she licked her fingers, turning each page, studying my memories intently.

"You're one of those people," I mumbled unconsciously.

"What do you mean?" She put her tongue to the tip of her finger, and flipped another page.

"You lick your fingers. That's gross."

Molly shrugged. "A habit."

After another four pages, I finally became sick of it and snatched the small book from her and she looked away from me.

She quickly got over it, though, and asked, "Are you running away?"

"Did you hear me?" I said. "Why would I tell a stranger my business?"

"I'm Molly. I like sitcoms, Thai food, and making paper snowflakes."

"Huh?"

"I'm not a stranger anymore. So tell me, are you running away?"

So many questions filled my mind. What did she care? Why was she here? And what was with her dreads? I sighed, somehow knowing I wouldn't win with this woman.

"I was kicked out," I muttered.

"Why?"

"Do you have short term memory loss?"

"Oh right. None of my business." She looked down at her hands in her lap.

I felt sorry for her. Molly seemed lonely. I should at least humor her. "I drove my parents crazy."

A spark entered her eyes. "A rebel, huh?"

"Not really." I shrugged. "I just...it's complicated."

I felt like one of those whining little teenagers who think their life is so difficult. But it was complicated. I didn't even understand the situation.

She didn't venture further on the matter. "So what are you going to do now?"

The pain from the toothbrush began intense so I straightened. "I don't know."

Molly then jumped up, and grabbed my hands, pulling me with her. She laughed and hugged me. "Come live with me!"

I pulled away. "What?"

"C'mon. It'll be fun!"

I stared, my mouth ajar. "B-but, I don't know you."

"Didn't I tell you about me?" She tilted her head innocently.

"You think that's enough for me to trust you?"

"I'm a responsible adult!"

I looked at her orange hair.

"Most of the time..."

I knew I shouldn't be doing this. Despite what she thought, Molly was a complete stranger. However, she was the only one who presented me with an offer and I was desperate. My shoulders slumped, and I breathed out heavily.

"Where do you live?"

Author's Note

I'm not so sure about this chapter, so tell me what you think. Just a little mini project.

Reviews

[Shellie]

Really really good. Please add more soon!!!

[Alex Thomas]

Really good. A writer's greatest downfall is watching the tenses of the verbs. So just be careful of that.

[EliLies]

I love it! The entire time I was reading this chapter, I thought of how published it sounds. I really liked it (: