The story called Silvia written in 11/1998--a little something found while moving stuff

She pushed the straying strands of blonde hair behind her ears. The wind was no help, in that it desperately teased the wavy tendrils hanging loose about her forehead. The air was cold, and evening was well on its way. Her exhaling left small white clouds in the crisp autumn air. The girl tugged at the strings of her jacket; she obviously was impatient. Her fingernails were chewed closely to the quick, and she shuffled from side to side. Her face was pulled back in an odd sort of semi-grin, her upper teeth grazing nervously at the chapped lower lip. A mixture of anticipation, anxiety, and irritation dangled in the chilly air. She muttered softly under her breath the small white clouds accentuating her voice, a remark made only to sedate the rising frustrations. Her fingers were quite cold now and she rubbed them together to generate some warmth. They were red with little feeling as numbness settled into her hands. Reality was sinking in fast: she had been forgotten once more. No one else’s mother ever forgot.

Silvia had waited until the rest of her classmates had put their books back onto the shelves. Library time always seemed to end too quickly. She slowly, methodically, began to stack her papers and pile up her books. She made an effort to take her time. The pile of books that she had accumulated was quite substantial. It was not that she read all of them, or even looked at them for that matter, but using her foresight she always took the same large amount off the shelves. The books were her excuse for delay, the excuse fro her mother.

Silvia started to put her books away in their respective places. Around the complex she would walk, not too fast as not to finish quickly, but not too slow as to draw attention. She would act confused and lost, pausing in the aisles as if she did not know where the books went. But she knew. The librarians knew that she knew also, for they went about their clean-up and pretended not to notice the small girl who frequently glanced at the clock.

“Oh dearie, that’s quite a pile of books you have there.” The woman’s enthusiasm did not match her expected personality. “Would you like an extra pair of hands to help you put them away?” Silvia knew at once that this must be a new one. No one else asked anymore. Everyone else already knew her answer.
“No thank you ma’am, I’m just fine.” Her voice tried to reflect some of the false enthusiasm, but it fell short and came out strained. The pair of violet eyes that peered at her through the tortoise shell frames maintained their eager look, and took the rejection well, for nothing showed in her face. The woman seemed satisfied with the response and she turned and walked away; her glasses chain making a light clinking sound as she returned to the counter with the bookstamps and colored cards. The others were waiting there, waiting patiently for the girl’s ritual to be finished. They knew why she did this, but they masked their understanding and sympathy with a glossy smile and artificial enthusiasm. They were very good at their jobs.

Silvia returned to her shelving. She was taking her time, and still there was no sign of her mother. All at once her friend Lisa came bursting through the main doors. She was breathless and talking quite loudly. She raced past the row of grinning women who automatically, in sort of a robotic way, raised their fingers to their lips.
“Sil, I think your ride is here!” Lisa spoke without a breath and with excitement. The possibility of arrival spurred Silvia to action. She flew about the library restoring the books to their places. She had never moved so quickly, but then her mother had never showed up on time, either. Lisa waited patiently for her friend. She knew that her friend was very excited by the news.

Silvia raced out of the carrels and past the row of women who were just as excited for her as she was. Out on the front step she scanned the north parking lot and then the south, there was no one there.

“Sorry Sil, false alarm.” Lisa’s voice seemed distant to Silvia. She could feel tears welling up in her eyes, but she held them back, determined to show no emotion this time. Lisa sensed her friend’s agony, and she stepped closer and put her arm around her in a semi-circle hug.

“Not today, she won’t forget today.” Lisa’s attempt at reassurance was met with a coldness that she had never felt from her friend before. She tightened her hug, but the ice would not crack. She let go and stepped away. She was taken aback at Silvia’s lack of reception.

At the end of the block a brown sedan swung around the corner and rose up slightly as it bumped over the curb. Lisa knew it was her mother. Lisa’s mom pulled up to the curb, jumped out and ran to meet her daughter who skipped down the steps toward her. They met in a warm embrace, taking care not to hold on for too long, so as not to make Silvia envious.

“Silvia, do you need a ride today?” Lisa’s mom asked the same question every day. Every day she was met with the same response.
“No thanks, my mother is just running a little late today, she probably stopped off at the grocery or something, she will be here soon.” Silvia had finally spoken, but her words were empty. They all knew what had really happened. Nothing was said about that.
“Well, give my regards to your mother, honey.” With that Lisa’s mom got in the car. Lisa turned as she reached the car door.

“Sil, I know how you feel.”

The happy car pulled away. The dejected girl on the library steps sat down and watched as the sedan turned the corner.
“No you don’t.” It was nearly inaudible, but she meant it.

She was all alone. Silvia waited and waited. She was getting cold, but her mother should only be a few more minutes. Just a few more minutes turned quickly into an hour, then two. It was starting to get dark, and the streets became shadowed. The street lights flickered on and she waited. She had been running in place and had counted the cracks on the sidewalk to the corner, and she waited. She had tucked her coat in tight around her, a desperate attempt at salvaging her dissipating body heat. Silvia considered her options. She could try to walk home, possibly even meet her mother on the way. Last time she tried that, her mother was angry with her, saying that she must not be a good enough mother, that her own daughter doubts her. She was three hours late that night, and by the time Silvia had arrived home, her mother hadn’t even left yet to go pick her up. If the librarians with the wide mouths had not left, then she could have remained inside unshelving and shelving more books. They would have waited. They always did before.

Silvia decided to run the risk of her mother’s wrath. She started the walk home. The three miles seemed longer at night and in the dark, but in due time she arrived at the front walk of her house. She stood there, waiting. She half-expected someone to come running out with kisses and apologies. She feared what else to expect. Silvia waited, but no one came. With a sigh, she half-smiled at the dismal situation and walked up to her front door. It was locked. The car was in the drive and the door was locked. Slightly confused, Silvia climbed over the back fence. The backyard was dark and strange, things looked and felt differently when all was black. Silvia made her way carefully to the back porch. Through the screen and glass she could see a pool of light from the kitchen doorway pouring out into the hallway. In the kitchen she could see her mother sprawled out on the table. Silvia’s anger was rising. The scene was all too common. The screen door squeaked and banged as she went inside. Her mother had a glazed happy look on her face. Her face was relaxed. The deep lines on her face from a hard life had softened. She looked young. She was beautiful. In her left hand was a half-full bottle of liquor. Her right hand cradled a squat glass filled with half melted ice and a dented wedding band. The wedding band was usually kept in the box on her mother’s dresser. Silvia had never seen her wear it. She closed her eyes, hoping that when she opened them it would all be gone, just a dream maybe. Slowly she reopened her eyes. Nothing had changed, her mother had escaped, her father still a questioned void. Her anger was fading, it was being replaced by a mature compassion, a pity or an understanding of sorts. Silvia smiled. She smoothed her mother’s blonde hair and tucked it behind her ear. Her hair was nearly the same color, a shade darker and without the gray infiltrates that lately seemed to be more populated.

Silvia flicked off the kitchen light and waked to the table. Gently, so as not to disturb her mother, she lifted the bottle of liquor from her mothers’ firm grip. In the dark tears started to slide gently down her cheeks. She went to the stairs and started up to her bedroom. She opened the bottle and took a long swallow. It burned and tingled at the same time as it drizzled through her. She was too young to appreciate its full flavor, yet old enough to realize its power. All she felt was the mellow feeling enveloping her body. She took another drink, letting it fall to the back of her throat and then drop. She felt light and dizzy. She looked down at her mother.
“Goodnight mommy.” Her childish words were spoken with a mature voice. “Don’t forget about me, again.” She was feeling good, as the liquor was at its play.