Between the Lines: a Mother’s Love
It’s never too late to do the right thing
May 2nd, 2022
Chapter 1: BEFORE
Ephesians 3:20, ‘Never doubt God’s mighty power to work in you and accomplish all this. He will achieve infinitely more than your greatest request, your most unbelievable dream, and exceed your wildest imagination! He will outdo them all, for His miraculous power constantly energizes you.’ (TPT)
Sun would have poured in through the windows had they not been so smeared with dirt and grime, years of trying to peek at secrets and things hidden behind closed curtains. Just like eyes are the window to the soul so are windows a magnifying glass to what lies within. Shadows caught in the corners like cobwebs. There were plenty of those too. If the girl could be honest, she’d say that not one thing was welcoming about the shack except the needle, spoon, lighter. Well, needless (no pun intended) to point out, the junk. That’s what she had always called it, even when it was pulsing its way through her veins…it was still ‘junk’, even then. She lay on the shifty cot, the one where you felt the rails through the threadbare mattress; the hundreds of memories made on this thing, the love, the spoken words, the baby…She peered at the rays trying to break through the gloom, her heart in her throat, like indigestion.
She tried to clear her head, shook it; shook again. She twisted it toward the door; a panic rising inside. Maybe she heard something. Maybe he was home early! The girl glanced at the paraphernalia and the white crusty residue sent an uncontainable urge coursing through her. The noise sounded again, and her heart quickened. He would not be okay with this, not for one moment. Her eyes fell on the junk and quickly rove to the doorway. She’d be in trouble. He just didn’t understand. It was impossible lately with the stress, the requirements, all the blasted time on her hands. She knew he was worried about her and the…
The noise outside jarred her as she tried to move. She needed to clean up this mess! her mind told her. But she felt powerless to move. Maybe it was him and he was home early. Her heart throbbed in her ears. They had wished for it this morning, that he’d be home earlier than usual. They wished for it every day. It was becoming harder, more difficult to be apart. She longed for him like he was the air she breathed. She never wanted to ever feel this way about someone; like she might not exist without him; like where he ended, she began, and maybe neither ever ended—perhaps they always just began. A memory tickled her lips with a smile. He did that to her. However, just now her limbs felt weighted, moored, detached. Especially when she thought of Jessie.
Guilt took a bite out of her though, a chunk, rather. His eyes had twinkled at her this morning, that cerulean blue like a deep ocean. She’d advised him. ‘Don’t tease me that you might come home early and not mean it. You know I sit here all day long on this couch and wait to hear your footsteps on the porch, your key in the lock.’ He’d grinned and winked as he’d pulled the door behind him. But minute crept into minute and the day stretched long before her like a worn-out rubber band, and before she knew she hadn’t been able to block out the itch inside. Just one little hit, she’d told herself. It won’t hurt—might even help if I’m not so anxious. That was hits ago though and she was spun and the baby…the baby…the guilt ate her for lunch from the inside out. She hated herself. She tried to move and couldn’t, listened for his key in the lock that didn’t.
The memory of his warning was what she thought about. That was even before the baby. She didn’t want him to know he had that effect over her back then. ‘You use ever again and I’m out; got that?’ he’d said, with emphasis on the ‘got that?’ She’d tried. She’d done so good; she was proud of herself. Then his job, her mom, the baby…what couldn’t she use for an excuse? The baby was the loudest AHA moment. She couldn’t have a child; they couldn’t have a child! Heck, they couldn’t raise anything, not even a garden; not even enough money to get out of the crankhouse they lived in. What were they thinking?! Everyone else could raise stuff like eyebrows for sure; raise doubts. But before they knew it, they were as much in love with the idea of this baby, as they were with the idea of each other and raising a family, getting it together. They’d show all those raised eyebrows. All those Bible-thumpers and Jesus-freaks.
She hadn’t used in so long. She was almost there. Shanna couldn’t quite recall what it was about that day when she finally dropped her guard. Something had triggered and she’d succumbed, and like a skinny dipper with a bathing suit in her hand, she’d jumped in, feet first, waving the suit at the ‘SWIMSUIT REQUIRED’ sign. The girl didn’t know what was worse: the ache for the high and the world to be shut out or the dread in her veins when Jessie looked her way and she felt she needed to cover up her shame. Surely, everything she’d been told about the effect of drugs on babies was just a myth. Everyone was doing it and babies were being born just fine. Right? The memory of the argument within herself made her flinch. She hated when people fought.
The burn made its way through her; she was thinking crazy. She smoothed out her thoughts, wishing, like a comb pulled through hair, she could untangle them, but her thinking was a snarled mess. Shan rubbed her belly and groaned when a kick came back. It was almost like braille: she rubbed, and the baby answered in a variation of kicks and bumps. Sometimes she imagined she knew exactly what he was saying when he kicked back at her. Today, he was wild and seemed almost frantic, so she’d been rubbing her belly a lot to calm him. His movements inside her felt erratic and she wished his daddy would just come home. His voice soothed everyone. Even their baby buried deep inside her body, growing, nurturing, becoming.
Shanna heard the knocking again, slight and faraway, and she tried to make sense of it. Why didn’t he just come on in? and the frustration increased. At once her gaze stopped on her pile of junk. ‘God, I gotta get that cleaned up,’ she admonished herself. ‘I’m gonna be in trouble, and ‘sides that’s my stash. Use it or lose it,’ she giggled. The girl tried to rise from the couch, but the floor came rushing at her like it wanted to swallow her. Just breathe; Shanna concentrated hard and deep, the breath she discovered was someplace down inside her as she focused.
Soon, her heartrate slowed and was found in her chest, not in her head and her feet; she could think again. The stash, get rid of the stash! hide the stash, resounded the command. Cautiously, she gathered the contents she hid in a Crown Royal bag, the one her stepdad had given her years before, the first time they’d used together, and he’d shown her the ropes. The memory was irritating and uncomfortable and familiar all at once. When she stood this time, she was able to walk, and she tiptoed to the only room in the house beside the main one and moved the boxes aside until she reached the right one where she nestled the purple bag.
As she stood, she was able to feel her feet long enough to take a handful of steps before the ringing in her ears drowned out everything else. Her hand grazed her stomach and it felt like the little fella was coming through her shirt. The faint knock had grown insistent and Shan thought ‘What?!’ kind of ticked off. She took another step, her footfall weak on the tired floor. It was weary of being walked on, the girl thought, and she grinned, and the final thing she remembered as the world went black was ‘O my god, I just peed my pants.’
Between the Lines is based upon a true story. What does God’s faithfulness truly look like? Is it the same in every situation? He is wholly trustworthy; therefore, there is victory, even if it doesn’t resemble everything we imagined.
