Bittersweet Memories (Off-Limits)

I walk out of the home I grew up in for the very last time, my heart heavy with regret as I hand the keys to Tom. I spent more of the insurance money than the house is worth, so my home isn’t the only thing I’m losing. Had I not paid my father’s employees their outstanding wages, I might not have been in as much as trouble as I’m in now.

“I’m sorry it came to this, Alanna,” Tom tells me. “I wish there was a different way, but I’ve done all I can for you.”

I nod in understanding. Considering my case was ruled as insurance fraud, he really has done all he could. Tom worked with me to assess the value of all of my belongings, and the insurance company agreed to write off my debt, provided that I give them everything I have, on compassionate grounds. I lost my car, my mother’s jewelry, and even all the paintings Dad and I collected throughout our travels. I’ve got nothing left to my name. Nothing but the contents of my backpack.

The only thing they let me keep was the truck I’m staring at. It’s one of Dad’s most precious belongings, and though I’ll have to give them the cash I’ll get for it, they allowed me to ensure it’d go to a good home.

When I was younger, I never understood why Dad loved it so much. I remember seeing scrap books with pictures in it, and I realize now that Mom and Dad created those when they were still homeless. This truck was part of the future they envisioned and worked towards, and it must have been one of the first things Dad bought for himself after escaping that life. To him, it wasn’t just a truck; it was proof that he changed his circumstances. That’s why he took such great care of it, and why he loved it above all of his far more expensive cars. It’s probably why it’s the only car he kept as he sold our belongings.

It kills me that I couldn’t protect the truck he loved so much. It’s strange to be so heartbroken over it, when losing the house should hit me much harder. I suppose selling his baby really makes me feel like I’m letting him down. I know that this is the one thing Dad never would’ve let go of. Selling this car would’ve felt like admitting defeat to him, and that’s exactly what it feels like to me. I feel like I’ve failed him.

I brace myself as a kind-looking man steps out of a car parked across the street. After countless offers, it’s his that I accepted. He walks toward me with his young son in his arms. The boy can’t be older than five, and he’s adorable.

“Is this our truck, Daddy? I love it so much!” he says, his voice soothing my aching heart.

“Alanna?” he asks.

I nod and shake his hand. “Mr. Brown, right?”

“Please call me Rob,” he tells me, and I force a smile to my face as he takes a thick envelope out of his pocket. “Please go ahead and count it. It should be the exact amount of money we agreed on. I’m so glad you’re selling this to me, Alanna. My son is obsessed with trucks, and this is the exact one we’ve both been wanting.”

I nod and hand the cash to Tom. It isn’t mine to keep, after all. “That’s why I’m selling it to you,” I admit. “This was my father’s car, and I really wanted it to go to someone just like him, someone with a little kid who’ll love sitting so high up, like I always did. This car holds so many happy memories for me, and I hope you’ll create some of your own too.”

Tom nods at me, and I take the car keys out of my pocket. My hands tremble as I give the keys to Rob, and he smiles at me in understanding.

“I’ll take good care of her,” he promises. “It’s clear your dad loved his truck, and I promise I’ll love her the same.”

I nod, trying my hardest to blink away the tears gathering in my eyes as he puts his son down on the ground, the two of them inspecting the car together. Their excitement is reassuring and enviable all at once. I still remember all the times Dad let me help him wash his car, the two of us making a mess on Sunday mornings.

This is the car Dad drove me to school in for years, and on hot days, we’d drive far out, and Mom and I would have a picnic on the tailgate. Losing this car hurts more than I expected it to.

I watch as Rob drives away in my father’s truck, and tears burn in my eyes as the last fragment of my life slips through my fingers, leaving me with nothing but the meagre contents that fill my backpack.

My attempts to blink away my tears only have them falling down my cheeks harder, until it becomes hard to see. My lungs burn as I inhale, trying my hardest to keep from sobbing and failing. I bite down on my lip as hard as I can, the pain distracting me from the blinding sorrow I can’t push aside.

Within a matter of weeks, I’ve lost everything. I lost my father, our home, everything he worked for. If he’s looking down at me from heaven, he must be filled with anguish, with regret. I’ll never understand why he did what he did, and the anger I feel fights for dominance with my pain. He knew what impact losing Mom had on us both, yet he walked down the same path, knowingly.

“I’ll leave the rest to you,” I tell Tom, my voice breaking.

“I wish you well, kid. I’m sorry about everything you’ve gone through, and the role I was forced to play in it.”

I smile at him as best as I can. “You’re just doing your job,” I remind him. “But it really is a shit job. You should really find something else.”

Tom chuckles then, and for a single second, my own smile is a genuine one. Then my gaze drops to the home behind him, the one I’ll never step foot inside of again, and a tear drops down my cheek.

I turn away and place one foot in front of the other, forcing myself forward, one step at a time. I’ve got nowhere to go, no one who will take me in. The only place I can think to go is the one place my father never would’ve wanted me to go to — not in these circumstances. This is exactly what he tried to prevent, yet it’s his good intentions that are leading me there.

After what feels like hours, I find myself looking up at the shelter, my heart breaking in a different way as I push the door open.

Ricardo rises from his cubicle by the entrance, his eyes wide. “Alanna! We’ve all been so worried about you. What’s going on? Where have you been?”

I look at him, a small part of me wanting to cling to the pride I no longer have a right to. “Ricardo,” I whisper, my voice hoarse from the tears that haven’t stopped falling since I lost my father. “I need a place to stay. Please, will you take me in?”