The Blurry Years. Eleanor Kriseman

Missouri, my mom decided we had enough money to spend the night at a motel. Just one night. I was so happy to sleep in a real bed. As soon as we got to the room I flopped onto it, the bedspread rough against my bare legs, and turned on the television. I was desperate for something familiar. My mom switched it off.

      “Let’s go swimming,” she said. She tossed a pillow at my face. She got like that sometimes. “We’ve been cooped up in the car all day.” Neither of us had packed a swimsuit. Underwear showed the same amount of body, but it felt different to be in my underwear where anybody could see me. My mom was in her underwear too, but her bra was black and shiny so you couldn’t really tell.

      Some nights after my mom came home from Daryl’s, she would bang into the furniture on purpose or clang the pots together in the kitchen until the noise woke me. She’d pretend it had been an accident. “Now that you’re awake, want to walk down to the pool with me?” she’d say. The pool was shaped like a giant kidney bean and sheltered by the different buildings of the apartment complex. It was crowded in the evenings, but when it was really late it would be just the two of us. I would perch on the ladder at the deep end of the bean while my mom swam in restless, sloppy circles in front of me, telling me about Daryl and Marcus and everything I’d missed out on that night.

      But at the motel pool in Missouri she was sober and quiet. We were floating in the middle of the pool with our stomachs to the sky, our limbs slowly sinking into the water. “I think you’ll like Oregon,” she said, and backstroked until her head was floating next to mine, our bodies facing in opposite directions. “It’s a good place to grow up. You’ll need a real jacket. We’ll get you one. Grandma June might have some old ones of mine too.” My legs started getting heavy, I kicked a couple times to keep them on the surface of the water. “Does it snow there?” If she answered yes, I would ask more questions.

      “Not in Eugene,” she said. “Maybe once or twice when I was growing up.” I closed my eyes and tried to make myself believe that I was back in the kidney bean. The pool water lapped against the filter, flapping it open, then shut, then open again.