Momma’s Angel Can’t Cry
By Anouk Schneider
Momma had told me everything was alright. She said that the people at school were just little grains of salt compared to me. She said that when I grow up, I’ll be famous and everyone will love me, so I don’t have to worry, especially not about the kids at school, but I know momma doesn’t mean it. I hear her disappointed voice at night. I’m in my bed, staring at the rusted nails on the ceiling, hoping one of them might fall and dig into my skin. For as I stare at the nails, I hear momma raising her voice to grandma on the phone in the hall. I’ll hear little things like, “Angel is a sixth grader for god’s sake, a sixth grader! It’s all over the internet, everyone knows.” Then momma’ll add,“I think we might need to move, as far away from this city as possible. I need to have Angel safe, where people don’t know about the video. I heard California has some beautiful beaches…”
The video. Everything is about the video. Every time I get momma to go to the park with me, everyone stares, points and laughs, but most people just take out their phones for photos. I try to enjoy my book under the shade of the blossoming cherry tree, but people just gather around, hoping I’ll do something Insta-worthy. So now, we order delivery, and we never leave the apartment. Our porch has become our park, and I am all momma has, she is all I have, so we must stick together despite her despair.
But the day after the video went viral was the day we didn’t stick together. In fact it was the farthest we’d felt apart for weeks. I hid in my room, with Renaldo the fox squeezed tightly in my arms, while hearing momma crying in the other room. The melodious ups and downs of her crying flowed into my ears like a tide late at night. I did this. I am the key to mom’s misery, and for some reason, I unlocked it. I peeked out the corner of my door, arms holding Renaldo even tighter from the sight of momma wrapped sharply in her blanket, trying to figure out if she should come talk to me. None of this was supposed to happen, I should have just kept trying to fit in, never broken my shell…
I remember the day momma came to school and found out. The principal and I were caught in an uncomfortable staring “contest”. He looked me dead in the eyes, trying to figure me out. Figure out my short hair and oversized shirts. He had just blamed me for the video, told me that despite the names the others called me, I shouldn’t have let them bait me, I shouldn’t have let anger consume me. You’re badly representing the school, he had said. Momma, breaking the silence, ran into the principal's office only to see my head down, back hunched over in my seat.
The principal then tried to tell momma what happened. “Your daughter used a fork to-”
“I know what she did.”
My face dreaded the idea of looking into her eyes, those likely hateful eyes.
“Angel, it’s okay, look at me.” I then brought my eyes back up to her, and surprisingly she wasn’t frowning. “I’m not mad. Okay? I’m not.”
“I know you hate me…”
“I— I could never hate you…”
“I hate me. I don’t want to be me, I’m not your Angel anymore, mother. Not. Your. Angel.”