facades {odessa/nolan}

It wasn't a good day for Mom. Today she thought that the doctors were aliens plotting to kill her and that I was an accomplice. My visit was cut short by a glass of water aimed pretty accurately at my head. Her doctor patted my arm and smiled reassuringly as she always did when this happened. "She always comes back around to knowing you as her son, this time is no different." I know she is right, but I hate seeing her schizophrenic delusions controlling her like this, hate seeing her scared. Before I leave they sedate her. She looks peaceful while she sleeps.

I loosen my tie and unbutton my jacket as I exit the clinic, my head fuzzy and aching as a lump begins to form there. I shoulder my bag and keep my head down. I want to cry. But the tears don't come, and instead, as I slowly make my way home down the dirty and dank streets, I find myself smiling. I nod to a few familiar faces, the dirty and sad faces that light up just a little at the sight of me. I feel bad having forgotten to pack food with me this times. Watching their faces fall back into darkness and despair, their eyes losing hope, my heart twists in my chest.

But just like everyone else in the District, I was low on funds. Between getting books for school and paying for my mother's care I didn't have much wiggle room, even with a full-time job. That's how it was around here - I was just the only one trying not to let it phase me. I would share what I had and be someone better than the drug dealers and hood rats that swarmed these streets at night.

The pattering of tiny feet sprinting across solid ground makes me look up. I'm met with two tiny hugs at my knees. "Nolan!" The tiny twins screech, their hairlines both full of sweat and their feet bare. Little Penny has a scratch on her knee, though the smile on her face tells me she doesn't seem to mind, and Francesca is wearing some very poorly aligned lipstick. "Hey, guys," I chuckle as they start to pull at my pants and ask all sorts of questions - Why was there a lump on my head? Why had I shaved my caterpillar? (Five year old for mustache.) Did I like Francesca's make-up? Did I see Penny's scratch? Could I pick them up?

"Okay, okay, story time!"

They both squeak with excitement and shoot off back towards the steps leading up to the orphanage where they lived. I sling my pack off my shoulder, unzip the biggest pocket, and pull out my newest gift for them. It was a book of fairy-tales, complete with very elaborately painted pictures. I sit down on the steps and Penny immediately settles herself in my lap while Francesca peeks over my shoulder. "Alright, ready?"

They both nod their heads in unison, Penny offering to turn the pages for me. She flips open the cover for me and I start.

"Once upon a time..."

Another flipped page and both of the girls are pointing to the princess on the page. "I wish I had a crown like that!" And although they are smiling and giggling, their young minds still believing that everything that is wished for can be attained, I feel a little sad at their outbursts. I wasn't about to ruin their dreams by telling them this was all just a story, that princesses didn't exist--- "It's like a Victor's crown." ---but I didn't want them striving to be a pawn in that Game when they got older either.

"You don't need crowns to be princesses," I say, looking at each of them in turn. They don't look convinced, but I don't have time to elaborate for them before my train of thought is directed towards a screech.

My head shoots up, my eyes meeting a girl sprawled on the ground, groaning in pain, quickly picking herself off the ground. "Are you alright?" I call, lifting Penny off of my lap and handing her the book as I trot over to her, instinctively checking for any scrapes or blood, clearly a habit I've picked up from watching these kids so often.

She keeps her head towards the ground, her eyes averted from me. She looks familiar to me - like maybe we've crossed paths a few times before, never really noticing one another - but I can't be too sure. I see a lot of people and glance at a lot of faces in a day. Though she certainly doesn't look homeless. (Note to self: Don't say that out loud it would not sound like a compliment.) Paying her a compliment sure would be nice, but since my first silent attempt at a compliment sounded horrible even in my head, I guess I could just help her embarrassment subside.

"You know, if it makes you feel better, I've probably tripped on that crack about 50 different times." I say, smiling and shaking my head at my plunders. I was a klutz in the greatest sense of the word. But that was something she didn't need to know and probably didn't care to hear. No one in this place - except maybe the naive and hopeful children who spirits hadn't been broken (and idiots who refuse to give up on the world, like me) - really cared about anyone else but themselves. Everyone here knows not to trust anyone.

"I'm Nolan," I say, extending my hand to her. "Clearly the neighborhood drug dealer," I finish, nodding in the direction of the twins who were waiting patiently for my return.