that. Zelda’s special. I can tell.
Sonora’s special, too, and I don’t
want to leave. I love it here.”
Too bad. We can’t stay.
“We can. Maya hasn’t called
the authorities, and I don’t think
she will, unless we disappear again.
She won custody of me, did you
know that? So I’m pretty sure
not only are you a deserter, but
technically you’re a kidnapper, too.”
No, goddamn it! She was leaving
us for that woman, that Tatiana.
The one who was with her today.
If she really cared about you,
she wouldn’t have brought her.
Spin
He’s good at it, and I know
that, but what he just said
might contain an element
of fact. Still, I want to know
some things, the main one
being, “Who are Ariel
and Mark, Dad? Please
tell me the truth. I think
I deserve that much.”
He sighs. Okay. But then we leave.
He plants his butt on the arm
of the sofa, waits for me to sit.
You probably don’t remember
because you were so little, but
a few weeks after we left North
Carolina we were in an accident
in Virginia. You were fine, but I got
pretty busted up. The woman who
stopped to help was named Leona.
We lived with her for several months,
while my broken bones healed up.
“I remember her, but only bits
and pieces. She took care of me
while you were in the hospital.”
That’s right. Well, Leona was
a widow. She lost her husband
and little girl in a train wreck.
Oh my God. The lights snap
on. “Mark and Ariel Pearson.
I remember photos . . .”
It was Leona who started calling
you Ariel. You reminded her
so much of her little girl, and
I think she was a tad tetched
in the head, which was why
she wasn’t working right then.
She named her baby after Ariel
in that Disney movie, The Little
Mermaid, and she used to watch it
with you. You loved it because
you were the spitting image of that
mermaid. Well, except for the tail.
Not sure if that’s a weird
attempt at humor or if he’s
serious, but I do have a vague
recollection of sitting in a woman’s
comfy lap watching that movie
while she hummed along to the music.
Makes Sense
At two years old I absorbed the name
Ariel. Yeah, but what about Dad?
“So how did you become Mark?”
I can pretty much figure out the why.
I needed a way to protect you,
and he had no use for his identity
anymore. Leona had everything
necessary in her filing cabinet—
social security cards, birth certificates.
You and I became the Pearsons.
Calculating bastard. “I see, and
did Leona know you took them?”
I think she kind of liked the idea
of her family living on in some way.
Like I said, she was messed up.
In fact, at one point she tried to
off herself. That’s the main reason
I decided it was time to leave.
There’s truth here somewhere,
but I sense doublespeak, too.
One Question Answered
Truthfully or not,
others appear like
rabbits pulled out
of a magician’s hat.
“What about Ma-maw
and Pops? They always
called me Ariel. Didn’t
they know I was Casey?”
I can see the wheels
rotating in his head
and expect yet another
circuitous response.
Instead he answers
reasonably. They knew,
but went along with it.
There was a lot at stake.
They’re good Southern
Baptists, for one thing,
and weren’t about to let
you go live with your mother
and her female “friend.”
But they also knew sending
me back to the army
would’ve been the end of me.
The End
Why not just spice up
the narrative with a big
dose of melodrama? “Come
put you in front of a firing
squad for going AWOL.”
Shit. Flipped his switch.
That is not what I mean, girl.
You don’t know the things
I saw, serving my country
in godforsaken third-world
armpits. You don’t know what
it’s like to duck when you hear
a sonic boom, to avoid July
Fourth celebrations because
fireworks trigger panic attacks.
You can’t possibly imagine
what it’s like to get turned on
by the scent of blood, to break
down at the smell of burning
rubber or singed hair.
Don’t you dare lecture me as if
your life has been so fucking
miserable, when all I’ve done for
the last fifteen years is sacrifice
my needs in favor of yours.
Dressed-Down
In proper military fashion.
“Sorry, Dad. You’re right.
I wouldn’t understand
any of those things.”
Here I am, apologizing,
like I always seem to do.
There’s something seriously
wrong with my psyche
because “sacrifice” paired
with “Dad” defines oxymoronic.
And I’m not sure exactly
what I’m sorry about.
Good. Then throw whatever you
can’t live without into a suitcase.
I don’t trust that bitch to keep
quiet and I’m not going to jail.
My head is shaking before
my mouth even opens.
“I already told you, no way.”
It’s the first time I’ve ever
straight-up defied my dad,
and it scares me that
he might in fact go and
leave me here alone.
“Look, Dad, I love you.
I really hope you’ll decide
to stay and work through this.
It will be okay. Things don’t
have to change, at least
not that much. For the first
time in my life I feel planted
somewhere. Please don’t try
and uproot me again. Now
I get your reasons for relocating
so often, but that doesn’t change
how hard it was. For once
I have friends, people I care
about. Commitments. A job,
even, though I’ve barely started
it yet. I have an actual life.”
You call those people friends?
A Mexican—he spits the word—
and a boyfriend who’s cheating
on you. Bet you didn’t know that.
“But you did? Thanks for
telling me, and hate to spoil
the surprise, but I happen
to know about Gabe and Hillary.”
I’m Glad I Do
He wanted so much
to hurt me with that.
He was almost giddy,
in fact. I dare to look
him straight in the eye,
and the storm of emotions
churning there almost
makes me back down.
Rage.
Pain.
Confusion.
Disgust.
Hate.
Overwhelming hate.
You want to be with her,
don’t you? I can’t believe
after all we’ve been through
together you’d choose that
goddamn whore over me.
“What are you talking
about? I did not choose
anyone over you. I just
can’t stomach the idea
of living on the run.
How did I not realize
that’s what we were doing?”
Lies, Lies, Lies
How could I have been
so freaking dense?
Okay, fine. Desert me, then.
That’s how much I mean to you?
Use me, then throw me away,
like a snot-smeared Kleenex?
“Nice visual, Dad. Awesome.
But the honest-to-God truth
is it was you who used me.”
How do you figure that?
Exactly how did I use you?
“You used me as revenge,
a pawn in your game
of payback. You used me
dangling me like a lure
in your meal ticket
fishing derby.
Mostly I think you used
me so you wouldn’t spend
your life alone. Didn’t you
realize at some point
I’d become an adult?
You can’t own people,
and that includes me.”
I’m Shredded
How do I reconcile loving
my father with despising what
he’s done? What happens next?
And who are we now?
I can’t stay here any longer.
He’s masterful at what he’d call
persuasion, and I won’t take
a chance on his coercing me
into leaving with him.
“You do what you have to do.
I’m spending the night with
Monica. It’s her birthday.”
I make up my mind without
even thinking it over.
She’s my one constant.
I can see his brain at work,
searching for the exact
retort to turn me around.
And, here it comes.
Okay, then, Casey . . .
He hisses the name, malice
shadowing his voice.
You run along to your beaner
friend. I wash my hands of you,
you ungrateful fucking brat.
The Words Pierce
Like rusty tines,
and all I can do is bleed
silently, any verbal response
futile. I push past him and go
to grab clothes and my toothbrush.
Should I throw everything
into a suitcase, like Dad suggested?
If I don’t and he takes off,
how long will I have to collect
it? I don’t even know when
the rent is due or how it gets paid,
or what company provides
the power. I’m far, far away
from being anything like an adult.
I can’t possibly live on my own.
Falling apart, I flop onto my bed,
cover my head with the pillow
I’ve slept on almost every night
since we moved in here.
In the space of a single
afternoon, the entire fabric
of my already fragile existence
has turned into tatters.
“I hate you, Maya McCabe!”
I scream into the pillowcase-
covered foam lumps.
“Why couldn’t you
leave us alone?”
I Sink Into
The mattress and it sinks
into me that, whatever
her reasons, she has appeared
and, regardless, the only
direction I (or anyone)
can move is forward.
This day is almost over.
Tomorrow has yet
to materialize, but
that will definitely happen
unless I choose to end
it all right now, right here.
I’ve got way too much
to live for, and if that means
a fight, so be it. Dad might be
a coward, but that weakness
isn’t genetic and I’ll be damned
if I’m giving up now.
Pretty sure Dad’s used
our entire luggage collection,
so I dig under my bed
for last year’s secondhand
backpack, stuff in as much
as I reasonably can. I also grab
this year’s new Walmart-special
backpack, which carries
my schoolbooks and supplies.
Whatever my living arrangements
stay or become, I plan on showing
up right on time for classes
on Monday morning. If I find
I don’t have a bedroom here,
I’ll stay with Monica or Syrah or,
who knows? Maybe Zelda will
let me move in. If all else fails,
there’s my car or the tack room
at the barn. I’ll go to work
tomorrow morning, not to prove
I’m too grown up to fail,
but simply because I need
to start earning my way. If Dad
disappears (oh, after everything
we’ve experienced together,
and so many times I feared
that’s exactly what would happen?),
at least I’ll have a measure
of independence. And then, one
day, one step forward, at a time.
Resolve
Is an amazing thing.
Too bad mine fails
almost immediately,
mostly because I totally
underestimated my father.
You’ve packed your things.
That’s good. I’ve loaded
the rest in the car already.
It’s full, but there’s room—
“No, Dad! Haven’t you
heard a single word I said?
I. Am. Not. Running. Away.”
He changes tactics, digs for
some semblance of tears.
You hate me. I don’t blame you.
“I don’t hate you.
It’d be easier if I did.
But I don’t exactly
like you right now,
either. It’ll take time
to sort out my feelings.”
Not to mention the details
of the last fifteen years.
Every memory now requires
careful reexamination.
It’ll be an exhausting,
but necessary, process
and once it’s over
I’ll have to let things go.
I can’t launch a future
by wallowing in the past.
“I really wish you’d change
your mind and try to work
things out here. There’s your
job to consider, and Zelda, and . . .”
As I watch, his demeanor
changes completely,
from injured pup
to rabid dog.
You’re a liar, just like your
mother. I know where you’re
really going. You’re backstabbing
me to take up with that cold-
hearted whore, aren’t you?
“No, Dad, I’m not.”
I sling a backpack over
each shoulder, hoping
he’ll let me reach the door.
He does, but as I open it,
he says clearly and purposefully,
I should’ve killed that bitch
when I had the chance.
Goose Bumps Lift
All over my body, and it
has nothing to do with exiting
the warmth of the house,
and everything to do with
the invisible menace that follows
me into the crisp starlit envelope
of this December night.
The tips of my nose and ears
sizzle from the cold, but it’s
not far to the Focus, whose
engine is still warm. The first
thing I do is lock the doors.
Then I pump up the heater,
jack up the music, and take
a moment to text Monica,
let her know I’m on my way.
I’ve always hated this time
of year. The truncated days,
late dawning to early dark;
the claw of bitter air, when
often whatever secondhand
coat I called my own was
threadbare, hardly there.
Ditto the lumpy sleeping
bags that kept us from
freezing when we had to
sleep in the car, exhalations
painting frost pictures
on the window glass.
But worse was the holiday
cheer, which rarely touched
me personally. Other kids
went to shopping malls,
sat on Santa’s lap, asking
for things their parents
already knew they wanted.
If I ever believed in Santa,
it was before my conscious
memory, and all those shiny
presents with big bows?
Rarely were there any for
me under a tree, and those
that did appear if we happened
to be living with one of Dad’s
women were afterthoughts—
dollar-store dolls or teddy bears.
I’ve read that people often
choose this time of year
to die, and I don’t wonder why.
Especially if they’re alone,
or grieving, or just damn tired
of trudging through another
day, and the thought of crossing
the threshold into another year
sucks the soul right out of them.
I Turn Up the Radio
Just as the station goes to a break,