But I am a pretty good judge
of character, and I can see
you’re a special kind of girl.
Special kind of girl? “What
does that mean?” And am
I as pea soup green as I feel?
Don’t get all huffy now. All
I meant was, you’ve got a look.
In prison, we’d call you a fish—
someone new to the scene.
I figure you’re new to getting
laid. Probably how you ended up—
Before I know what my mouth
is doing, it opens and out spills,
“I know how it works! I wanted to …”
We both realize I’ve said too
much. Trey is quiet for a time.
Finally he says, You can’t keep
someone who doesn’t want
to be with you. Not that way.
Not any way. Believe me, I know.
ON THE FAR SIDE OF BISHOP
The highway begins
a long, lazy climb up
toward Mammoth
and June Lake. Up
toward the clouds.
Ten or so miles up
the grade, snow
starts to fall in soft
flurries. It doesn’t
seem to bother Trey,
who continues, You
probably don’t want
to hear this, but I’m
going to tell you anyway.
I was so in love with
your mother, my heart
could barely hold it
all. The crystal, yeah,
that was an issue,
right from the start.
Messes with your head.
When we went to jail
for trafficking, we had
no choice but to do
time, crashing hard.
I was glad to be clean
when they let us go.
Especially when I found
out she was pregnant
with you. I proposed
right away, and you
could have knocked
me over with a burp
when she said yes.
It was the happiest
time of my life. When
you were born, I thought
nothing could tear us
apart. And then we let
the monster back in.
Part of me was so
scared for you. More
of me wasn’t scared
of a goddamn thing.
And Kristina? She had
more balls than any guy
I’ve ever known. What
she didn’t ever have
enough of was love.
Not for me. Not for you.
Not for anyone who
came before—or after—
us. She used who she
could to get what she
wanted. And then she
tossed them like trash.
HE WAS RIGHT
Not what I wanted to hear.
But what exactly did I want
to hear? That this little reunion
was going to end up a fairy tale?
Darn right that’s what I wanted
to hear. I sit, semi-stunned,
watch the snow begin to fall
harder. “Does she want me or not?”
I wish I knew what to tell you.
I don’t know what she wants,
and even if I did, I couldn’t
speak for Kristina. I know she thinks
she has the right to know you.
That my father and Cora were
wrong for keeping you apart.
And I agree as far as that goes.
But I seriously doubt she has
the ability to take care of you,
if that’s what’s on your mind.
Small steps, honey. One at a time.
AS HE TALKS
We crest the summit. The snowflakes
blossom, grow into half-dollar-sized
white petals, pirouetting to collect
on the ground. Despite its heavy
frame, the Cadillac begins to fishtail.
Trey pulls off the highway, behind
a collection of semis and other two-
wheel-drive automobiles. Time to
chain up, I guess. He gets out
to attempt the complex process.
of the car. Close my eyes.
Hear Trey say, Small steps,
honey. Honey? Seriously?
And, in case he hasn’t noticed,
which no doubt he hasn’t, up
until the last week or so, I’ve
taken nothing but baby steps
my entire life. And even those
were mostly guided for me.
This trip was a giant step. I’ll
deal with what’s on the other
end the way I always do. Deep
and deeper breaths, gathering gold
flecks to keep from going insane.
Then there’s the monumental
step of having a baby. Bryce or
no Bryce, I will never put anyone
or anything ahead of my child.
Substances? No way. That includes
alcohol. I will never touch a drop.
Not as long as I’m pregnant and
not if some tiny person’s life
depends on me sober. Baby?
Are you listening? Are you really
alive inside me? Oh God.
If you are, how will I ever take
care of you? My fingers go
tingly. My breath falls shallow.
Small steps. One at a time.
BISHOP TO CARSON CITY
Is about three hours in good weather.
This is not good weather. Talk about
initiation by blizzard. Even Trey
is impressed. I’ve seen it come
down pretty good, but never
quite like this. Hope a plow
comes through soon. Chains aren’t
going to help much otherwise.
Eventually, one does catch up
to us. Trey moves as far to one
side of the road as he can to let
the guy pass. Looks like just him and us.
Late afternoon. Christmas Eve.
Snow forming a dense white curtain.
Oh, yeah. We’re pretty much alone
out here. “Stay close to the plow, okay?”
Trey laughs. Don’t worry, little girl.
I won’t let anything bad happen to you.
TOO LATE, DUDE
But I don’t say that. In fact,
I don’t say much of anything
the rest of the way into Carson
City. Nevada’s capital, all wrapped
up in white for Christmas. Your
grandparents live just a little
north of here. Maybe we should
get a room and clean up?
We check into a Holiday Inn
Express on the far side of town.
It’s kind of pricey, says Trey.
But hey, Merry Christmas.
I shower first, to let my hair
dry. While Trey goes to wash
off his guy-stink, I change into
my pretty Aunt Cora skirt, top
with a jade angora sweater.
I stand sideways in the full-
length mirror hanging on
the closet door. Flat tummy.
ALL PRETTIED UP
We head out the door, where
the snowfall continues unchecked.
When we get in the car, Trey slams
the door. He starts the car, puts it
into reverse, and I begin to shake.
“Wait.” Icy tentacles thread my veins,
choke-hold my lungs. They scream for
breath. And my
heart punches
against my chest. “Please, wait.”
Trey slams on the brakes. What?
His voice is taut, his eyes frantic.
Are you having a heart attack?
I shake my head, close my eyes,
concentrate on finding air.
And suddenly, it’s there.
I suck it down. “P-panic attack.
I’m o-okay now. We c-c-can go.”
But we can’t. Because just as we
start to turn onto the highway, a big
flashing sign overhead warns:
Whiteout conditions. Road closed.
Summer
NOT MUCH ROMANTIC
About living homeless.
It’s hasn’t even been a week.
We reek.
No showers for six
days would be bad enough
on its own, but Kyle is
sweating
out the last vestiges of
meth in his system. For me,
he says, though as yet
we barely speak
about what that really
means. That he’ll never
do drugs again? Will he be
forgetting
how much pain he’s put
up with the last couple
of days as soon as
the tweak is
calling out to him again?
What I need to know is
how big a
part
of Kyle the crystal is.
And I need to know
how big a part it is
of us.
I NEVER THOUGHT
That much about it before. When
you’re not around someone
twenty-four/seven, you
cherish every minute
together, no questions.
No “Why are you so
sweet-natured most of
the time, foul-tempered
the rest?” No “How much
of your emotion is fueled
by artificial means?” No
“What would we be
if you cut yourself
off from something
you’ve relied on
just to see you
through the day?”
And the biggest
of them all: No
“Who are you really,
and do I love
that person too?”
I KNEW HE WAS USING
He never tried to hide it. In fact,
offered to share. But even if he
hadn’t been honest about it,
his mood swings were obvious.
I just never realized how big
a part of his life it was. Not
sure why I didn’t see it. Guess
when you choose to be blind,
you really are. Don’t think it
would have changed a thing,
had I known. And now, seeing
him fight his demons for me,
I love him all the more. Even
if he is a complete grouch.
It’s the nature of the crash.
Better now than years down
the line. I never got into
it that much, he swore.
But without you, who knows
where I might be tomorrow?
HOPEFULLY, BY TOMORROW
We’ll be in a hotel room
in Mammoth, reward enough for
a week sleeping cold in a pickup truck.
Three nights at Lake Isabella, hoping no
one would come looking for us.
Kind of surprised when
nobody did. Another
three nights camped just west of
Lone Pine, in a sage-carpeted camp-
ground, more primitive than the first.
It was there, listening to coyote
song and eagle cry, that
Kyle crashed like iron
for two days. I gave him a wide
swath of privacy, exploring the brush,
gathering firewood, and otherwise
tending camp while he slept
morgue-dweller sleep.
When he woke up,
all groggy and weird, he was
so hungry he finished off two-thirds
of a bag of jerky. His face flushed
with color and the shivering
slowed. Resurrection!
THAT WAS YESTERDAY
And when we made love
last night, a blanket of frost
settling over the sleeping bag,
it was different than ever
before. Slower. Gentler.
Less demanding, more giving.
Hearts quickening in lockstep.
Breath like moth wings aflutter
against moonlighted window glass.
I love you, he sighed along
my skin. And I love you,
desert wind blown into my hair.
And when we were finished,
we drew into each other’s
arms, warmed within our harbor.
Something happened in
the night, happened as we
dreamed. Something unexpected.
For on awakening, blinking into
the murky dawning, needful love
had transformed into blissful love.
MAYBE IT HAD SOMETHING TO DO
With sleeping under the Christmas
star. Yeah, I know it’s actually a planet
or something. And I know if it were
really the Christmas star, it would
be shining tonight. But whatever it is,
this morning it looked like a platinum-
set diamond in the lightening sky.
I burrowed into Kyle’s body heat,
ignoring the quite randy smell.
“If you believe in wishing on stars,
you’ll never get a better chance,” I said.
“That one belongs to Christmas.”
I have to believe in wishes, or
I wouldn’t be here with you. Right?
Then he laughed. Even if you don’t
exactly smell like roses. Phew!
“No offense, mi amor. But I smell
a hell of a lot better than you.”
Guess you’re right. Definitely bath
time. You up for Mammoth?
WITH LUCK
We’ll be there tonight. Sooner
is better than later. The trail mix
is stale, the jerky gone. A hot meal
is my idea of heaven right now.
I dig in my backpack, count every
penny. “Sixty-six fifty-two.
Think we could get McDonald’s?”
I hate McDonald’s. But I hate
stale trail mix even more.
Kyle exits his shell of silence.
I think we can do better. I’ve
still got a few bucks myself.
“Enough for a room, too?
Just think … a hot shower.
Soft, warm bed. Reality TV.”
He laughs. We’re living reality
TV. But yeah, we’ll find a cheap
room somewhere. Looks like
winter has arrived up there.
The resort will open soon.
I’ll put in an application.
I turn on the radio. Not much
available out here, despite
Kyle’s monstrous antenna.
Don’t use “seek,” he instructs.
Try dialing by hand. I do,
and from a distant city, through
the static, I discern a familiar voice.
You procrastinators don’t have
much time left. Santa’s almost here….
“That’s my brother,” I tell Kyle.
“Hunter. He works at a station
in Reno.” Nostalgia whacks me.
Really? How come you never
told me you have a br
other?
He turns up the volume, but
the meager signal has dissolved
completely. “I have three brothers,
actually. Oh, and a sister, I guess.
I hardly ever see my brothers, and
no one bothered to tell me I had a sister
until a couple of weeks ago.”
Wow. That’s tough. I love my sister.
Can’t imagine not … His voice
catches as he considers what
he’s about to say. Can’t imagine not
seeing her, let alone not knowing
she even existed. How’d you find out?
I shrug. “My dad got drunk—
that night he got the DUI, in fact—
and it kind of just slipped out.”
Kyle thinks that over. Finally says,
My dad was drunk when he told
me about my mom going into the river.
Said we were better off without
the bitch. If I had been as big as I am
now, I would have made him sorry.
No wonder he hates his dad.
Mine’s a major screwup, but
at least he isn’t corpse-hearted.
WE STOP AT A DINER
In Bishop. Splurge on a meat loaf
dinner, the Christmas Eve special.
That’s a little weird, I guess, but
hey. Special is special. And cheap,
too. I eat every bite, mop the gravy
from the plate with the last crumbs
of a big homemade biscuit. Good
thing the place is semi-empty.
I probably look like exactly what
I am—a homeless person
who hasn’t eaten much in a week.
The waitress comes over to check
on us. She smiles. Hungry, eh?
Can I get you another biscuit?
Then, to Kyle, Don’t like meat loaf?
I hadn’t even noticed that he’s sort
of just picking at his. It’s fine. Guess
I’m feeling a little under the weather.
He looks it too. Parchment pale
and a bit shaky. She’ll have a biscuit.
I WAIT FOR THE WAITRESS TO GO
“You okay? It would be better
if you could eat something.
You’re running on empty.”
I know. I’ll try. It’s just the last
of the shit in my system making
me queasy. He does force down
a few bites while I polish off
the butter-slathered biscuit Jeanine
returns with. “A good night’s sleep
in a big ol’ bed will make you
feel better,” I predict. “Tomorrow
is Christmas. Our first one together.”