and went looking for her rider.
I didn’t know it was Hillary
until Gabe spotted her in the dirt.”
I tell what’s left of the story,
right up through meeting Max
and him offering me a job,
which I can’t accept because
I’m a loser without wheels.
“I can’t believe it made the news,
though. Must’ve been a slow day.”
Girl, Hillary’s dad is running for
senator or governor or one of
those politics things. I’m not sure.
But anything that happens to
a Grantham’s gonna make the news.
Who Knew?
Guess I should pay more attention
to politics, or at least current events,
especially if I’m going to end up
smack in the middle of one.
They said on the news they were trying
to figure out who the Good Samaritans
are. Didn’t you tell them your names?
What’s wrong? Don’t want to be famous?
“Famous? What are you talking about?
All we wanted to do was help Hillary
and get Niagara home safely. I didn’t
purposely not tell them. I just never
thought it mattered. And, in fact, I
did tell Hillary it was me, but maybe—”
They said she was just out of surgery,
and the details were still sketchy.
“Our identities can’t be a secret. I’m sure
the ambulance guys took Gabe’s name
when they asked him what happened,
not that it wasn’t pretty obvious.”
Well, I think you ought to tell them
it was you. You could be famous
for real, and I could be the hero’s
girlfriend. Yeah, I like that idea.
Guilt bulldozes into me. Monica’s
excitement made me totally forget
the postscript of my day’s activities,
and her certainty about the “we” of us
unsettles me. Still, there’s familiarity
wrapped up in there, and that I like.
“My dad always says if it comes down
to a choice between wealth and fame
to choose money. Fame, he says, relies
on the whims of others, and people
love you one minute, despise you
the next. That always made sense to me.”
Te amo hoy y te amaré mañana.
She loves me today and she’ll love
me tomorrow. She just leveled me.
“Y te amo también.” And I love her, too.
Maya
I’m getting married.
That should have an exclamation mark, shouldn’t it?
I guess a small part of me is excited to leave my current existence behind in favor of something brand-new. But the closer I get to the appointed time, the more I think I might’ve made an awful mistake.
Okay, I’m not big on school, but it’s familiar, and despite the daily boredom there’s a certain comfort in routine and recognizable faces. The only person I’ll know at Fort Hood is Jason, and while I’m not a member of the popular crowd here, I’m not exactly a hermit, either. I miss Tati already, and I haven’t left Austin yet.
Oh, and the baby stuff is overwhelming. I went to Planned Parenthood and found out that, one, I’m definitely pregnant (duh) and, two, I despise gynecological exams. Does anyone like them? You’d have to be kind of depraved.
As instructed, I took off my clothes, and slipped into this paper robe thing, trying to figure out how to tie it. But it didn’t matter anyway, because within ten seconds every inch of me was exposed so a strange man in a lab coat could feel up my boobs, looking for lumps or whatever.
Then the nurse said, “Put your feet in the stirrups, honey. Now scooch your rear end forward.” I scooched. “Farther, please.” Right up into the cute young doctor’s face. Oh my God. So embarrassing! There were fingers and instruments and who knows what else?
Probably nothing too weird, with the nurse standing there watching it all.
I stared up at the ceiling the whole time, face burning. Luckily it didn’t take very long. After he let me lower my legs and sit up, he said, “Everything looks just fine. Your weight is good, and it’s important for you to maintain that if you plan to continue the pregnancy. You’re fourteen weeks now, so you’ll have to decide very soon.”
“My fiancé and I want to keep the baby.”
He looked unconvinced, but continued, “Then you’ll want to stay healthy. Remember everything you put into your body also affects your baby, so eat well and avoid alcohol, tobacco products, and unnecessary medications. I’ll write you a prescription for prenatal vitamins.” He smiled. “And don’t worry. You won’t need another pelvic for a while.”
That was a relief. And so is the fact that the morning sickness I’ve been fighting should ease at this point. I hate waking up, knowing as soon as I move my head off the pillow I’ll have to dash for the bathroom and spend way too much time making out with the toilet before heading off to school. It does seem to be getting better, so hopefully I won’t puke before exchanging I do’s.
It won’t be a fancy wedding. Just Jason and me down at the courthouse. Well, Tati will be there as my witness, and Jason’s brother will stand up for him. But I’ll wear a pretty, new dress that I bought with seventy-eight dollars of the money Dad left me. It’s pale green, with lots of flowing fabric to semi-conceal my blossoming belly. Oh, Mom won’t be attending.
Jason wanted to go with me to break the news, but I figured I’d better handle it on my own, and I’m glad I did. Mom did not take it well. I gave her the worst of it first. Too bad I was standing so close. She grabbed me by the hair, yanked my face toward hers. “Pregnant? You disgusting little whore! I knew you were sneaking around. How will I ever live this down?”
“You don’t have to tell anyone, Mom. All you have to do is sign the marriage license application. Jason asked me to be his wife.” I flashed my ring, which she somehow hadn’t even noticed.
She pushed me away. “You call that an engagement ring? Diamond chips and blue glass? I bet he got it at a pawnshop. And who is this Jason, anyway?”
“He’s a soldier, Mom, like you care. Do you want to meet him?”
“I do not. In fact, I’d better not find him in my house. I’m going to call and make an appointment for you to get an abortion. And then I’ll see about moving to L.A. right away. You obviously need supervision.”
“No way, Mom. I’ll be going to Fort Hood as soon as the ink on the license is dry.”
“I don’t believe I agreed to this ridiculous idea. I’m still your mother, you know.”
I backed up a step. “You haven’t been my mother since you went searching for your inner alien.”
Her fists clenched and unclenched, and I moved closer to the door.
“No need to start now, though. All you have to do is sign the application.”
“What if I won’t?”
I happened to pick up the phone one day when she and her fuck buddy were in deep conversation. Let’s just say extramarital relationships are frowned on within the Scientology organization, especially among higher-ranking members. I saved the information for a rainy day, and the storm had arrived.
“Anyway,” I continued without explaining further, “I’m happy to keep my mouth shut. Just let me go and everyone will be satisfied. Including Royce and you, obviously.”
Rarely have I seen her so mad, and it made me so happy. “You would resort to blackmail, wouldn’t y
ou?”
I smiled. “Oh, yeah.”
“Okay, then. You deserve every bad thing that will come from this, and don’t you dare come crawling back when you realize the enormity of this mistake. I wash my hands of you. Understand?”
“Totally.”
All I am is dirt under her fingernails, anyway.
Ariel
There Are Dreams
You never want to wake
up from. Doesn’t matter
if you find yourself in
some
cloud forest or at a country
fair, it’s all about who
you’re with in those
dreams.
Regardless of what you’re
doing—slow dancing or
riding a carousel—it’s how
you
feel just being with them,
like finally you’re whole.
But then dawn insists you
have to
let go of the fantasy,
cleave in two again, leave
that half behind while you
claw up
into the real-world realm,
sweat clinging to you like
the regret you can’t run away
from.
The Dream
I fight my way out of is tinted
green. Not dark like evergreen
but more the hue of summer
leaves. It’s familiar, but discomfiting.
And I don’t have a clue why.
I do know it belongs to a place
I’ve been before. A place I’m very
sure I called home once upon
a long time ago. I lie in bed now,
hair damp with sweat.
Try to identify the reason
for my apprehension.
On the far side of one of those
green walls, people were arguing.
Of course my dad was one of them.
The other must’ve been one
of his female companions.
I can’t quite conjure her face.
But the voice that matches
the color was soft. Throaty.
I Cycle Back Through
The places
I remember
us living, recalling
my temporary bedrooms.
At Nadia’s,
where the smell
of horses permeated
everything, every wall
in every room was white.
At Cecilia’s,
which was plain
and squat and stuck
in some bygone era, dark
wood paneling covered the walls.
At Leona’s,
I slept in her dead
daughter’s bedroom,
where beneath the photo
tributes, the walls were blue.
Azure.
The very color
of Leona’s husband’s
eyes. That floats up from
nowhere. Maybe eventually
What Pops
Into my head now is Monica.
We talked on the phone late
into last night, right up until
Dad tripped on something
coming through the front door.
Most likely it was his feet.
But when he yelled, Goddamn
it, Ariel! I quickly promised
Monica I’d see her today, and hung
up to go see what was wrong.
I found Dad trying to sit
up from his recent sprawl
across the threshold. “God, Dad,
what did you do? And did you
really drive yourself home?”
Even from ten feet away,
the stink of alcohol almost
knocked me onto my butt.
Still, he denied being wasted.
I’m fucking fine. Don’t you dare
talk down to me. Why the hell
did you leave your shoes in front
of the door? Trying to kill me?
You lazy bitch. I’m gonna kick
the shit out of you. Come here.
Instead, I quickstepped backward
a couple of paces. My father was drunk
the few times he actually hit me,
and probably no more so than
he was last night. “Dad, I took off
my shoes, just like you want me
to, and put them where I always
do, which is not right in front
of the door. I leave them under
the coatrack.” I wouldn’t dare do
anything else, and I’ve had years
of practice. “In fact, I specifically
remember . . .” My mouth snaps
shut. I don’t want to mention
Gabe coming in and leaving
his Vans beside my Nikes. Anyway,
it’s not totally out of the question
that he might have accidentally
moved my shoes when he left.
“Never mind. I’m sorry you fell.”
Goddamn straight. Better be
more careful. I can’t afford to
crack my skull open, you know.
He pushed himself up onto his
feet. You get to bed now, hear?
That Was That
And I’m grateful. Those post-alcohol-
soaked night encounters can end
worse. Thankfully that’s mostly
the anomaly. Dad’s only a vicious
drunk once in a while and last night
was not one of those occasions.
Of course everything feels more logical
when you can gain a little perspective
on it. Last night I experienced a few
apprehensive seconds. But all is well
in the bright spotlight of day. And
in a short while I’ll spend time
with my best friend. I need to see
if kissing Gabe changed anything
between Monica and me, not that
I mentioned it to her. That does
bother me. I feel like I two-timed.
Does kissing person-on-the-left
count as cheating when person-on-
the-right has never even offered,
though you’re sure she’s wanted to?
Relationships are weird. You can
believe you understand them
when in fact you haven’t got a clue.
So Far
I’ve spent seventeen years
clueless. It’s past time to start
figuring stuff out. I told Monica
I’d meet her at the hospital.
I want to check on Hillary,
which is also strange. Not like
I cared one bit about her until
now. Why should possibly
saving her from freezing to
death change anything at all?
I just have to convince Dad
to drive me into town, which
accomplishes a couple of things.
One, he’ll know for sure I was
telling the truth about why Gabe
got back to Zelda’s so late. And, two,
I’ll have the transportation I require.
It shouldn’t be too hard. He and
Zelda usually hang out on Sunday.
Now that I know how, I put a filter,
coffee, and water into the pot, turn
it on, hoping the smell will convince
Dad to get out of bed. He can doctor
it any way he wants. Don’t want to
repeat the Zelda episode, which
reminds me again of last night’s
shoe tirade. They never tripped him
at all. At least, I’m pretty sure not.
As I Work
To seduce my father’s consciousness,
I think about a couple of times
when
he convinced me something happened
when I knew—or thought I did—he’d
fabricated the story. One time his then
girlfriend, Rhonda, was at the grocery
store. I was little enough not to think
about right versus wrong, so I wandered
into her bedroom. As women often do,
she kept her jewelry box on an end table
beside her bed, and I decided to play
dress-up with some of it. I put a string
of pearls around my neck and a ring
or two on fingers much too small
to hold them. Then I went into the closet
and found a ridiculous black straw hat
with shiny blue feathers and put that on
before spinning circles. I didn’t see Dad
come into the room until he snatched
the hat off my head. Stop that! he yelled.
I remember crying from the shock
of his reaction, which even at such
a young age seemed over the top.
“But . . . but . . .” I tried to articulate
something I knew was right, but his
demeanor silenced my mouth, my brain.
Don’t you ever come in here again!
he yelled, flipping the pearls over
my neck and yanking the rings off
my fingers. I ran from the room, crying.
Why was Daddy so mad? He was the one
who told me it would be all right
to play dress-up with Rhonda’s things.
When I finally emerged, still confused,
Dad and Rhonda were in the kitchen
talking about nothing in particular.
I let myself forget the awful experience,
at least until Rhonda later came screaming
about her emerald ring gone missing.
I denied. Dad denied. I swore I never saw
the darn thing, knowing Dad had taken
it from me. But neither of us mentioned
that, and somehow Dad convinced her
some burglar must have stolen it.
We only stayed at Rhonda’s a few more
days, and after we left I saw that green
stone ring exactly one more time—
right before Dad pawned it. That night,
as we enjoyed a steak dinner, I asked,
“Daddy? Why did you tell me Rhonda
said it was okay to play dress-up with
her stuff? I think it made her mad.”