Damn the new Pattyn! She flat
wouldn’t take the hint. “Do you know
how many tons of radioactive crap
will move through Carson City?”
“Crap” was Aunt J’s term for it. Dad
was suitably impressed. Did I hear you
say “crap”? What kind of word is that for
a daughter of mine to use?
I should have stopped. I didn’t.
“Crap is exactly what it is, Dad.
Tons and tons of poisonous poop,
traveling right down Highway 395.”
Dad pushed back from the dinner table,
jumped to his feet. I will not tolerate
that language from you. You will respect
me and all the things I stand for….
I really don’t know what got into
me, but I brought my eyes level with
his and said, “Not if one of the things
you stand for is Yucca Mountain.”
Dumb Idea, Oh Yeah
In one very quick movement,
he came around the table,
grabbed my hair, pulled
me out of the chair, tossed
me to my knees on the floor.
I could hear the girls scramble,
suffered a hot wind of Johnnie WB.
You little bitch. You live in my
house. Eat my food. I’m not
putting up with your shit anymore.
He pushed my head against
the floor and my face scraped
dirty linoleum. That was the
best of it. Because then his fist
began to hail against my back.
You will remember who I am.
You will remember who I am…
remember who I am.
His mantra fell, rhythmic
accompaniment for his drumming.
Finally, he tired, or he could
no longer resist Johnnie’s call.
I just lay there, afraid
to move, hoping he’d
missed everything vital.
Journal Entry, Sep 15
Okay, I was really stupid.
Spouted off to Dad.
And boy did he give me a major
reminder about manners
at the dinner table.
I’m lying here on my stomach
because my back feels mushy
and I know it must be a mess.
It doesn’t really hurt, thanks
to the eight aspirin I took.
That’s probably enough
to kill me. Wonder if
aspirin dulls the pain
of its killing you.
Jackie helped me to bed, iced
the worst of the bruises.
Mom just sat glued to
reality TV, like it could
be half as good
as the very real show
in the kitchen tonight.
I’m trying hard to despise
Dad for what he did to me.
But part of me thinks I deserved
it. Besides, compared to other
episodes in the Stephen
Von Stratten saga,
this chapter
was nothing.
Dad Took Off Hunting
In the dark of the next morning.
I heard him go. Once the aspirin
wore off, I didn’t get much sleep.
It sort of surprised me that he’d
head off into the hills, with
Mom so close to her due date.
But Mom insisted she wasn’t
ready to go into labor yet.
And I guessed she should know.
At least I didn’t have to look
at Dad, make him breakfast,
bring him ice cream.
In the afternoon Jackie took
the girls outside to play while
Mom indulged in a nap.
I used the time to sneak
a call to Ethan and tell
him what had happened.
I got his voice mail, so
didn’t admit more than
how very much I loved him.
Then I called Aunt J, not to
detail my destruction, but to hear
the voice of someone who cared.
Easy Enough
Come Sunday
to find things to
despise, starting with
Bishop Crandall, sitting up
front, defining at least three
of my favorite swear words. He
should want to help me, help any
woman condemned to a man’s fist.
I looked at Sister Crandall, all gray
and wrinkled like a rhinoceros, and
I wondered if she had ever had to
come to church propped up by
a half-dozen aspirin. Other
women passed my seat.
I assessed each,
seeking signs.
This building,
disguised as a house
of worship, was rather like
a hive. A backward hive, for
honeybees, at least, have the good
sense to worship the female that gifts
them all with life. They do not hold
their drones in such high esteem. But
here, in this hive of hornets, the males
flitted flower to flower, pollinating and
stinging and injecting their poison. I
hated everything this place stood
for, except the one thing it
claimed—and miserably
failed—to represent:
my Heavenly father.
My Earthly Father
Returned from his trip very
late that Sunday night.
He pulled Jackie and me
out of bed to help him
unload a five-point buck
from the top of the Subaru.
Gutted but not skinned,
the deer from behind
looked merely asleep.
But when we came around
in front, death was everywhere—
in the thick
crimson ropes and spatters
on the hood, windows, and doors;
in the repulsive perfume leaking
from the animal’s gaping belly;
and in its frigid stare. Oh, most
definitely, death was rampant there.
I staggered a few steps away
from the car and vomited foreboding.
By the Time I Got Up
For school the next day,
the buck had been neatly
butchered, wrapped, and
stacked into freezer-size
packages. The hide, head,
and other detritus were
bagged and left for the trash
man. Dad’s speed and skill
with a butcher knife were
straight out of a novel:
The Silence of the Fawns.
Just another reminder to
keep my mouth shut about
Friday night. I sat in class,
pulsing pain as my muscles
struggled to heal themselves.
Around me the everyday
sounds of classrooms and
hallways—laughter, locker
doors, feet skids on polished
wood—echoed. It was all
so normal, all so right. And
I could relate to none of it.
In the past I’d always
felt possessed. Neglected.
Unloved. School had offered
escape from home’s daily
suffocation. But now I felt
marked. Branded. Abused.
Those scars would follow
me there from home. School
would never again gift me
with haven. It became just
another chore, something
to get over with. Very soon.
Dad Fired the Next Volley
Three weeks later.
It was only Thursday,
but Johnnie accompanied him
through the kitchen door,
up the hall, and into the bathroom.
The two of them found
a flood of toilet water.
A plunger revealed
the culprit—a sanitary
napkin, become quite
unsanitary by that time.
It belonged to ’Lyssa,
just past thirteen and
never instructed in correct
disposal methods. But
it could have been
Jackie’s. Or mine.
Dad called all three of us
into the hallway. Which one
of you did this? Spit
dribbled from his mouth
and his red eyes were
rimmed with anger.
And when I dared look
up into them, I found
the hunger of the cougar.
’Lyssa crumbled. But
before she could own up,
I lied. “I did. I’m sorry.”
The Cougar Pounced
And this time I had no
Ethan to save me from his
lethal
claws, shoot him down,
dead and harmless. A
vicious
paw struck the side of
my face. The nasty
slash
tore a pierced earring from
its lobe. A second blow
caught
the other ear, smack where
sounds went in. It made
me
reel, but I managed to keep
my feet, despite the clanging.
At the
moment I lifted defensive
arms, Dad caught my
throat,
held tight, applied pressure.
And as his calloused hands
closed tight,
I barely heard his snarl,
betraying absolutely
no pity:
You don’t know what sorry
is, little girl. But you will.
When He Was Finished
The only thing I was sorry
about was coming home
in the first place.
I could barely hear,
through the throbbing
quicksand in my ears.
I could barely swallow
through the puffing finger
marks around my neck.
I could barely taste,
beyond the bulging
of my tongue,
the coppery flavor
of blood, crusting
my gums.
But I wasn’t sorry
I stepped forward.
’Lyssa might have died.
And as I crawled off to bed,
a couple of very important
things forded my soupy mind.
The first was how much easier
it was to hate my dad that night.
I’d said nothing but “sorry.”
The second was, flushed or not,
the Kotex probably should
have been mine.
August…August…?
It had been almost seven
weeks since my last period.
Jackie Tried to Comfort Me
In bed that night,
but all I could do was cry.
And I couldn’t even tell
her the real reason why.
I couldn’t be pregnant,
could I?
(Could!)
If I was, what would
I do?
(Would it even
be up to me to decide?)
Would Ethan do the right
thing?
(Was getting married
the right thing?)
Even if he would, would
Mom and Dad let me?
(Would they rather have
me a single mother?)
Even if they’d let me,
is that what I wanted?
(Considering my whole
take on marriage and kids?)
If I did want to and they
said no, what then?
(Could we sneak off
somewhere and do it?)
Was I pregnant?
(Of course I was.)
Would Ethan marry me?
(Of course he would.)
Was there a way around
Mom and Dad?
(Of course there was.)
So was that what I wanted?
(???)
I Couldn’t Go to School
The next day
(I looked like I’d crawled
off a battlefield),
so I had plenty
of time to think about it.
The more I did, the sicker
I became. Just my luck,
one reject condom
one way or another—
was well within sight.
And then, out of nowhere,
Mom’s water broke.
She made a hasty phone call
to Dad, but he was busy
with a bomb threat
and couldn’t get away.
After seven babies, this
one was destined to come
fast. Mom’s contractions
were immediately strong
and close together. She
started to panic, when I
volunteered, “I’ll drive you.”
As Mom grabbed her bag,
I loaded Georgia into her car seat,
then climbed behind the steering
wheel. Mom did think to ask if
I really knew how to drive, so
on the way to the hospital,
I told her the whole story.
Why not? At that point I had
nothing much to lose.
When we arrived, she asked
me not to go inside, using some
excuse about not wanting
Georgia there, and the girls needing
someone to come home to.
But the real reason was obvious.
At hospitals, people ask questions
about kids with swollen faces.
Driving Home
I thought how easy it would be
to just keep on going.
Except
I had Georgia.
Except
I had no money
and the van was riding near empty.
Except
it would change
nothing. I still had decisions
to make if my fears proved correct.
Except
I needed to talk
to Ethan before I made any
decisions. And I couldn’t tell him
I was pregnant until I knew for sure.
Except
I really, really
needed to talk to him right
that very minute before I went
completely crazy about The Way
Things Were—incomprehensible.
Now Dad Believed
A good Mormon woman
should have to ask her husband
for money. Even grocery money
was supposed to be a joint decision.
But Mom had a secret cash stash,
funded by singles and small change,
“borrowed” from Dad’s pockets
when he and Johnnie passed out.
Like everything in her life, her cash
jar was chaotic. I was pretty sure she
had no real idea just how much money
was inside. So I swiped a few dollars.
Georgia and I took a little ride to the store—
and not our usual grocery store, but one
where everyone looked like strangers.
There I purchased an Early Pregnancy Test.
Good thing Georgia couldn’t read yet,
and to keep her from asking too many
questions, I bought her a lollipop
and a carton of milk for the refrigerator.
We made it home just minutes before
the first of three school buses dropped
off a brood of Von Stratten girls.
I put them straight on their homework.
Then I went into the bathroom,
carefully followed the directions,
and within a few minutes I had
my answer, in a little blue line.
Pounding on the Door
Brought me out of my semicatatonic
state. I scrambled to hide the evidence
so Roberta could come in and pee.
On the way past the mirror, I caught
sight of a face and had to do a double
take. Could that battered hag be me?
I looked just like my mom, give
or take maybe ninety pounds.
Was that who I’d be in a few years?
I had only one person to turn to…
okay, maybe two. Aunt J would never
turn me away. But I needed Ethan.
I went into my bedroom and removed
the bottom drawer of my dresser,
revealing the hollow underneath.
I had discovered the place quite
by accident—no one but me ever
moved a dresser to vacuum!
This was my personal secret hiding
place, and as I reached for the cell,
my hand brushed something