about his un-Mormon breath.
He keeps telling her not to cut
me slack and she keeps telling
him it’s her place, she’ll do as
she pleases, and he can just
take me on home if that’s how
he feels. Funny, but I don’t
think I want to go home.
Unlike yesterday.
I don’t know what life here
will be like, but Dad made it
clear life back home would
be hell, and I sure believe that.
He won’t even miss me.
I doubt anyone will miss me.
Except maybe Jackie, when
she gets back from camp.
The creepy thing is, I won’t
miss them, either. How can
you go through sixteen years
with your family and not miss
them when you leave?
What’s wrong with my family?
What’s wrong with me?
Dad Motored Off
Very early the next morning.
I was sawing major ZZZZs.
He didn’t bother with good-byes,
which only hurt a little.
Aunt J let me sleep in. I woke all
alone in a strange room with chintz
curtains and dried flower wreaths
on bright turquoise walls.
The only sound was the tick-tick
of an iris-shaped clock and,
somewhere outside, Aunt J’s pleasant
song as she puttered around the yard.
I didn’t move for several minutes,
just lay there, contemplating.
What was expected of me here?
No one had mentioned a thing.
Sacrament services were obviously
not high on the list. At home,
I’d be sweating and suffering
Bishop Crandall’s evil stare.
No diapers here. No kids to tend.
Dishes for two were nothing.
Was I supposed to plant a garden?
Feed the livestock? Count cats?
I got up and went to the window.
Outside, a small breeze toyed
with a wind chime and ruffled
Aunt J’s small patch of grass.
I remembered Dad’s words:
No trouble there but rattlesnakes
and deserted mine shafts.
I was beginning to believe it.
The First Week or So
Aunt J and I sort of poked
at each other, testing
the water, as they say.
She talked about life
in the sticks.
I talked about life
in the suburbs.
She talked about
solitary living.
I talked about
overcrowding.
She talked about the joy—
and pain—of physical labor.
I talked about diapers
and dishpan hands.
She talked about dogs, cats,
horses, and mules.
I talked about jackrabbits
and pesky little sisters.
She talked about hot
summers and hard winters.
I talked about school—up
until the last few months.
Which finally led her to ask,
Do you want to talk about
why you’re here?
I Did—and I Didn’t
I liked Aunt J—her soft-spoken
way, her honesty. But I didn’t
feel secure with her yet.
How far could I trust her?
How much did she know?
How much did she want to know?
So I probed, “Why
do you think I’m here?
What did Dad tell you?”
She sat quietly for a minute.
He said there was trouble
at school, trouble with a boy….
I nodded. “A little
trouble with both,
okay? Is that all?”
She looked me in the eye.
He said your bishop has decided
you’re possessed by Satan.
I snorted. “Because
I want a normal life
and someone to love me?”
Is breaking someone’s nose
normal, Pattyn? Do you think
your young man loved you?
Okay. Valid questions.
“No, he didn’t love me,
and that made me…”
Angry? Enough to make
you lose your temper and hit
someone else in the face?
“Hurt. Enough to want
to make someone else
hurt too. I’m so sorry.”
If you know why it happened,
and you’re truly sorry,
I doubt you’re possessed.
“I’m not possessed,
Aunt Jeanette, and I’m glad
you don’t think so either.”
Satan has bigger fish to fry,
mostly in Washington, D.C.
Now how about dinner?
Next Day, I Found Out
Aunt J had no expectations
regarding my doing chores.
You’re a guest. ’Course, if you want
to pitch in, I’m not sayin’ no.
What else did I have to do?
Besides read, that is.
Got a big patch of weeds needs pullin’.
And you can toss chicken scratch.
Pullin’ and tossin’. No problem.
Mindless labor, easily done.
I do have a big project on tap for some
time in the next week or two.
Big project? Like digging
a pond or raising a barn?
I’ve got to move a hundred head of cattle.
You ever ridden a horse before?
I did a pony ride once. Round
and round in a little circle.
Old Poncho doesn’t ask for much.
All you have to do is stay in the saddle.
I figured I could manage that.
How hard could it be?
Aunt J Figured
I’d better practice a little.
Old Poncho stood like a champ
while she tossed the saddle
over his slightly swayed back.
See, you reach under his belly,
grab the cinch, put it through
this ring, and pull tight.
Poncho gave a little oomph,
but didn’t really complain.
I stroked his nose, watched
his whiskers twitch.
Now put your left foot into
the left stirrup and pull
yourself right on up there.
Except for a tense second
or two as my pants stretched
quite tightly at the rear, I
climbed on with relative ease.
Squeeze with your knees,
keep your heels dropped,
hands gentle on the reins.
Knees, heels, and hands
in approximate position,
I clucked my tongue to make
him go. Poncho was deaf!
He’s not deaf, only stubborn.
Give him a little nudge
with your heels.
That worked and walking
was easy, like straddling
a well-worn rocking chair,
plod-ka-plod-ka-plod.
That’s it. Pull the reins
right to turn that way.
Pull ’em left to go left.
Poncho performed as
requested and I felt just
like a cowgirl. Until
he started to trot.
You’re gonna get whiplash,
bouncing like that. Squeeze
those knees harder.
&
nbsp; I tried, but nothing I did could
keep my butt in the saddle.
Poncho responded by trotting
faster. Plop-plop-plop-plop-plop.
Aunt J dissolved into
deviant laughter.
Make him stop.
“Whoa!” I hollered, much
to Poncho’s amusement.
I pulled back on the reins.
Too much slack.
Tighten your grip
and yank hard!
Aunt J shouted.
I yanked. Poncho stopped.
The final bounce planted
my behind in the saddle,
bruising my bruises.
Looks like you’ll
have to work on
that trot!
Journal Entry, June 6
I rode a horse today!
I’ve never been sorer
in my whole entire life!
I think my butt is majorly
black and blue. (I can’t
really see it in the mirror.)
So why am I so proud of myself?
Aunt J said she’s proud of me
too, even if my trot does need
a little work. She’s proud of me!
I can’t believe she and Dad
are related.
We’re going to move her
longhorns from low pasture
to high meadow. Some ranchers
use ATVs or even helicopters
to move their cattle.
Aunt J uses horses and dogs.
Just like in the movies.
I wonder if movie cowboys
ever got sore butts.
I wonder if horseback riding
can give me a shapely butt.
I wonder if I’ll ever learn
to ride a horse.
I wonder how Mom is feeling.
I wonder if Jackie liked camp.
I wonder if Georgia has stopped
sucking her thumb.
I wonder if Derek and Carmen
are still together.
(I wonder if Carmen is pregnant yet.)
I wonder if Dad misses me at all.
The Next Morning
I came downstairs to the aroma
of coffee. Really strong coffee.
It smelled delicious.
Aunt J sipped a cup, offered one
to me. I shook my head. “No, thanks.”
It was a sin.
Considering my recent behavior,
I wasn’t sure why coffee worried me.
It was tempting.
Aunt J said it was up to me, but far
as she knew, God couldn’t care less.
It made my mouth water.
Was it the smell? The idea of giving
in to temptation? I hadn’t a clue.
It was wrong, and I knew it.
Whatever it was, I crumbled like
biscotti, in need of black coffee.
It demanded I try it.
A small sip wrinkled my nose.
A big gulp went down like water.
It was bitter.
Aunt J offered sugar and cream,
but I wanted the truth of coffee.
It was the best thing I’d ever tasted.
What Had Happened to Me
Beer. Tequila. Coffee.
Heavy petting, which,
I had to admit, I enjoyed.
What was next? Excommunication?
What if it was? Could I
deal with that? Could my
family? Would they all
be considered outcasts?
Would they hate me
if they were? Dumb
question, right? So, okay,
if they disowned me,
like Dad had disowned
Douglas, would I get
over it, create a solid
existence without them?
Would I find a way
to forgive myself, even
love myself, or would
I react like Molly
and end the pain completely?
After Breakfast
I asked Aunt J if I could borrow
a rifle for a little target practice.
Sure. Why not? They’re wasting
away in that cabinet.
Wasting away? “How come?
You must like to shoot.”
I do hunt venison once a year.
I don’t especially enjoy it.
So much for Annie Oakley.
“Why do you have so many guns?”
Stan collected them, more for show
than use. Extravagant, really.
But they were beautiful.
“What do you mean?”
A person only needs three guns—-
a good hunting rifle…
For filling the freezer
with venison once a year…
a handgun for protection, and
a scattergun—for varmints.
A big one could take your arm off.
You’re welcome to borrow whatever.
Take the pickup and make a day of it.
Was she crazy? “Uh, thanks, Aunt
J, but I don’t know how to drive.”
What? Going on seventeen and
you still can’t drive?
“Dad said if my husband wants me
to know how, he’ll have to teach me.”
The Look on Her Face
Was priceless. I’d definitely hit
some kind of a nerve. Aunt J
gave me a nudge toward the door.
Let’s go.
An old Ford pickup, circa 1950-
something, loitered in the scattered
shade of the driveway.
Get in. I’ll teach you.
I glanced at the classic truck,
with bug-eyed headlights above a big
grill and not a ding under the primer.
Don’t worry. You can’t hurt her.
I doubted that. But the freedom
Aunt J had offered me
was a powerful temptation.
Get in. We’ll be fine.
I slid under the steering
wheel, hands shaky as Jell-O.
Had no idea what to do next.
Put the key in the ignition.
In it went, like it wanted to
be there. One turn and the motor
sputtered to life.
Right pedal, go. Left pedal, stop.
I punched the right pedal.
The engine revved and roared
a protest. Aunt J grinned.
First you have to put it in gear…
Duh! The gearshift.
How many times had I
watched someone use it?
Right now she’s in Park.
Oh yeah. P for park,
R for reverse…“So what
does D stand for?”
Drive.
And before I knew it, I was.
We Started Down
A wide dirt track that paralleled the fence line,
that paralleled the main road in from town.
Steering came easy enough. Turn the wheel,
not too hard, and go the direction you turned it.
The gas pedal wasn’t a mystery either. Push
harder, go faster. Let up on it, slow down.
The brakes took a bit of getting used to. Push
the pedal easy, slow gently. Stomp? Don’t!
After a couple of steering over-corrections and a
herky-jerky start or two, I began to get the hang of it.
I was bumping along, thoroughly engrossed in driving
a straight line, when Aunt J interrupted. Stop a sec.
Another pickup, a blue Dodge Dakota, had pulled
onto the shoulder on the far side of the fence.
I braked the Ford to a quick stop, as the Dodge’s driver
stood up from chang
ing his flat. Morning, Ms. Petrie.
Furnace Lips! That killer cute guy knew Aunt J?
Apparently, she knew him, too. Hello, Ethan. Everything okay?
It is now, he said, flashing that familiar smile. Next time,
back to Firestones. These Michelins can’t take a finishing nail.
Aunt J chuckled, then gestured in my direction. I’d like you
to meet my niece Pattyn. She’s visiting me for the summer.
Pleased to make your acquaintance, Pattyn. His eyes,
filled with assessment, drew level with mine. Pretty name.
I nodded, afraid my voice might stick to my tongue. Aunt
J saved me major embarrassment. How’s your father coping?
Ethan’s smile dried up like a summer mud puddle.
He’s okay, I guess. But she left a pretty big hole.
I know she did, Ethan, soothed Aunt J. Let me know
if you need anything at all, and give your dad my best.
We Drove Off in Opposite Directions
Ethan’s big Dodge cruised smoothly
south on the asphalt, while Aunt J’s
old Ford stuttered north in the dirt,
with me, Pattyn (pretty name!),
behind the wheel.
Aunt J stared out the window, mired in
some daydream. Where her mind
had wandered, I couldn’t say.
Anyway, my own mind was
glued on Ethan.
How did he and Aunt J know each other?
Who was the woman whose memory
snatched away his incredible
smile? Could someone like
me give it back?
Aunt J knew most of those answers,
of course. But I sensed she wasn’t
in the mood to discuss them. And
I wasn’t quite ready to admit
my budding infatuation.
I found a big, wide turnaround place,
did an about-face, and putted back
to the ranch house, still stuck
on Ethan and how I might