a lot of calories or something.
But hey, I’m gonna try, at least
as long as there’s food in the house
and Daddy isn’t home. He’s not.
The garage is vacant, awaiting
the Lexus’s return. I glance at
the grandfather clock in the hall.
Not yet four. I should have an hour
or more, all to myself and my genie.
It’s screaming to be fed.
Begging to be satisfied.
It’s Probably Weird
To think about an addiction
like it’s a sentient being,
but that’s how it feels.
Like it’s something living
inside you. Something
you can’t get rid of because
killing it means killing you.
I can’t really understand
addictions to drugs or alcohol.
Things that control you.
But an eating disorder
is an addiction you control.
Wait, is that paradoxical?
I prefer to believe not.
Either way, I kick off my shoes,
slide along the tile and into
the kitchen, calming my genie
with promises. Twinkies. Ice
cream bars. Halloween candy.
Screw the trick-or-treaters.
Little heathens are bums.
Sweet Stuff
Sounds good, but I know from
experience I’ll get sick before
I can eat enough sugar to satiate
this kind of need. I should start
with something else. Hey.
I know. I’ll binge healthy
and do the five food groups.
Crackers. Chips. Both whole
grain. Salsa. Fruit salad.
Canned, but oh well. Cheese
for the crackers. (And later,
ice cream, dessert dairy.)
Protein? Think there’s lunch
meat in the refrigerator.
Hope it’s bologna.
That just leaves fat. So I’ll
butter my bologna. First,
I spread a quarter roll of paper
towels on the table. Have to
do this crumb free. Next
I arrange silverware in
a perfectly straight line.
About the time I turn toward
the cupboards, I notice
the obnoxious repetitive noise.
The Answering Machine
Is beeping, accompanied
by a red warning light.
Blip-blip-blip. Three messages.
One: Mom. Can’t talk
long. But thought you’d
want to know, in case
you haven’t checked,
the campaign is picking
up. I’m ahead in current
polls. Will be home to watch
the election coverage. Click.
Awesome. Looks like we’ll lose
her completely. Not that I expected
anything else. No, not at all.
Two: Daddy. Can’t talk
long. But wanted to let
you know I’m going out
to dinner with a colleague.
It could go pretty late,
so don’t worry if you don’t
see me tonight. Any problems,
call my cell phone and I’ll
get back to you ASAP.
“ASAP,” pronounced like a word,
instead of initials. No problem,
Daddy. I’m feeling pretty good now.
My Head Is in the Fridge
When the third message
fires up. The voice is unfamiliar,
but it’s someone I sort of know.
Hello? I’m trying to reach
Raymond Gardella. Ray?
This is your father. I know
it’s been a long time with
no word from me. But
something has come up
that I thought you should
hear about ASAP….
A-S-A-P. Unlike Daddy,
Grandpa Gardella uses
the initials, not the acronym.
I had a visit from your mother,
returned from who-knows-where.
She wanted to know how
to find you. Apparently, she’s
actually paid attention to
the news lately. She knows
your wife is running for Congress.
My guess is she’s out to make
trouble unless you shove
a few dollars in her direction.
If I were you, I’d expect a call.
The Impossible News
Steals my breath, chases away
all desire for food. I thought
for sure my grandmother was dead.
And now this not-so-distant
relative crawls from the grave,
a ghost.
I wonder where she’s been,
why it’s taken so many years
for her to reappear. And now,
three weeks until the election, she
materializes
from the ether, robed in evil
intent? What information
can she possibly have? What
dark recess of Daddy’s past
harbors
secrets that could sway voters
away from Mom now? Will
my grandmother really, truly
appear on our doorstep, hugging
malevolence,
money her only motivation?
Has she no desire to reconnect
with her son, meet his family,
become our family too? Do we
want
that, even if she does? One
of those faded filmclips
flickers in distant memory.
Raeanne
Rich!
Both the Häagen-Dazs bar
dripping into my mouth
and Grandpa Gardella’s
phone message.
A ghost
from Daddy’s past, one
who has remained invisible
(almost so, anyway) for a very
long time,
materializes
from some sordid history
we probably don’t want
to know about. Kaeleigh,
the dimwit, is thrilled. She
harbors
some idiotic curiosity
about our genealogy,
as if dissecting the beast
could help us escape its
malevolence.
But I know that this poorly
timed turn of events can only
lead to more pain. Sorry, Kaeleigh,
but Daddy’s mommy can only
want
one thing: more than a few bucks.
What a Great Thing
To come home to. Something
new. Sure to cause a major stir.
Life is rarely dull around here.
I consider calling Daddy,
more to mess up his dinner out
than anything. But then it strikes
me that I want to see the look on
his face when he hears the news.
Maybe I should call Mom instead.
Someone should break it to her.
Wonder how long she’ll be ahead
in the polls, should the ghost decide
to spread some unimaginable
rumors about dear old Daddy.
What Could the Gossip Be?
She can’t have a clue about Daddy
and Kaeleigh. Unless she’s been
spying, completely covertly, for a
very long time. Grandpa Gardella
didn’t even know
about us until
just a few years
ago. And our
grandmother was
still, to everyone’
s
knowledge, totally out of the
picture then—gone or dead.
So what can she possibly
hold over Daddy’s head now?
Could it have
something to
do with why
Grandpa and
Daddy don’t
speak to each
other? Did my
father shoot up
heroin? Sacrifice neighborhood
pets? Hit-and-run, DUI, or shoot
someone, by accident or on purpose?
My curiosity is killing me because
nquiring
minds want to know.
Although maybe not from me.
But hey, what’s a daughter for?
Not sure what city she’s touched
down in tonight, but it will
be pretty late. It’s ten here.
Mom’s cell rings five times,
threatens to go to voice mail,
but she picks up before it does.
Yes? Okay, she’s miffed, but not
as miffed as she’s going to be.
“Uh, Mom? It’s me. We got
a phone message today that I
think you should know
about sooner rather than later.
Let me play it for you.”
I hold the receiver up to
the speaker. When the message
finishes, I wait out the silence.
Finally she says, Thank you.
I’ll put some people on it.
People? Mom has people?
I mean, I knew she had a staff,
connections even. But “people,”
as in people who handle stuff
like a crazy long-lost relative?
Wonder If I Should Be Scared
Or at the very least,
a little nervous.
Wonder what it would
take to make
Mom decide to
put her people on me.
I know a secret or two
myself. What if
I threatened to
go public unless she bought
me a car, paid for my
insurance, took
two hours of her
precious time to help me
get my license? Hey! Great
idea. Or not.
Really, how far
would I go if she said no?
How Far Will I Go
To enjoy this little game?
Daddy will be home soon,
at least I assume he will be.
It might be fun to watch
him pick up the message,
squirm. Freak. Go ballistic.
But just imagine the fun
if I erase the warning, wait
things out. See if my loser
grandmother actually rings
the bell one day. Surprise!
Guess who’s coming to dinner,
Daddy o’ mine. Wow. Decisions.
Decisions. Kaeleigh would want
to tell, but she’s crawled on off
somewhere. To erase or not to
erase, that is the question.
While I think it over, I’ll make
an easier decision. Another
Häagen-Dazs bar? Why not?
Ex-Lax awaits. Chocolate melting
into my mouth, I go over to
the counter, watch the red light
flash three times, extinguish it.
In the Dark
Of my room, I try to sleep,
but thoughts whirl through
my skull, cerebral tornadoes.
Life, I’m fairly sure, is about
to change. But for better or worse?
Any guess is as good as mine.
What would happen if all our dirty
laundry was hung out on a line
where the entire world could see it?
Would Daddy still be a judge?
Would Mom still run away?
Would Kaeleigh and I be taken,
forced into foster care? Would our
lives be less filled with misery?
Or would it just be more of the same?
My eyes grow heavy, less with
weariness than with remembrance.
A certain night blurs into focus.
Mom Was Gone Again
Can’t exactly remember why,
only that we didn’t expect her
to come home until very late.
It was dark in our room.
Velvety black. Someone had closed
the curtain. Kaeleigh was scared.
I tried to tell her not to worry, but just
then, Daddy burst through the door.
I closed my eyes tight, made myself
no more than a shadow. Something
about him was different. I didn’t
want that something to find me.
I cracked my eyes just a slit as he sat
on Kaeleigh’s bed, pulled her into
his lap. He smelled of Brut and Wild
Turkey. His peculiar potpourri.
I love you so much, my little
from my girl, my sweet rose.
Will you give it to me?
I wanted to be his little flower,
would have given my daddy anything.
What did he want from Kaeleigh?
She laid her head on his chest. “What?”
I want you to see something,
something that proves how
much I love you. This is only
for you, Kaeleigh girl.
He lifted her gently, sat her
down on the bed beside him.
Then he opened the snaps on
the fly of his flannel pajamas.
It stood up, stiff as a stalagmite.
See how much Daddy loves you?
Show me you love me, too. Touch
it. He closed her hand around it.
I know it sounds bad, but I wanted
to touch it too. I didn’t know
what it meant, only that it made Daddy
happy. I wanted to make him happy too.
That’s right. That’s right.
His voice rocked in rhythm
with his body. Oh yes, my Kaeleigh
loves me. My little flower…
Kaeleigh Didn’t Know
What any of it meant
either.
But we both knew
somehow it was
important,
because when Daddy
finished, he burrowed
his face
into Kaeleigh’s hair
and wept. Confused at
his tears,
and at the sticky stuff icing
her hands, still Kaeleigh
pleaded,
“Don’t cry, Daddy.
What’s the matter? Didn’t
I love
you good enough?”
That Brought Him Out of His Trance
Like he suddenly realized just what
he’d done. He scrambled for cover.
Yes, you loved me good enough.
So very good! But it’s our secret, okay?
Because if anyone knew how much
you love me, they’d be jealous.
Now Kaeleigh was really confused.
“Can I tell Mama our secret?”
No! Especially not Mama. She’d get
mad because she doesn’t love me
like you. She might even go away.
You don’t want that, do you?
She thought it over. Again and again.
But she finally agreed, “I won’t tell.”
Daddy pulled her against him. Good.
That’s very good. It’s okay to have
secrets between Daddy and his girl.
Just remember. No one likes a tattletale.
Especially not Daddy.
She Never Tattled
Didn’t want Daddy to get mad.
Didn’t want her mama to go
away, though she’d already
gone in spirit, if not yet
physically.
Hard to understand.
Harder yet to believe.
Especially when your own
need is so great. The simple
need
to absorb your mother’s love.
Kaeleigh always needed
that more than I. No, I
crave
more our father’s affection.
But can anyone really love him
good enough to fill a well of
want
so deep it must extend all
the way to his core, the very
“who” of who he is? And one
bigger question remains, begging
an answer: Just
who (or what?)
drilled that well in the first place?
Kaeleigh
This Morning I Wake
Mired in confusion, an odd
sort of throb in my torso.
Hunger. The specter of my genie,
physically
haunting me. Stalking me.
Beneath my silk
pajama top, my empty
belly lies, flatter than ever. I
need
that binge, and something
more. Something to make me