it has to stop. To tell you the truth,
I’m afraid of him. I don’t know
what else to do but file a report.”
Dad stepped in. If the boy is stalking
you, of course you must go to
the authorities. These things can end
badly. I have a friend on the force….
He Made A Call
His friend agreed my decision was
the right one. It was the first time
in a long time that I can remember
one of my parents supporting me.
Mom went back to composing her
letter without another word. Later,
she and Dad had a knock-down,
drag-out argument. About Conner.
About me. About cops on the doorstep
and Mom’s reputation and if safety was
an even trade-off for what the neighbors
might think. About sexual orientation.
What it means to me. Whether I am.
How I could know. Who the hell is this
Dani? What my coming out will mean
to them. To coworkers. The bridge club.
When things quieted, Mom took two
Valium and went to bed, while Dad hit
the scotch and watched TV. And
because that letter was stuck in my head,
I sneaked into Dad’s study and found
it, finished, on his desk. What struck
me first was Mom’s perfect cursive
and how she cut right to the chase:
Conner: Hope all is going
well for you, and that your
time in the outback has kept
you fit. You must excel at your
football tryouts. They expect
you to fail. I’m sure, however,
you’ll prove them very wrong.
One small detail, which I’ll mention
here: You have some makeup work
to do to keep you on track
for your graduation. If you
pursue it diligently this summer,
you won’t have to play catch-up
in the fall. By the way, your father
and I have sent applications
to all the colleges on our list.
All you have to do is maintain
your GPA and, of course, score
well on your entrance exams.
Not really much more to say
except to let you know Cara
has already been accepted
at Stanford. You can do as well.
After all, you’re her twin. Mom.
No Pressure There, Mom
None at all. Why can’t she just be
glad he survived and let him live
the rest of his life on his own terms?
Can’t she see how much he wants
her approval? That 4.0 GPA never
did come easily to Conner. Sports,
yes. Schoolwork, no. But God
forbid he excel at one and not
the other. Mom still expects him to
start college on time and keep scoring
touchdowns, too? Perfection carries
a steep price tag, at least it has for
Conner. I hope he finds his way
out sooner rather than later. I’m
thrilled I’ve found mine, even if it has
its own consequences to worry about.
I’m struggling to take ownership
of this new person I call me. But
every day brings me closer. And
I’m glad I got to know her at all.
Who Knows Who I’d Be
If I hadn’t met Dani. Probably
still a Conner clone—striving too
hard to please someone who can’t
be satisfied. I’m blown away by
how fate intervened when it did.
Makes me wonder what else I have
to look forward to, once I’m out
from under my parents’ control.
My cell buzzes. Incoming text from
Private Number. Who could that be?
Little teeth of suspicion gnaw at
my stomach. He wouldn’t dare.
It’s not from him. At least, I don’t
think so. PLEASE STOP MESSING UP
SEAN’S LIFE. GRADUATION IS ONLY
A MONTH AWAY. THEN HE’S ALL SET
FOR STANFORD. DROP CHARGES AND
HE WON’T BOTHER YOU ANYMORE.
Whoever it was wrote the one
word I didn’t want to see: Stanford.
Kendra
I Didn’t Want To See
The truth of things. That you
never embraced me the same
way that I embraced
you.
That when we lay laced
together, satin yarn and leather
cord, it was you who untied
the knots. That when you
told
bedtime stories of love
come unraveled, you were
always warning
me
of impending unraveling.
That the promises you wove
into the fabric of us
were nothing more than
lies.
Are All Relationships
Destined to unravel? I hear stories about
people who have been married for fifty or sixty
years. But I’ve never met any. And if they
do exist, what are they made of? The cliché
answer is friendship. If that’s accurate,
Mom and Patrick just might last a while.
But Dad and Shiloh will come unwoven
eventually. Jenna and Andre already have.
That makes me a little sad, although if
I am honest, I have to admit I was a lot jealous.
Not because of his car or his house or
his money, but because he really loved her.
He called me the day after they broke up.
I don’t know how much influence
you have on your sister, but she needs help.
She drinks every day. Not just a little.
She doesn’t think she has a problem, but
she does. And she won’t listen to me.
He said that isn’t why he had to stop
seeing her. And I believe that. You can’t
stay with someone you love when they
don’t care enough about you. Jenna doesn’t
care much about anything. Not even
herself. And I really don’t get that. On
the surface, she is pure confidence.
What is she hiding? What is she trying to
prove? What is she trying to forget?
How can I ask her any of those questions?
She’d probably ask me the same
questions. And I don’t have any answers.
The Only Person
Who has asked them is Shiloh. Like she
has any right to. Like she really gives a damn.
Today we are shopping for bridesmaid
dresses. Jenna is supposed to be here too.
Guess something better came up. It’s okay,
says Shiloh. We can choose the dress,
then find one in the right size for Jenna.
I was thinking burgundy. What do think?
I shrug. “Kind of dark for afternoon,
especially in June. What about teal?”
Nothing like flipping her entire color
scheme. But hey, she asked my opinion.
Hmm. Not big on teal. But you’re right
about burgundy being dark. Maybe …
black? She laughs. Just kidding. Unless
you think it would work. Let’s look around.
The first one that we both agree on
is a strapless sheath in a floral design.
“Très tropical,” I say. “Not even close
to burgundy, though.” I pull a size two.
Shiloh raises an eyebrow, but keeps
her opinion to herself. Until I come out
of the dressing room. Come over here
to the mirror. Tell me what you see.
“Uh … the dress is a little big
in the bust, but the ruche helps that,
and length is good….” It falls just
above my knee, with a slit up the back.
She puts one hand on each of my
shoulders. Tell me about the girl
inside the dress. What does she look
like? How do you think I see her?
Ambushed
And just when I thought it was going
so well. “Don’t tell me. She’s too thin.
You might even call her ‘emaciated.’
Obviously, she has an eating disorder.
Auschwitz survivors look better
than her. What’s wrong with her? Right?”
Shiloh rubs my shoulders, and that feels
good. She drops her voice very low. Not
exactly. I see a girl who wants to present
someone special to the world. Someone
beautiful. The pinnacle of beauty. But
she has lost her hold on reality. Real
beauty isn’t thin. It isn’t size two, unless
you happen to be four foot ten. What
the world sees when they look at you
is someone who believes self-worth
is all about how she looks, and that
very often means what she’s missing
is love. Not someone else’s love. But
love and respect for herself. Why
don’t you love yourself, Kendra? You
should. You are perfect, just as you are.
“Shut up! What are you, a psychologist?
I don’t need you to analyze me! Anyway,
you aren’t exactly all innocent and
everything. THIS IS YOUR FAULT.”
Which isn’t totally true, but it does
shut her up for a minute or two. Her head
tilts sideways as if she can’t comprehend
English. I’m sorry. What do you mean?
“I mean you took Dad away from Jenna
and me. Have a thing for married men?”
Her Hands Fall Away
From my shoulders. How can I want
those hands back? The girl in the mirror
looks drawn. Gaunt. Outside and in.
Shiloh’s right about what the world must see
when it looks at me. Oh, Kendra. I didn’t
take him away. Please, understand
that. I didn’t even know he was married
until after your mom walked out, and
she had every right to. By then, I was in
love with him. Believed I could save him.
I still believe that. But salvation will come
easier if you and Jenna can find the strength
to forgive him. He never meant to hurt you.
You girls mean everything to him.
“He never …? Oh yeah, he meant to hurt
me. In fact, he used to fucking wail on me.”
Ha! Said It
And it had the exact effect I wanted.
Disbelief. Shock. Dawning realization
that the guy she fell in love with—
my father—is so not the man she thinks
he is. “Oh yeah. He’d come home
drunk. Angry. Didn’t matter at what.
Mom was good at disappearing.
Not me. Jenna was too little. Too cute.
Too much the daughter he really
wanted. I was chubby. More butt to belt
without doing real damage. That’s
who you fell in love with. That’s what
the world would have seen had
it ever actually bothered to look.”
For once, the mirror tells me that
the girl looking back at me is skinny.
The Skinny Girl Crumbles
Tries to fall, but the woman behind
her—only a moment ago her rival—
gathers up the pieces of her, attempts to
squash them back together. Oh, honey.
I’m so sorry. Please try to believe
your father is not that man anymore.
I can’t tell you that he’s sober. He’s
trying, but he backslides. Alcohol can
be a monster. It’s an addiction, but it
starts as learned behavior. He learned
it as a boy, from the man who beat him.
Abuse is a learned behavior too.
“Sounds like an excuse to me.” On the far
side of the mirror glass, the skinny girl
stares back at me. And, safe in the refuge
of a stranger’s arms, she disintegrates.
People Are Starting To Gawk
Not in a good way. I pull myself together.
“I’m okay.” Not. My makeup is smeared
and my hair’s a mess. “I like the dress.”
Much cooler than I feel. “Not sure how
it would look on Jenna.” They do have it
in a ten, though. And where is she, anyway?
I go back to change, and am still only half-
way into my jeans when Shiloh knocks.
Urgently. Hurry, honey, okay? We have
to go. Right now. Leave the dress.
The tone of her voice hustles me into
my shoes. “What is it?” As soon as I unlatch
the door, she takes my arm, rushes me
toward the exit. Your mom tried to get
hold of you, but couldn’t. Your cell
must be dead. It’s Jenna….
The Hospital Is Five Minutes Away
Mom and Patrick meet us there. Mom
is freaking out. I don’t understand.
How could this happen? Oh, Patrick. She
reminds me of the skinny girl falling
to pieces. “What happened?” Neither
of them will look at me. “Please. Tell me.”
Patrick draws me to one side of the waiting
room. We don’t have all the details yet.
He sucks in a big breath of antiseptic air.
Your sister was raped. And … hurt.
We sit in a stiff row, waiting for details.
Finally a doctor comes to give them. Raped.
Beaten. Cut. Left to bleed out. Some
good Samaritan jogging by saved her life.
Broken bones. Stitches. And all because
she asked the wrong guy to buy her booze.
Sean
Broken Bones
Are preferable to broken
dreams. A broken heart.
A solid future smashed
like porcelain into
dust.
How do you reconcile
love that won’t let go
with the overpowering
resentment of being cast
off,
leftovers for scavengers?
How do you scab over
wounds that deep?
Some believe faith can
move
a mountain. I say that’s
not possible if it
isn’t strong enough
to build tomorrow
on.
You Could Power The World
On anger. All you’d have to do
is tap into a deep well of it,
extract it, fill up your tanks.
It’s clean burning, too. All
except for a thin exhaust.
Anger is fueling my days. It gets
me up. Out the door to school.
Reminds me that I need to pass
my approaching finals. Have
to maintain that GPA to stay
on track for my scholarship, and
I
will not give that up, Cara or
no Cara. Restraining order or
no restraining order. Stanford
is a very big campus. She can
figure out how to stay away
from me. She’s done a pretty
good job of it here at Galena.
I’ve barely seen her at all
since she got me locked up.
Okay, other than the initial
arrest and holding cell time,
I didn’t go to jail. Uncle Jeff’s
lawyer got me out on my own
recognizance. And when I went
to court, the judge gave me
community service and
warned me any behavior
even vaguely resembling
stalking would immediately
land me in an actual jail cell.
Some people might say I
got lucky, drew the right
judge. I say Cara deserves
a little comeuppance for
causing me sleepless nights
and five days picking up
trash along the Truckee River.
But, as they say, revenge
is a dish best tasted cold.
Especially If I Want
To keep playing baseball.
The thing is, anger has also
powered my bat. It’s all in
the focus. Uncle Jeff showed
me that. It’s okay to be mad,
he told me. What you have
to do is gather up all that
anger, hold it right between
your eyes, and when the ball
releases, laser it. Your arms
will follow.It took a time or
two to get what he meant,
but once it clicked, bam. I’ve
put them over the fence