Rage meant they were still
alive,
still feeling something. Now,
since I know they’re definitely
dead inside, I don’t want to
listen to their ever-
expanding
list of unfinished rants and
just-boiling-to-the-surface raves.
(Not talking about the fun kind!)
’Cause once the bitch bus
starts rolling, it’s practically
unstoppable.
Topping Today’s Rant List
Is, of course, my dear grandmama.
And guess who’s going to get
ranted at. Spot on! It’s me.
Daddy: Why didn’t you bother
to tell me about my father’s call?
I suppose I could deny knowing
about it. But why lie? I shrug.
“Guess I forgot. Sorry.”
Mom: Sorry? That’s the best you can
do? Under the circumstances…
Patience was never my forte.
“Under what circumstances?
I don’t even know the man.”
Daddy: Beside the point. You couldn’t
tell the message was important?
“The guy sounded like some sort of
nut job. Anyway, why don’t I know
him?” Way to flip the tables!
Mom: Your father and I have reasons
for the things we do or don’t allow.
I hate her. She never lets her guard
down and always has a ready answer.
“So…is he a nut job, then?”
Daddy, trying not to lose it:
No, he’s not a fucking nut job.
Not doing a good job of not losing
it, Daddy, love. “Totally okay? Cool.
Next time I’ll pick up and talk to him.”
Mom, definitely losing it:
Are you trying to make us angry?
The game’s getting fun. Keep
playing. Smile pretty. “Why
would I want to do that, Mom?”
Daddy, closer and closer to losing it:
Extremely good question, I’d say.
All of a sudden, I don’t want
this to be a game anymore.
I want answers. Honest ones.
This Is a Rare Opportunity
With Mom sitting right here,
Daddy cannot so easily dismiss
my questions. Valid questions.
I look him directly in the eye—
something I don’t often dare.
“Why don’t you talk to your father?
And why won’t you let him be a part
of our lives?” Like anyone is a part
of our lives. Including us. Truth is,
there is no “our.” No “us.”
Mom stares at Daddy, waiting.
Doesn’t she know? Daddy glances
back and forth between us, like a
corralled coyote. Let’s just say he
made my childhood extremely hard.
If he thinks that’s communication,
he should think again. Whose
childhood isn’t hard? I shake
my head. “Like how, Daddy?
Can you be more specific?”
His eyes glaze over, and I know
he’s fallen into the past, a place
he most definitely does not want
to revisit. He exits quickly.
I don’t want to talk about him.
Surreal
I swear, I’ve never
seen Daddy look so shaken.
So…wow. Scared.
He looks like a little
boy who has been sent to
the principal’s office
or to the woodshed
to wait for a switching.
I almost feel sorry
for him, operative
word being almost. Because
the mold of his face
reminds me intensely
of Kaeleigh, when she knows
he’s on his way to her.
Like father, like son?
One day I’ll get my answers.
One day very soon.
Meanwhile, Think I’ll Dive
A little deeper into the shit pit.
What have I got to lose?
“If you won’t tell me about
my grandfather, what about
my grandmother? What’s all
the hype about, anyway?”
Daddy shifts gears to angry,
jumps to his feet, stalks
to the counter to refill his glass
from the fifth of Turkey, drained
half-dry since this morning.
It’s not even dinnertime yet.
I think he just might leave
the room, highball in hand.
Mom stops him with the weight
of her voice. Don’t you dare
walk away from her, Raymond.
Tell her about your mother.
She has the right to know.
Daddy Takes a Gulp
Of his whiskey, adds a big splash
to the glass, rotates toward us
on one heel. His expression
is a curious mix of fury,
resignation, and anguish.
Finally he returns to the table.
So you want to know about
your grandmother? Fine.
Let me tell you all about her.
What I remember, anyway.
I remember coming home
from school and finding
her passed out in front
of the TV set, sweating
cheap scotch and cigarettes….
Holy crap! Déjà vu of the
most unpleasant kind and
he doesn’t seem to get it
at all. Only difference
is the choice of booze.
I remember scrounging for
my own dinner because I
couldn’t shake her out
of her stupor and my dear
old dad worked swing shift.
I remember other kids,
laughing at my disgusting
clothes. Mom was too
fucked up to wash them
and I was too little to try….
All the while he talks,
he sucks down Turkey,
and it’s easy to imagine
the scene, except for the dirty
clothes. Daddy demands clean.
I remember how excited
my classmates got about
bringing their parents
to school plays. I prayed
mine wouldn’t show up drunk.
I remember working my ass
off to bring home straight As
and the day I finally did,
my mother wasn’t home. In
fact, she’d gone for good.
That Was the Most
My daddy has said to me in almost ten
years. I can barely catch my breath,
and he did all the talking. Still, I have
questions. “Why did she leave?”
He shrugs. She came limping back several
years later, told me it was my father’s fault.
Said he slept around. Like that was a good
enough excuse for what her leaving did to me.
Lots of people’s parents split up,
especially over stuff like that. But…
“Why didn’t she take you with her when
she left?” What made him so cold?
She said she thought my father would
take better care of me. That she had no
resources. That part, I’m sure, was true.
But she never once checked on my welfare.
There’s more to the story. A lot more.
But it involves his father. He won’t share
that part—the part I most need to know.
The Topic of Conversation
Plunges him deeper into the depths
of his bottle, and he disappears into
his bathroom for a while. I know
what he’s after in there. Oxy dessert,
to chase his Wild Turkey main course.
By the time Mom has dinner ready,
Daddy has reached a state of oblivion.
He will not share the table tonight.
Which just leaves us girls. Kaeleigh
watches Mom whip up a Hollandaise
to go with the fresh fish entrée.
She wants a daughter-mother talk
about Ian, but I can’t figure out why.
It would be a blistering day in Antarctica
before I confessed any of my extracurricular
activities. Think I’ll reroute the conversation.
“So, Mom…” I drop my voice to just
above a whisper. “Do you know what
happened between Daddy and his father?”
Does she know? If so, will she break
down and tell us the necessary backstory?
Mom pauses her whisking, but not for long.
Sorry. He never told me the whole thing.
Anyway, that will have to come from him.
She Knows More, of Course
But she won’t spill
it tonight. Will we
ever get the keys
to this locked door?
I want to scream.
Curiosity strangles
me until I choke out,
“Was Daddy abused?”
Mom opens the broiler,
flips the fish. Finally
she says, There are
all kinds of abuse.
This is the perfect
opening, Kaeleigh,
the way into asking
for help. But no way.
Kaeleigh doesn’t
want to go there,
doesn’t want to
go anywhere near.
Mom saves her
the trouble. Okay.
Dinner’s ready. Let’s
open some wine.
A Lot of Wine Later
We are no closer to learning each
other’s dark secrets, and much
closer to our own states of stupor.
Kaeleigh has already retreated,
not a single word about Ian.
No doubt a very wise decision.
Tomorrow it’s back to the books
(and, damn, a.m. history with
Lawler) for me, back to party
planning for Mom. The clock
says ten forty-five. “Guess I’d
better go to bed. It’s getting late.”
She looks at me through chardonnay-
lidded eyes. You look like her,
you know. Very much so, in fact.
What is she babbling about?
My head feels wobbly, my
tongue thick as pudding. “Who?”
Your grandmother. I thought
so when you were little, but
it’s even more obvious now.
I Stumble Off to Bed
But find no comfort
in its feathers and patchwork.
Despite the wine and rich
food, breaking down into calories,
I feel cold, way deep inside,
and it’s the kind of cold
that can’t be fought
with Hollandaise or alcohol
or a pile of quilts. I wish I had
a joint. A big, fat, stinky j to slide
me into sleep. But no, all I
can do is lie here, brain
turning somersaults.
It’s nights like
these when memories
stir, whipping themselves
into stiff peaks of pain. Here
comes one now, materializing
like Daddy did that night.
The night he came to
Kaeleigh, crossed
the final line.
Mom Had Been Spending
More and more time away
from home. We were getting
used to it. But that night,
something was different.
Kaeleigh and I lay in bed,
listening to Daddy scream
into the phone. What the fuck
do you think you’re doing, Kay?
It’s not just me you’re hurting.
Come home. I’ll forgive you.
We had no idea where she was,
or what she was doing to make
Daddy so mad. But whatever
she said on the other end did not
pacify him. The receiver slammed.
The ensuing silence was scary,
scarier than his yelling. In
retrospect, I understand he had
gone to visit his bottles. But he
didn’t find enough healing there.
His footsteps that night were
soft. Hesitant. I think they even
turned around. But eventually
they came toward us again.
The door opened slowly.
Kaeleigh was used to Daddy’s
visits, but that night she, too,
felt something different in the air.
Rage. Lust. Sorrow. Perversion.
All mingled in Daddy’s sweat.
There was nothing gentle
about how he threw back
the covers. Already naked,
he pushed Kaeleigh roughly
to one side, flopped beside her.
I could tell she was afraid.
This wasn’t her Daddy. This
was a demon, his evil hard
and sharp as a steel blade,
ready to slice into her. It did.
His attack was brutal, bloody,
wordless except for a vicious
Shut the fuck up at her pitiful
scream, a plea to please, please
no, Daddy, no. It hurts. Oh!
I cowered, sick at the sight,
but unable to divorce myself
from the horror. I felt Kaeleigh’s
pain. And when Daddy was done
and she cried, I cried too.
No Doubt About It
There’s a demon inside him.
Demons, they say, are fallen
angels. The real question is,
who pushed Daddy over
the edge,
into the abyss? I’d say there
are several likely candidates.
And, oh awesome. I’m related
to all of them, heiress
of darkness.
Dark or not, though, I want
to know them. Want to know
exactly what created not only
Daddy, but through him, me.
Is
that so much to ask? We’re
probably too damaged to ever
be fixable, but if there’s even
a tiny chance, I need to know
where
to find it. In Daddy? Ha. In
Mom? Unlikely. In some guy?
Every single one I know is worse
off than me. My only hope
is to ferret out exactly who
I am.
Kaeleigh
I Can Hardly Wait
To get to school today,
something totally new, and
all because of Ian. He takes
the edge
off my pain. In fact, for once
I don’t feel like fighting pain
with food. For once, I feel
like I might crawl beyond this place
of darkness,
the place I’ve called home
for as long as I can remember.
I jump out of bed, start to dress,
and my bubble of optimism
is
b
urst almost immediately.
Down the hall, Mom and Daddy
are into it already, scratching
at each other like alley cats.
Where
did their own love go? Why
did it have to die and suck me
down into its shallow grave?
Guess I’ll go shave my legs,
then scope out the pantry.
I am
famished, after all.
I Am on My Third Bowl of Cereal
When Daddy comes into the kitchen.
His eyes wear “pissed” and when they
fall to my mouth, stuffed with Shredded
Wheat, irritation grows to outrage.
What the hell are you doing?
He can’t know how many bowls
I’ve downed, and I haven’t made
a mess of the table. I swallow a major
mouthful. “What do you mean, Daddy?”
You look like a regular pig.
Good. I’m glad he thinks I look
like a pig. Still, his words sting
and my eyes start to water.
“I’m just having some cereal.”
Ladies don’t stuff their mouths full.
I’m not a lady and don’t want to
be, but Daddy’s spoiling to fight
with someone weaker than Mom.
“Sorry. I won’t do it again.”
That’s more like it. Now give me a kiss.
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