After Chuck left, Bambi melted down as expected. She lost all urge to shower, to brush her teeth, or comb her hair. She didn’t even look like the same person. She had lost something vital to her existence. I worried I’d find her dead, drowned in a pool of booze or burned up from smoking in bed.
Most days I’d come home to find the curtains drawn and Bambi sprawled out on the couch, with an ice bag pressed to her forehead, drinking directly from a bottle of Jack Daniels. Even though there was a part of me that felt sorry for her—I hated her for losing Chuck.
“Now that he’s gone, I guess you can stay,” she said. “She looked me up and down and snickered. “I was crazy for thinking there was something between you two…. God forgive me for my sinful thoughts. I mean, look at you?” She waved at me with a cigarette burning between two fingers. “You’re just a scrawny thing.” She filled her glass with ice topped off with booze and a splash of water. “That’s what a sinful mind will do to you, Missy. It’s like a disease. Sin eats away at common sense. Makes you do things that….”
“It’s Saturday,” I said. “Why don’t you go play Bingo?” I wanted to distract her from her drinking. It scared me the way she pushed it more and more, teetering on the edge of sanity. Usually nothing stopped her from going to the Bingo Palace on Saturday. She was a fanatic about winning—even though the prizes were terrible, gaudy plastic ware, pink flamingos, or fuzzy dice. She’d play and play until she won something.
Her face dropped. “I can’t. He might come back—I don’t want to miss him.”
I wanted to tell her he was NEVER coming back, that she had ruined everything because of her stupid, selfish behavior. But it would only be a waste of time—talking sense to a drunk never works.
Bambi spent the next week in a frenzy. Drinking and crying, jumping when the phone rang. I hated the look of desperation on her face when it wasn’t Chuck. One second she would be sorry and on her knees, praying for forgiveness, asking God to bring him back and the next second she would be angry, hatred serving as comfort for her loss. She’d shred some of his clothes, cut up his pictures—then try to piece it all back together.
Another week passed. Every night, I’d walked home from work in the dark, whirling around at the sound of a motorcycle or the low rumble of a pickup engine, thinking it was him. Without Chuck it was as if the boundaries of the world had been torn away, and suddenly life seemed bigger than I'd ever imagined—terrifyingly bigger.
I couldn’t understand it. How could he read Chekov to me at night before bed, give me lessons about the stars, tell me how important my artwork was—then forget I even existed? I could understand why he wanted to be away from Bambi. But what had I done?
Bambi never left the house. Not even for church. She kept the curtains closed all the time. Her eyes held a deranged look, glazed over and circled dark. Her hair hung limp in greasy, twisted strands. Stacks of unopened mail piled up on the table, bill collectors were the only ones who ever called. Bambi stopped answering the phone. We ate all the frozen food, all the canned goods, and then the rice and beans that Chuck had bought.
A few weeks later, Bambi finally pulled herself together, took a shower, and started going out at night. I thought she’d purged Chuck from her system. But I was wrong. Bambi started tracking him down, haunting all his favorite hangouts, following his every move. She scared me with her stalking. It wasn’t about love anymore. It was something else—something unhealthy. She was desperate to re-establish the dominance and control she thought she wielded during their relationship.
“Come on, Missy,” Bambi announced one afternoon. “I got him. He’s at Barry’s Bike Shop. I’m going to pay him a visit. Give him a piece of my mind—take you along with me. Maybe it’ll help bring him home.”
I cringed at the word home. Bambi didn’t know the meaning. Without Chuck, there wasn’t one. Home was just an aluminum-sided trailer, as empty as our refrigerator. I worried what she would do if he rejected her again. She wasn’t well.
Bambi wriggled into a pink mini-dress, smoothed it over her ribs and at the waist, pulled it down over her hips. She lathered on lipstick that reminded me of pink frosting. “How do I look?”
“Good,” I said. What I really wanted to say was that she looked as ugly on the outside as she was on the inside. Gone was the spark that made her look so beautiful. Tiny red veins crisscrossed her nose. Her skin held a pink tinge and her face was round and bloated. She hustled me out the door and we climbed into the car. Bambi took off fast and onto the highway pointing north. I was still snapping on my seatbelt when we entered into an industrial part of town. Piles of steel. A wrecking ball. Towering metal buildings gleaming in the fading sun.
We parked near a beat-up Quonset hut. Rows of motorcycles stood ready for repair. More of them waited behind a tall fence framed with razor wire. I waited while Bambi climbed out of the car, straightened her dress, and smeared on more pink lipstick. I wondered if I’d ever see Chuck again. The place looked scary, windows dark and tinted, hiding something terrible from the world.
Bambi disappeared inside. A half an hour later, she reappeared, stumbling out to the car, tripping over an air hose and a pile of greasy bike parts. Her face was pale and her eyes were wide. She opened the door to the Lincoln, slipped behind the steering wheel, gripping it hard until her knuckles turned white. Her mouth formed a perfect oval, but she made no sound. A river of black mascara mixed with tears streamed down her face.
“What happened?”
Her lips quivered for a moment. She licked them, staring straight ahead. “He’s found someone else,” she said barely above a whisper. “Said he’s never coming back. Lord, what have I done?” Bambi pounded her fist on the dash. “How dare he do this to me!” She slammed the car into gear. I was afraid to let her drive like this, with her eyes glazed over, her body sizzling with rage. She’d kill us before we even got a mile down the road, maybe smash the car into something or drive over a cliff. But she didn’t take off. She just sat there, glaring through the windshield.
“Wait,” I said. “I want to talk to him.”
Bambi put the car in park. “Good luck, Missy.” She rolled her eyes. “Guess it couldn’t hurt—he always liked you best anyhow.”
I ignored the jab and scrambled out of the car and headed inside. I didn’t care if he had someone else. If he never came back to Bambi. I just wanted to see him. Chuck rested on a stool near a workbench with his back to me. A tough-looking blonde in leathers sat perched on a stool beside him. I tapped him on the shoulder and he turned around. His eyes narrowed at first; I was worried he was mad at me for bugging him. Then a smile reached his eyes.
“What are you doing in here, kid?”
“I wanted to see you.”
He pulled me into a hug. “So you missed me, did you?” My nose tingled from a hint of vodka on his breath. I nodded. “I hope you know it’s not you, kid—it’s just….” He glanced at the blonde. “It’s complicated.”
I nodded. “I understand.” My stomach coiled in knots as he released me so I could leave. “Guess I’ll see you around sometime.”
“I’ll be home in a few,” he said.
I turned around. Tears filled my eyes, a smile stretched across my face. “You’re coming home?”
He shrugged. “Where else would I go?”
“But, Bambi said you were…that you had found….” I looked at the blonde, but her gaze darted away from mine.
He winked. “Had to teach her a lesson. Make her think about what she’d done. People don’t change without hard knocks. I knew she’d find me. I figured I’d give her time to mull things over. See the consequences of her actions.” Chuck shook his head, took a drag of his cigarette and let it out the side of his mouth. “She’s gotta stop drinking, though. Can’t handle living with a drunk. Won’t stay if she keeps it up.”
“Things will be better. You’ll see. She’ll stop. I promise.”
His eyes locked with mine. He took my hand. “It’s not your problem, honey. You’
re a good kid and I think the world of you.”
Tears spilled from the corners of my eyes. Standing in that greasy garage, staring at the only man who had treated me like a daughter, it suddenly hit me. For the first time I allowed myself to feel love—to breathe it. Feel it pulse in my veins, my heart expanding. It was like being deaf and suddenly being able to hear. Sight after being blind. It was overwhelming. I almost wished I’d never known him. It was hard to care about someone else. I felt smaller in the universe. Less in control. What if Bambi didn’t stop drinking? What if he left again? How could I stop him?
After Chuck came home, Bambi started going to AA meetings. She would only go in the mornings because she was afraid to leave Chuck and me alone at night. “While the cat’s away the mice will play,” she’d say, narrowing her eyes at me. “And I don’t intend to let any little mice play with what’s mine.”
I rolled my eyes and Bambi reached for her pack of Marlboros, her face red and her hands shaking. She smacked the bottom of the pack hard and stuck a cigarette into her mouth backward. Chuck laughed out loud at the sight. Bambi’s face turned an even darker shade of red. She ripped the cigarette from her lips. “Guess I’m just a big fat joke to you!”
“Don’t get it twisted, Baby.” Chuck pulled her onto his lap and kissed the side of her neck. “Lighten up.”
Bambi perched on Chuck’s lap like a prized parrot. She was smug, like she’d won her man back or something. She lit her cigarette and glared at me as if it were my fault that she was all mixed up. That she was unraveling. I glared right back at her. Who did she think she was?
I hated her for the way she treated me, the way she always kept her beady eyes on me as if I were a predator stalking her mate. No matter how many times Chuck reassured her there was nothing going on between us, she still believed our relationship was something more, something ugly.
Bambi would never understand that Chuck was the only person I’d ever trusted, the closest thing to a dad I ever had. The section of my brain that stored all of my memories was void in the area of my real father—he appeared only in my nightmares. That hollow, empty space was now filled with stories of Russia, lessons about the stars, laughter, encouragement, and love. Chuck was my father now.
For a short time, while Bambi was sober—we were happy. Bambi knew I had brought Chuck back to her and even though she didn’t show it, she was grateful. This gave me leverage, a foot in the door, because I was the glue that held Chuck there. Bambi never called Family Services, but she never took her eyes off of me either. It was like walking on glass. I couldn’t laugh at Chuck’s jokes. I couldn’t wear shorts or tank-tops without Bambi making some kind of cutting remark. No longer did he read Chekov to me at night or tell me tales of Russia. Those moments—those stories—were vital to me. It was like missing an arm, or a leg. Bambi had severed them, taken them away all because she was jealous and selfish.
One Sunday Bambi stayed in her nightgown long after breakfast. Chuck glanced at the time on his cell phone. “You better get moving or you’re gonna be late for church.”
She leaned back on the couch, looked at me, and smiled. She reached for her cigarettes on the end table and selected one from the pack. “I’ve made a decision. I’m going to be doing my worshiping from home for now on.” She reached for Chuck’s leg and gave it a squeeze, glaring at me the whole time. “Give you and I more time together.”
I looked away, I didn’t want her to have the satisfaction of seeing the disappointment on my face. Bambi even stopped gambling or going to the salon to get her nails done or even to the grocery store. She spent every single second lurking around Chuck. I had to fight for every minute alone with him. It was like a competition between us to see who could spend the most time with him—and she was winning.
I couldn’t understand it. I was no threat to her. But still, her eyes trailed me everywhere, her gaze raw and suffocating. I spent my evenings alone on the back porch listening to music and enjoying the cool summer air, wishing she’d somehow just disappear.
One night, a star darted across the ebony sky, sizzling in a spectacular arch until finally swallowed by darkness. I longed to share this moment with Chuck, to hear him explain the death of stars. I already knew all the answers, but I loved to hear the soothing sound of his voice as he pointed to different quadrants of the sky. But if Chuck came outside to join me, so would Bambi. She’d flirt and act like a fool until she had all of his attention.
Later that evening, I sat waiting for Bambi to go to her AA meeting in town. She usually went in the morning but she’d missed it because she slept in. It was only an hour but it was the only time I’d have alone with Chuck and I looked forward to it. I leaned back in my chair on the porch, searching the sky for more shooting stars when I heard Chuck shouting at Bambi.
“What do you mean you’re not going to your meeting? You promised me if I came back you’d go.”
“Look honey, they’re not gonna miss me for one night. What are you having such a fit for? I thought you liked spending time with me. Guess I was wrong.” Bambi whimpered in her best baby voice.
“That’s not true and you know it.”
“Oh really?” Bambi shrieked. “Maybe you just want some time alone with….”
“Don’t.” Chuck shouted. “Don’t you dare say another word.”
The screen door opened and banged shut. Chuck stood beside me on the porch, lighting a cigarette. “Wanna go with me to the Quick Mart? I’ll buy you a soda. I need to cool off.”
“No thanks,” I said, my voice dropping. I knew better than to say yes no matter how bad I wanted to go. If we went anywhere alone, Bambi would freak out.
“Are you sure?”
I nodded, spotting Bambi standing in the shadows of the doorway behind him, glaring at me. “No, you go ahead. I’m not feeling that great.” I got to my feet and pushed past Bambi into the house.
“Hey! Watch it missy. Don’t you have any manners?”
I stood in the hallway with my back turned to her. I clenched my teeth to keep from hurling words at her like stones. I could hardly contain the resentment boiling inside of me. For a terrible instant, I pictured the deadly nightshade blooming outside of the trailer. Maybe I could crush it up, put it into the tomato juice Bambi used to make her Bloody Marys. Get rid of her so Chuck and I could finally live in peace.
I passed a picture of Jesus hanging in the hallway, his soft brown eyes staring into mine. I looked away, ashamed. I couldn’t murder anyone. Who was I kidding?
Curled up in the safety of my bed, I closed my eyes, blocking out everything.
Footsteps shuffled outside my bedroom door.
“Why did you ask her to go to the store and not me?” Bambi screeched.
“Lower your voice,” Chuck said.
“Don’t you tell me what to do in my own house.”
My head ached, even with the door shut Bambi’s shrew-like voice pierced my eardrums. I smothered a pillow over my head. I was sick of all the fighting, all the conflict and tension in the house. Angry comments and snarling replies hammered their way into my bedroom, battering at my fragile control and sawing into my last nerve. I closed my eyes tighter, blocking out the noise and fought to steady my erratic pulse.
I woke up from a nightmare I couldn’t remember, screaming, limbs quivering, my nightgown twisted around my body. The door to my room flung open and light from the hallway streamed in, burned my eyes. Chuck was suddenly there, gathering me into his arms.
“What’s the matter, kid?” He hugged me to him. “It’s just a dream. You’re safe now.”
Coughing, I buried my face in his chest, my lungs relaxing as I inhaled his scent: motor oil, beer, and something cedar. I held on tight—he was my anchor, my only foothold, the safety of a forest floor in which I took refuge.
“I don’t know why I’m crying,” I sobbed. “I was dreaming and...” I couldn’t stop blubbering.
Chuck rocked me back and forth in his arms. I felt stupid for crying, bu
t it felt good to be held. To be in the safety of his arms. He pressed his lips to the top of my head and released me.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a dark figure lurking in the hallway. Bambi stood watching, lips pressed into a thin line of hate. Her face was bloated and pale, her unwashed hair hung in greasy knots. A half empty bottle of rum dangled from her hand.
I glanced at the alarm clock beside my bed—3:30 a.m. What was Bambi still doing up? Was she angry because I woke her?
“Sinners!” Bambi hissed. She staggered forward. “Finally—I caught you!”
“What are you talking about?” Chuck jumped to his feet. “Are you drunk again? Can’t you see she was having a bad dream and--”
“You like playing with little girls, don’t you? You disgusting pervert!”
“That’s it!” Chuck growled. “That’s the last straw.”
He stormed from my room, turning over my nightstand on his way out. Moments later, I heard the roll of closet doors thundering open in Bambi’s bedroom and the clunk of dresser drawers.
My heart froze. Chuck was leaving—packing all of his things. Moments later, he returned and handed me an envelope. “I need to give you something before I go. It took me awhile, but I managed to get everything arranged.” Chuck glanced over his shoulder. “This is very important so listen close. Don’t let anyone know you have this. Just follow the instructions. I have to go now before it’s too late. Good luck, honey.”
“No, wait!” I cried. “I’ll go with you!” I climbed out of bed.
“I can’t take you with me, kid. Wish I could. There’s things about me you don’t know. I couldn’t help my own daughter, but I wanted to help you. Take the letter, get out of here, and don’t look back.” Chuck gave me a quick hug. “Good luck.”
Bambi sprang out of nowhere, jumping on his back, clawing at his face. “How dare you!” she shrieked.
Chuck threw her off, but she sprang again, grabbing onto the back of his shirt. He slapped her hard and Bambi fell back, her nightgown wrapping around her body, forming a straight jacket. Bambi wailed like a skinned cat and Chuck stormed out. The front door slammed so hard it rattled in its frame.
Moonflower Page 4
