Dirty Daughter

by JB Duvane

“Are you ready?” Mama parted my bed curtain brimming with excitement.

  “Yeah!” I shot up and hopped right off the bed. I had dressed the night before so that we could go as soon as she came in and got me.

  “Now just wait a minute, little mister,” she said, stopping me and crouching down next to me. “You’ve got to ride on my shoulders.”

  “Of course,” I replied with a very serious face. “I love you, Mama.” I threw my legs over her neck and she grabbed my ankles, steadying herself and ducking down under the ornate archway as we walked out of my room. She bobbed up and down, causing me to giggle, as she wended her way through the corridors and into the parlor where she'd set out milk and cookies on a side table.

  “You have to eat more than one. I don’t want any fussing from you.”

  I hopped off and shot towards the table at supersonic speed, snatching cookies and drinking right out of the jug. I had developed a habit of grabbing things when they came. I never knew when Mama’s mood was going to change.

  There were days when she would shower me with gifts. She would give me anything I asked for; piles of presents and food and toys just for me.

  She was a firm believer that young boys should be given free reign of the house in order to learn how to properly manage their home when they get older. She always told me that a free boy becomes a strong, assertive man, one who knows how to command others.

  But then other times she didn’t seem to remember her own words. Those times—times when she said I had been bad—I might not see a meal for days.

  “Come here.” Mama reached out for a tissue sitting on a console table next to the window.

  I stomped my feet. “No!”

  “Why not?” The warmth in her eyes started to melt away and a cold hollowness took its place.

  “I like my milk mustache. It makes me feel grown up.”

  A smile crept across her mouth but didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You don’t know the first thing about what it means to be a grown up. Now come here.”

  I lifted my head and went to her. When she was done wiping my face her voice softened. “You want up?”

  I nodded my head up and down quickly to emphasize my point. Mama ducked down, grabbed my ankles, threw me over her head, and ran towards the door. “Yay!” The air rushed past me and blood filled my head. All I could see was the bright red carpet zooming under me and all I could feel was the rush. The excitement.

  I could feel the energy almost like it was shooting out of her like a colorful blast in a comic book. These were the days I loved. Mama was with me. She wanted to be with me.

  She insisted on days like today that I should be by her side at all times. That it was where I belonged. I loved her so much and I wanted to please her and on days like today I did everything I could to keep her happy. But for some reason, even with my strongest efforts, she would eventually take an unexpected turn.

  “You want down?”

  “I don’t ever want down!”

  “Don’t be silly, Raymond. You can’t stay up forever,” she said as she whipped me around and sat me back down on the floor. “Whatever goes up must come down.” Her eyes were still hollow as they peered down at me.

  That morning was special because Mama had arranged for us to take a walk through the narrow, rocky mountain trail that led toward an overlook so we could enjoy the view of the desert.

  The desert had been my family’s home for a long time. When she taught me my lessons, Mama told me that her mother lived in the house and her mother’s mother. She told me that the house was big enough for three whole families to live in, but I only ever got to see the rooms in my special part of the house. They were big rooms and I had plenty of space to play, but when I turned and looked back at the house as we left on our walk I thought the house was the biggest building in the world.

  Bigger than any palace or castle that Mama had told me about in the far-off lands in my picture books. Bigger than that giant cruise ship that sank in the ocean. The picture that she showed me had people standing next to it that were as small as ants, and looking back at the house now I felt even smaller than that. I didn’t understand why I wasn’t allowed to see all of the house that we lived in. But I never wanted to make Mama unhappy so I stayed where she told me to stay.

  Mama led the way, taking a clear path at the foot of the wraparound driveway that wound through a series of boulders and low bushes that surrounded the house. There were no other houses anywhere. In every direction that we walked, on days that Mama would bring me outside, I never saw another house or building or person. Not one.

  We walked along narrow cliff trails that required us to carefully place our feet in order to avoid falling hundreds of feet down, but it was worth it. The view was spectacular. Pink sand that led up to rolling gray hills capped with pointy white hats. And when the sun peeked over the hills like it was now, with reds and oranges falling like a blanket on everything, it turned the world into a different place. A place that I felt Mama and I could disappear into and never have to go back.

  It wasn’t that I didn’t like my home. I just didn’t feel safe there. I didn’t understand it. I felt like the house was the reason Mama changed.

  I had a dream once where I was playing in my bedroom and Mama was in the next room. I couldn’t see her but I could hear her singing and laughing. She called to me and told me about all of the beautiful things she was making and I told her that I wanted to see them. I wanted to be a part of the beautiful things she did.

  In the dream, she told me that she would be right in, that she was bringing what she had made to me. I was so excited for her to come into my room, but the second she crossed the threshold she changed. Suddenly her face had a deep scowl and her eyes were on fire. She yelled at me and told me that I had been bad and needed to be punished, then turned and went back through the doorway. I watched her in tears as she walked through the doorway, but as soon as she was on the other side she turned around and smiled at me. It wasn’t that scary, cold smile she had just given me. The smile she had on her face was the smile she gave me when she was the other Mama. It was the sweet, kind smile of the Mama that I loved.

  Ever since then I believed that it was the house that made her change. It made perfect sense to me. The house was strange and mysterious and I even started to believe that it was the house that didn’t want to see me. That the house made her keep me in those rooms that made up my entire world. My entire world when I was inside the house, that is. But now that I was outside I was free. I looked at Mama and I could see that she felt free too.

  “Let’s never go back, Mama,” I wanted to say. But I was too scared. I didn’t want to ruin the moment.

  Mama brought a shoulder bag filled with cookies, chips and soda for me, along with some sandwiches for both of us. We ate as my eyes scanned the landscape—the mounds of eggshell boulders with their chaotic clusters, snaking through the summit, interrupted by small patches of thick green brush.

  Mama, after having finished her sandwich, walked over to where I had been standing on the edge of a steep drop, testing my courage. I had been walking closer and closer to the edge, trying to see if I could get past the surge of adrenaline and rest my feet at the very end so I could look down and see what was at the bottom.

  She took my hand and squeezed it. “You don't want to fall.”

  “What will happen if I do?”

  Mama stopped and stared out at the sky, its fading pinks and yellows casting an eerie orange glare over the horizon. “You go past there.” She pointed to the end of the sky, where the world seemed to drop off at the edge. “And you never come back.” Her voice sounded dead with those final words and sent a chill up my spine.

  I continued to stare out at the horizon with Mama’s hand in mine. “Will I fly?” I remember thinking that there was another part of the world, one that I didn't understand and that she knew about. Just like the house, I thought as a feeling of dread crept over me.

  “No.” She said af
ter a long moment. “You will go away and you won't ever be able to come back. You won’t see your Mama ever again,” she said in that same dead, monotone voice that sounded like it was coming from a different person off in the distance.

  “That's terrible!”

  After a long moment, she seemed to snap out of her spell and looked down at me with a faint smile. “Well, that's life and at some point, we all go there.” She bent down and whisked a few crumbs off my shirt then straightened my collar. “I'll go there someday, but only after I teach you everything I can.”

  “No Mama!” My voice flew down the mountain, causing a flock of birds to fly off to a safer location. “You can't! I won't let you.”

  “Well, there's nothing you can do about it, Raymond. It's the one thing in life you won't be allowed to control.”

  “But you told me I control everything! I make the rules. And you’re Mama. You can't do it. You can't leave me. I need you. I won't have anyone! I'll be in the big house all alone!”

  “It doesn’t work that way, Raymond.” She pushed my hair back on my head but that’s all she said, leaving me to imagine myself wandering the dark halls in the unknown parts of the house by myself for eternity. I was terrified.

  “Promise me you'll never leave me, Mama,” I cried into her neck. “Please.” But I could feel by the way she held me that it was a promise she would never be able to keep.

  Chapter Three - Charlotte

  All I had was a quarter-tank of gas and a night's worth of tips, enough to get me out of the desert, but nowhere near enough to survive once I got out. I was going to have to find a way to make money, and that meant sticking around a little longer.

  I swung a right into the gas station and filled up the whole tank, along with two extra canisters I kept in back. By the time I was done filling up I could barely stand. My heart was racing and all I could think of was my father. I let my head fall against the roof of the car, shaking with sobs.

  He was my father. As disgusting and pathetic as he was now, he had raised me and had taken care of me my whole life. We used to be close. When I was little, he’d tell me stories about my mother, who he claimed to be the most beautiful person in the world, and how they planned to move to Phoenix and get a house together.

  I came to love the beautiful person that I had never met, and wished every night that I could be half as beautiful and loved as she was. I would lay in the dark and stare at the ceiling and imagine myself tall and beautiful, with adoring men surrounding me.

  My father was stuck in that time, I guess we both were. He was still mourning her death and I was still wishing for beauty and adoration.

  But my father was so focused on what he had lost that he had to drown out the present just to keep the past alive. How could you hate somebody like that? It was a tragedy, but he didn’t exactly do it to himself. He was just a victim of the circumstances. His problem was he stayed in that victim role long after she was taken away from him. From us.

  I tried to bring him with me into the present where he might find some value in me and the people who were still alive. But I wasn’t entirely here either so I couldn’t exactly blame him for wanting to block the world out. My dream world consisted of costumes and the feeling that being on stage got me. But at least I knew it was all a fantasy world.

  But I also knew that if I didn’t leave I would wind up buried under that pile of filth right next to him. Staying wasn’t helping him or me. But I had a bad feeling that without me he wouldn't be able to survive. He was too lazy to get up and start the generator. He didn't have enough money for gas and food and he didn't even have a car, so he couldn't go out and get the household supplies he'd need.

  And of course, he wouldn't have his precious beer and cigarettes.

  As I drove back out onto the highway, I tried to focus on the lines on the road. I needed to focus on something, because if I didn't, I'd start sobbing again. Then I wouldn't be able to drive at all. I'd end up pulling over, turning around, and going right back to the house to apologize.

  I was killing him. That's what I was doing. I swung my car onto the shoulder and let my head hit the steering wheel. I was killing him. He raised me. He loved me. I was the only thing he had, and I was killing him.

  Could I do this? Could I just turn my back on him knowing how badly he was going to suffer? I thought back to last night before I left for work. I wore nothing but simple, plain clothes like I always did when I left. I was carrying a black duffel bag with palettes of some of my more expensive supplies when I walked by the couch, careful not to wake him up.

  I was almost to the door when he grabbed my hand and threw me to the ground, where a nasty piece of pizza stuck to my back. “You walk out on me girl, I'll kill you.”

  That was enough to justify leaving. No man owned me. Nobody threatened my safety, especially my own father. A father was supposed to be his daughter's protector. He was supposed to be her support system, her confidante, and when the time came, he was supposed to be the one that would put his life on the line to make sure that nobody hurt her. My father twisted the bond we had and turned our house into a prison built out of his own fear and filth.

  That was enough. Anyone pathetic enough to threaten to kill his own daughter didn't deserve her care. I got back onto the highway, unsure of where to go or what direction to take. There was nowhere to sleep—no motel, not for miles—and I didn't have enough cash to go spending sixty bucks a night while I saved money to move into the city.

  Every quarter mile or so, I would pass small turnouts into the desert—God knows where they led. The land was mostly flat, but farther out there were dry river beds running south that had trees surrounding them and mountains off in the distance.

  Desperate for a place to park and rest, I took a right at a thin dirt road, and carefully made my way through the bare patch of land, watching to avoid the deep craters and boulders that could have easily cracked an axle.

  Eventually, the road curved downward and dusty banks sprung up on both sides. That was when the road started to get patchier. A layer of flat river rocks bigger than my head barred my path. I stopped and stared past the thin, mesquite and palo verde trees jutting out into the road ahead.

  Beyond them was a patch of sand that looked like a dry river bed intersecting the road. It was possible that this was a dangerous place to stop, but when hiking out in the desert, there was pretty much only one rule. You weren't trespassing so long as you didn't cross a thin wire fence.

  This was open land, and there wasn't much out here except coyotes and javelina to bother me. They wouldn't be a problem, so long as I didn't keep any food or wrappers sitting around. I hopped out of the car and walked back to the trunk to pull out a blanket, and adjusted the backseat so I could lie down.

  It was too small; I couldn't stretch out, but I was warm. The old comforter was thick, and when I closed my eyes I immediately fell asleep.

  When I came to, my face felt like it was melting.The stale air suffocated me and a razor-sharp pain in my head dulled my senses. I reached for a water jug sitting at my feet, opened it up, and turned it upside down, forcing the hot liquid down my throat.

  “Fuck!” My voice was like smoke and leather. I reached down to unlock the car and jumped out, allowing my lungs to take in the soft, dry air.

  I was lucky that I woke when I did, or the heat would have cooked me alive a few minutes after the sun hit the car. I looked around, my whole body still covered in sweat, and wondered if maybe there was something I could use to cover the car.

  The creosote bushes and the trees were too thin to offer any cover, and it probably wouldn't have made much difference what I did. The car was going to get too hot for me to sleep in. This would have to be my last day in Graham County.

  I stood up on shaky, aching legs and pulled out some jerky and a cigarette. Would I be able to make enough dancing that night to leave?

  Probably not.

  I only had three hundred dollars, minus what I spent on gas.
I had enough fuel to get me to Phoenix, but I estimated that in order to make a real move, it would take me at least a thousand to go and get a hotel long enough to find work.

  I felt my forehead and pulled my hand back with a sharp intake of breath. It was hot and it was just going to get hotter out here in the open.

  “Fuck!” I stamped my foot on the ground, stirring up a cloud of dust.

  One thing was for certain, I had to get to Red's. That's where the money was. After that, I would decide what I was going to do. I looked back at the car. I had nothing, just a ratty old sedan, and my body. Somehow, I was going to use what I had to make it out of this hell hole.

  I wasn't going back.

  I took another shot of water, swishing the hot liquid around in my mouth before swallowing, then looked around. The place where the car was parked was too thin to turn around, but the river bed a few feet away was long and wide. If I could get my car through the sand I could turn around and get back onto the highway.

  I shut the comforter back up in the trunk and replaced the seat. Then I grabbed the water jug and threw it onto the passenger seat before getting in. The car made it through the sand easily enough, and glided up the dirt road, bouncing every time it hit a rock or pothole. I had to hold onto the handle above the front window to keep my head from bashing against the ceiling and giving myself a concussion.

  The monotony of the highway curving through the desert allowed my head to clear a little bit, and I managed to get some water down. Today was going to be hell, and there was no way of knowing what tomorrow was going to be like.

  I was never comfortable with uncertainty. It was something I had to deal with every night while trying to leave the trailer, wondering whether or not my father would wake up while I was walking past. Only this time, there was a lot more at stake. He might have cussed me out or even slapped me across the face, but at least with him I had a place to sleep … and I wasn’t alone.

  I wondered if I should have just gone home. I could always leave another time. It didn’t have to happen this second. I could get prepared and take a week or two, going back and forth between Graham County and Phoenix getting everything ready. But what would I tell my father if he asked where I had been.