The Sky Between You and Me

by Catherine Alene

  “Of course you’re not, because you’re fine, right? Perfectly fine. And as long as you’re okay, the rest of the world, which now includes me, can go to hell. Oh, except for Lacey, because she won’t tell your secret, right? Little kids are pretty handy that way.”

  I look at the sweatshirts

  Stare at the wall

  At the ceiling

  Because really

  What does Lacey have to do with anything?

  “I don’t know what to tell you, Raesha,

  but this is fucked

  completely fucked

  and I

  don’t

  know

  what

  to

  do.”

  Insomnia

  It works best when I begin with my toes

  Or it used to anyway

  Imagining them relaxed

  Pinky toe first

  Pulling a blanket of sleep

  Up and over my foot

  Ankle

  Calf

  Eased into the rest that’s abandoned me tonight

  Sitting at the end of the couch

  Knees pulled to my chest

  Staring into the television

  Ignoring the weight of the phone in my hand

  Wondering (knowing) what Asia would say

  If I called

  Said I was sorry

  Again

  Knowing I could sleep

  If I called

  Unless…

  A Hundred Reasons

  I would probably call

  If I wasn’t so interested in the television

  Completely absorbed in the show chronicling a woman’s travels

  Through England-Iceland-China-wherever it was she was

  I was suddenly on my feet

  Nudging Blue with my toes

  Not waiting for him to stretch himself awake

  And follow me upstairs

  To organize

  Something

  Anything

  Last night it was cleaning the kitchen

  The counters

  The floors

  Tonight my closet

  Now the guest room

  Not that a guest has ever stayed in it

  There’s really no need

  What with the spare room downstairs

  Much more comfortable than the guest room upstairs

  Where no one has slept

  Since Dad moved his clothes into the room down from mine

  Because after she was gone it became too hard

  To sleep there

  Alone

  This is my favorite place to clean

  After the arms of the clock have swung into the single digits

  When Dad is away

  Working

  Leaving me

  To organize

  This space

  To sort

  My thoughts

  Everything in its Place

  Blue walks through the door

  His nails clicking against the wood floors

  The crankiness that festered all day

  Like the cactus spines in the pads of his paw

  I had to pull out this afternoon

  Leaving him limping and sore

  Fills up his chest

  Escaping as a groan as he flops onto the floor at my feet

  I kneel and kiss him on the muzzle

  Smoothing his triangle ears against his head

  Pausing to untangle a cocklebur from beneath his collar

  The cleaning always goes the same

  Beginning with the kerosene lamps

  Lined up along the top of the dresser

  One in each window

  Lifting the glass off each

  Rubbing it clear with one of Dad’s old shirts

  White cotton worn through

  Fibers broken by the work

  Of the hauling and feeding and moving that never ends

  Next to the bed

  Smoothing the sheets

  I never asked where the quilt went

  The one with the doves and leaves she was given

  She lay beneath

  For naps

  That became longer and longer

  I wish I had

  Asked

  Next to the floor

  Running the dust mop around Blue

  Beneath the bed

  Where the handle

  Catches the edge of a box

  The size of a deck of cards

  Tucked into the frame

  Now laying in the fluff of dust

  Pushed and piled by the mop

  Clove cigarettes

  I remember her quitting

  Or trying

  Forsaking those moments she spent with the stars on the porch

  Beneath my window after I was in bed

  Exhaling her way out of the day

  Taking up walking instead

  Around the pond

  Through the pastures

  Because she had a little girl who needed her healthy she’d said

  Not knowing about the tumor in her breast

  Already there

  Growing

  Slowly

  Growing

  That’s where I go

  To the porch and the stars

  Blue sits on the steps beside me

  Hindquarters perched one step higher than his paws

  Nosing the box on my knees

  Urging me to open it

  And I do

  I can see the box isn’t new

  A matchbook tucked into the plastic wrap

  Top half-torn away

  So I don’t know why my hands start shaking

  When I see they aren’t all

  There

  Why the tears start

  When I pull one out

  Shorter than the rest

  Gently snubbed

  Blue backs away

  Curling up on his saddle blanket

  When I pull the flame through the tip with my breath

  Feeling

  Loving

  The fire pouring down my throat

  Running my tongue along my lips

  Tasting the sweetness

  I thought I knew

  Falling

  He said my head bounced

  Against the tile

  When the floor pulled me down

  We’d been hovering in the hallway

  Just outside the classroom door

  “Then how come you didn’t drive together?” he’d asked.

  We just didn’t.

  But he knew Asia and I were fighting

  As soon as he saw her truck pull into the parking lot

  Without me

  Which made me mad

  Because if he knew

  Why was he asking?

  I’d been standing

  Back pressed

  Flat

  Holding up the wall

  Holding up me

  Talking to Cody

  Absorbing the cool of the metal lockers

  Had my knee not been locked

  If I could have slept

  Even with Blue tight against my side

  Curled up underneath the blankets

  His head smelling like pond water on the pillow next to me

  I couldn’t fall

  Asleep

  (I’d gotten the shakes

  Bad

  Last night

  After)

  It’s a bad habit

  Like biting my nails

 
Or moving my lips when I read

  Only this one

  This habit

  Tinges the bristles of my toothbrush with blood

  Filling my mouth with the taste of baking soda and iron

  That’s what I’d thought of

  The pond

  The way the water feels filling up my nose and ears

  When I’d reached

  For

  Cody

  There

  Now

  He wipes the blood

  Trickling from my nostril

  With his bandanna

  Always tucked in his back pocket

  Tender as a cow licking her calf clean

  Me looking up

  Surfacing

  Through

  All the voices

  Aftermath

  I sit

  Stand

  Am raised up by Cody

  His arm

  Around my waist

  Holding me strong as I blink the walls slanting sideways right

  I can’t tell if it’s the blood

  Staining Cody’s bandanna

  The taste of baking soda and iron

  On my tongue

  Or the floor

  Pitching and rolling

  That makes my mouth fill with saliva

  Nausea

  Mr. Retsom steps out the door

  Into the hall

  Wondering at the commotion

  That is now me

  Leaning against Cody

  Encircled by stares

  Cody guides me through the audience

  To the office

  Where I lay

  Inhaling the smell of coffee and ink

  On the bed with the paper sheet and tablecloth-thin blanket

  Listening to Miss Mary Lee typing at the computer

  Monitor edged with photos of her children

  School nurse

  Secretary

  My former babysitter

  back when I wore turtle-patched overalls

  not caring if my socks matched

  Ice in the plastic bag

  Pressed to my forehead

  Melts

  Finds a hole

  Seeps

  Through the washcloth over my eyes

  Into my hair

  I know I should go back to class

  But the fear in Cody’s eyes

  Will have flowed through his lips

  Into Asia’s ears

  Heart

  I won’t

  Don’t

  Know what to do

  About the trouble

  I created

  again

  Exit Stage Left

  I’d stood at her desk

  With the phone

  In my hand

  Stuck

  Because

  “Your dad’s not home?”

  Miss Mary Lee asked.

  No

  But he will be

  Home

  Soon

  I said

  Which wasn’t much

  Of a lie

  “Well then. What should we do?” she’d asked.

  Knowing I couldn’t go back to class

  Not with a headache like this

  Knowing I definitely didn’t want to wait

  On the paper-sheet bed until my dad could come

  Which is how I ended up here

  Sitting in her car

  The gas fume pop of the ignition

  The crunch of tires on the gravel of the staff parking lot

  Headed home

  I wish I would have

  Know I couldn’t have

  Talked to Cody

  Found Asia to let her know

  That I didn’t

  Wouldn’t need

  A ride home

  Before I left

  “Now, you’ll be all right, won’t you?” Miss Mary Lee asks,

  As our driveway comes into sight

  “Give me a call if you need anything.”

  I will. Thanks for the ride.

  Blue comes tearing around from behind the house

  In a plume of dust

  He must have been dozing

  For us to have gotten this close

  Without him hearing

  Miss Mary Lee reaches over and turns the music down

  “I mean it. Any little thing comes up and you give me a call.”

  I will.

  I repeat

  But I won’t

  Feeling better

  Now that I’m home

  I swing the car door open

  Careful not to look back

  Into eyes that care

  Too much

  Thanks again.

  I end up saying it more to Blue

  Dancing around my legs

  Happy to have me

  Home

  Miss Mary Lee leans toward the passenger side window

  Still open

  “Get some rest, sweetie,” she calls.

  As she backs out of our driveway

  I pull out my best smile

  Dust it off

  Put it on

  As I wave

  Reminding myself

  I am fine

  I don’t need

  Anything

  At all

  Stripped Bare

  Standing in front of the open refrigerator

  Absorbing the cold with my body

  I stare at the shelves

  Lined with food

  Dad restocked

  Before he left last night

  I haven’t touched any of it

  The food will all go bad

  By the time Dad gets back

  So what does it matter?

  All of it

  Goes

  I’m not leaving

  Anything

  Juice

  Cheese

  Yogurt

  The trash can is under the sink

  I stack it full

  Strip the shelves

  Bare

  Protecting myself

  So I don’t

  Fuck up

  Throw up

  I’ve been good

  My body feels clean

  The trash can is heavy

  I drag it out the back door

  My arms are so tired that I can’t lift it

  Into our outside can

  It doesn’t matter

  It’s better this way

  Throwing away one thing at a time

  The bag is the last to go in

  This is what control looks like

  It feels good

  Role Play

  The trash can is easy to carry

  Now that it’s empty

  Inside the phone rings

  It’s Dad

  I knew it would be

  School ended

  Add drive time

  Enter phone number

  And here I am

  He’s on time

  To the minute

  Focus

  How are you

  was school

  Is Blue

  And the cattle

  How are they

  Minus five

  Focus

  On filling my voice

  With the energy I don’t have

  Because it’s fine

  It is

  So that’s what I say

  His radio plays in the background

  I picture him in his truck

/>   On the map in my head

  A red dashed line starts

  At the X that is our house and crawls across the state

  Dad starts talking

  About this stockyard

  And a registered Black Angus sale

  I walk upstairs to my room

  Phone cupped to my ear

  To the pile of clean laundry

  I threw on my bed this morning

  Without folding

  I’ll do it

  In a minute

  Just not now

  The sun teases me over with a warm square of light

  Through my bedroom window

  I see a truck

  Asia’s truck

  Driving away

  With Blue chasing behind

  Dad’s story is winding down

  I pick up

  The tail end

  I’ve got to go.

  Drive safe.

  I love you.

  I say

  Miss you

  I think

  I click off the phone

  Look around the living room

  For some sign that Asia was here

  That she came in without knocking

  Like she always does

  But she didn’t come in

  Didn’t wait

  Not even for a minute

  Delivery

  My books are

  Stacked on the porch

  Homework

  Asia brought me my homework

  Blue’s twisting and wagging around my legs

  My hand finds his head

  My mind wanders back

  To the food in the garbage

  It would hurt

  Filling my stomach

  It would hurt

  Jamming my hand down my throat

  It would be good

  To hurt

  Like that right now

  The dust from her tires

  Still hangs in the air

  I pick up a book

  The one on the top is the biggest

  The heaviest

  An anthology

  I love the weight of it in my hands

  On my knees

  As I sit down on the top step

  Blue sits next to me

  My fingers walk down the spine of the book

  Grasping it on either side

  It’s a broom

  A fan

  Sweeping back and forth in the air

  Scraps of paper

  My notes

  Flutter free

  Floating for a moment

  Before they hit

  The ground

  Unexpected Gift

  It wasn’t what I had wanted

  That bike

  Slightly more than lightly used

  Cracked leather seat veined dark with age

  Wheel spokes skinnied away

  By the rust that colored the frame