Take Me With You(59)

“Okay,” I say.

Once he starts again, I move the light, at his heavy penis, flapping to and fro as he manipulates the vac.

He stops again, widening his eyes and thrusting his hands towards the mess.

“What? It's pretty!” I chuckle.

He just looks at me deadpan, like he can't believe my immaturity at this moment.

“Fiiiine,” I sigh. “Killjoy.”

I shine the light on the mess. He nods and mouths thank you before finishing up.

When he's done, he rounds up his stuff. In the midst of that, he hands me a bag of something. Jerky. I devour it while he finishes his work. I'm sure he's leaving, but I've already suggested he stay and I won't beg. He places all in his things in front of the door and takes the flashlight from me. He points the beam to the bed, to me, to the bed.

Get in.

I slide onto the bed.

He jerks the flashlight to the other side of the bed.

Move over.

I do.

He gets into bed. I pretend not to be shocked. He's just tired and doesn't want to hike back. I glance toward the door. His stuff is a blockade. He wasn't planning on leaving.

I lie down, and stare up at the dark skylight. This time, he drapes his arm around me. Not an accidental gesture during sleep, but a conscious choice. I could tell myself it's affection, but I know better. This time, if I move, he'll wake up instantly.





We've been in mom’s room for two days. She won't let me leave. Some weeks she's normal, then others, she gets a signal and we have to hide. Then she just sews and sews. I asked why once, and she said it's all she can do now, it makes her feel less scared. She says the sewing machine drowns things out.

When she's calm, she reads to me, makes me do math and history, just like school. I get to play outside in the forest for hours. But when she's like this, when the people are getting close, she just gives me books and makes me sit in the corner on the floor, so in case they can see through the fabric and paper, they still won't see me through the windows.

Dad used to come every weekend with Scoot. But they started arguing more and now he only comes once a month.

“Mom, I'm hungry.”

“You still have food, don't you?” she asks without looking up.

I look at the plate strewn with crumbs beside me on the floor.

“You have to pace yourself!”

“I'm bored.”

She sucks her teeth and stops the machine. “I'm sorry you're bored. But sometimes we do things we don't want to do, and this is one of those things.”

Sometimes I don't believe that people are coming to get me. We've been here for a year and I haven't seen or heard of anyone. She won't let me make friends or go to the neighbors. The few times she's let me leave the ranch was with her and we don't speak to anyone, we just go to the stores to get what we need.

“The animals, m-m-om. They need to be w-w-watched.”

“They'll be fine. Now here, read your book,” she says, passing me Green Eggs and Ham. It used to be my favorite. She would read it to me before bed and tickle my nose when it was my part to say “Sam I am.” It was the first book I could read aloud the whole way through without stammering. But now, she just gives it to me when she needs me to be quiet.

I flip through the pages and roll my eyes. I can recite the book backwards and reading it is pointless now. I begin to get angry. I want to scream. I want to go out and play. This isn't fair.

“I do not like it in this r-room. I do not like it on the floor. I do not like this anymore!” I scream.

Mom scurries over to me and sits next to me. “Shhhh! You have to be quiet.” She rubs away my tears. “Heeey, that was so good what you did there. Did you just make that up?”

I nod.

“That was a good poem!”

“When's Scoot com-m-m-m-ing?” I ask, my mouth quivering with sobs.

“He's—oh no,” she mouths, jumping up to her feet, looking through all her materials. “Do you have your composition book in here?” she asks.

I hand it to her. She goes to the back, counting the days on the calendar.

“Crap. He's coming today.” She glances at the clock. “He'll be here in an hour. I need your help Sam, we need to fix this mess up and get everything back to normal,” she says.

I'm happy to have dad and Scoot back, and to be out of the room, so I begin cleaning up the scraps. Mom doesn't like dad to know about the times we hide. He gets angry and threatens to take me back to Sacramento. But I know he never will. He doesn't want me around all the time like that.

We run around the house, cleaning, vacuuming. I put on my boots and run out to tend to the horses and goats. They made a mess and have run out of food. As I walk out of the stalls, I see my dad pulling up in his pickup truck with Scooter in the passenger seat. I stand there with a bucket in my hand, waiting for them. Dad stops the car and Scooter jumps out of his side and runs at me.

When he gets close, he punches me in the shoulder. “Ewww, you stink.”

“I-i-i-it's t-t-t-he ami-ami-animals,” I say. I want to sound perfect for dad, and it always makes me worse.

Dad walks over. He's not wearing his uniform today, just a pair of blue jeans and boots with a striped shirt. “Hey, son,” he says, rubbing my head. “Mom inside?”