The You I've Never Known(12)
She Holds Up One Hand
As if to say stop. No worries.
You don’t have to take me.
Ari’s friend offered to give me a ride home. Oh . . .
She glances at me nervously.
Is it okay to call you Ari?
I’m not big on nicknames,
but at least she asked,
and it kind of feels warm.
I’d say like family, but that’s something I don’t have much experience with. I start to tell her it’s fine, but before I can open my mouth, Dad interjects,
No, it’s not okay, it’s way too goddamn familiar.
She’s my daughter and I don’t even call her Ari.
Unless he attaches
“Fairy” to it, apparently, but I’m not jumping into
this round of his game
except to say, “I don’t mind,”
disregarding the eye arrows he shoots in my direction.
Zelda Ducks Them, Too
Choosing to use my un-nicked
name. Anyway, I’ll go ahead
and ride back into town with
Ariel’s friends so I don’t
interrupt your day. I know
you’ve made other plans.
Dad scowls. What the hell are
you talking about, woman? My plan was to buy some beer, take you
home, and watch the Astros game
at your house. She’s got a big-screen TV. We don’t. Houston’s on a roll.
Zelda shoots me a sympathetic
glance. It’s your daughter’s
birthday, Mark. Spend it with her.
Now you’re telling me what to
do? But when he notices the hurt in my eyes, he says, Fine, goddamn it.
Stung to the core, tears threaten.
I push them away. “It’s okay, Dad.
You watch the game. I’m good.”
No, no, he backtracks. Zelda’s right.
A girl only turns seventeen once.
What would you like to do today?
Hard Question
I’m considering my answer when Syrah and Monica finally appear, dressed in yesterday’s clothing, which is wrinkled and carries vague essences of tamales, vodka, and weed.
Emphasis on the Mexican food, thank goodness, and maybe the rest is all in my head. Dad and Zelda don’t seem to notice.
Okay, says Syrah. Better hustle.
I have to stop at home and change.
Come by the restaurant later and we’ll do something cool for your day.
Something cool like a sundae?
asks Monica. ’Cause you can count me in! Let me know what time if you’re going, okay? I’ll even bring the candles. She comes over.
Gives me a hug.
A long hug.
Long enough
to make me squirm,
hoping Dad doesn’t
notice and take it
the wrong way.
Which would be the correct way.
But he’s too busy
sloppy kissing Zelda
to notice anyway.
Let’s blow this joint! orders Syrah, and Monica reluctantly lets go. Zelda, on the other hand, seems happy enough to disconnect.
Trouble in paradise?
I hope not. Even though
she’s only been tethered
to Dad for a few short
months, she’s an anchor,
holding us in place here.
Just to be safe, I offer again, “Dad, if you want to take Zelda home and watch
the game, I’m good with
it. We can do a movie
and dinner in town later.”
He thinks it over, but finally says, Nah. I’d have to come back out and pick you up.
I’ve got a better idea. You girls go ahead. We’ll talk about dinner and give you a time.
Once the Others Leave
Dad tells me to get dressed, we’re going for a drive, and as I don a pair of loose-fitting jeans and my favorite camouflage tee, I can’t help but think about Zelda’s comment. Could Dad be taking us shopping for a used car?
Because that would make this birthday just about perfect.
A car that belongs to me.
How awesome would that be?
Not because of some grand
desire to hit the road and explore the country. I’ve already done that, and so if I inherited Dad’s wanderlust, it’s already been satisfied. But just the ability to drive myself to school, or home after practice, without asking for help or permission.
That, to me, defines freedom.
Not just the independence part, but also the ability to decide it’s time to go and find my own way home.
I’ve Been Old Enough
To get my license for a year now.
Everybody I know already has one.
That includes Monica, though she rarely gets to use it because she doesn’t own a car.
That’s been Dad’s excuse, too.
No vehicle to drive, why bother with all that paperwork?
But I’m pretty sure Dad wants to control how I come and go so he can inform my every decision.
To be honest,
I used to think that was okay.
I believed I needed a decent keeper, that independence was too much
responsibility.
It was easy, being told what to do.
But now that I’ve had a taste of free will, my appetite