The You I've Never Known(13)

for self-discovery is growing.

I’ll never figure out who I am and what I want from life if I keep relying on Dad’s input.

Time to leap

from the nest,

experience flight, even if it means a crash landing or two.

I don’t say anything like that to Dad, of course.

He enjoys his role as overseer.

But maybe,

if I’ve played my cards perfectly, he’ll loosen the reins and let me try to find my flight path.





But as It Turns Out


That’s not exactly what Dad’s got

in mind. In fact, it’s not even close.

He grabs a six-pack of Budweiser

from the fridge, tells me to get

behind the wheel of his LeSabre.

You drive. You can use the practice.

That has me going for a few, but

now he tells me to turn up country

rather than toward town. “Where’re we going?” I ask, still hoping he’ll tell me to look at a car. Instead, he says,

We haven’t taken a nice long ride in a while, and I’ve been wanting to check out this place called Indigeny Reserve. It’s apple season, you know.

Plus I’ve got a hankering for cider.

Well, at least he’s letting me drive.

Once in a while when I was little,

he used to sit me on his lap and have me steer while he worked the pedals.

Then later, when my legs grew long enough to reach the gas and brake,

on way-out-of-the-way roads, usually

dirt, he’d let me handle it all. So I mostly know what I’m doing. “When can I get

my license?” I nudge. “I can pass the test.”

Yes, I know. You just need my signature on the application. You’ve been saying the same thing for months. But since you don’t happen to own a car— “But Zelda said . . .” I realize suddenly maybe I should’ve kept quiet about it.

Zelda said what? Open-container laws be damned, he pops a beer.

Too late to turn back. “Oh, kind of in passing she mentioned you’ve been

looking at used cars. Guess I assumed— or hoped, really—it was for me.”

He splashes into a big pond of anger,

comes up stuttering. Bigmouthed bitch.





Damn, Damn, Damn


I’ve done it now. Last thing

I wanted to do was get him

angry at Zelda. “Don’t be mad, Dad. She’s just excited for me.

If she was wrong about your

intentions, it’s no big deal.”

He slurps his beer, reels

himself in. Look, Air, I’d like to get you a car, but I haven’t been able to find an affordable vehicle worthy of the investment. I can do the labor if something goes wrong, but parts are expensive, plus there’s insurance and gas.

Way to explode my zeppelin,

Dad. But, hey, here’s an idea.

“What if I get a job?” I expect him to embrace the concept,

but his immediate reaction is, No frigging way. Not on my watch.

If I can’t pay for it, you don’t need it.

Pride? I don’t think so. But if not that, what then? “Lots of kids get jobs, Dad. In fact, lots of parents require their offspring to prove how responsible they actually are.”





Except for a Slurp


Of his beer, he’s quiet for a good

half mile. Okay, it’s more like three

or four slurps, before he finally says, I’ve failed you in so many ways, little girl. I simply can’t let you work when I’m responsible for your needs.

“But, Dad, you said it’s important

for women to make their own way

in the world and not rely on a man.”

He thinks that over for a second.

I don’t believe I’ve ever said that, and definitely not when it comes to you.

An uneasy silence bloats the space

between us. I heard him say those precise words before, and now I search my memory vault to dig up exactly when. I’ve got it.

We were staying with Cecilia, one

of several women Dad hooked up with

along the way during our nomadic days.

That was a pattern. Touch down

somewhere he felt like hanging

around, he’d pick up a woman hungry

for a man and willing to put up with

his kid. Dad was all charm, and the world offered up plenty of lonely ladies.

Talking them into putting us up for a while was something he accomplished easily.

When I was really young, I totally

thought he was seeking a replacement

mom for me, but as I got older, I came to realize the relationships were never meant to become permanent. Rather,

they allowed us periods of home-cooked meals, regular showers, and a temporary address that accommodated school.

Oh, not to mention fairly frequent sex for Dad, who happily accepted all benefits as long as they didn’t require monetary compensation. Once in a while he took part-time work, but that was rare, and as far as I know, he contributed very little of his paychecks to our upkeep.

Things were no different at Cecilia’s, where we’d stayed for a couple of months. I guess I was twelve because I got to ride the bus to school for a whole sixth-grade semester.