The You I've Never Known(20)

I Wake Late


Stumble out of bed and into clothes.

No time for breakfast, I grab my backpack, yell, “Hurry, Dad!”

and go wait for him in the car.

It’s either ride with him

or take a seat

on the school bus that passes by

around the same time he leaves for work every day.

Buses are for kids.

Okay, technically I still qualify, but considering I was robbed

of a normal childhood, I’ve never really felt like much of a kid.

Once upon a time, I wanted to. I dreamed of playing with other kids.

Dolls. Trucks. Princesses.

Army. Go Fish.

Anything but solitaire.

I wished I could share the playground with someone about my size who’d swing beside me, higher and higher, a race to the sky.

I yearned to ride a bike or roller-skate around a block

busy with children eager for my company.

But anytime

I actually managed to make a buddy, it wouldn’t be long before we’d leave her in a cloud of exhaust as we hit the highway again.

I learned not to bother with connections.

Even once we moved here and it seemed like we might hang around a while, it was months

before I allowed myself the joy of friendship.





Without Monica’s Persistence


That never would’ve happened.

I have zero clue why she decided to make me her pet project.

She reached out before she knew my background, so it couldn’t have been because she felt sorry for me.

I must’ve looked starved for company.

By then it was much too late to go back and try to reclaim some kind of childhood. Nope, I’ve never been a kid. More like a dad-sitter, and God knows he needed one. Still does.

Someone to cook and clean, a substitute wife to make up for the one who split.

Someone to set his workday alarm when he forgets, to quiet the house on weekends when he wants to sleep in. He always says he couldn’t make it without me, that he needs a small voice of reason, not to mention a keeper.





Case in Point


Here he comes hustling

out the door. With luck,

neither of us will be tardy.

But I don’t count on luck.

Which is why I’m relatively

sure the stinking algebra test is going to get the best of me.

Then again, you never know.

Dad jumps in the car, starts

it, and as the engine idles

to “warm,” I remind him,

“Zelda’s making me dinner.”

Obviously, he’s forgotten,

if he ever really knew. What?

She didn’t invite me, did she?

“Um, I wouldn’t know, Dad.”

Definitely in need of a keeper.

“But I’m going over after practice.

She wants me to meet her nephew.”

Oh yeah. I remember now.

He turns, gives me a long, hard assessment. That’s not what you’re planning to wear, is it?

I glance down at myself,

unsure of what his concern

might be. “What’s wrong with

what I’m wearing? It’s clean.”

Is that supposed to be a joke?

Why is he so pissed? “No, Dad.

I just don’t understand why

my outfit bothers you.”

It’s a little too provocative.

Jeans and a peasant blouse?

Everything’s covered, though

the blouse is a gauzy material.

I could argue, but maybe he’s right.

“One sec.” I run into the house, change into a long-sleeved

T-shirt, hoping we won’t be late.

That’s better, Dad says when I get back. Never forget . . . He winks at me. All guys only want one thing.





Not Exactly a Problem


But it could be if I protest too much.

So I nod and wink back. “I’ll remember,

Dad. But don’t worry. Zelda will supervise.”

Engine suitably tepid, he puts the car

in gear, backs out onto the main road.

Guns it. You’ll need a ride home, though.

“Not sure. Maybe Zelda will bring me,

or maybe Gabe has a car. First day,

he probably won’t go for that one thing.”

Yeah, well, if he does—if any dude ever does—you tell me, hear? I’ll take care of it so it never happens again, that’s for sure.

If I ever experience something like that, I think I’ll deal with it and keep it to myself.

I have to admit I’m pretty naive about sex.

Other than a few leering comments, guys

haven’t exactly lined up to take interest in me. I’ve never even been to first base, let alone circled the field. Not with a boy.

Not with a girl. I’ve come closer with Monica than I should have, because I know as soon as I fall in love, Dad’ll find a reason to move.

Moving away from “home” would be bad.

Moving away from love would be devastating.





School Isn’t So Bad Today


Even algebra goes smoothly.

I know the test answers, or at least think I do. Pretty sure I’ll pass anyway. History