The You I've Never Known(34)

It won’t be a fancy wedding. Just Jason and me down at the courthouse. Well, Tati will be there as my witness, and Jason’s brother will stand up for him. But I’ll wear a pretty, new dress that I bought with seventy-eight dollars of the money Dad left me. It’s pale green, with lots of flowing fabric to semi-conceal my blossoming belly. Oh, Mom won’t be attending.

Jason wanted to go with me to break the news, but I figured I’d better handle it on my own, and I’m glad I did. Mom did not take it well. I gave her the worst of it first. Too bad I was standing so close. She grabbed me by the hair, yanked my face toward hers. “Pregnant? You disgusting little whore! I knew you were sneaking around. How will I ever live this down?”

“You don’t have to tell anyone, Mom. All you have to do is sign the marriage license application. Jason asked me to be his wife.” I flashed my ring, which she somehow hadn’t even noticed.

She pushed me away. “You call that an engagement ring? Diamond chips and blue glass? I bet he got it at a pawnshop. And who is this Jason, anyway?”

“He’s a soldier, Mom, like you care. Do you want to meet him?”

“I do not. In fact, I’d better not find him in my house. I’m going to call and make an appointment for you to get an abortion. And then I’ll see about moving to L.A. right away. You obviously need supervision.”

“No way, Mom. I’ll be going to Fort Hood as soon as the ink on the license is dry.”

“I don’t believe I agreed to this ridiculous idea. I’m still your mother, you know.”

I backed up a step. “You haven’t been my mother since you went searching for your inner alien.”

Her fists clenched and unclenched, and I moved closer to the door.

“No need to start now, though. All you have to do is sign the application.”

“What if I won’t?”

“You know that audit partner of yours? What’s his name again? Oh, yeah. Royce.” I knew I had her when she went stiff and her face turned the color of ripe watermelon. “I wonder how Sea Org would feel about your relationship. Not to mention his wife. They’re moving to L.A., too, aren’t they?”

I happened to pick up the phone one day when she and her fuck buddy were in deep conversation. Let’s just say extramarital relationships are frowned on within the Scientology organization, especially among higher-ranking members. I saved the information for a rainy day, and the storm had arrived.

“Anyway,” I continued without explaining further, “I’m happy to keep my mouth shut. Just let me go and everyone will be satisfied. Including Royce and you, obviously.”

Rarely have I seen her so mad, and it made me so happy. “You would resort to blackmail, wouldn’t you?”

I smiled. “Oh, yeah.”

“Okay, then. You deserve every bad thing that will come from this, and don’t you dare come crawling back when you realize the enormity of this mistake. I wash my hands of you. Understand?”

“Totally.”

All I am is dirt under her fingernails, anyway.





Ariel



There Are Dreams


You never want to wake up from. Doesn’t matter if you find yourself in some

cloud forest or at a country fair, it’s all about who you’re with in those dreams.

Regardless of what you’re doing—slow dancing or riding a carousel—it’s how you

feel just being with them, like finally you’re whole.

But then dawn insists you have to

let go of the fantasy, cleave in two again, leave that half behind while you claw up

into the real-world realm, sweat clinging to you like the regret you can’t run away from.





The Dream


I fight my way out of is tinted green. Not dark like evergreen but more the hue of summer leaves. It’s familiar, but discomfiting.

And I don’t have a clue why.

I do know it belongs to a place I’ve been before. A place I’m very sure I called home once upon a long time ago. I lie in bed now, hair damp with sweat.

Try to identify the reason for my apprehension.

On the far side of one of those green walls, people were arguing.

Of course my dad was one of them.

The other must’ve been one of his female companions.

I can’t quite conjure her face.

But the voice that matches the color was soft. Throaty.





I Cycle Back Through


The places

I remember

us living, recalling my temporary bedrooms.

At Nadia’s,

where the smell of horses permeated everything, every wall in every room was white.

At Cecilia’s,

which was plain and squat and stuck in some bygone era, dark wood paneling covered the walls.

At Leona’s,

I slept in her dead daughter’s bedroom, where beneath the photo tributes, the walls were blue.

Azure.

The very color of Leona’s husband’s eyes. That floats up from nowhere. Maybe eventually the source of the green will, too.





What Pops


Into my head now is Monica.

We talked on the phone late

into last night, right up until Dad tripped on something