The You I've Never Known(66)

I’ve never considered myself patriotic. Definitely not a fan of the military. I married a soldier so I could divorce my mother, not because of his uniform or because I believed in some noble cause. But since this morning, love for my country has skyrocketed.

I don’t know a single soul in New York City, but as I sit glued to the television, watching them run for their lives or stand there, staring in shock, I’m crying for all of them, and for every American. We’re afraid. So very afraid.

The base is scrambling, all personnel on high alert, and I’m sure every active installation in the country is the same way. The threat feels foreign, and what might happen next, not to mention when, is anyone’s guess.

Four different people managed to fly four domestic jet aircraft into four separate targets. Well, the one that went down in Pennsylvania probably missed whatever it was aiming for. Even so, how is this possible?

“Don’t worry,” your daddy tells me. “Everything will be fine. You’re safe. I’ll see to it, no matter what.”

I wish I could believe him, but anxiety surrounds me like a prickly aura, vaguely electric. I work very hard to keep you from sensing it. You’ve played and napped through the whole thing, happily unaware.

While you were sleeping, Tati called, and we talked for a long, long time. One of her cousins is a New York City policeman. She doesn’t know if he’s all right. “Air travel will probably be tough for a while,” she said. “But when it eases up, I want to come visit. Think that would be okay?”

It was the best thing I heard all day, other than you trying out new words that you happened to overhear. “Pre-zi-den?”

“Close. President.”

I wouldn’t want to be President Bush right now. Or anyone in charge of anything. I just want to shut the blinds and hide.

Daddy won’t be home, so I fix your favorite dinner—mini corn dogs and Fritos. After you finish, I go ahead and light the three candles on your cake, and as I watch you licking chocolate frosting off your fingers, I wonder about your future in a world gone totally insane.

What will you face tomorrow? In a year, or five, or a decade? How can I possibly keep you safe when I don’t know what might fall from the sky? Will I spend the rest of my life looking up, or scanning the horizon for incoming planes?

Before today, I was only really afraid of two people. My mother. And your daddy. Sometimes he stares at me and I think he wants to take me apart, and I don’t know why except there’s a piece of him that only appears when roused by anger. So I try very hard not to make him mad. Now, with everything going on, he’ll be ridiculously on edge. As long as he doesn’t take it out on you, I’ll make it all right.

Happy birthday, my angel. I’m sorry this day will always be linked to this awful event, but with time the fear will fade and I’ll do everything I can to make our celebrations happy ones. For now, I’ll share a piece of cake with you. Then we’ll watch Dora the Explorer until you’re ready for bed, and after I tuck you in tonight, I’ll worry about tomorrow.





Ariel



Last Night


Post Gabe-and-Garrett nightmare

I immersed myself in the dream

that is Monica. Once Syrah’s house

emptied we smoked a little weed,

and then it was past time for bed.

You two take my mom’s bed, urged Syrah.

“You’re sure she and her boyfriend are

out of town? I’d hate to surprise them.”

I’m sure. She and the nimrod don’t have sex here. I think she’s afraid I’ll learn something a girl shouldn’t by listening in on her mom. So when they’re in the mood they get a room. And, lucky you, that also means the sheets are mostly clean.

Where’s your sister tonight? asks Monica. One of us could take her bed.

She spent the night with a friend, and if you’d rather sleep separately, okay by me.





No Judgment


Either way. I love that about Syrah. She went off to her own bed to dream about Gabe

or whatever. I was so happy when he finished the cleanup, then begged off for the night.

Not sure if he intuited my negative reaction or if the act of beating people to a bloody pulp tired him out, but he left right away, reminding me

we’d talk after my game.

Once Syrah shut her door, I asked, “You want to be alone tonight? It’s okay if you do.”

It would’ve hurt my feelings terribly, but I wasn’t about to say so. “Feliz cumplea?os, mi bella amiga.” Happy birthday, my beautiful friend, and that’s exactly how she looked there in the low lamplight. Beautiful— wild and dark and unpredictable, like some creature of the forest.

She held out her hand.

Quiero pasar la noche contigo.

We spent the night together.





Monica’s Beauty


Was blanketed by darkness,

but every unique inch of her is pressed into my memory.

All the recent ugliness melted beneath the luscious mocha

of her skin, a whisper against mine, promising tomorrows

saturated with love. Love. I hardly know how to accept the possibility that it’s real, and available to me.

We had no need to hurry, and in the tarrying, I found something unexpected—an exchange of energy so intense I think we could have come without even touching.