The You I've Never Known(8)

Tati escorted me to the open casket. I could tell she didn’t want to, but in the moment I crumbled, she reached for me, propping me up with a subtle merge of fingers. “I’m here for you,” she whispered. Well, of course she was, though as soon as we turned to leave, she let go of my hand. Considering where we were, that was necessary. But painful.

Outside, Uncle Wade stood sweating in the sweltering late August shade. “Would you like to follow the hearse to the cemetery and witness the lowering?”

Watch the earth swallow my dad, bait for my nightmares? I shook my head. “I have to get back to Austin or Mom will throw a fit.”

He handed me a manila envelope. “Your father wanted you to have this. He loved you very much, you know. He was sorry he didn’t have more to give you.”

All I could do was nod and look inside. I’d thought every photo of my father was gone—trashed in one of Mom’s rages. But Dad had kept a handful of the two of us, and now they’ll be my hidden treasure. I have to hide them from Mom, along with Dad’s handwritten apology for leaving me, and $1200 cash.

“He saved every penny he could,” Uncle Wade said. “He hoped it might help you go to college, so try not to spend it all in one place.” He winked, as if to say he knew college isn’t in my plans. I’ll be lucky to graduate high school. Not because I’m not smart enough to do the work, but as my counselor says, I lack motivation.

What I am motivated to do is find a way out from under my mother’s heavy-handed rule. Case in point: when Tati dropped me off at home (she never comes inside, not that I blame her), I stashed my treasured envelope behind a bush outside my bedroom window, knowing it was sure to draw Mom’s attention, and it would’ve. The second I walked in the door, she pounced. “Where have you been?” Spit pooled in the corners of her mouth.

I could’ve lied. But in that moment it seemed disrespectful. Not to her. To my father. “I went to Dad’s funeral.”

“That’s the best you can do? You expect me to believe that?”

“I don’t care if you do or you don’t. He’s dead. And by now he’s buried. I didn’t hang out to watch.”

She didn’t say she was sorry. Didn’t ask how I found out he’d died. What she said was, “I’m surprised he lasted this long. He got more time than he deserved. Regardless, I’m extremely unhappy with you. How dare you leave this house without telling me where you’re going, and who you’d be with?”

That’s her Cardinal Rule, and I used to comply. Not so much anymore, though. Now I break it every chance I get, and if she happens to catch me, I come up with a good story. But I didn’t think I needed an excuse to go to Dad’s funeral. “I figured you’d say no.”

She froze for a second, and in that moment her face morphed into something animal. Feral. When she spoke, it was a snarl. “Soon enough saying no won’t be an option. We’re moving to Sea Org in Los Angeles this spring. You’ll live on campus, in youth housing. They won’t put up with your shenanigans.”

All I know about Sea Org is what I’ve overheard. It’s where high-level Scientologists go to become even higher-level Scientologists. I guess I should’ve paid more attention, asked a few more questions. I should have pretended to care. But one thing’s certain. “I’m not going anywhere. You might be sucked into that bullshit, but you can’t make me.”

“Bet me.”

I didn’t see the backhand coming. The prongs of her ring bit into my cheek, leaving four little red cuts to go with the ugly bruise meant to put me in my place. All it did was make me more determined than ever to leave this house behind as soon as I can figure out a way to go without her having me arrested.

I’m considering my next move now.





Ariel



October 9, Six A.M.


I rouse to a volley of flimsy snores.

My friends are both asleep on the floor, Monica on the right side of my bed; Syrah on the left. She wanted to drive herself home last night. I said no way.

Friends don’t let friends drive loaded to the max.

Speaking of that, my head feels like someone poured cement inside it—thick and churning. Hope it doesn’t set up. My skull’s already hammering.

Why do I drink again?

Why does anyone

drink to excess?

Not the best way

to start my seventeenth year celebration. Hopefully the day will improve quickly.





I Slide Out of Bed


Quietly, no more than a slight

creak of the aging wooden frame.

Tiptoe down the hall to the bathroom, noticing the snoring on the far side of my dad’s bedroom door is much

louder than the tremulous snuffling on the floor of my own room. He and Zelda stumbled in really late last night.

Neither of them should have driven

home, but one of them must have.

Dad’s LeSabre is parked just off the road, not quite straight on the dirt shoulder, as if trying to maneuver it into the driveway was just too damn much to manage.

If they consumed that much alcohol, they should’ve stayed over at Zelda’s in town. Dad probably figured I’d be having a party, something he needed to supervise. I’m glad the actual partying part was well behind us when they arrived.