Chaos and Control(8)

“Nothing. Bennie’s my sister. I’m sure you knew that. She’s the only family I claim.”

He saws at the last onion ring with his knife. It is cut into eight equal size bites. I’m fascinated as he lines them up in stacks of two before proceeding to eat. When he notices me watching, he sets down his fork.

“Do I make you nervous, Preston-who-lives-in-my-apartment?”

“No, Wren.” The way he says my name, the sound of that one syllable wrapped up in his baritone voice forces a sigh from my lips. Preston doesn’t seem to notice. “And if we’re being honest, it’s my apartment now.”

“I hope we are,” I say.

“Are what?”

“Being honest. Always. Honesty is at the top of my list.”

Preston smirks. “What list is that?”

“You know,” I answer, popping a fry in my mouth and chewing. “The list of absolute most-important qualities in a fellow human being.”

“Ah. That list,” he says. “What else makes the list?”

I look up at the yellowed ceiling of the diner, thinking. “Kindness, compassion, and a great ass.”

Preston unleashes a full-on smile at me. It is perfect white teeth and a spark in his bottomless gray eyes.

“A great ass?” he asks.

I return his smile. “That might be more of a subsection of the list, but it’s still important.”

“What’s the age difference between you and Bennie?” he asks, changing the subject.

“Twenty-one years. I was an oops baby. My mom was forty-three when she had me.”

His brows rise high on his forehead as he chews the last bite of onion rings. Preston swaps the plates out, so that the burger sits before him now.

“It was a miracle from God,” I say, imitating my mother’s monotone voice and the sentiment I’ve heard a thousand times.

With half my food gone, I finally start to feel better. My head is clearer. I watch Preston, wondering what’s going on in that constantly toiling mind of his.

“You’re not working today?” I ask.

He nods. “I’m on lunch break. Bennie leaves for the day when I get back.”

“Man, you get lunch breaks? I never got lunch breaks. Where’s she going?”

Preston slides a bite into his mouth. He squirms in his seat, shoulders tense. Nine, ten, eleven, twelve, swallow.

“I don’t know.”

I nod and make a mental note to ask her about it later. When I’m full, I thank Preston for the company and order a lemon square for Bennie. I take the shortcut back to the store, weaving through Tiny’s used car lot. I see Tiny through the dirty window into his office. He’s six-foot-six and easily three hundred and fifty pounds. The name is ironic in a way that these folks think is funny. He used to scare me when I was a kid, but looking at him now, after seeing all the things I’ve seen, he’s not scary at all. He’s just a man selling cars—or, how I see it, tickets out of this place. And I’m a girl who’s going to need one of those.





I like tick-tock routines, symmetry in patterns

Clockwork and familiarity are my wardens

Alone with my thoughts, no condiments to converse, until

She sits across my universe of barren laminated tabletops

Holding her coffee with two hands, like a baby bird

Though interruption is my enemy, a thorn in my frontal lobe I don’t mind her and that sly smile that tilts me on my axis Mind now racing, fingers gripping the best of my restraint

She pours like sand through my cracks, heavy in her intentions Subjects broached, others avoided by leaps and bounds

We play conversational hopscotch over food and paper napkins Flavors intense, plates licked cleaned by attention to detail She doesn’t bat an eye at my choreography of lunch This girl sees me, all the faults and discolors in my veneer With ketchup on her lip, she still insists I’m pretty

- Preston





Chapter Four


Neon Bible


Sundays in Crowley are reserved for church and football. Though Bennie and I have never been ones to conform to town rules. I’m surprised when I step into the kitchen in search of coffee and find her slipping into her fancy shoes. This is her description, not mine. She thinks just because they have a tiny heel, they are fancy. I don’t have the heart to tell her the truth.

“Where are you off to?” I ask, pouring a cup of coffee into my favorite mug. There’s something so refreshing about abandoning a simple item like this only to find it waiting for you three years later.

She’s quiet for a beat too long, and I know she doesn’t want to say.

“Church,” Bennie answers.

“You know how I feel about lying, Bennie.”

Bennie grabs her purse and exhales toward the ceiling. I feel her frustration in having to answer to me. “I’m really going to church, Wren. It’s not too late if you’d like to join me.”

“As far as church goes, it is too late for me. There’s no saving me now. Tell the reverend and wife hello.”

She gives me a wave and walks through the door, closing it behind her. I stare at the back of that door for a while. I’m unable to process all the tiny changes I see in Bennie: her appearance, her drinking, and now church. My first instinct is to go snoop in her room while she’s out, but that is what teenage Wren would do. Not me. Now, more than ever, I know when to respect someone’s space. I was recently taught that lesson the hard way.