He Started It(84)

Portia had gone full goth, from the steel-toed boots to the black lipstick. The first time I saw her, I didn’t know what to say. She looked awful.

“That’s dramatic,” I finally said.

She walked away.

Her music was horrible: rock bands with drawn-out voices and guitar riffs, the kind made for wallowing teenagers. She carried a notebook everywhere. It had a black cover and she drew on the cover with a silver pen. Anarchy signs, skulls and crossbones, that sort of thing.

Still, I didn’t worry too much about her. Everyone has phases. I was in my own first-year-of-college phase and didn’t even recognize it. I thought I was the smartest person on the planet and everyone was too stupid to see it.

That summer, when I was living back home, I heard Portia on the phone with one of her friends. We still talked on landlines back then. Texting was starting to become popular, but Portia didn’t have her own cell phone. Not in 2006.

She was in her room and I was in the bathroom. We shared one; it was between our bedrooms and not accessible from the hall.

“I swear,” Portia said. “If my grandpa hadn’t done that, my life would be totally different. Totally.”

Pause.

“That’s what I’m saying. It’s, like, a huge thing, right? It changes everything.”

Yes, I stayed to listen. You bet I did, because I thought she was talking about the road trip and Grandpa tying Nikki up. A few sentences later, I realized she wasn’t.

“You understand,” she said. “Because you’ve been molested, too.”

Too.

Portia had not been molested by her grandfather. She knew that. She understood what it meant to be touched in her private places, and no, Grandpa had never done that.

I walked into her room.

She was sprawled out on her black bedspread, phone to her ear, staring at the ceiling. It was plastered with rock band posters.

“Um, hello?” she said.

“Hang up,” I said.

“Excuse—”

“Hang. Up.”

She did. Portia sat up, crossed her arms over her chest, and stared at me in a very pissed-off way.

“Why are you telling people Grandpa molested you?” I said.

“Were you listening?” She got off the bed, moving around quick, all full of fire and brimstone. “Oh my God, I can’t get a second to myself in this house. Not one second.”

“Stop.” I grabbed her by the wrist, making her face me. “Why are you saying he did it?”

Portia said something that, to this day, makes me think she understood a lot more on the road trip than I thought she did.

She smiled, her black lips parting to reveal her still-young, still-white teeth. “Because I can.”





It’s not difficult to get to our middle-of-the-desert location. If you remember enough from before, that is. I do. I took note of everything because I was looking so hard for Nikki.

Grandpa drove straight, just straight, until the road forked. He sat for a second, no blinker on, staring at Calvin in his rearview mirror. The investigator also didn’t have a blinker on. Grandpa went left and Calvin followed.

Grandpa drove until he hit the dirt, which wasn’t far. Instead of turning left and staying on the road, he kept going straight. We were surrounded by huge rock mountains, each one crazier-looking than the last. Just like in Thelma & Louise. Years passed before I learned those desert scenes had been filmed in Utah, not Nevada.

Grandpa continued winding his way through the dirt, around the hills, and after maneuvering around one particularly large hill, he pulled over and stopped. I know right where that spot is.

You think that sounds convenient, and I have to admit, if I were hearing this story, I would think the same thing. But it’s not convenient. Not if you could see the rocks.

They’re all different in the desert. From a distance maybe they aren’t, but up close they are. Grandpa pulled over next to one big round rock and two taller ones behind it. As soon as I saw them, I knew what they looked like.

Portia was sitting behind me, and I turned to her and pointed.

“Look. It’s a bunny,” I said.

That’s what the rocks looked like: two rabbit ears and a round nose. Portia started wiggling around, all excited. “Nikki’s here? Nikki’s by the bunny?”

I didn’t answer.

The rocks are what made it so easy to find the same place. One turn left, keep straight until the road turns to dirt, go around the hills, and after getting around the largest one, stop at the bunny. It’s not like this area had changed a lot.

It still feels like the end of the civilized world.



* * *



–––––

Eddie takes the Alamo exit, pausing to pull into a gas station convenience store.

“Last stop.” Before what, he doesn’t say. He’s just taken it upon himself to narrate the end of our trip.

Portia heads to the restroom while Eddie and I go into the store. I get a large coffee with too much sugar. Might as well. My guess is this day will end very quickly or it won’t end for a long, long time.

Eddie analyzes the ingredients in a protein shake. Portia comes inside and grabs a Smartwater—no alcohol today, I guess. We all need to fuel up somehow.

Once we get back on the road, I give orders to Eddie. It’s a nice change.