Fallout

  harassed

  me in such cruel fashion,

  but it seemed my teachers

  never saw the instigation,

  only my sometimes

  over-

  the-top reaction. How

  many recesses I stayed

  inside, while the bullies

  went out to play!

  I don’t

  remember exactly when

  it stopped. Middle school,

  I guess. Maybe eighth

  grade. Doesn’t matter. All I

  know

  is that eventually some

  of my mom’s fame

  rubbed off on me.

  MOM’S FAME

  May not have been the most

  valid way to gain friends

  and win dates. But hey, whatever

  works, right? I’ll never

  forget this one girl. Tori. God,

  she was a rabid Marie

  Haskins fan. Stalker material.

  When she found out

  who I was, she threw herself

  at my feet. Actually,

  a more literal way to put that

  is she threw herself on

  her knees. Right in front of me.

  It may have been my first

  oral experience, but she for sure

  had a fair bit of practice.

  All she asked for in return was

  a signed Marie Haskins

  book. I told Mom it was for a sick

  girl. Not far from the truth.

  THE MEMORY

  Elicits a lustful smile. Montana

  can’t help but take notice.

  Wow. Thinking about

  Christmas presents just now?

  “Not Christmas, but definitely

  a gift worth remembering.”

  The grin she returns is knowing,

  even if she is only guessing.

  Then she flips back into announcer

  mode. Speaking of Christmas presents,

  Hunter, look who’s coming down

  the street right now! Anticipation

  bloats the crowd. “You mean

  that jolly old elf himself, Montana?”

  That’s right. Here comes Santa,

  and … has he been working out?

  The kids all strain to see svelte

  Santa. “I think you’re right. Who

  would believe it? Santa and the missus

  must have a membership at Gold’s Gym!”

  Gold’s Gym, of course, is a sponsor.

  Not to mention an X advertiser.

  As buff Santa’s sleigh rolls off into

  the distance, people begin to move

  toward their cars or vendor booths.

  I turn off my mic, begin to pack up.

  A small pair of hands slides around

  my waist from behind. Nikki must

  have changed her mind, dragged

  herself out of bed. “Nik?” But neither

  voice nor hands are a match. Nope.

  Not Nik. It’s just me. Hey, Hunter.

  Equal parts disappointment

  and exhilaration jab me. Not Nikki.

  But not exactly bad, either.

  “Leah. All on your own today?”

  Well, yeah. Remember I told you

  I had something for you?

  SHE WINKS

  Who knew

  with such

  a small

  gesture

  a girl

  could look

  like such

  a letch?

  Can a girl

  even be

  a letch?

  Exactly

  how is

  “letch”

  defined?

  Suddenly

  I’ve got

  a good

  idea of

  what this

  girl has on

  her dirty

  little

  mind.

  SHE WAITS IMPATIENTLY

  While I help stow the gear.

  Am I seriously considering

  a stroll down Deviant Lane?

  Montana notices Leah’s angsty

  pace. You looking for trouble?

  she asks in an underneath voice.

  Hard to deny obvious truth.

  “Probably. Although I didn’t

  exactly go looking.”

  She reassesses the redhead.

  Shrugs. Okay, then you’re

  pursuing serious trouble.

  This is so not her business.

  “What time is the talent show

  again?” Montana and I are judges.

  Go ahead. Change the subject.

  See if I care. One o’clock, main

  stage. And. Do. Not. Be. Late.

  I check my watch. Just

  about noon. “No worries.

  This shouldn’t take long.”

  I PURSUE SAID TROUBLE

  Like a buzzard sniffing after

  roadkill. “Okay, Leah. What do

  you have for me?” It’s a loaded

  question, and she’s quick to

  react. She smiles, leans into me,

  and I appreciate how beneath

  her unzipped jacket, a low-cut

  black sweater reveals truly

  stunning cleavage. Let’s walk.

  We go five blocks, silent.

  Cut across a hectic parking lot.

  Turn down a sleepy street.

  Finally she tugs me to a stop.

  I scored some amazing smoke.

  Thought you might like a taste.

  Smoke? Argh. Tempting.

  I’ve been out for a while.

  Oh, what the hell? “Okay.”

  Just keep walking, she says,

  lighting an already rolled J.

  Pretend it’s a cigarette.

  I do and she does and somehow

  we get away with smoking weed

  out in the open, on a city street.

  I’d be lying if I said it didn’t

  lift my stomach, roller-coaster-

  style. Definitely a thrill, getting

  away with illicit behavior.

  More of that is brewing, for sure.

  Leah slips her hand into mine,

  and my first thought is of Nikki.

  I suspect where this is headed. So why

  am I still going along with Leah’s

  plan? Stunning cleavage or no,

  Leah is not the right thing to do,

  literally or figuratively, despite

  how soft her hand is in mine,

  or how the jasmine perfume of her

  reminds me of a warm June evening.

  Stop it, Hunter, stop it. You are

  not just another guy, lusting after

  an easy piece. You are not …

  BUT APPARENTLY I AM

  Leah turns her face up toward mine,

  daring me to kiss her. God, she is

  luscious, ripe fruit temptation,

  serpent coiled in expectation.

  I can hear Nik whisper, You’d never

  cheat on me, would you, Hunter?

  The snake strikes, and I pull back.

  “Leah, I have a girlfriend, you know.”

  Her hand falls out of mine, and

  relief escapes in a long-drawn sigh.

  But she will not so easily be dismissed.

  Her fingers settle gentle on my inner

  thigh, move slowly higher. Yeah. So?

  I’m not asking for commitment, and

  I don’t want to mess up your life. I just

  want to give you a little piece of me.

  She boosts up on tiptoes, looks

  into my eyes as she kisses me.

  I am pulled into the liquid emerald

  of her eyes, the invitation—no, demand—

  of her pillowed pout, her experienced

  hands. And I’m helpless. Weak. Convinced.

  She pulls me
down a narrow alleyway,

  backs me against a splintered garage door.

  I pretend protest, but we both know

  claiming I don’t want this would be a lie.

  Shush, she pleads. Don’t say a word.

  Just let me take care of you. She kisses

  me again, encourages my hands

  along the hilly contours of her body.

  And in one long, sinuous movement,

  she is on her knees. In total control.

  I CLOSE MY EYES

  But what materializes

  out of the darkness there

  are shadowbox photos of Nikki.

  Those, and the snap of December

  against uncovered skin

  might be enough to make

  me stop, but when Leah senses

  my wavering, her urgent please

  closes around me, pulls me

  in. I look up at the froth

  of clouds. Cappuccino sky.

  The summer scent of jasmine

  lifts from a tide of titian

  hair, and there is no hesitation

  now, no U-turn, no braking,

  only relentless forward motion.

  Propulsion. A kaleidoscope

  of titian. Jasmine. Cappuccino

  clouds. And every trace of Nikki

  dissolves in Leah’s warm rain.

  ONLY AFTER

  We are finished,

  clothes zipped up,

  hair smoothed,

  does the thought

  cross my mind

  that someone

  might have seen.

  Enjoyed watching.

  Got off themselves,

  maybe. My cheeks

  burn. Can’t say why.

  Only after we have

  exited the alley,

  started back along

  the sleepy street,

  toward the hectic

  parking lot, does

  it occur to me that

  the fame that brought

  me here belongs to

  me, not to my mom.

  I like how that feels.

  WE WEAVE

  Through the thinning crowd.

  Some have taken their children

  home, out of the crisp morning,

  away from the threat of snow.

  A stab of intuition makes me

  survey the knot of people nearby.

  Did Nik decide to come after

  all? That could be very bad,

  all things considered. But when

  I assess faces, the one my eyes

  grab hold of does not belong

  to Nikki. I do not recognize

  the man standing just there,

  scanning the human sea. So why

  do I think I know him? Someone

  ducks in front of him, and I lose

  momentary sight, but when his

  eyes at last connect with mine,

  they are green-dappled gray. Piebald.

  He turns away suddenly, as if

  whoever he was looking for

  found him instead. He melts

  into the tide of bodies. Faces.

  One of them very much like mine.

  ZAPPED

  As if by a stun gun,

  by the most unexpected

  encounter, the entire

  top of my head tingles.

  I stand

  trembling, unable to

  totally comprehend

  what seeing those eyes

  might mean to me.

  Awed.

  Frozen in place. Heart

  quickstepping. Breath,

  a shallow draw.

  I am pulverized

  by

  the weight of one fragile

  moment. Denial descends,

  a threadbare shroud. Maybe

  I have it all wrong. But

  simple

  reasoning convinces me

  otherwise. I don’t know why

  I’ve never seen my father

  before, but I reel in the

  recognition

  that I’ve seen him now.

  I just want to know,

  who is he?

  A SHARP WHINE

  Slices through the buzz

  in my ears. What? Who?

  Oh, yeah. Leah. Right.

  She’s looking at me like

  I’ve missed something very

  important. So is that okay?

  Freight train slam. “Uh …

  Sorry. What did you say?”

  Repeat, then go away.

  I said I want to give you

  my number, she says, only

  a lot annoyed at my inattention.

  What I want is to track

  down the bastard-maker.

  “Um … I’m not sure …”

  I know you probably won’t

  ever use it. But just in case.

  Or you can give me yours.

  “No, no.” The last thing

  I need is her calling me.

  “Give me yours.” I fumble

  around in my pocket, finally

  fish out my cell phone. Try

  to punch in the numbers

  she recites. But my mind

  is in a whole other place

  and I miss one or three.

  Here. Let me do it, okay?

  She extricates the phone from

  my hand, programs the correct

  sequence. As she returns my

  cell, she slinks up against me.

  Kisses me. Hope you had fun.

  “Fun” isn’t exactly the word

  I would use. “Yeah, sure.

  Thanks a lot. I have to go, okay?”

  She pouts at my abruptness,

  but doesn’t argue. Okay. You

  can call me any time, Hunter.

  “Good to know. Bye now.”

  I turn on my heel, hurry off,

  fingers crossed she doesn’t follow.

  ALMOST TALENT SHOW TIME

  I make my way toward the main

  stage, checking out every male

  face I see. Some of those guys

  probably think I’m gay. Sorry,

  dudes. Not looking to get laid.

  Already did that. Sort of, anyway.

  I chug down guilt. Gallons

  and gallons of guilt. Why did

  I just do that? Not like I needed

  it, couldn’t get that, and better,

  from my Nikki. I’m a total

  two-timing jerk. And why?

  Okay, Leah would tempt most

  any guy with a working pecker.

  But you don’t have to give in

  to temptation, not even bodacious-

  breasted, fiery-haired, “won’t take

  no for an answer” temptation.

  I swear I will never do such

  an idiotic thing again. Nikki

  means too much to me. I stop,

  dig out my cell phone, excise

  Leah’s number from its memory

  bank. All’s well that ends well.

  SPARKS HAS TALENT

  So much talent that the city now

  hosts two of these imitation bad

  reality TV shows every year, on

  July Fourth and at Hometowne

  Christmas. A group of hopeful

  singers, dancers, and baton twirlers

  paces on one side of the stage.

  The audience is likely all friends

  and family members, plus a few

  curious onlookers and people

  just trying to get inside, out of the cold.

  Montana is across the room, in deep

  conversation with some guy.

  His back is to me, but his posture

  tells me much. The guy thinks a lot

  of himself. Montana sees me

  and smiles. The guy turns his

  head to see who she’s smiling at,

  and before I can
even discern

  his eyes, I know they’re piebald.

  The question becomes, what next?

  COVERING THE SHORT DISTANCE

  Across the room makes me

  break out in a disagreeable

  sweat, despite the chill in

  the air. And in my heart.

  Coward.

  That’s what I am. Afraid

  to face down my ghosts,

  despite hating the way

  they haunt my every day.

  Idiot.

  It strikes me suddenly

  that I could be all wrong

  about this guy. So what if

  his eyes are sort of like mine?

  Dimwad.

  Totally. What are the odds

  that this is my father, anyway?

  Much too coincidental, right?

  Yet when I close the gap, I’m sure.

  Son of a bitch.

  MONTANA, IT SEEMS

  Knows him pretty well. They stand,

  barely touching. Intimate. Casual.

  I hate to interrupt. Hate to know.

  Oh hey, Hunter, Montana says.

  This is Brendan. Bam. The name.

  Is it one I’ve heard somewhere?

  Brendan looks at me, clueless.

  Hey, kid, good to … He sees …

  something. Enough to make him pause.

  Montana doesn’t notice. Brendan

  just moved back to Sparks. He recently

  got out of the army. Four terms in Iraq.

  Her voice is filled with pride and

  what I think may be affection.

  I notice his outstretched hand.

  I know I should shake it, but my own

  hand is trembling. Instinct tells me

  to run. Far away. Don’t look back.

  But I have to play this out for sanity’s

  sake. So I clench my teeth, will

  the quaking to stop. “Good to meet you.”

  Autumn

  PLANNING A WEDDING

  Is supposed to be such a happy time.

  Okay, Aunt Cora is not only happy.

  She’s downright demented with

  happiness. Crazy in love.

  I wish I could share her

  joy. But I am crushed

  by fear. I’ve always lived

  with seeds of dread, waiting

  to burst forth fruit. Apricots, if

  I’m lucky. Peaches, sometimes, or

  maybe mangoes. But this time,

  the fear seeds have grown into

  watermelons. Thick-skinned.

  Pithy-fleshed. Weighted

  with blood-tinted juice.

  I can barely breathe with

  them swelled up inside me.

  Afraid to go out. Afraid to stay

  in. Who knows what uncertainty will