Fallout

  me? Will I breathe the air easier?

  Will the scent of high desert

  Nevada trump Texas prairie?

  Will I come running back to Grandfather

  or find solace in rediscovered family?

  IT IS LATE AFTERNOON

  By the time we actually hit the highway.

  First, long, straight stretches of Interstate 10.

  Through Arizona, New Mexico, into California.

  North on I-15, to 395, north to Carson City.

  More than seventeen hundred miles. Alone with

  a stranger. Straight through, more than twenty-

  four hours. The longest ride of my life, through

  mostly unremarkable country. Flat grassland.

  Dry desert as yet unkissed by winter’s

  soft wet lips. At least it’s not ungodly hot

  in December. When we get out to stretch,

  it’s rather comfortably warm. At least it will be for

  the first part of the trip. We hear there’s

  a blizzard warning from Bishop, north.

  Blizzard? I’ve never even seen snow, not

  that I can remember at least. I’m excited.

  Scared. Chilled through to the bone, and

  we’re only two hundred miles toward cold.

  IT TAKES THAT TWO HUNDRED MILES

  And more of tedious small talk—school,

  extracurricular crap or lack of it, friends

  or lack of them—interwoven with long bouts

  of silence, before I finally get up the nerve

  to redirect the conversation away from me.

  “What’s she like?” I ask, then add, “My mother.”

  Trey thinks for a minute, reaches over,

  turns down the radio. I wish I could tell

  you. But I’m not sure I ever knew Kristina.

  The real Kristina, that is. I saw traces

  of her once in a while. That girl had

  a heart. The Kristina I met was still

  pretty, but not nearly as beautiful

  as the pictures I saw of her when she

  was younger, before she started …

  “Started using meth? With you?

  Grandfather told me about that.

  He said you were different before too.”

  His jaw clenches. Dad doesn’t know

  everything. Kristina didn’t start using

  with me. She already had a history.

  He tells me about Albuquerque.

  How she met a guy there who first

  turned her on. Tells me about

  partying with her father. Hiding it

  from her mother and stepfather.

  How she probably would have

  kept right on smoking it up then

  except, But then she got pregnant

  and mostly quit until Hunter was—

  “Wait. Hunter? I have a brother?”

  I’ve always believed I was an only

  child. Not sure why, in retrospect.

  I’m sorry. I forgot you didn’t know.

  You have three brothers and a sister.

  But you’re the only one who’s mine. I—

  “Stop. I have to think.” I turn up

  the radio. Close my eyes. Dive into

  the music as best I can. Ride the metal

  current. None of this makes sense.

  The only thing about myself I know

  for sure is that I don’t know anything.

  OFF-KILTER

  Canted. Listing

  to one side,

  a rotting hull.

  Nothing will ever

  be the same in

  my world—careful

  order

  twisted.

  Tossed

  into chaos.

  I don’t even

  know how to

  feel about that.

  Relieved?

  Terrified?

  Hopeful?

  Suicidal?

  How does

  this define

  (or redefine)

  me?

  WELL PAST MIDNIGHT

  We stop for sleep in Las Cruces.

  New Mexico is supposed to be

  pretty. Maybe I’ll agree, come morning.

  So far it looks like Arizona did

  at night. Miles and miles of

  dark emptiness. A starlit vacuum.

  Trey pulls into a dive of a motel.

  Hope the beds have clean

  sheets. The room is claustrophobic.

  And ice-cube cold. I flip on the heat, go

  to pee in a closet-sized bathroom.

  Trey’s going out for fast food, asks for

  my order. I beg off. “Too tired to eat.

  And I don’t feel so hot. You could

  bring me some bottled water, though.”

  I throw back the covers for inspection.

  The sheets look okay, so I crawl

  into bed. Tired. Real tired. So why does

  it take forever to fall asleep? How do

  I shut off my brain? What have

  I done? What will tomorrow bring?

  A THIN BEAM OF LIGHT

  Ray guns my eyes, and I jump

  up into early gray morning.

  Where am I? I’m not alone.

  Someone is snoring? Oh. Trey.

  It all comes tidal waving back.

  New Mexico. Cheesy motel room.

  Cadillac outside the door. Smell.

  What’s that smell? I glance around

  the room, notice the Taco Bell

  bag, and wrappers, gooey with

  hot sauce and bean detritus.

  Suddenly I seriously need to toss

  what little is in my stomach. I run

  to the bathroom. Heave until I hit

  empty. Get up, rinse my mouth.

  Wash my face. When I exit the room,

  Trey is awake, sitting up in bed,

  looking more curious than worried.

  “Sorry,” I say. “I think I might have

  caught Grandfather’s flu bug.”

  Hope that’s all you caught,

  he says, half smiling. Puking,

  first thing when you wake up?

  Sounds like morning sickness to me.

  Morning sickness? Oh my God.

  Is that why I’ve felt so lousy lately?

  He could be right. Pregnant?

  Why does the idea shock me?

  Can’t admit it, though. Not to him.

  Righteous indignation swells. Who

  the hell is he to even suggest it?

  Trey Shepherd has never been

  anything but the sperm donor

  whose semen maybe jump-started

  me. I shake my head. “Can’t be that.

  What? You don’t believe me?”

  The tone of my voice warns him

  off. He shrugs. Goes to pee. I fall

  back into bed. What have I done?

  And what will Bryce do when he knows?

  Summer

  LABELS

  Hate ’em. Mostly, I guess,

  because I’ve worn one label

  or another pretty much forever.

  Loser.

  Because when I was little,

  Grandma Jean and Grandpa

  Carl couldn’t afford the cutest

  clothes or designer backpacks.

  Loner.

  Because foster kids don’t make

  and keep friends. Might as well

  brand their foreheads: FK.

  For foster kid. Or freak.

  Stoner.

  Because even if you don’t get

  stoned, hanging out with stoners

  makes you feel like you belong.

  Somewhere. Anywhere.

  Stuck-up.

  Because when you close yourself

  off from questions, erect walls

  around pain, unlocking the gate

  to let someone in is
unthinkable.

  Fuckup.

  Because it’s easier to let others

  believe you have no plans. No

  dreams. No future. Nothing

  worth taking away from you.

  AND NOW A NEW LABEL

  Probably the worst one ever

  affixed to me. Not because

  of the word. Because of what

  it means. To me. To Kyle.

  To our tentative today and even

  shakier tomorrows, despite

  how good it is to be together

  again. Despite how good it feels

  to be sitting here, close to him,

  skin to skin, absorbing his heat

  by osmosis. Inhaling the scent

  of him. Tasting the salt of him,

  whenever we chance taking the time

  to kiss. Time being of the essence.

  Driving south. Looking over our

  shoulders, back at Fresno.

  Holding the speed limit, wanting

  to go faster but not daring.

  He, doing this to be with me, despite

  my brand-new label: runaway.

  SNEAKING OUT

  To meet him was harder than

  I expected. Not because of Tanya

  and Walter. Because of Simone,

  who, for some unfathomable reason,

  decided she wanted to bond after all.

  That day, after I talked to Kyle,

  started planning a little AWOL jaunt,

  Simone softened. She had drawn

  my name for our gift exchange.

  Hope you like what I got you.

  This was after a fabulous

  beans-and-hot-dogs dinner.

  We were in our fart-fragranced

  bedroom, listening to the radio.

  Simone is a huge hip-hop fan.

  Can’t stand the stuff myself,

  but I wasn’t going to argue.

  All I could think about was Kyle

  and how to escape the house

  to meet him the next day.

  Out of the blue, Simone

  decided to open up. You want

  to hear about my brother?

  The creepy voyeur in me did.

  But I kept my mouth closed.

  Simone started to talk, anyway.

  He was really my stepbrother,

  and it started when I was eight….

  It wasn’t a pretty story, but

  I couldn’t not listen to the sordid

  details of late-night visits.

  Bad touch. Very bad touch.

  Threats to keep her quiet.

  And when it all became too

  much and she told, anyway,

  her stepmother called her

  a liar. And her father, who

  was totally not going to disrupt

  his new marriage, refused

  to believe his own daughter.

  It took a trusted teacher to

  call in the authorities. Proof

  wasn’t difficult to come by.

  Yet it was Simone whose life

  was disrupted. Simone who

  had to move out of her home,

  into foster care. Simone whose

  childhood was stolen. Innocence

  eroded into nightmare. All because

  of very bad touch. Love, corrupted.

  NOT EXACTLY A NEW STORY

  But it was Simone’s story, and once

  she shared it, she felt more than

  connected to me. She felt chained.

  Like if I left her sight, her secrets

  might go with me. Like once she gave

  them away, they weren’t hers anymore?

  Not like I wanted them. Not like I asked

  for the responsibility of keeping them.

  I’ve got enough secrets of my own.

  One of which was on his way to me

  from Bakersfield. And I really needed

  the opportunity to head out the door

  undetected. I had a couple of choices.

  Confide. Or hide. I didn’t really think

  we had bonded close enough to tell

  her about Kyle, his impending arrival.

  I wanted to hold that close. Thank God

  I still had the “you don’t want to come

  in the bathroom now” excuse going on.

  Eventually she tired of shadowing me.

  Stuck her nose in a book, kept it there.

  I HAD MY CELL

  With me, set on vibrate,

  so no one but me would

  know when it rang. I hid

  out in the bathroom for

  more than an hour, expecting

  the buzz against my thigh.

  I had almost given up by

  the time it came. When

  it finally did, it made me

  jump. Good thing I was

  only pretending to need

  the toilet. I spoke in a low

  whisper, hoping Simone

  had, indeed, vacated the

  hallway outside the door.

  “Where are you?” It came

  out a serpentlike hiss.

  He was down the block.

  Luckily, Walter was at

  his day job. Tanya and

  the sisters were crashing

  around in the kitchen,

  baking cookies. Leaving

  was a piece of cake.

  NOW I SWEAR

  I didn’t have running in mind

  as I slipped outside, sprinted

  along the sidewalk to where

  Kyle had parked. It still was

  not my goal when I jerked open

  the pickup door, bounded

  into Kyle’s arms. Hadn’t even

  considered the idea when I buried

  my face into his chest, inhaled

  his well-loved scent, turned up

  my eyes, begging him to kiss me.

  But when our lips met, starved,

  something stirred. And when

  his skin flowed like a warm tide

  over my own, whatever had stirred

  whipped up, crazy. And when

  our bodies linked, woven in

  heated rise and fall, every tatter

  of loneliness dissipated into

  the ether of memory. And then

  he said, Oh my God, I love you

  so much. I can’t be without you

  ever again. Come with me,

  Summer. Let’s get out of here.

  NOT MUCH TIME

  To think it over. Still,

  my first reaction was, “I can’t.”

  Yes, you can, he said. I need

  you. Don’t you understand?

  I sat up. Glanced around.

  No sign of bear nor blonde.

  “We can’t just go. I love you,

  Kyle, I really do, but …”

  If you really love me, you’ll say

  okay. He reached out, grabbed

  my face, turned it so I had to

  look into his eyes. Okay?

  I started to protest. But then

  I remembered something Dad

  had told me not long before

  Shreeveport took me away.

  We were on the porch, and as

  usual, he was smoking. I watched

  a narrow stream of smoke lift

  into the cold morning. Rarely

  before had the idea of separation

  stung so much. I guess because

  of the relative closeness we had

  lately discovered. Finally I asked,

  “If you could do anything over, take

  something back, what would it be?”

  He thought for a minute or two,

  and when he finally spoke, his

  answer surprised me. I guess

  I would have tried harder to

  convince your mother to stay

  after she got out of prison.

  I loved he
r enough to hope she

  might fall back in love with me.

  We were together for a while.

  You were like two or something.

  I would have done anything for her.

  Maybe I didn’t let her know that.

  I should have fought harder to keep

  her. I’ll never love anyone else.

  NOTHING TO LOSE

  Unless I stayed. I think I surprised

  both of us when I said, “Okay.”

  I started to open the door.

  Kyle stopped me, with a hand

  on my arm. Where are you going?

  “I have to get my stuff. Everything

  I own is in there.” Not that it

  amounted to a whole lot.

  No. We have to go right now.

  We’ll get you whatever you need.

  He was right. Going back inside

  would have been a mistake.

  I settled into the seat. “Let’s go then.”

  His eyes lit with excitement.

  I love you. He kissed me sweetly.

  Started the truck. Our adventure—

  and neither of us had any idea

  exactly what kind of adventure

  it was or will be—had begun.

  I only hope it means no regrets.

  AS WE DROVE AWAY

  I’m almost positive I saw Simone

  glance out the bedroom window.

  Not sure if she noticed me or not,

  and can only hope she didn’t run

  and tell right away if she did. Would

  she have had the presence of mind

  to take down the license plate?

  Would she have seen the happiness

  written all over my face and kept it

  to herself? I feel sorry that she gave

  me her secrets now. Sorry she won’t

  have someone to whisper to in the night.

  But you can’t get attached to anyone

  in a foster home. I learned that lesson

  a long time ago. Get close, get hurt.

  She might as well learn that too.

  LESS THAN A HALF HOUR

  Away from Fresno, the weight

  of our hasty decision hits me.

  “Any idea where we’re going?”

  Deceptively simple question.

  Kyle sighs heavily. Nope. I was

  kind of hoping you might have

  an idea. Any place you’ve

  always wanted to see?

  I slide my hand into his. “Lots.”

  It is kind of exciting, just picking

  a place and aiming for it. Except,

  “What do you think they’ll do?”