Oh yes, Samuel Ruenhaven. Unless
he was personally involved, he could
simply fire whoever was accused,
and it would probably be business
as usual. That said, there were prior
allegations of neglect against him,
though in Idaho, not Nevada.
Hope Surges
First, because she believes
me enough to dig deeper.
Second, because maybe there
is a solid answer. “Really?
Against Father? What happened?”
I rethink the question before
she can answer it. Nothing
happened. He settled out of
court, then dismantled his
Idaho operation and moved
to Nevada, where his name
hadn’t been blasted all over
the media. This was years ago,
of course, before the Internet
made finding information so easy.
Hope abates. “So no one
will take me seriously
if I come forward?” Beyond
my personal fate, Father and
his disciples need to be stopped.
I wouldn’t say that, Eden.
For all we know, someone
else might find the courage
if you go first. Or maybe
someone else already has.
Just cueing in law enforcement
would be a good thing, and
if the media gets hold of it,
at the very least there will be
public scrutiny, something
I’m sure Mr. Ruenhaven would
not appreciate. But he’ll have
to change the way he conducts
his business. The question is,
do you want a spotlight on you?
Okay, I hadn’t considered
that. I won’t be publicly outed,
will I? I’d have to give
details about Jerome, and
the things I accepted, even
encouraged, to escape Tears
of Zion. And I’m sure, should
I accuse my mother of spiking
my tea, she’d be more than happy
to tell the world about her daughter,
who is not only incorrigible,
but also a harlot, in every sense
of the word. I don’t know
if that’s necessary yet. “I’ll think
about it.” And decide tomorrow.
Sarah’s Phone Rings
I start to leave, but she gestures
for me to stay. Are you sure?
Urgency shades her voice. When
I see. Okay, I’ll ask around.
was she supposed to be there?
She replaces the handset. Have
you seen Shayleece? She had
a dentist appointment, but never
showed. Worry creases her face.
Do you remember if she was at lunch?
“Actually, I haven’t seen her
since yesterday. But she planned
to go to the dentist. She was excited
about getting that hole in her front
tooth filled. She hated it.”
That’s what I thought. Maybe
the bus broke down? But then
she would have called, right?
Will you help me poll the others?
Maybe someone saw her go.
A half hour later, all we know
is the last person who talked to
her was her roommate, Rhonda.
That was last night. She was
going outside to have a smoke.
Rhonda Was Asleep
Before Shayleece came back
in. If Shayleece came back in.
No one has seen her since.
Sarah goes to call the police
and report her missing.
A few of us volunteer to canvass
the neighborhood. We go in two-
person teams, in four directions.
I partner with Hana. We head east.
It’s afternoon, post-school, and
we pass parents walking with
their children. A few older people
are walking their dogs, and there
are bunches of kids sitting
on car hoods or stoops, smoking
or making out. We ask every
person we come across if they’ve
seen our friend, with little luck.
It’s starting to get frustrating.
It’s starting to get worrisome.
One elderly woman asks for a
description, nodding her head.
I think I might have seen her
just a few minutes ago. She got
in a car with some other youngsters.
Hana and I look at each other.
A few minutes ago? Couldn’t
have been her. Still, I ask, “Do
you remember what kind of
car, or what color it was?”
The lady scratches her thin hair.
I was all the way over on the far
side of my grass, and I don’t see
so good anymore. But it was a big
car, and I’m sure it was gray. Or blue.
We thank the woman and, as soon
as we’re down the block, bust up
laughing. Probably didn’t need
to worry, hiccups Hana. Bet her
hearing isn’t so good, either.
But now the heavy gravity of
the situation sinks back in.
“Shayleece wouldn’t run off.
Where would she go? Besides,
she likes it at Walk Straight.”
We keep going until the light
begins to pale, then circle back,
the chances of finding out anything
useful fading with the sun. Dinner
this evening is unusually quiet.
Sleep Is Evasive Tonight
Playing tag with worry
about what the morning
will bring. Usually, I fall
straight into dreams but
an odd slant of moonlight
through the blinds disturbs
the darkness, and the silence
is punctuated by Hana’s gentle
snoring. I haven’t noticed it
before. Now I can’t not hear
it, even with a pillow over
my ears. It reminds me
of my sister. I’ve thought
about Eve a lot lately, and
now, with Mama coming
tomorrow, a collection of
images mash together in
my head: Eve and me giggling
together in church; Papa
halting his sermon to chastise
us; Mama glaring, Mama
accusing, Mama handing
me a cup of tea; Mama’s
face smearing, blurring;
the face of Father Samuel
Ruenhaven swimming
into view; Father staring,
Father chastising, Father
forcing me to pray; Jerome
leering; Jerome coaxing;
the luscious taste of ripe
strawberries; calloused
greedy hands touching
places meant for no one
but the boy whose face
I cannot find. I sit up,
lean back against the wall.
Something’s wrong.
Really wrong. Every
nerve in my body tingles,
on full alert. I don’t know
what this means, except
there’ll be no sleep at all
tonight. Quietly, I slip out
of bed, search for clothes
in the dark, take them down
the hall to the bathroom,
and get dressed. The entire
building is asleep, so I tiptoe
/>
to the rec room, wait for morning.
By First Light
My intuition is shouting a warning,
but can’t give me details. I skip
breakfast. Can’t possibly eat. When
Mama finally shows her face,
I look every bit as ragged as I feel,
and the door to Sarah’s office barely
closes behind us before she attacks.
Look at you. Hmph. Ended up exactly
as I predicted. You were determined
to prove me right, weren’t you?
The old Eden would find an excuse,
even knowing she wouldn’t be believed.
The new Eden has nothing to lose.
“You are responsible for my being here.
I didn’t deserve what you did to me.”
Of course you’d try to blame me.
God will punish you for that, too.
I had to see for myself just how far
you fell. One thing’s for certain, you
can’t come crawling back home. Stay
among the filth, where you belong.
It will probably please you to know
you infected your sister with your
disease, but Samuel will reform her,
and she won’t escape the way you did.
A Poem by Vince Carino
Blame
Is a bullshit game,
and I’m a world-class
expert at gaming.
Some
are easy, some not so much,
but you need rules to play
competently, and one of the
things
you learn very quickly
about the blame game
is there
are
no guidelines, no
predetermined directions
to an exit strategy. What’s
worse
is when the guilt
that evolves continues
to grow longer and deeper
than
the original stab
of remorse. Had I been
responsible for Cody’s
death
I’d probably be over it
by now. But this will haunt
me until I go to my own grave.
Cody
You’d Think
Sitting up is something easily done,
and for most people, from the time
they’re six or seven months old, it is.
Learning the skill is baby’s play.
Relearning it has been one of the hardest
things I’ve ever attempted, not only
because I’m mostly numb from the waist
down, but also because my muscles
are seriously considering atrophy.
The most I’ve accomplished in some
twelve weeks is pushing the buttons
that call for the nurse or raise the bed,
and lifting silverware to my mouth,
when I feel like eating, which isn’t all
that often. Federico’s manipulations
keep me limber, but nothing close to
toned, let alone strong. We’ve mostly
managed to avoid bedsores, a plus.
But when Ronnie tried to help me
sit the first time, I couldn’t. She enlisted
Federico, who showed me the ropes.
After several days of practice,
I can bring myself upright, unaided,
and move myself to the edge of the bed,
use my hands to swing my legs over
the side and stay there, mostly balanced,
for several minutes. I can’t believe
such a little thing can give me such
a huge sense of accomplishment.
The determination to succeed doesn’t
spark inside of me, however. Without,
as Ronnie calls them, my personal
cheerleading squad, I’d still be prone.
But between her, my mom, Federico,
and Nurse Carolyn, my free will has
been compromised, and truthfully,
sans Veronica Carino, the team would
not have near the influence as they do
with her spearheading my therapy.
She is a force to be reckoned with.
I just wish I knew why she’s still by
my side after everything I’ve done.
A Stark Reminder
Of everything I’ve done walks
in the door this morning,
in the hulking form of Vince Carino.
Not sure why, considering his sister
is here practically every day, but
I never thought I’d see him again.
His approach is tentative, almost wary,
and so is my reaction to it—up come
my hackles. I feel like a caged coyote,
though the reason is watery. Vince never
did anything bad to me, except get
the best of me in poker on a regular basis,
and use me for my dope connections.
But I did exactly the same thing to him.
“Uh . . . Hey, Vince. What’s up?”
He glances at the wheelchair parked
beside the bed. It obviously makes him
uncomfortable. Same for me, dude.
I thought I should drop by and have
a conversation that’s overdue.
First, I’m sorry about what happened.
Not that it’s my fault or anything.
Assholes like Chris are a dime a dozen,
and he got no more than what he had coming.
“Hey, you know, I don’t blame you.
In the end, I’m the only responsible
person, not that I felt that way at first.
At first, I blamed everyone—Misty,
Lydia, my mom, my dead stepdad, and
even you, I guess. But when you wake
up to your life, changed forever in this
way, blame is easy. Figuring out what
to do next is the hard fucking thing.”
He nods as if he can relate, which is,
of course, impossible. Ronnie tells us
she wants to help you, that she’s willing
to forget all the shitty stuff you did
to her, and in spite of her being a very
special girl. I want you to know that,
two-legged, one-legged or legless, if
you hurt my sister again, I will be
happy to kill you the rest of the way.
One thing about Vince, he’s blunt. Cool.
I’ll return the favor. “Even in the midst
of all the bullshit, I never stopped loving
Ronnie. Truthfully, one of the only things
I feel guilty about is letting her down.
I won’t hurt her again. Not if I can help it.”
He Studies Me Closely
Looking for hints of dishonesty,
ready to call my bluff. But this is
a solid bet. I mean every word.
Well, that’s good, then. Because if
I think for one moment you’re playing
her, just so she’ll hang around until
you get whatever support you can
wring out of her, then decide to dump
her . . . I told you what would happen.
“Look, Vince. I never asked for her
help. In fact, I gave her every reason
to make a graceful exit from my life,
including coming totally clean
about the sewer I’d been swimming
in. I don’t want her here because
she thinks it’s the right thing to do.
I don’t want her pity. I want her love,
something I don’t deserve. But if
she’s willing to give it, wants to invest
time and effort into what’s
left of me, I will
love her back, with all my heart. I can’t
say what that means as far as the future.
I have to take it one day at a time, but every
day is a million times better with Ronnie in it.”
His Grin
Is lopsided. Is it the first time
I’ve seen him smile, other than
his big-ass leer when he claims
a giant pot at the poker table?
That’s good to hear because
it means I can offer my help, too.
One, I have a friend who customizes
autos, and he’s willing to look at
your car and see what he can do
to make it work for you. I know
buying another one is probably
out of the question financially.
Leon is talented. He’ll get you on
the road. Two, I don’t know what
your house is like, but I’m sure it’ll
need some alterations for accessibility.
One of our cousins is a damn good
handyman, and he’ll work for cheap.
I hear you’re moving to a rehab
hospital soon. How long will you be
there? Do you know? Maybe he can
have everything finished before
you go home. And three, anytime
you need to talk, man, call me.
What the Hell
Just happened? We went
from murderous threats
to offers of help in less
than five minutes. “Jesus,
Vince. I have no idea what
to say, or how to thank you.”
Keep your mouth shut and
stay good to my sister, we can
be friends. I treat my friends right.
My eyes sting suddenly.
Can’t cry in front of Vince,
or he’ll change his mind.
No one needs a friend who
spontaneously bursts into
tears. But that’s exactly
what I do, and he looks
petrified. “S-sorry. It’s just,
no one except maybe Jack,
my stepdad, has ever been
so kind to me. Not even Mom,
and that’s supposed to be her job.”
Yeah, well, don’t let it get
around. I’ve got a reputation
to uphold, and “kind” isn’t it.
Okay, then. One question,
though. “This isn’t because
you feel sorry for me, is it?
’Cause I don’t want pity
from you, either. I’d be happy
to accept your respect, though,
and I’m more than willing to
earn that, whatever it takes.”
He’s quiet, thinking it over.