Traffick

This amazing warmth creeps up

  my spine, and on a total whim I dial

  his number. Will he answer? Will—

  Hello? Is this really you, Whitney?

  Oh, girl, I’m so happy you called.

  He remembers me. “Hey, Bryn?

  I can’t talk very long . . . kinda messed

  up. Gonna sleep soon. Jus’ wan’ you

  to know I miss you. It’s crazy, cuz,

  I mean, you fucked me up good.

  But I do miss you. ’Member the beach?”

  Sliding in and out now, still I hear,

  I’ll never forget the beach, Whit.

  God, you were stunning, all long

  brown legs in that white skirt.

  “Hey, Bryn? I don’ wan’ back

  in the life. But could you maybe

  bring me a li’l taste of the Lady?

  Jus’ a li’l. I could meet you. . . .”

  Jus’ wanna see his face

  one more time.

  It’s Early Afternoon

  By the time I ascend from

  a deep pit of sleep, head

  pounding and disoriented.

  What did I do again? Guys.

  Right. The movie. James.

  Thump-thump. Agh! Make

  it stop. Thinking hurts. Why?

  Now it all whirls back.

  The truck. The beer bottle.

  A nice kiss or two. Ambien.

  Bryn. Bryn? Oh my God, did

  I talk to Bryn? Did I ask him

  to score some H for me, or

  was that only a dream? No.

  Not a dream. We’re supposed

  to meet up tomorrow. What

  the fuck have I done? I pull

  myself from bed. As soon as I

  stand, the room somersaults.

  I barely make it to the bathroom

  on time and as I empty bile

  into the toilet, stink sweating

  and skull beating pain, a trill

  of excitement trembles through

  my veins. I’m going to see

  Bryn again! And visit the Lady.

  I just have to fake my way

  through this day first.

  A Couple of Days Before Christmas

  Gives me the perfect excuse

  to do two things—go shopping

  alone, and take money out of

  my bank account. Do I feel

  guilty? Yeah, a little. But I’ll

  be careful with the H, no needles

  or pipes, just a whiff now and then,

  when the crazy shit takes over.

  Mom drops me at the mall

  midmorning, promises to pick

  me up in three hours. As I watch

  her drive away, regret plucks.

  Still, I go inside, and the moment

  I see Bryn, smiling exactly the way

  he did the first day we met, every

  last bit of guilt vanishes. He doesn’t

  wait for me to reach him, but rushes

  straight toward me and for one

  ridiculous instant, I’m scared.

  But his hug is friendly. Loving.

  Wow. You look great. So happy

  you called. I never thought

  I’d see you again. Hey, I’ve got

  the stuff. Let’s take a drive.

  When I start to protest, he kisses

  me silent. We can’t do this here.

  Just a quick stop at the beach?

  How can I say no?

  A Poem by Joan Streit

  How Can I Say No

  To my child—tell her

  she can’t come home,

  she doesn’t belong

  here—my flesh and

  blood

  daughter? When you

  give your full measure

  of love to the Lord, it

  isn’t

  permissible to sidestep

  his laws, no matter what

  your heart whispers. Eden has

  always

  been willful, and when she met

  her punishments with stonewall

  stares, I wondered if she was

  thicker

  than most. Spare the rod,

  spoil the child, as God would

  have. That’s how I was raised,

  and I knew no better way

  than

  that to bring my girls up right.

  Some might think I could have

  been kinder, a cool drink of

  water

  to soothe their thirsting souls.

  I say it takes a scalding tap

  to scrub sin away.

  Eden

  Forgiveness

  Is the most precious thing

  in the world. God’s forgiveness

  tends to be expected by believers.

  Taken for granted, really.

  I knew God had forgiven me

  the moment I heard him speak

  through the priest who’d heard

  of this place and sent me here.

  A Bible story is embedded in

  my brain: A woman, caught

  in the act of adultery, was brought

  before Jesus by the Pharisees,

  who told him Moses would have

  had her stoned to death. What

  would he do? This was a test,

  of course, but rather than interfere

  with their laws, Jesus said, He that

  is without sin among you, let him

  first cast a stone at her. Instead,

  they left, one by one, leaving her

  there alone with Jesus, who told

  her he did not condemn her, only

  she was to go and sin no more.

  I never feared God’s condemnation.

  It was Andrew’s that terrified me.

  I Told Him Everything

  I’ve had a long time to think

  about a partial confession.

  But keeping secrets from Andrew

  would be the same as lying

  to him, and that I can never do.

  Some of what I said stung.

  A powerful hurt reflected in

  his eyes. He listened without

  comment until the very end,

  hanging his head once in a while.

  But I didn’t stop until every

  ugly truth gurgled out, bubbles

  in a cauldron, and I really thought

  he’d tell me, “Sorry for your trouble.

  Been nice knowing you.” But no.

  Instead, he kneeled in front

  of me, laid his chin on my knees,

  and I understood his pain was

  for himself. Oh, Eden. If I’d had

  any idea your mother was capable

  of such cruelty, I would’ve risked

  prison and taken you away

  in a heartbeat. Now all I can do

  is try and make it up to you.

  Can you ever forgive me?

  He Asked Me

  To forgive him. I was stunned.

  Still am. His heart is huge, and

  he swears it belongs to me forever,

  no matter what. We just have to

  figure out where we go from here.

  The notarized, signed emancipation

  papers arrived. We filed them

  right away and got a court date

  after the first of the year. Now the

  hearing notice has to be served

  on my parents. Shouldn’t be hard.

  Papa—no, Pastor Streit—is well

  known in Boise. I haven’t heard

  back from Marlene about Elko

  County. Sarah warned me that

  the wheels of bureaucracy turn

  slowly, but tomorrow is Christmas.

  I can’t imagine spending it locked

  up at Tears of Zion. Oh, and Eve

  must be so cold! Those rooms

  were like ovens in the summ
er.

  They must be like freezers when snow’s

  on the ground. Thinking about

  it makes me so angry! I wish

  there was something I could do.

  I Never Would Have Imagined

  Spending Christmas at a place

  like Walk Straight, either. Much

  like Thanksgiving, most of the girls

  don’t have wonderful holiday

  memories, but I do have a few.

  With Papa being a pastor,

  Christmas took on even deeper

  meaning, and we did it in style

  when I was little. Not that we had

  a lot of gifts. My parents didn’t

  believe in them. This is Jesus’s

  birthday, not yours, Mama told

  us. Still, we always had a lovely

  tree, and the carols filled me

  with happiness. The presents

  we did receive were usually

  clothes, and something new

  to wear was a rare thing. Right

  now, I’d love a sweater or pair

  of jeans that no one else wore first.

  There will be a Christmas party

  here, with excellent food and

  communion. But one day, I will

  celebrate the holidays with Andrew,

  in a home of our own. What a dream!

  Another Tradition

  My family adhered to—

  because as pastor, Papa

  pretty much had to—was

  Christmas Eve church

  services. I asked Sarah

  for permission to attend

  a local service tonight,

  and not only did she agree,

  but she also said it was okay

  for Andrew to come along.

  He’s been at a nearby motel

  for several days, but will

  have to go back to Boise soon,

  to start the new semester.

  He picks me up in a rented

  car—a small sedan, very unlike

  anything he drives back home.

  It’s not much to look at, he

  apologizes, but it’s comfortable.

  Where to, beautiful lady?

  “I thought it would be proper

  to say thank you to the priest

  at Guardian Angel Cathedral.

  He’s the one who helped me.

  I don’t know much about

  Catholic protocol, though,

  so you’ll have to help me

  out.” I give him directions

  and he starts the car, after

  a Christmas Eve kiss.

  I haven’t been to Mass in

  a very long time, you know.

  But I’m grateful to the priest

  who helped you, and I’m happy

  to thank him personally.

  It’s about a fifteen-minute

  drive, plenty of time to talk.

  Andrew’s been thinking,

  he says, and he wants me

  to consider something carefully.

  I know your emancipation

  is underway. But I don’t want

  us to be apart for another year.

  I looked into transferring

  to the university here, but

  the logistics are a nightmare.

  Besides, my mom still needs

  my help at the ranch, and to tell

  you the truth, I can’t imagine

  living in this city. I’d do it for you.

  But I’m wondering if there

  isn’t a better way. We’ve been

  driving along Charleston Blvd,

  and make a right turn down

  the strip. I haven’t been anywhere

  near this part of the city since

  I moved into Walk Straight,

  and my discomfort grows as we

  approach the big casinos. My voice

  is thick when I ask, “Like what?”

  Please don’t think I’m crazy,

  because I’ve thought and thought

  about this, especially as it regards

  your sister. What if we approach

  your parents directly? Sarah’s right.

  It’s possible they don’t realize

  exactly what’s going on at Tears

  of Zion. Your mother is a harpy,

  for sure, but that doesn’t mean

  she can’t be reasoned with.

  “You can’t be serious! When she

  was here, she wouldn’t even talk

  to me except to tell me, yet again,

  how I’m damned to eternal hell.

  She doesn’t know what reason is.”

  The Cathedral

  Is only a block off the strip,

  behind the Encore. Andrew

  pulls into the parking lot

  a few minutes before the four p.m.

  Mass is scheduled to begin.

  I start to open the car door,

  but he stops me. Wait. I want

  to give you your Christmas

  present before we go inside.

  He reaches into his jacket

  pocket. Sorry I didn’t wrap

  it, but I figured you wouldn’t

  care. Out comes his closed fist,

  which he opens slowly. Centered

  in his palm is a gold ring with

  three square diamonds, two

  small stones flanking a larger

  one in the middle. It’s my mom’s,

  but she wants you to have it.

  Will you marry me, Eden?

  “I . . . uh . . .” The air is being

  sucked from the car. Either that,

  or I’ve forgotten how to breathe.

  “Are . . . are you sure?” He erases

  the space between us, kisses me

  gently. I’m one hundred percent

  positive. There is no one in the world

  but you for me. We’re young, I know.

  But if our love has survived the past

  eight months, eight years or eighty

  can’t possibly destroy it. I want you

  to be my wife, and I want us to live

  together out in the country, far, far

  away from this city and its memories.

  You don’t belong here any more

  than I do. You can have a career

  if you want one. In fact, I’ll help you

  through college. Or you can stay

  home and raise a bunch of kids.

  Or colts. Or puppies. So . . . ?

  I can’t comprehend how we’ll work

  it out, but I know we’ve got to try.

  The idea of him leaving me behind

  scares me more than the thought

  of facing my mother. “Yes. Yes!”

  This kiss leaves me panting,

  probably not the right way to go

  to church. I take a deep breath.

  “Let’s go inside or we’ll be late.

  I’ve got something to thank God for.”

  A Catholic Mass

  Is like no church I’ve ever

  experienced. Compared

  to Papa’s boisterous call

  to stand up, confess, and

  speak in tongues, the priest’s

  soft liturgical repetition

  is soothing, the music—

  both traditional carols and

  melodies familiar to most

  parishioners, but not me—

  more lullaby than praise

  song. Christmas trees and

  tall poinsettias surround

  the altar, sentries guarding

  Baby Jesus, who smiles

  at us all from his crèche.

  My left hand wriggles into

  Andrew’s right, which plays

  with his mother’s ring,

  circling that telltale finger.

  I haven’t really spoken to

  God very much i
n the time

  since I left Tears of Zion.

  I talk to him now, in my heart.

  “Forgive me for losing faith

  in you. Forgive me for

  blaming you for the actions

  of people who hurt me in

  your name. Forgive the things

  I’ve done and help me to walk

  forward in your light. Give

  me the strength I need to fight

  for love and Eve’s safety.

  Thank you for speaking to

  Andrew’s heart and bringing

  him back into my life. I will

  never take him for granted,

  will always cherish and honor

  him. Please guide my way

  in the future. In your name.”

  Amen. Around me, others

  are chanting an entreaty for

  peace, and an overwhelming

  sense of serenity washes over

  me. This is how God should

  feel. Not like a punishment.

  Not like something to fear.

  I don’t want to live afraid

  anymore. Not of God. Not

  of Tears of Zion. Not of Mama.

  Andrew Is Right

  The only way to move past

  the things that scare me most

  is to confront them head-on.

  I won’t have to do it alone.

  Not with Andrew at my side.

  As everyone bows their heads

  for the benediction, it strikes

  me that the things I’ve regretted

  have been the wrong ones—things

  beyond my ability to control

  then, or change now. If I could

  wish for anything, it would be

  to go back and be just a regular

  high school kid again. I swear

  I’d find a way to have more fun.

  Join clubs. Go to dances. Maybe

  try out for musicals or sing in

  the choir. Of course, I’d have to

  convince my parents, but since

  this is all fantasy, anyway, I can

  make them be open to everything,

  including Andrew. Because he’d

  have to be there, too. Okay, that

  kind of wish can’t come true.

  But Andrew is here with me now.

  Post-Mass

  I seek out Father Gregory,

  whose expression says

  I look familiar, but he’s not

  sure why. I could pretend

  we met under different

  circumstances, but that

  would negate the reason

  I’m here. “Hello, Father.

  I’m not sure you remember,

  but you helped me find

  my way into a safe haven,

  and I wanted to thank you