to be normal, or something
close to it. I swear I’ll work
hard to get there. But I can’t
do it without your support.”
Down drops the curtain
of silence again. We all
have some thinking to do.
A Poem by Eden Streit
I Don’t Know Why
God smiled on me,
and sent him my way,
this uncomplicated
gentle man whose
love
threads my veins, pulses
within my heart, and
fortifies me, sustenance
for my hungry soul. Hope
flickers
within me, when not so
very long ago I was lost,
wandering the shadows,
a
weary traveler on a winding
track to nowhere.
But then, like the Magi,
I caught sight of a
star
to guide my way out
of the wintry desert,
toward meadows green
with spring, and planted
in
them, countless possibilities.
The sun rose within me,
light blossoming from
the darkness.
Eden
The Sun Rises
On this Christmas morning,
and the spirit of the day blooms
inside of me. I’m up at first light,
and waiting for Andrew, who
will pick me up at seven for
the very long drive—nine hours,
with luck—to Boise. I didn’t want
to wait, once determination set
in. That and the message I truly
believe God delivered through
Andrew. I have to go home. Today.
With the proper paperwork already
in place, I’m safe enough from
my parents’ grasp to risk an in-person
dialogue. I don’t belong to them
anymore. When I called Sarah last
night to let her know I’m leaving
Walk Straight, she counseled me
to return, at least long enough to
appear in court on my scheduled date.
I promised I would, and asked
for sanctioned leave from my job
here until I can make it back.
A deal is a deal, and Andrew says
he can live with whatever it takes
to move us one step closer to
spending the rest of our lives
together. I glance down at my
left hand, as I’ve done dozens
of times in the few hours since
Andrew gave me his mother’s
ring. The diamonds glimmer in
the muted early light. Can there
be a luckier girl in the whole
universe? Lucky. The word
makes me think about the girls
here, safely off the streets
this Christmas. A wave of sadness
splashes into me, for Shayleece,
forever sleeping in the ground,
and for the walking dead who
must spend today in backseats
and alleys and cheap motels,
servicing customers. If I could
help them, I would. Wait . . .
Maybe I can’t do much to help
them now, but with the right
focus, I can one day. And with
sudden clarity I understand
what God is calling me to do.
Andrew Is Right on Time
It being Christmas, the girls
are allowed to sleep in, and
few are stirring as I pick up
my small bag and slip out
the door. He greets me with
the sweetest kiss and his eyes
shine with love when he says,
Merry Christmas, my lady.
Ready to go? Since I’m seated
shotgun and belted in, the answer
should be obvious, but I agree,
“Ready as I’ll ever be.” I suffer
a bit of déjà vu riding in his
Tundra. It starts to fade several
miles in, but I expect it to resurface
in full force as we get closer to
Boise. The highway is mostly
deserted, and we make excellent
time, stopping only to eat and use
the restroom. We listen to music
and talk about the scenery, or lack
of it, and I tell Andrew that I’ve
decided to go into social work,
without mentioning the God factor.
That’s between me and him.
At one point, Andrew starts
to look a little road weary.
“I wish I could help you
drive, but I don’t know how.
Promise you’ll teach me?”
He smiles. I think you’re old
enough, and out on the ranch
is the perfect place to learn.
Dad taught me to drive his
pickup when I was eleven.
Speaking of the ranch, Mom
and Mariah are expecting us
to stop by for dinner before
we go to your parents’ house.
Hope that’s okay with you.
“I’ll need fortification, and
I can’t think of a better place
to find it. Thank you for sharing
your family with me. I wish
I had presents for them.”
Don’t worry. I did a little Vegas
souvenir shopping. Fuzzy dice
for Mariah, who will probably burn
them, and for Mom, a photo of Elvis,
signed by the King himself, they said.
That Makes Me Laugh
But when we get to the ranch,
I discover he wasn’t kidding.
I’m pretty sure Elvis’s signature
is a fake, especially since Andrew
tells me the picture only cost
five dollars. We bump up the long
dirt driveway, and now the déjà vu
slams into me like a semi. This
time of year, there’s no alfalfa
to smell. The fields are winter-
bare and shimmer beneath a thin
layer of ice. But the memory of
that afternoon carries the green
scent with it, and nerves attack
in the same way—what will happen
next? I remember the feeling—
like standing at the very edge
of a cliff, the wind in my face—
knowing Andrew and I were about
to make love, each of us gifting
the other with our virginity.
I carried the beauty of that with
me through all the ugliness that
soon followed, and it’s entrenched
in me now. “I love you, Andrew.”
The words slip out so easily
and his reply comes as quickly.
And I love you. But what was
that for? He puts the Tundra
into park in front of the house.
“Nothing. Everything. Just
thinking about the last time
I was here. It’s all I thought
about at Tears of Zion, and it’s
the only reason I’m halfway sane.”
Before he can respond, the front
door opens, and out bounds
a bluetick hound. “You’re right.
She’s not a puppy anymore.”
Sheila sniffs around the truck,
looking for Andrew, who jumps
out to scratch her head hello.
When I exit the cab, her attention
shifts to me, and she comes over,
ta
il stump wagging recognition.
Now Andrew’s mom and Mariah
materialize on the porch, signaling
to come inside, out of the cold.
Andrew takes my hand, and Sheila
leads the way into my soon-to-be home.
The Sense of Family
Is almost overwhelming,
everyone yammering happily
and simply expecting I will
join in because they accept
me as one of them already.
The house is as I remember
it—hardwood and leather,
refurbished antiques—only
prettified with the season’s
decorations, including a tree
that touches the ceiling. We
gather in the kitchen, basking
in the oven’s warmth, not to
mention its perfumes—prime
rib, sweet potatoes, and apple
pie. Andrew’s mom comes
over, lifts my left hand. I knew
it would fit you, don’t ask me
how. It looks beautiful, too.
I’m so happy for you and Andrew.
“I love it. Thank you. And thank
you for encouraging Andrew’s faith
in me. I promise to make you proud
of me.” Somehow, I believe her
when she says I already have.
I assume Andrew has told
everyone why I’m here, so I
don’t go into it. In fact, I try
hard to avoid thinking about it
mid-celebration. Dinner is even
better than last night’s five-star
Vegas experience, and that much
I do relate, along with the details
of my coming emancipation.
“My counselor is looking into
transferring jurisdiction to Idaho.
The requirements are similar—
school, the ability to support myself,
a place to live. I’ve got those in Vegas.
What I don’t have there is Andrew.”
Between the three of us, we’ve
got plenty of connections here,
says Andrew’s mom, who now
insists I call her Victoria. We’ll
work it out. Andrew needs you.
She’s right, agrees Andrew.
I absolutely need you here
close to me. He takes my hand,
infusing me with his strength.
Good. I’m going to need it.
There Is Discussion
About whether to wait until
tomorrow to go to my parents’,
but by the time we finish our
pie, I feel bolstered by the love
I’ve absorbed for the past three
hours. “Hopefully they’ll have
a little Christmas spirit left
and will let me come in,” I tell
Andrew on the way over.
He parks on the street in front
of the house that will never be
my home again, but when he starts
to get out, I stop him. “I know they
won’t let you in. Last thing you
need is a trespassing charge.”
Are you sure you want to do
this alone? There are lights on
inside, and movement beyond
the windows, and it would be
easy, in this moment, to change
my mind. But then I think about
Eve, alone in the cold on this
Christmas night, and I discover
my courage again. “Just don’t go
anywhere, in case I come running.”
I Toss a Prayer
Toward heaven as I approach
the door, ring the bell. The weight
of the footsteps tells me Mama
will answer, and she does. “Hello,
Mama. Merry Christmas.”
She startles. What are you doing
here? Then she notices Andrew’s
truck beneath the streetlight. Of
course. I should have guessed.
Papa moves into place behind her.
“May I come inside for a few
minutes, Mama? When I saw you
in Las Vegas, you never gave me
the chance to tell you about Tears
of Zion. There’s stuff you should know.”
She starts to say no, but Papa
rests his hand on her shoulder.
It’s Christmas, Joan. Show some
compassion. Maybe what she has
to say is important. Papa as the voice
of reason? Maybe Somebody’s
whispering into his ear. For
whatever reason, my parents
step back, let me inside, where
it’s even more sterile than I recall.
I start the conversation as if
they’re totally ignorant of Samuel
Ruenhaven’s tactics. “I’m not sure
how much of this you’re aware of,
but . . .” I tell them everything,
watching their expressions change
from haughty to something like
horrified. I wait for Mama to call
me a liar. Instead, she shakes
her head slowly, disbelieving.
No. Samuel wouldn’t approve
of such things. He’s a man of God.
I’ve known him for years, or I’d
never have sent you girls to him.
You’re wrong. You must be.
“Mama. I was there.” I let that
sink in. “And now Eve’s there.”
I start to tell her I’m planning to
talk to the Elko DA, but change
my mind. One call from Mama
to Tears of Zion, the place might
fold up and vanish into oblivion.
“Will you help me get her out
of there? Please?” They can’t
possibly say no. Can they?
A Poem by Cody Bennett
Can’t Say No
To my angel.
I’d give her the universe
if it was in my power,
and it would be
nothing
compared to what
she’s given me.
Whenever she’s close
she makes me feel
like
I can accomplish
anything, all she has
to do is offer a word
of encouragement.
The thought of losing
her
sears hotter than
phantom bolts of pain,
those unappreciated
interruptions
in
almost every one of
my days. But she swears
she’ll stay, and that some-
day we’ll travel
the world
together, damn
the disability, and she
makes me believe it’s true.
Cody
I Wonder How Many People
Take Christmas for granted.
Family. Friends. Decorations.
Gifts. Food. A little alcohol.
Always in the past I figured
there would be another Christmas.
Maybe even a better Christmas
than the one I was celebrating.
Mom was central to every holiday
gathering, and for most of my life,
my brother was there, too. In recent
memory, Jack looms large, singing
carols in his brilliant baritone,
and cracking ridiculous jokes that
never failed to make us laugh.
If someone would have told me last
year that Jack wouldn’t be here today,
or that Cory would be fresh out of
lockup, while Mom toiled her butt
br /> off at a miserable job just to make
ends meet, I would’ve called him a liar.
And if he’d insisted I’d soon gamble
away most of our money, then
try to earn it back by turning
tricks, often with men, I would
have spit in his face. And if he
somehow could have convinced
me the choices I’d make would
result in my becoming a T12
incomplete paraplegic, and
wheelchair-bound for the rest
of my life, I would’ve spiked
my eggnog with a lethal dose
of strychnine and happily taken
that long, dark walk into eternity
before having to witness any
of that, let alone accept the facts
of my future. Yet, here I am, alive
if not exactly kicking, and holding
my own in a staring match with
tomorrow. So, yeah, it’s Christmas.
And if I can’t have my legs back,
all I really want for it is Ronnie.
I Did Not Expect Her Early
Christmas is a day for family,
and I told her I’d be grateful
for any time she could spare.
She’ll be here after dinner.
Mom shows up right before,
and she brings me a present.
Cory shuffles into the room,
eyes on the ground, and I know
he must be struggling with more
than the hospital stink. No, he
can’t quite bring himself to look
at me. Fuck that. Get used to it.
“Cory! Dude! Jesus, you look like
shit. But I don’t care. Come over
here and give me a hug, man.”
I’m chilling in bed, on top of
the blankets because they keep
the temp hovering well over seventy
and I’m dressed to go to dinner.
As I use my hands to help my legs
swing over the bed, Cory chances
a glance, wincing as he watches
my well-rehearsed protocol. “What?
It took work to figure this out.
Now, if you don’t come give me
a hug, I swear I’ll flop out of bed,
onto the floor and crawl over to you.”
No! Holy shit. I don’t want to
see that. He looks ready to bolt.
Instead, he takes a deep breath,
forces himself to cross the room.
His hug, however, is lukewarm.
“Hope you’re not worried about
hurting me. In case you haven’t
noticed, I’m almost bulletproof.
In fact, I’m immune to anything
except a real bullet.” It’s lame,
and Cory doesn’t find it funny.