Impulse

  at the movie theater?

  Someone you know?”

  Everyone else stops

  babbling, waits for the

  answer we all want to

  hear. It’s slow coming.

  Finally, he says simply,

  Kendra is an old girlfriend.

  We broke up a few months ago.

  Which should be good

  enough, but not for Dahlia.

  Why? What happened?

  I know Dr. B wants to

  know. But she says, That’s

  Conner’s business, Dahlia.

  I’m guessing, thinking

  back to his poem, it had

  something to do with

  Emily. But Dr. Boston

  is right. It’s Conner’s

  business, and he doesn’t

  seem inclined to share.

  Not that I won’t ask

  him again later. In

  private. When I try

  to pry information

  about Dr. Boston and

  Emily.

  Vanessa

  Bryan and I Rush

  Into Daddy’s arms—

  tan and more muscled than I remember. We kiss

  him, all over his face,

  from the apex of his buzz cut

  to the scrub on his chin.

  Finally, he pushes us away.

  Okay, okay. I’m happy

  to see you, too. And I’ve

  missed my crew. Stand

  back and let me get

  a good look at you.

  His eyes measure us,

  head to toe, as Grandma

  goes to him, gently

  touches his shoulder.

  Good to have you home,

  Ron. Good to have you,

  all in one piece.

  Daddy stands, pulls

  Grandma to him.

  No need to worry about

  that, Mama. No need

  at all. I still got all my

  limbs, and all my wits.

  But, my God, how

  these children have

  grown, and grown up.

  Grown up? Me? I

  suppose I have. Killing

  things, and almost

  killing myself, must

  have changed me

  some, after all.

  I’m Glad

  I put away my blade,

  untested. Daddy would have

  noticed, of that I’m sure.

  He and blood are buddies.

  Grandma’s right. It’s good

  to see him, all in one piece.

  When your father’s always

  knee-deep in a conflict

  somewhere, you can never

  be certain if—or how—

  you’ll see him again.

  C’mon, Daddy, we’re

  coloring Easter eggs.

  There’s no Easter Bunny,

  you know, so we’ve got

  to hide them ourselves.

  Bryan gave up on the Easter

  Bunny last year. This year

  he’ll probably give up

  on Santa, too. Lost faith.

  Makes me sad.

  Be right there, son,

  soon as I put my things

  in my room. Dad pauses,

  looks me square in the eye.

  You and I need to talk. Later.

  Apprehension grips my

  throat. “S-sure.”

  I watch my daddy stride

  down the hall, one burly

  arm swinging his heavy

  knapsack, and, despite

  a healthy dose of fear

  about what he has to say

  to me, I inflate with pride.

  Later

  After a scrumptious

  Grandma-style three-course

  dinner, Daddy sends Bryan

  and me to our rooms.

  So I can think about

  stashing Easter eggs,

  he tells Bryan.

  But I know he wants to

  talk to Grandma in private.

  I leave my door cracked,

  hoping to hear snatches

  of their conversation. I do.

  Why didn’t you tell me

  about this … cutting thing?

  asks Daddy.

  What could you have

  done, Ron? I didn’t know

  myself, until it was almost.

  Grandma’s voice cracks.

  And I left you to deal with

  Margaret, too. I’m sorry, Mama,

  I didn’t think … didn’t realize …

  I mean, I knew she was sick.

  But I had no idea she would

  do such a terrible thing

  None of us guessed she

  was so far over the edge.

  I’m just glad I was the one

  who found her.

  Have the kids gone to visit her?

  I can almost hear

  Grandma shake her head.

  We all will, then.

  Tomorrow.

  Conner

  Dinner Tonight

  Was McDonald’s, on the way

  back from the movie. Quarter

  Pounders and fries—way to

  pack on empty calories.

  Now Tony, Dahlia, Carmella,

  and I are sitting around,

  cutting major farts. Dahlia

  doesn’t even try to stifle hers.

  Ugh! says Tony. Girl, you’ll

  never catch a man like that.

  And by the way, didn’t your ma

  ever tell you to say, “’Scuse me”?

  You oughta know ’bout catching

  men, freak. And I did say excuse

  me, with my butt. Apparently

  you don’t speak “rectum.”

  Everyone cracks up, except

  me. Nothing is funny

  tonight. My mood wants to

  swing between reflective

  and halfway terrified.

  I’m afraid—a strange thing

  to say, but true—that despite

  whatever progress I’ve made,

  when I get out of this place,

  everything will be exactly

  the same as before—even me.

  I’ll still live in my parents’

  shadow; I’ll still drive myself to

  achieve impossible perfection.

  And I’ll never let myself

  believe someone really loves me.

  Two Ativans Toward Sleep

  I lie in bed, listen to

  the grind of wind against

  cinder-block walls. I’m not

  sure how to unwind this coil

  of images flashing inside

  my brain. Some are “borrowed”

  from the flick we saw today:

  good people, slain by evil

  automatons; the slightly

  effeminate hero (and why

  does he come to mind?);

  the geeky alien zero—

  apparently, advanced

  civilizations send them

  off in their latest spacecraft

  to defend home and planet.

  The meds kick in and here

  comes the princess—all curves,

  in a tight blue dress. Blue … tight, …

  Heather. Pretty name. Sums

  her up completely. Oops …

  transformation, titian hair

  bleaching blond, gray eyes tinting

  blue—Kendra, sweet temptation.

  Some of us love you, she whispers,

  tossing her long, golden hair.

  Why can’t you love back, Conner?

  What the hell’s wrong with you?

  I want to blame Mom, Dad,

  Emily, and I do. But

  there’s someone else, too,

  in a sliver of memory.

  Easter Sunday Morning

  I wake, not exactly refreshed.

  Despite
the meds, I tossed

  and tumbled, caught in the claws

  of a dream-disturbed night.

  Beyond the window glass,

  a silver glint stabs my eyes.

  I turn on my side, refuse

  to budge, no hint of sound

  outside my room. All this

  silence, wrapped around Sunday

  morning, reminds me of home.

  Now I feel trapped beneath

  my blankets. I throw them off,

  stomp to the door, stick my head

  out in the hall. “I have to pee.”

  Nothing. I don’t know what’s in store

  for me if I go without

  permission. But I really have

  no choice. I pad to the bathroom,

  hope my morning “condition”

  will allow me to pee after all.

  I’m still waiting for “deflation”

  when Tony walks through the door.

  He gives me a prime once-over.

  Hey man. Nice firewood. He grins,

  then look away and changes

  the subject. Kind of creepy

  today, with nobody here.

  Totally shriveled, I finish

  my business. “Must be somebody

  here, somewhere.” I wash

  my hands, splash the crust from

  my eyes.

  Tony

  Holy Crap

  It’s the first time I’ve

  seen Conner exposed,

  and boy, what exposure!

  The guy is built like

  a mule. No wonder

  women lust after him.

  I’m lusting a little,

  myself, but manage to

  keep it in check, except

  one comment about

  his wood. A guy likes

  to know he’s appreciated.

  I watch him splash

  his face. Cold water, I bet,

  proving himself macho.

  Damn, that’s cold! He

  catches my smile in the

  mirror. What’s so funny?

  “Nothing. Just thinking

  about yesterday. Carmella

  was funnier than shit.”

  Conner drops his defensive

  stance. Yeah, she was. Too bad

  I wasn’t in the mood to laugh.

  He opens the door.

  “We noticed. What was

  up with you, anyway?”

  Up comes the wall again.

  I don’t know. Maybe they

  need to up my meds again.

  I Doubt That

  But know better than

  to say so. “Well, I’m

  catching a shower.

  Carmella said we can

  go to church in Reno

  this morning. Going?”

  I don’t know. Maybe.

  Guess it’s better than

  sticking around here,

  playing with … uh …

  Something close to

  panic fills his eyes.

  “Your firewood?” I laugh

  and Conner has to, too,

  or look like a total fool.

  I’d better get dressed.

  See you at breakfast. It

  smells pretty good today.

  I turn the faucet to

  steamy, step under,

  and let its hot fingers

  touch me all over,

  trying not to think

  about the last time

  hot fingers (real ones)

  touched me all over.

  It’s Easter, the holiest

  of holy days, and at

  the moment I’m feeling

  like a world-class sinner.

  My brain tells me it’s

  all wrong, the way

  my body’s responding

  to thinking about sex,

  the last time I had it, and

  when I might have it again.

  Not Quite Free

  But out from behind

  locked doors, for

  the second day in a

  row, it doesn’t

  even matter that it’s

  snowing—on Easter.

  Dahlia’s pissed. We get

  enough of this Jesus junk

  every other Sunday.

  But Paul had to drive

  ’cause Carmella freaks

  when it snows. So it

  was all of us, or none

  of us. And Conner and I

  voted, two to one, to go.

  Carmella chose the church.

  I don’t do Catholic anymore,

  not since I got divorced.

  Twenty-three and divorced

  already! At least she doesn’t

  have kids. (I don’t think.)

  We turn into a crowded

  parking lot, and I notice

  Conner begin to squirm.

  Here? he says. Do we

  have to go to this one?

  His eyes scan the cars,

  settle on a black Lexus.

  They’re here, he says.

  I can’t go in. No way.

  “Who’s here?” I ask,

  but I suspect the answer,

  and it’s quick to come.

  My family.

  Vanessa

  All Dressed Up

  In the best of our best

  Sunday clothes, Bryan,

  Grandma, and I pile

  into the rented SUV, wait

  for Daddy. Finally, he comes

  out the door, in full-dress

  uniform, boots spit-polished

  until they shine like satin.

  He doesn’t wear a smile.

  I’d forgotten it snows

  here in April. I thought

  I’d left that behind,

  in that godforsaken

  place. Hell, I bet even

  Allah doesn’t go there.

  Oh, well, we’ll make the best

  of it, I guess. Ready?

  No! I’m not ready. I want

  to go back to Aspen Springs,

  where it’s safe, predictable.

  Where my secrets and I

  can hang out, undisturbed.

  I don’t want to go see her,

  not there. No one belongs

  there, just like no one

  belongs in Afghanistan,

  if Daddy’s word can be

  trusted. And I have to

  trust it. Don’t I?

  All right, then. Here we

  go. The O’Reilly family,

  all together again.

  Almost all together,

  he means.

  Giant Flakes

  Of heavy, wet snow splat

  against the windows.

  Daddy cruises slowly,

  and I understand he doesn’t

  want to go where

  we’re going either.

  It’s a duty thing.

  Thank God for the lithium.

  It really seems to have

  kicked into gear the last

  couple of days. My hands

  still shake sometimes,

  and my mouth is dry

  most of the time,

  but it is easier to hover

  up out of the blue.

  Dad took me aside earlier,

  while Grandma helped

  Bryan get dressed.

  Nessa, girl, I know it’s

  been tough, trying to take

  your mother’s place,

  ’specially seeing her at

  her worst and all. I want

  you to know that she was

  a real good woman, when

  she wasn’t in a bad space.

  “I know, Daddy.”

  You’ll be a fine woman

  too. We’ll get you the help

  you need, hear me? I don’t

  want to lose you, too.

  I’d never seen him so soft

  before. It wasn’t what
/>
  I’d expected, and it grabbed

  my breath away.

  He pulled me into him,

  where I couldn’t see him cry.

  But I could feel him tremble.

  He’s Hard Again Now

  And I wonder how soft

  he’d be if I confessed

  how I left Mama, blank

  eyed, in a pool of overdose-induced peace.

  My arm twitches and, lithium

  or no, I want to open a vein,

  bleed out the guilt.

  Your grandmother tells me

  you’ll go into a wilderness

  survival program soon,

  says Daddy.

  Really? says Bryan. Cool!

  “I guess so,” I answer, not

  sure what “soon” means.

  “That’s Level Four, the last

  step before I come home.”

  You’ve never done anything

  like that, have you?

  The closest I’ve come is

  a hike in the woods with

  Grandma and Bryan. “No.”

  When the time comes, you

  cowboy up. You’re tough,

  just like your father.

  “No one’s as tough as you,

  Daddy. But I’ll try.”

  Oh. Here we are.

  He slows to a crawl and we

  turn into a snow-covered parking

  lot. Everything around us is gray

  stone, frosted white. Spooky. My

  heart falls into my tummy. Tough?

  Not me.

  Conner

  Almost May