Burned

  a point to stare when I walked through the door.

  I Thought Dad’s Rant Was Bad

  I mean, he went on and on about

  “what boys want” and what should happen

  to boys if they manage to get what they want.

  (A very ugly—not to mention painful—picture.)

  Then he took away my rifle and told me

  it would be a warm day in Antarctica

  before I left the house again.

  But Bishop Crandall, sitting smug

  behind his tall teak desk, made me want

  to scream. After an hour of his reminding

  me of a woman’s role,

  I couldn’t stand it anymore.

  So I interrupted, “Is it a woman’s role

  to keep silent when her husband hits her?”

  If I was looking for shock value,

  I was looking in the wrong place.

  Violence is never right. But a man

  has a duty to keep his wife in check.

  In check? Like Mom had ever asked

  to go anywhere or do anything other

  than wait on Dad and us kids?

  He nailed me. I hope you’re not

  accusing your father of such things.

  His tone made me waver. But I

  didn’t quite buckle. “What if I am?”

  He leveled me. Then I’d call you

  a liar, with nothing to gain

  and everything to lose.

  Censored

  I went home,

  withdrew

  to my room,

  sulked

  all afternoon,

  stressed

  over what life

  would be like

  emptied

  of Derek,

  drained

  of laughter,

  strangled

  by rules I’d

  happily broken.

  Depressed,

  I put my pillow

  over my head

  forgetting

  tears were

  out of bounds

  and let

  myself cry.

  Journal Entry, May 7

  Life isn’t fair.

  I finally find

  someone special

  and they want

  to take him

  away from me.

  Mom says I

  should have

  a boyfriend.

  Why does he

  have to be

  Mormon?

  Dad says I

  shouldn’t

  even think

  about boys.

  Yeah, right.

  What am I,

  brain-dead?

  Bishop Crandall

  says one day

  I’ll have to obey

  my husband.

  No talk of love.

  Can “love

  and obey”

  possibly go

  together?

  All I know

  is, I’m old

  enough to

  make my own

  decisions.

  They won’t

  take Derek

  away from me.

  I won’t

  let them.

  Turned Out

  Derek gave me no other choice.

  I saw him at school the next day,

  smiled and waved him over.

  He half-waved back, turned,

  and walked off with Justin.

  I ran to catch up with them.

  “Derek? Can I talk to you?

  What’s the matter?”

  He spun. The matter is you

  and your crazy father.

  “I don’t think he acted so crazy.”

  Even if he did, what did that

  have to do with me?

  Give us a minute, okay, Justin?

  Derek led me to a deserted corner.

  I’d never had a boyfriend before,

  so I’d never been dumped before.

  But I knew where this was headed.

  Patty, you know I care about you.

  But your dad made it very clear

  that I’d better leave you alone.

  I shook my head. “I never

  heard anything like that, Derek.”

  Tears dammed up behind my lashes.

  He came over to my house, Patty.

  He said if I ever “bother” you again,

  he’ll kill me. And I believe him.

  The tears leaked out. Derek

  tried to hug me, but I pushed him

  away. “So that’s it? Just good-bye?”

  Has to be. Anyway, it was bound

  to happen sooner or later.

  Sorry, Patty. See ya around.

  Dismissed

  I’m quiet-tempered by nature,

  but anger boiled up inside me.

  I didn’t know who to be

  angrier with—Dad,

  or Derek.

  What did he mean,

  “bound to happen”?

  Was it something he’d

  planned all along?

  Who else knew?

  I’d never used a cuss word

  before, but two or three

  popped into my mind

  and I chose the worst.

  “Fuck you!”

  Derek just shook his head

  and kept on walking,

  and that only made

  me angrier yet.

  “I said, FUCK YOU!”

  Everyone anywhere within

  shouting distance turned

  to stare at Pattyn

  Von Stratten,

  gone completely nuts.

  Derek turned the corner,

  slithered right out of my

  life. And it was all

  my dad’s fault.

  Wasn’t it?

  I Wasn’t in Love with Derek

  So why, all of a sudden, did I

  feel like I couldn’t live without him?

  Why did I feel like I’d just taken

  a cannonball to the gut?

  Why did a sudden urge to hurt something

  become so overwhelming?

  I picked up my backpack, weighty

  with books, did a 180 and let it fly.

  In my wildest imagination, I could never

  have guessed the trajectory it would choose.

  Thunk! Tinkle…tinkle. My backpack went

  straight through the library’s picture window.

  Good thing no one was on the other side.

  Ms. Rose came running.

  She saw me, tears reflecting my disbelief.

  Her own eyes held pure shock.

  “I’m so sorry, Ms. Rose…” I blubbered.

  “I didn’t mean…I mean…it just slipped…”

  She told me she was sorry too, then

  escorted me to the office.

  I’d Never Been to the Office

  Except to turn in absence notes

  or take a phone call from home.

  But never like this.

  Never in shame.

  And when Mr. Scoffield called

  my mom, she couldn’t believe

  what he told her.

  What she was hearing.

  And when she passed on the news

  to my dad—that he would be buying

  a $500 window—he flipped.

  Lost it completely.

  For the first time ever,

  he slapped me, hard,

  like he’d done to Mom

  a thousand times.

  Defiance rose up like vomit.

  I swung back and yelled,

  “Don’t ever do that again!”

  He caught my arm.

  Held it midair, and I found

  in his eyes conflicting emotions—

  something almost like apology,

  and something very much like satisfaction.

  Communication

  Was never big in my house.
br />   We sat down together over

  dinner, but the only sound

  you’d hear was crunching

  and chewing and the little

  ones asking for more, please.

  We lived, all boxed up in

  invisible containers. We

  hardly knew the people

  we called sister or father.

  Jackie and I were the

  exceptions to that rule.

  But now even she and I

  were afraid to reach out

  to each other. I couldn’t

  blame her. Associate

  with a pariah, you become

  an outcast too. Don’t you?

  Dad always lived angry.

  Now he lived furious.

  Mom settled for passive;

  she withdrew further into

  her shell. The girls sensed

  the need for quiet play.

  As for me, I barely

  said one word. Not

  at home. Not at

  school. For sure

  not at seminary.

  My little box

  grew smaller

  and smaller,

  until there was

  only part of

  me inside.

  The sad part.

  A Week Went By

  The school year was drawing

  to a close. Usually, I couldn’t wait

  for summer vacation. But what

  did I have to look forward to this year?

  Jackie would be off to girls’ camp, not

  a pleasant experience for me, but she

  was jazzed, which only made me more

  jealous that I’d be locked up at home.

  Not even the desert to take refuge

  in, unless I could somehow convince

  Dad to loosen the reins. No stallions

  near this mare’s pasture. Not anymore.

  Every time I saw Derek at school,

  laughing with Justin or Brent,

  while refusing to even acknowledge

  me, I got mad. Royally pissed.

  Then came the day I saw him

  with Carmen, arm possessively

  around her waist. As I watched,

  she reached up and kissed him.

  A flare went off inside my head.

  I swear, my eyes filmed over, red.

  Bishop Crandall told me Satan was

  to blame for the things I did with Derek.

  Satan had nothing to do with that,

  of course, but he may have had something

  to do with the utterly evil feelings

  that rose up inside me. Seeking escape.

  I Followed Carmen and Derek

  From a safe distance,

  of course. I waited until

  they split up. Derek went

  into a classroom. Carmen

  started toward the gym.

  I caught up to her, fell in

  beside her. “I thought you

  and Derek were history.”

  She stopped short.

  No, you and Derek

  are history.

  This is where I think

  the devil stepped in.

  “Leave him alone, Carmen.”

  She laughed.

  No way, freak.

  Derek loves me.

  Then I laughed. Or Satan

  did. “Derek only loves

  Derek. He never loved you.”

  I suppose you think

  he loved you? He only

  used you for sex.

  Did he tell her that? Did

  he tell everyone that?

  “We never had sex.”

  That’s not what he said.

  Not only that, he said

  it was lousy sex.

  I should have done what I

  did to Derek, not Carmen.

  But he wasn’t standing there.

  What I Did Was…

  I cocked back

  my fist, took

  dead aim, and

  punched her

  straight in

  the nose.

  Her eyes went

  wild. Fuckin’

  bitch! I’ll

  kill you.

  She and Dad

  could team up.

  I grabbed a

  fistful of coal-colored

  hair. “Oooh.

  I’m so scared.”

  Carmen raked

  my cheek with

  deadly fingernails

  and might have done

  me worse than a sixinch

  welt, except

  right about then

  her nose gushed.

  I should have

  run for first aid,

  or at least felt

  bad. Instead, I

  said, “Your nose

  is bleeding. Hey,

  think it’s broken?”

  It Was Just a Hairline Fracture

  But it was enough

  to get me suspended

  for the rest of the year.

  And it was also enough

  to net a $1500 ER visit

  for sweet little Carmen,

  which, as you may have guessed,

  my dad had to pay for.

  Well, actually, his homeowners’

  insurance had to pay it.

  But, as he told me explicitly,

  My premiums will go up now,

  so it’s still money out of my pocket.

  Two thousand dollars in one week.

  What has happened to you, Pattyn?

  Boys and booze. (So he had smelled

  the tequila that day!)

  Broken windows, broken noses.

  What kind of trouble have you become?

  For Once

  Mom blew it worse than Dad.

  In fact, she lost it completely.

  I work and slave, to make your life

  perfect. How could you do this to me?

  Slave? Perfect? I might have argued.

  Instead I said, “I didn’t do anything to you.”

  Her face blossomed, rose red. You

  have stigmatized this entire family!

  “Stigmatized? That’s the biggest word

  I’ve ever heard you attempt, Mother.”

  Her eyes flooded. I’m not stupid. I

  graduated high school, considered college.

  “Then along came Dad. True love won

  you over. Please, don’t make me gag.”

  Pattyn! How can you be so nasty?

  Of course true love won me over.

  “Sorry, Mom, but if there’s one thing

  I’ve learned, watching you and Dad…”

  Yes? What have you learned?

  “Love is just another word for sex.”

  She Screamed

  (This is the part

  where she lost it.)

  Sex? Sex! Tell

  me what you know about sex!

  Did that awful

  boy touch you? Put it in you?

  I couldn’t resist

  that lead-in.

  “Put what in me?”

  You know very

  well what I’m talking about.

  Did he take

  his pants off? Did you let him?

  Now it was a game.

  “Let him? What if

  I encouraged him?”

  Pattyn Scarlet Von

  Stratten. Exactly what are you saying?

  Surely you can’t

  mean you wanted to have sex?

  A vicious game.

  “Don’t you want

  to have sex, Mom?”

  Her face ignited

  flames. Wha…wha…

  “Or is it all about

  overpopulating

  this pitiful planet?”

  She sputtered.

  She fumed. She fizzled out.

  “’Cause if that’s

  all it’s about, you

  can count me out.”

>   If I’d Have Known Then

  What I learned a few days later,

  I might have made her squirm

  a little less.

  Then again, maybe not.

  My head felt constricted,

  squashed in a vise of frustration,

  ready to pop like a blister.

  All the questions I’d always

  wanted to ask jumbled around in

  my brain, twisted into barbs.

  “Don’t worry, Mom. I know sex

  leads to babies. You and Dad have

  taught me that valuable lesson.”

  I could have stopped there.

  Might have stopped, had I noticed

  how her face had turned ashen.

  Instead, I steamrolled her.

  “You’re like a blue-ribbon heifer,

  Mom. Champion breeding stock,

  always in heat for her bull.”

  And almost regretted it

  when she ran over to the kitchen

  sink and heaved her lunch.

  And truly regretted it

  when she turned, shaky and pale,

  flecks of vomit in her hair, and said,

  I need to lie down for a while.

  Later, Bishop Crandall Dropped By

  The house to give me a stern

  reprimand. He sat across

  the cluttered table,

  playing with a paper clip.

  Your parents are worried

  about you, Pattyn.

  I was worried about myself.

  But I wasn’t about to let him

  know it. “Really?”

  Really. What have you got

  to say for yourself? You’ve always