Identical

a lot of calories or something.

  But hey, I’m gonna try, at least

  as long as there’s food in the house

  and Daddy isn’t home. He’s not.

  The garage is vacant, awaiting

  the Lexus’s return. I glance at

  the grandfather clock in the hall.

  Not yet four. I should have an hour

  or more, all to myself and my genie.

  It’s screaming to be fed.

  Begging to be satisfied.

  It’s Probably Weird

  To think about an addiction

  like it’s a sentient being,

  but that’s how it feels.

  Like it’s something living

  inside you. Something

  you can’t get rid of because

  killing it means killing you.

  I can’t really understand

  addictions to drugs or alcohol.

  Things that control you.

  But an eating disorder

  is an addiction you control.

  Wait, is that paradoxical?

  I prefer to believe not.

  Either way, I kick off my shoes,

  slide along the tile and into

  the kitchen, calming my genie

  with promises. Twinkies. Ice

  cream bars. Halloween candy.

  Screw the trick-or-treaters.

  Little heathens are bums.

  Sweet Stuff

  Sounds good, but I know from

  experience I’ll get sick before

  I can eat enough sugar to satiate

  this kind of need. I should start

  with something else. Hey.

  I know. I’ll binge healthy

  and do the five food groups.

  Crackers. Chips. Both whole

  grain. Salsa. Fruit salad.

  Canned, but oh well. Cheese

  for the crackers. (And later,

  ice cream, dessert dairy.)

  Protein? Think there’s lunch

  meat in the refrigerator.

  Hope it’s bologna.

  That just leaves fat. So I’ll

  butter my bologna. First,

  I spread a quarter roll of paper

  towels on the table. Have to

  do this crumb free. Next

  I arrange silverware in

  a perfectly straight line.

  About the time I turn toward

  the cupboards, I notice

  the obnoxious repetitive noise.

  The Answering Machine

  Is beeping, accompanied

  by a red warning light.

  Blip-blip-blip. Three messages.

  One: Mom. Can’t talk

  long. But thought you’d

  want to know, in case

  you haven’t checked,

  the campaign is picking

  up. I’m ahead in current

  polls. Will be home to watch

  the election coverage. Click.

  Awesome. Looks like we’ll lose

  her completely. Not that I expected

  anything else. No, not at all.

  Two: Daddy. Can’t talk

  long. But wanted to let

  you know I’m going out

  to dinner with a colleague.

  It could go pretty late,

  so don’t worry if you don’t

  see me tonight. Any problems,

  call my cell phone and I’ll

  get back to you ASAP.

  “ASAP,” pronounced like a word,

  instead of initials. No problem,

  Daddy. I’m feeling pretty good now.

  My Head Is in the Fridge

  When the third message

  fires up. The voice is unfamiliar,

  but it’s someone I sort of know.

  Hello? I’m trying to reach

  Raymond Gardella. Ray?

  This is your father. I know

  it’s been a long time with

  no word from me. But

  something has come up

  that I thought you should

  hear about ASAP….

  A-S-A-P. Unlike Daddy,

  Grandpa Gardella uses

  the initials, not the acronym.

  I had a visit from your mother,

  returned from who-knows-where.

  She wanted to know how

  to find you. Apparently, she’s

  actually paid attention to

  the news lately. She knows

  your wife is running for Congress.

  My guess is she’s out to make

  trouble unless you shove

  a few dollars in her direction.

  If I were you, I’d expect a call.

  The Impossible News

  Steals my breath, chases away

  all desire for food. I thought

  for sure my grandmother was dead.

  And now this not-so-distant

  relative crawls from the grave,

  a ghost.

  I wonder where she’s been,

  why it’s taken so many years

  for her to reappear. And now,

  three weeks until the election, she

  materializes

  from the ether, robed in evil

  intent? What information

  can she possibly have? What

  dark recess of Daddy’s past

  harbors

  secrets that could sway voters

  away from Mom now? Will

  my grandmother really, truly

  appear on our doorstep, hugging

  malevolence,

  money her only motivation?

  Has she no desire to reconnect

  with her son, meet his family,

  become our family too? Do we

  want

  that, even if she does? One

  of those faded filmclips

  flickers in distant memory.

  Raeanne

  Rich!

  Both the Häagen-Dazs bar

  dripping into my mouth

  and Grandpa Gardella’s

  phone message.

  A ghost

  from Daddy’s past, one

  who has remained invisible

  (almost so, anyway) for a very

  long time,

  materializes

  from some sordid history

  we probably don’t want

  to know about. Kaeleigh,

  the dimwit, is thrilled. She

  harbors

  some idiotic curiosity

  about our genealogy,

  as if dissecting the beast

  could help us escape its

  malevolence.

  But I know that this poorly

  timed turn of events can only

  lead to more pain. Sorry, Kaeleigh,

  but Daddy’s mommy can only

  want

  one thing: more than a few bucks.

  What a Great Thing

  To come home to. Something

  new. Sure to cause a major stir.

  Life is rarely dull around here.

  I consider calling Daddy,

  more to mess up his dinner out

  than anything. But then it strikes

  me that I want to see the look on

  his face when he hears the news.

  Maybe I should call Mom instead.

  Someone should break it to her.

  Wonder how long she’ll be ahead

  in the polls, should the ghost decide

  to spread some unimaginable

  rumors about dear old Daddy.

  What Could the Gossip Be?

  She can’t have a clue about Daddy

  and Kaeleigh. Unless she’s been

  spying, completely covertly, for a

  very long time. Grandpa Gardella

  didn’t even know

  about us until

  just a few years

  ago. And our

  grandmother was

  still, to everyone’
s

  knowledge, totally out of the

  picture then—gone or dead.

  So what can she possibly

  hold over Daddy’s head now?

  Could it have

  something to

  do with why

  Grandpa and

  Daddy don’t

  speak to each

  other? Did my

  father shoot up

  heroin? Sacrifice neighborhood

  pets? Hit-and-run, DUI, or shoot

  someone, by accident or on purpose?

  My curiosity is killing me because

  nquiring

  minds want to know.

  Mom Will Want to Know

  Although maybe not from me.

  But hey, what’s a daughter for?

  Not sure what city she’s touched

  down in tonight, but it will

  be pretty late. It’s ten here.

  Mom’s cell rings five times,

  threatens to go to voice mail,

  but she picks up before it does.

  Yes? Okay, she’s miffed, but not

  as miffed as she’s going to be.

  “Uh, Mom? It’s me. We got

  a phone message today that I

  think you should know

  about sooner rather than later.

  Let me play it for you.”

  I hold the receiver up to

  the speaker. When the message

  finishes, I wait out the silence.

  Finally she says, Thank you.

  I’ll put some people on it.

  People? Mom has people?

  I mean, I knew she had a staff,

  connections even. But “people,”

  as in people who handle stuff

  like a crazy long-lost relative?

  Wonder If I Should Be Scared

  Or at the very least,

  a little nervous.

  Wonder what it would

  take to make

  Mom decide to

  put her people on me.

  I know a secret or two

  myself. What if

  I threatened to

  go public unless she bought

  me a car, paid for my

  insurance, took

  two hours of her

  precious time to help me

  get my license? Hey! Great

  idea. Or not.

  Really, how far

  would I go if she said no?

  How Far Will I Go

  To enjoy this little game?

  Daddy will be home soon,

  at least I assume he will be.

  It might be fun to watch

  him pick up the message,

  squirm. Freak. Go ballistic.

  But just imagine the fun

  if I erase the warning, wait

  things out. See if my loser

  grandmother actually rings

  the bell one day. Surprise!

  Guess who’s coming to dinner,

  Daddy o’ mine. Wow. Decisions.

  Decisions. Kaeleigh would want

  to tell, but she’s crawled on off

  somewhere. To erase or not to

  erase, that is the question.

  While I think it over, I’ll make

  an easier decision. Another

  Häagen-Dazs bar? Why not?

  Ex-Lax awaits. Chocolate melting

  into my mouth, I go over to

  the counter, watch the red light

  flash three times, extinguish it.

  In the Dark

  Of my room, I try to sleep,

  but thoughts whirl through

  my skull, cerebral tornadoes.

  Life, I’m fairly sure, is about

  to change. But for better or worse?

  Any guess is as good as mine.

  What would happen if all our dirty

  laundry was hung out on a line

  where the entire world could see it?

  Would Daddy still be a judge?

  Would Mom still run away?

  Would Kaeleigh and I be taken,

  forced into foster care? Would our

  lives be less filled with misery?

  Or would it just be more of the same?

  My eyes grow heavy, less with

  weariness than with remembrance.

  A certain night blurs into focus.

  Mom Was Gone Again

  Can’t exactly remember why,

  only that we didn’t expect her

  to come home until very late.

  It was dark in our room.

  Velvety black. Someone had closed

  the curtain. Kaeleigh was scared.

  I tried to tell her not to worry, but just

  then, Daddy burst through the door.

  I closed my eyes tight, made myself

  no more than a shadow. Something

  about him was different. I didn’t

  want that something to find me.

  I cracked my eyes just a slit as he sat

  on Kaeleigh’s bed, pulled her into

  his lap. He smelled of Brut and Wild

  Turkey. His peculiar potpourri.

  I love you so much, my little

  flower. Daddy needs something

  from my girl, my sweet rose.

  Will you give it to me?

  I wanted to be his little flower,

  would have given my daddy anything.

  What did he want from Kaeleigh?

  She laid her head on his chest. “What?”

  I want you to see something,

  something that proves how

  much I love you. This is only

  for you, Kaeleigh girl.

  He lifted her gently, sat her

  down on the bed beside him.

  Then he opened the snaps on

  the fly of his flannel pajamas.

  It stood up, stiff as a stalagmite.

  See how much Daddy loves you?

  Show me you love me, too. Touch

  it. He closed her hand around it.

  I know it sounds bad, but I wanted

  to touch it too. I didn’t know

  what it meant, only that it made Daddy

  happy. I wanted to make him happy too.

  That’s right. That’s right.

  His voice rocked in rhythm

  with his body. Oh yes, my Kaeleigh

  loves me. My little flower…

  Kaeleigh Didn’t Know

  What any of it meant

  either.

  But we both knew

  somehow it was

  important,

  because when Daddy

  finished, he burrowed

  his face

  into Kaeleigh’s hair

  and wept. Confused at

  his tears,

  and at the sticky stuff icing

  her hands, still Kaeleigh

  pleaded,

  “Don’t cry, Daddy.

  What’s the matter? Didn’t

  I love

  you good enough?”

  That Brought Him Out of His Trance

  Like he suddenly realized just what

  he’d done. He scrambled for cover.

  Yes, you loved me good enough.

  So very good! But it’s our secret, okay?

  Because if anyone knew how much

  you love me, they’d be jealous.

  Now Kaeleigh was really confused.

  “Can I tell Mama our secret?”

  No! Especially not Mama. She’d get

  mad because she doesn’t love me

  like you. She might even go away.

  You don’t want that, do you?

  She thought it over. Again and again.

  But she finally agreed, “I won’t tell.”

  Daddy pulled her against him. Good.

  That’s very good. It’s okay to have

  secrets between Daddy and his girl.

  Just remember. No one likes a tattletale.

 
Especially not Daddy.

  She Never Tattled

  Didn’t want Daddy to get mad.

  Didn’t want her mama to go

  away, though she’d already

  gone in spirit, if not yet

  physically.

  Hard to understand.

  Harder yet to believe.

  Especially when your own

  need is so great. The simple

  need

  to absorb your mother’s love.

  Kaeleigh always needed

  that more than I. No, I

  crave

  more our father’s affection.

  But can anyone really love him

  good enough to fill a well of

  want

  so deep it must extend all

  the way to his core, the very

  “who” of who he is? And one

  bigger question remains, begging

  an answer: Just

  who (or what?)

  drilled that well in the first place?

  Kaeleigh

  This Morning I Wake

  Mired in confusion, an odd

  sort of throb in my torso.

  Hunger. The specter of my genie,

  physically

  haunting me. Stalking me.

  Beneath my silk

  pajama top, my empty

  belly lies, flatter than ever. I

  need

  that binge, and something

  more. Something to make me